You Can Never Go Back

Chapter 15: And His Eyes Were Glowing Like Two Lit Cigarettes

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: So I lost everything I had written- I backed my computer up on an external hard drive, did a system recover on my computer, started loading the backed up files back on, and then proceeded to accidentally break said hard drive. Um. So yeah, kind of pissed. It also happens to be my boyfriend's hard drive, not mine, so also in trouble. Not really- he's a total doll. Probably because I was like crying over all my lost files, and he was like, don't worry baby, I'll fix it and get your files back. Hmmm. We shall see. But I decided I wanted to update, even though I only got ONE review last chapter. Did it suck that hard? Props to Hot Monkey Brain for being the only reviewer last chapter. And my eternal gratitude, of course. Plus I'm like in love with your story. Okay, totally digressing. Please review this time everybody! Otherwise I'll just feel like a failure and dedicate myself to schoolwork and never ever update again. Or in a more likely scenario, I'll decide that rewatching all five seasons of House is a much more meaningful endeavor and still never update again. And ummmm…sorry this one is so short. It was longer pre-hard drive dying.

Red looks hot. Like fanfuckingtastic. I've never really understood women's clothes, what with all the buttons and laces and zippers and totally unnecessary accessories, but I'm silently thanking whatever designer thought it would be a good idea to create this purple skintight masterpiece. It has a surprisingly high neckline for a stripper, which I can tell my mother totally approves of, and there's a cutout back that lets my eyes follow the sharp lines of her shoulder blades all the way down to that curve that disappears into her pert little ass. Nice. Plus her legs might as well be skyscrapers for how long they look. Dancing has done her good.

I sound like a chauvinist pig, but really, most guys are. We just don't voice these thoughts out loud.

I act like the perfect gentleman, however, escorting her to mom's car and even going so far as to open the door for her. See, chivalry? I'm behaving myself.

We drive to the fanciest restaurant in South Park, which isn't really saying much. It's called Billy Bob's Steakhouse. Yeah.

I hate to say it, but in the dark of my car Red's utter hotness is kind of lost on me. My mind's back on the problem that's plagued me since last night. Can I really be gay? I mean, I think Red looks hot enough to fuck on the side of the road, so I guess that would make me bisexual? Either way, that means I want to have my cock sucked by a guy, and that is 'gay' no matter which way you cut it. I imagine Stan's head in my lap the way it was at the party, except in my imagination, his mouth is involved.

Inwardly, I groan. That shouldn't be such an arousing image.

Really though? Am I a raging homosexual? Is it possible to have four close friends turn completely and utterly gay? Were we always destined to turn out this way, or was it all the celebrities who took up residence in our closets that made us thus?

I've never been this confused in my entire life. I'm supposed to be the smart one. I'm supposed to have everything figured out.

Hell, I'm supposed to have a bachelor's degree, but that didn't happen, now did it?

"Kyle," Red says in her vibrant voice, and I flick my eyes towards her. She's got this lipstick on in this muted red, like rum raisin or something. I imagine how those lips would look around my dick, and at least I get the same response I did when I thought about Stan. That has to mean something, right?

I let myself get drawn into a conversation with her. For an exotic dancer, she's surprisingly intelligent. She almost manages to make me forget my quandary by the time we pull into the parking lot of Billy Bob's. Almost.

It says a lot about Red that she thinks this counts as 'fine fare'. If I took a girl from New England here, they'd probably steal my car keys and scram. I offered to take Red to Denver to one of the nicer bistros, but she turned it down. She has work in the morning.

I guess she's as much of a redneck as I am, because she doesn't seem to mind the place. She just smiles her lush, secretive smile and shimmies her hips a bit as she struts to the door. I find myself watching her go, which is probably what she expects.

Inside's better than outside, which is pretty much a log cabin. The interior of the steakhouse is painted in low-key earth tones, and the lighting's so dim that I have to watch my feet as we're escorted to our table by some guy in a penguin suit. It's all candlelight and wall sconces. I guess it's romantic, but I'm one of those people who never saw what was romantic about darkness. All it does is make everything dreamy and airbrushed so that you can pretend whoever you're with is someone else. I don't like the unreality of it; it feels like a lie.

Just to prove my point, Red leans across the table from me and asks in a sultry voice, "Do you want to order some wine?"

Her face is half shadows, and from here it looks like she doesn't have a single blemish. Even the freckles on her nose are hidden beneath the pale sheen of her foundation and her eyes dance in the tiny, flickering flame of the candle in the center of the table. She looks so perfect, it's sickening. I feel lied to, and I know it's not her fault. It's the restaurant's for trying to force this idealistic image of romance on me.

The neckline of her dress also sags a little as she leans, giving me a bird's eye view of her impressive cleavage. I already know what she's got to offer on account of my visits to her club, but that was an entirely different scenario. I wonder if she plans on giving me my own personal lap dance later. A guy can dream, right?

"Kyle?" she prompts, and I realize I zoned out for a minute there.

What? Oh yeah. Wine. Eurgh. I guess if I have no other choice.

"Sure," I flash her the most winning smile I can muster and scan the wine list she hands me. They've got some great bourbon at this place on the cheap, but I'm cornered into buying a sweet, dry merlot. When the waiter serves it up, chilled, I watch her drink. Her lips are stained even darker, and her lipstick sticks to the rim of the glass. I always hated lipstick. Sure, it makes a girl's lips look like they belong in my nether region, but inevitably the stuff smears everywhere, making me feel gross post kiss. I don't even want to mention how it looks when it gets all over my junk. Lip-gloss is even worse.

Red engages me in some conversation about politics, which is normally a big first date no-no. She's extremely enthused about the subject while I couldn't care less. My mother's enough of a political activist that I've been so firmly deterred from the entire idea of getting involved that she's lucky I take the time to vote. Which I do mostly because I'm scared she'll kill me otherwise. I keep mum about that though, letting Red ramble on and on about the upcoming mayoral elections.

Moses. Aren't strippers supposed to be dumb?

I let my mind wander to Stan. I think about the way his dark hair falls into his eyes, and that shifty look he gets when he's lying but trying to look like he's not. I think about the way his long legs looked in those brown cords last night and how hot Kenny's hick trucker hat had been on him that one time. I think about Kenny in those ripped jeans he likes, and how nice his muscles are in those wife beaters he wears. I think about the oil stains on his cheeks when he works and the fact that his teeth are cigarette stained but his smile remains stunning. I think about Stan's smile, and then his ass, and how this would be so much easier if he stopped strutting around like a fucking cock tease and just let me…

…
I'm sorry, I'm really too horrified with that thought to continue it.

"Kyle, are you paying attention to me?" Red's voice breaks through my reverie. We're eating dessert now, and I'm so surprised because I don't even remember finishing my meal or ordering. There's this chocolate confection in the middle of the table, and Red's tonguing the fork like she expects an audience to watch and be jealous. Maybe she does.

I'm that audience. I shake the dumb thoughts from my head and focus on the pink of her tongue and the red of her lips, and suddenly I can't even wait until she finishes to get out of this place and haul her back into my car.

She knows it, too. She kicks off her heels under the table and her foot's creeping up my leg. Her toes are cold but that doesn't matter once she reaches the crook of my knee and starts inching up my thigh. I'm desperate for some action. Maybe I'm just desperate.

Her foot nears my balls, and the criminal things she's doing to that fork with her mouth make me stop thinking altogether. As soon as I've signed off half my paycheck on the bill, she's dragging me by the arm back out into mom's Kia. She opens the back seat and shoves me inside. I fall back against the leather, my head hitting the seat with a soft 'oomph'. Then she's straddling me, and that skintight dress is apparently not tight enough to keep from riding up her thighs, milk white in the moonlight. There are other cars parked all around us, but she doesn't seem to care.

I don't either.

Her mouth covers mine, urgent and demanding. That rum raisin lipstick is probably all over my chin. And she's rubbing her body up and down my hips and oh Jesus, I haven't felt this fucking good in such a long time. Every thought that's been killing me for the last few weeks has vanished into thin air. How could I ever have thought that I liked guys when I can feel her warm and ready through the cloth of my slacks and the thin barrier of her underwear?

I lean into her embrace, kissing her back whole heartedly. My fingers press into her hips as she grinds herself into me.

It feels amazing.

And then I stop.

What am I doing?

Wait.

Why am I questioning it?

Kissing her is as nice as kissing any of the other girls I have in the past, but that's all it is; nice. I mean sure, I'm horny as all get out, and the way she keeps thrusting her pelvis against me is kind of making it hard to think right now, but the kiss is mediocre at best and fuck me, why am I even thinking about this right now?

My mind is racing. I think of Cartman's confession. Ermmmm, she's trailing her fingers down my chest. I think of Kenny's offer. Mmm, she's sucking hard on my neck. I think of the brief, accidental brush of hands Stan and I had shared. Her mouth is back full force. I remember Stan's eyes when he told me he loved me.

And suddenly I'm pushing her roughly away. She nearly falls out the still open car door.

"What the fuck, Kyle?"

I'm panting and hard and I hate myself, "I'm sorry, I can't do this right now."

"Do what?" she demands, exasperated, "It's not like I'm luring you into my panties or anything. It's a fucking goodnight kiss."

Oh, really? It felt like she was begging me to penetrate her, but I'll leave it.

"I know," I feel my temper start to rise, and I know the tone of my voice has suddenly gone patronizing, like I'm explaining to a child, "But I still can't do this."

She scrutinizes me, shakes her head, and mutters, "I knew you were a fag."

She sits silently beside me as I drive until we reach her car, parked outside my house. The second we get there she scrambles out, slams the door, and storms away, her tires squealing as she burns rubber just to get far from me.

Her words hit me full force, mixing in with the thoughts I had when I stopped the kiss.

She might be right.

Goddamnit.

A/N: I know some of you are wondering if the style will ever really come- he spends some of his time thinking about Kenny and Cartman, and I know that's kind of off-putting. But I swear it will- Kyle's the type of person not to realize his feelings till the last minute, and I think he'd be so unnerved by the idea of being gay, much less in love, that he'd focus on the being gay part first before tackling the rest. It would just be most logical that way. Anyway, more style is coming, and soon. Probably two chapters, tops. That won't be the end though- just the beginning of the style. The next chapter won't see much of Stan, though. Just a warning. There will however be tons of Kenny and Cartman. Please review!