The Other Table (5/10)
Kyle woke up face-down, so it took him a few moments to realize that he was not in his bed, or even anywhere near his house. He looked around and tried to ascertain exactly where he’d ended up, and gradually his night returned to him in a sepia-toned wash of memory: Worked on posters, walked Craig home, sucked Craig’s dick, now in Craig’s bed. Yeah, that was about right. Kyle looked around at the unadorned walls and failed to see Craig anywhere, although his trademark hat was sitting on a desk. For a moment there was an active fear that maybe, just maybe, he and Craig had gone farther than he’d wanted to go with anyone, but he hadn’t been drunk. Could he be blocking it out? No, his ass felt rather unremarkable, and he was still fully clothed from last night, except that his jacket was on the floor.
While Kyle was still contemplating what had happened - and, even scarier, what could possibly happen now - the door swung open, and his lover (that term felt simultaneously wrong and right, like a deep-fried Snickers bar) entered, wearing his school clothes and vigorously drying his hair with a towel.
“I didn’t rape you,” Craig said earnestly, shutting the door with his foot.
“I know.”
Craig sat down on the bed next to Kyle. “Please say it’s all right.” He threw the towel across the room and it landed on top of a bookcase uniformly filled with books, each shelf meticulously arranged by volumes of a single size.
“Does this mean we’re going out?” Kyle asked.
“Well, I don’t know. Do you go out with everyone you hook up with?”
“No, no,” Kyle said. “I guess that makes me a whore.”
Craig actually laughed at this, and reached over to grab his hat off the desk so he could replace it on his head. “If I dated everyone I did I’d be an awfully busy boy. I think the question is, would you like to be my boyfriend? Because that would make me really happy.” Craig smiled hopefully. “Please?”
Kyle thought about this for a moment. He’d never had a boyfriend before. He had been saving himself for someone, really, and he had always assumed that when this didn’t pan out he would just serial date in college. But Craig seemed to care about him so much, it was relatively heartbreaking. He wondered what Stan would say to his creeping out with Craig and hooking up in public, or the approximation of public that was South Park at midnight on a Tuesday evening. Would he be disgusted? He probably wouldn’t care. Craig was holding his hand again, caressing it lovingly, and giving Kyle the most immensely pathetic puppy-dog eyes in the world.
“Please?” he asked again.
“Oh.” Kyle wiped some morning gunk out of his left eye with the hand that Craig wasn’t currently making hand-love to. They were good friends. Craig was cute. He had that jet-black hair, which was a lot like Stan’s. He’d given a really good hand job. How bad could it be? Maybe this was the thing he needed. “Sure, okay.” Kyle smiled. “Let’s do it.”
Instead of replying with words, Craig kissed him passionately, his clean shirt brushing against Kyle’s filthy one.
~
They ran back to the Broflovski house through the backyards, gleefully waving at families sitting down to breakfast if they could glimpse them through the back doors and windows. When they crept into Kyle’s, they immediately knew they were caught.
“Busted!” Ike cried, pointing his cereal spoon at the intruders. “Mom is going to be soooo pissed at you.”
“Shut the fuck up, Ike!”
“Hi,” Craig said jovially, waving at Ike. “Kyle’s totally my boyfriend now.”
“Dude!”
“I’m trying it out.” Craig rolled his eyes.
“Well, don’t tell my brother!”
“I’ve waited so long to say it,” Craig sighed, making kissy-lips.
“You guys were doing it,” Ike theorized.
“Well, no,” Kyle corrected.
“What are you going to give me?”
“I’m not giving you anything.”
“You have to owe me something or I will tell Mom.” Ike wiggled in his seat. “You have to promise to let me watch all the hockey games next season on the big screen.”
“Dude, no!”
“Hockey?” Craig asked, not believing this.
“And you need to take me out for pizza.”
“Make Mom and Dad take you for pizza!”
“I want to go with you,” Ike pouted. “And anyway, you’d better say yes if you don’t want me to tell Mom that I saw you and Craig sneaking in after you totally both did it.”
“Ugh, fuck it, fine,” Kyle grunted. “Get your fucking stuff, then. We gotta go.” He turned to Craig. “We need to drop him off.”
“That’s cool,” Craig agreed. “More time in the car with you.”
~
Kyle noticed that most students walking through the school around noon were carrying these bright-white flyers around with them on the walk to the cafeteria where Stan accosted him in the lunch line. “Craig?” he cried, shaking his friend by his shoulders. “Craig? Motherfucking Craig!?”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “Oh, now you care about me, but yesterday when I was miserable in the library all I got was ‘grow up’ and ‘get over it’ and ‘just ignore Cartman.’ ”
“Two distinct issues!” Stan protested.
“How the hell do you know?”
“Dude, it’s sick, you smell like Craig!”
“What does Craig smell like?”
“Shouldn’t you know? You’re the one sticking your face in his crotch!”
Kyle blushed, actually embarrassed by this. “Who told you?” he asked in his highest voice that wasn’t a falsetto.
“Oh, please, everyone!”
“I don’t really have time for this, dude. First you don’t give a shit about me, now I can’t date Craig. Make up your mind, Stanley!”
“It’s sick!”
“And here I thought you were all tolerant and shit.”
“I don’t care whose crotch you cozy up to!” Stan felt weird having said this, because it wasn’t true. He lowered his voice. “Just please, not Craig’s.”
Kyle gritted his teeth, and poked Stan in the sternum harshly. “For your information, you miserable breeder asswipe, I’ll be with whoever I please! And if you want to have a say in it, you can’t just treat me like crap all the time!”
“Dude.” Stan’s eyebrows shot up, but he was frowning at this. “That hurts.”
“Then stop hurting me!”
At this Stan just scoffed. “Look, dude, you know I love you. You’re my best friend. But you can’t walk around acting like a damn victim all the time, and then get pissed when I say anything to you, well, you’re just making it really hard. Okay?”
Kyle thought that this was entirely absurd, because Stan was the one making it hard for him, and he had been forever, but apparently he either had no idea or refused to acknowledge it. “You think I don’t love you?” Kyle asked, his voice low. “I love you so much, and I just…” He heaved a sigh, and then raged again. “I just want to be with Craig, okay! And if you hadn’t treated me like crap I wouldn’t have done anything with Craig! You don’t get pissed when I hook up with other people, what the hell do you care about Craig so damn much for?”
“Ladies, please,” said a senior boy in front of them. “Some of us don’t want to hear your homo drama!”
“He’s not gay!” Kyle snapped. Stan just blushed.
“Then stop having the gayest fight ever, you little fairy!”
Kyle gave Stan a pleading look, and Stan was ready to totally deck their antagonist. The older boy looked down on Stan questioningly, as if asking him to bring it, but for a moment Stan paused, fist poised near his shoulder. He wasn’t sure he should bother standing up for Kyle if Kyle was just going to be a douchebag all the damn time. In that long moment, however, the senior turned away, and Stan dropped his appendage, no longer required to do anything at all.
“Face facts, Stanley,” Kyle sniffed, slamming his tray down on the lunch counter. “You don’t care about me or my happiness.”
“Do you know how much you’re hurting me when you say that?” Stan asked. “I mean, I’m just so fucking sick of trying to get through to you!”
Kyle rolled his eyes at this.
“Oh look,” the world’s most annoying voice sneered from behind. “The lovers are fighting!”
“God dammit Cartman!” Kyle cried, stomping his foot down for effect. “We are not lovers!”
“And we never have been,” Stan said calmly.
“And we never will be!”
“I don’t know, fellas,” Butters cooed. He was clinging to Cartman’s arm, holding an empty tray for both of them in the hand that wasn’t hanging onto Cartman. “You certainly fight like lovers.”
“What the hell would you know about lovers, Butters?” Stan asked, rolling his eyes.
“Eric is my lover,” he replied, pulling Cartman’s arm harder with each syllable.
“Cut it out, Butters.” Cartman said this in a bored tone.
“You guys couldn’t possibly,” Kyle scoffed.
“Please, Kyle.” Cartman shook Butters off of his arm. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” He grinned at this, flashing a dangerous row of teeth.
“I refuse to believe that you two have had sex!”
“Oh? Is that like how you refuse to believe that hooking up with Craig isn’t going to solve any of your problems?”
“How the hell does everyone know about that?”
“Craig was talking about it.”
Butters nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he told me, too.”
Kyle shot daggers at Stan. “Well, don’t look at me,” he drawled. “I don’t talk to that guy. I heard it from Clyde.”
“All right, fine!” Kyle stomped both feet this time, making a kind of rhythmic clomp-clomp-clomp noise. “I really can’t believe you would stoop to letting him fuck you, Butters, let alone kiss you. He’s not even gay!”
“I assure you, I am 100 percent ass-rammer.”
Butters just shuffled his feet, looked down, and clutched the lunch trays in front of his crotch as if he were hiding something.
“What? Oh, God, Butters, please tell me you haven’t.”
“I’m not saying anything,” Butters sing-songed.
“You’re not gay,” Kyle seethed, reaching out to grab Cartman by his anemic little scarf. “Back the fuck away from Frank Granger, and leave poor Butters alone! I’ll pay you!”
“It’s always about money for the Hebrew people.” Cartman directed this comment to Butters, who just shrugged, not really feeling comfortable with being the receptor for not-so-subtle racism in the lunch line.
“Fine! What do you want? Do you want me? Do you want to hurt me? Do you want to fuck me?” Kyle felt tears welling in his eyes.
“I’m not sure I really want to be up in Craig’s biznatch, so no. Plus you’re not really my type.”
“I’m your type.” Butters nodded.
“Be quiet, Butters.”
“Kyle, dude.” Stan put his hand on one of Kyle’s shoulders. “Please, just let it go.”
“He’s horrible!” Kyle threw himself into Stan’s unwitting embrace.
“What did I tell you, Butters?” Cartman crossed his arms. “Don’t let Kyle phase you. He’s just fucking unstable. Sadly, there’s nothing we can do about this tragedy. Sometimes I just want to tell all the Jewish people, ‘Ay! Jews! This is what happens when your religions promotes inbreeding!’ And obviously Kyle here is a wonderful example of that.”
Kyle let go of Stan and whipped around, but before he could let lose any attempts at damage, Stan’s arms were around him.
“Aw, dude,” Stan moaned. “I am not letting you get yourself clobbered again.”
“Let go of me, Stanley!”
“Yes, let go of him.” Cartman wiggled his two index fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion. “We all know I can take him.”
“I don’t think you want to be fighting around Butters.”
“I’m-”
“Shut up, Butters!” Cartman cried. “This is between me and the Jew.”
“Mr. Cartman!” Suddenly a voice rang out from a few feet away, and all four boys - plus several of their lunch room voyeurs - turned to see the school principal standing in the small doorway to the lunch counter. “Call off your dogs!”
“Why, sir, I was just talking to my friends here.”
“Oh, can it, fatty, I know all about you.”
“I’m seriously,” he said plainly. “I would never hurt my friend Kyle.” Then, under his breath: “Unless provoked.”
“Enough! Marsh, Cartman, Broflovski! My office! Now.”
~
The four of them trudged, single-file, to the main office, Stan leading, Kyle following him, and Cartman bringing up the rear. Along the way, Kyle noticed that he was trampling on white flyers, hand-scrawled and Xeroxed. He didn’t bother to read them. He already knew about that stupid dance.
The entire walk was only a few minutes long, and largely silent, except for one remark Kyle heard from behind. “I got you in trouble again.” Kyle’s fists clenched and his left eye began to twitch, but it wasn’t in vain, because he was able to restrain himself. For the moment.
Arriving at the principal’s office, the older man took a seat behind his desk. “Sit, boys,” he said wearily, indicating a few chairs in front of his desk. Stan tried to get in between Cartman and Kyle, but the large boy shoved his friend out of the way and plopped down in the middle. The principal gave them an odd look, but he shrugged it off.
“I’m afraid I have some horrible news,” he said dully, removing his glasses. “I really shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, but we received a call from the family.”
“Whose family?” Kyle squeaked, assuming it was his, because his mother was the only person he’d ever met who ever bothered calling the school for any reason whatsoever.
“The McCormicks.” He searched the boys’ expressions, but Stan’s and Kyle’s were blank, and the one in the middle, well … he just looked annoyed. “It seems that there’s been an accident.” He waited for a remark, but they all sat in front of him entirely silent. “Your friend Kenny is dead. It seems he overdosed on sleeping pills. I’m so sorry, boys. His father said you were his closest friends, and he asked me to tell you. If there’s anything I can do for you all-”
“Dude,” Stan droned.
“Weak,” Cartman shrugged.
“So, we’re not in trouble?” Kyle asked.
“Trouble? Why?”
“We were fighting in the lunch line.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” Cartman agreed. “I thought you were gonna expel us or something, after two days ago.”
“What happened two days ago?” The old man gripped the arms of his chair.
“Um, nothing,” Cartman hastily replied.
“Exactly.” Kyle nodded.
“None of you are concerned that your friend is dead?”
Stan spoke up. “Oh, yeah. It sucks. But we’ll see him tomorrow.”
“Oh, no.” The principal shook his head. “Oh no, no, no. I’m so sorry, boys. You are never going to see your friend again. I know this takes some time to get used to, but I’m sure in time-”
“Dude,” Kyle rasped. “It’s Kenny. Have you ever met him?”
“Well, no.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Stan said.
“Yeah, that little prick is always off and dying.”
“Mr. Cartman,” the principal drawled. “Your close friend is dead.”
“Yeah, and he was yesterday and will be tomorrow, that’s all I’m saying.”
“I can’t believe this. Do you even understand the gravity of this situation?” Kyle raised his hand. “You don’t need to ask permission to speak here, Mr. Broflovski. Go ahead.”
“I, uh, I think we’re all in shock,” Kyle said slowly. “We really need some time to let this sink in.”
“Yeah,” Stan agreed. “Yeah, that’s what we need.”
The principal looked at them incredulously for a second, but then he sighed. “Oh, all right,” he said. “I’m so sorry for your loss, boys.”
~
Two people were sitting in the reception area when Stan, Kyle, and Cartman finished their consoling meeting, and in alphabetical order they were Butters and Craig.
Stan and Craig made eye contact, and Stan looked to Kyle, who just glowered at him. “I’m out of here,” he said pathetically, retreating.
“Hi Eric!” Butters cheered, getting up. Craig sat silent. “What was your meeting about?”
“Ugh, Jesus, nothing. Kenny’s dead, what’s new.”
“That’s terrible!”
“Butters, don’t you have a class or something?”
“Yup!” Butters hopped on one foot. “I got physics!”
“Well, then, uh, why don’t you go to it?” Cartman asked through gritted teeth. “I don’t want you to miss anything.”
“Oh boy! Um, okay!” Butters skipped away, humming something too upbeat to himself.
“Carry your books to Latin, Kyle?” Cartman asked, extending his arms in offering.
“Just get away from me.”
“Kyle, denying this sexual tension between us isn’t necessary. You can’t let hate get in the way of love.”
“He said to leave him alone,” Craig said sternly, rising from his seat, brandishing his middle finger at Cartman like it was the first time.
“Oh, wow, Craig. You can extend your swear finger. I had no idea! I’m sure Kyle’s into that sort of thing, too. You guys make such a cute pair.”
“Get out,” Craig growled, dropping his brows and pointing to the empty secretary’s desk. “Or I’ll have you incapacitated before she comes back.”
“Real mature, Craig,” Cartman mumbled, pushing through him and Kyle on the way out the door.
“Baby,” Craig began, turning to Kyle.
“I’m not talking to you, Craig.” Kyle crossed his arms.
“Aw, honey, why not?” Kyle was really hoping these names were all in jest and not something Craig planned on using in earnest.
“Why? Why? You told basically the entire school about us!”
“Well, we’re dating now, right? Why shouldn’t anyone know?”
“I don’t want them to know what I do with my mouth! I don’t mind if people know what I’m not doing with my mouth, which is playing the clarinet, because I gave that up in eighth grade.” Kyle paused. “But seriously!”
“I only told the guys at lunch. And Clyde.”
“Yeah, and he told Stan apparently!”
Recognition dawned on Craig’s face. “Oh.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Well, um, I’m sorry.” Craig took Kyle’s hand and kissed it quickly. “I have something that will make it up to you.” He took a white piece of paper out of his back pocket and began to unfold it.
“I’ve seen it, dude. I don’t want to go to that stupid dance.”
“That’s not what this is,” Craig said smugly, presenting the unfurled flyer before Kyle with both hands, who immediately recognized it as the original of the one he’d been seeing around the school. The words, scrawled in fat black print, read:
Fight Intollerance!
Protest against the end of homosexuality!
Rally!
Saturday @ 3!
City hall!
Punch and pie!
“Craig!” Kyle cried, grabbing the flyer after he finished reading it. “Now I have to get food?”
“No, I’ll cover it. I can hardly expect you to feed 1,000 people.”
“What?”
“That’s how many flyers I dumped around the school.”
“Oh. Uh.” Kyle scratched his chin while he tried to figure out what to say. “That’s 10 times the number of people who go here, dude.”
Craig shrugged. “Eh, whatever. I mean, I’m not actually going to get food. People just need to see that if they need a reason to show up.”
“Where did you figure that out?”
“You.” Craig and Kyle both blushed.
“But I thought we were going out on Saturday.”
“Oh?” Craig asked. “You still want to go out with me?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you were pissed.”
“I’m not, I’m just - well, I’m late to Latin. Please just don’t tell anyone else what we do, okay?”
“What are we going to do?” Craig asked, absent-mindedly placing the palm of his right hand over his left nipple through his shirt.
“I’ll have to figure it out,” Kyle admitted. “But I won’t disappoint you.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. I totally promise.”
“Good.” Craig smiled as Kyle rushed out of the room to Latin class.
~
The truth was, Kyle wasn’t sure that he couldn’t disappoint Craig in the end. Kyle was working with the twin deficiencies of sexual inexperience and a profound, lingering longing for another boy.
Which wasn’t to say that Kyle didn’t like Craig. Actually, he found him quite attractive. He had nice pink lips that were good for kissing, and they were soft and full and gave a little resistance when Kyle gently gnawed at them. Craig’s hair was nearly as black as Stan’s, but not quite, and unlike Stan, Craig owned not only a brush but also hair products. The afternoon following their initial hook-up, Kyle found himself sitting on Craig’s bed following one extended make-out session, anxiously wondering when the next would follow. Craig had lost his hat in a moment of ardor, and was now teasing his hair with a brush and a blow-dryer in the mirror. It was full and shapely, and looked nearly perfect peeking out of the blue hat when Craig pulled it back onto his head.
“I can’t believe you just did your hair to put on a hat,” Kyle hummed, still thinking about his unattended erection, and how pleased he was with how angry he had seemingly made Stan earlier that day.
“Whatever,” Craig scoffed, fiddling with a few stray pieces of hair. “It takes work for the rest of us to look as good as you.”
“Oh, I don’t look that good at all.”
“Are you crazy?” Craig flopped back down on the bed.
“Sometimes I think I might be,” Kyle confirmed.
“Well, I think you’re so hot. I find craziness a little hot, I guess.” Craig shifted and slid one hand under Kyle’s shirt, which made Kyle squirm and seize into the touch. “Hey,” Craig whispered. “You barely have any chest hair.”
“Sorry,” Kyle gasped. “I, ah, just don’t.”
“I always thought you would.”
“Wait.” Kyle grabbed Craig’s hand and stilled it through his shirt. “Please tell me you haven’t been thinking about whether or not I have chest hair.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, a little.”
“Dude.” Kyle inched a little away from Craig. “That’s … it’s a little creepy.”
“Oh.” Craig’s hand wriggled out of Kyle’s grasp and slid downward, stopping at the waistband of Kyle’s underwear. “Don’t tell me you don’t think about those things,” Craig hissed seductively. “I know you do.”
“Well, yeah.” Kyle tried to give Craig’s hand a little push south, but Craig just hooked his thumb around the elastic band.
“Don’t tell me you don’t.”
“I do.”
“What are you thinking about now?” Craig slipped his other hand underneath Kyle’s jeans, and over his underwear.
“I’m-”
“Make it sexy,” Craig commanded. “Lie if you have to.”
Kyle grasped Craig’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze, moving his face near to Craig’s. He gave Craig something of a liberal sniff, and finding that the boy smelled like gasoline and nearly raw banana peel, Kyle pressed his lips to Craig’s, lightly applying pressure but refusing to open his mouth while he thought.
What the hell was he thinking about? Homework, how Craig did his hair as he created a carefully sculpted rat’s nest. His Latin homework, a translation of the first 10 lines of the fifth book of the Aeneid, and how that wasn’t getting done as long as Craig’s careful little fingers were playing close to his pubic hair, teasing a couple of strands and retreating back to his hip bones. He was also thinking of Stan, and what this would be like with Stan’s fingers instead, bony and long as they were. It was something he contemplated repeatedly, all the time, since he was old enough to think those things. Generally when he was alone, Kyle indulged in these visions. With someone else he generally felt wrong and confused, like he was betraying Stan despite the fact that Stan was with girls all the time, and betrayal would indicate that Stan had these thoughts about him, too.
But he couldn’t say this to Craig. Craig was so simple, and yet complex. Ha, yes, he was like a simplex, a mathematical theory he didn’t quite grasp or an infectious virus. Perhaps if he said this to Craig, Craig would find it alluring. But no, that was just scattered sex talk, it didn’t mean anything. All Kyle wanted was to feel Craig’s hand on his cock, all he had to do was figure out what to say to bring that about again.
Direct was always best, he figured. “I’m thinking about your hand on me,” he murmured, concluding this statement with his tongue on Craig’s lips. They were still a little swollen from making out before, and for a moment Kyle wondered why they’d stopped, but then he remembered: So Craig could do his hair. And then put on a hat. Craig: the only kid in the world who would stop kissing to do his hair, and then cover up the hairdo.
Craig grinned and Kyle felt the corners of his mouth stretch under his tongue. “Awesome,” Craig gasped, following Kyle’s orders. “I hope to hell I can take your pants off this time.”
“Yeah.” Kyle wiggled his bottom up a little, and undid his pants, allowing Craig to slip to them down to the floor. “What about you?”
Craig continued smiling, and he pushed Kyle down on his bed while he removed his bottoms. Then he basically sat down on top of the smaller boy, and laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Kyle tried to thrust up, but Craig used his butt to keep Kyle’s groin down.
“It’s not funny, I’m happy. I have waited so long.”
“So?”
“Well, you read about people requiting their love, and you just don’t think it’ll happen to you.” Craig sniffed again and didn’t cry. He blinked. He bounced up and down a couple of times. “Do you like this?”
“I’d like it more,” Kyle growled, grabbing Craig’s shirt with both hands. “If I got off this century maybe.”
Laughing still, Craig grabbed Kyle’s legs and put them over his shoulders. He took the waistband of Kyle’s underwear in one hand and practically ripped them off, or at least you’d have expected to hear the sound of tearing fabric, but the underwear only got as far as Kyle’s knees before Craig leaned over and committed the act he committed second-best.
~
Having left his car at home before sloshing over to Craig’s, Kyle now had to slosh back to his house, and hopefully get in without his parents knowing where he’d been. Granted, they were likely to have figured out by now that their son often went off to commit acts of sodomy, but he was expected to keep these to weekends and holidays. And seeing that it was now dark out, and probably past dinner, his ability to complete his homework was indeed going to be severely compromised. So yes, he hoped they didn’t ask any questions.
Continued here.
While Kyle was still contemplating what had happened - and, even scarier, what could possibly happen now - the door swung open, and his lover (that term felt simultaneously wrong and right, like a deep-fried Snickers bar) entered, wearing his school clothes and vigorously drying his hair with a towel.
“I didn’t rape you,” Craig said earnestly, shutting the door with his foot.
“I know.”
Craig sat down on the bed next to Kyle. “Please say it’s all right.” He threw the towel across the room and it landed on top of a bookcase uniformly filled with books, each shelf meticulously arranged by volumes of a single size.
“Does this mean we’re going out?” Kyle asked.
“Well, I don’t know. Do you go out with everyone you hook up with?”
“No, no,” Kyle said. “I guess that makes me a whore.”
Craig actually laughed at this, and reached over to grab his hat off the desk so he could replace it on his head. “If I dated everyone I did I’d be an awfully busy boy. I think the question is, would you like to be my boyfriend? Because that would make me really happy.” Craig smiled hopefully. “Please?”
Kyle thought about this for a moment. He’d never had a boyfriend before. He had been saving himself for someone, really, and he had always assumed that when this didn’t pan out he would just serial date in college. But Craig seemed to care about him so much, it was relatively heartbreaking. He wondered what Stan would say to his creeping out with Craig and hooking up in public, or the approximation of public that was South Park at midnight on a Tuesday evening. Would he be disgusted? He probably wouldn’t care. Craig was holding his hand again, caressing it lovingly, and giving Kyle the most immensely pathetic puppy-dog eyes in the world.
“Please?” he asked again.
“Oh.” Kyle wiped some morning gunk out of his left eye with the hand that Craig wasn’t currently making hand-love to. They were good friends. Craig was cute. He had that jet-black hair, which was a lot like Stan’s. He’d given a really good hand job. How bad could it be? Maybe this was the thing he needed. “Sure, okay.” Kyle smiled. “Let’s do it.”
Instead of replying with words, Craig kissed him passionately, his clean shirt brushing against Kyle’s filthy one.
~
They ran back to the Broflovski house through the backyards, gleefully waving at families sitting down to breakfast if they could glimpse them through the back doors and windows. When they crept into Kyle’s, they immediately knew they were caught.
“Busted!” Ike cried, pointing his cereal spoon at the intruders. “Mom is going to be soooo pissed at you.”
“Shut the fuck up, Ike!”
“Hi,” Craig said jovially, waving at Ike. “Kyle’s totally my boyfriend now.”
“Dude!”
“I’m trying it out.” Craig rolled his eyes.
“Well, don’t tell my brother!”
“I’ve waited so long to say it,” Craig sighed, making kissy-lips.
“You guys were doing it,” Ike theorized.
“Well, no,” Kyle corrected.
“What are you going to give me?”
“I’m not giving you anything.”
“You have to owe me something or I will tell Mom.” Ike wiggled in his seat. “You have to promise to let me watch all the hockey games next season on the big screen.”
“Dude, no!”
“Hockey?” Craig asked, not believing this.
“And you need to take me out for pizza.”
“Make Mom and Dad take you for pizza!”
“I want to go with you,” Ike pouted. “And anyway, you’d better say yes if you don’t want me to tell Mom that I saw you and Craig sneaking in after you totally both did it.”
“Ugh, fuck it, fine,” Kyle grunted. “Get your fucking stuff, then. We gotta go.” He turned to Craig. “We need to drop him off.”
“That’s cool,” Craig agreed. “More time in the car with you.”
~
Kyle noticed that most students walking through the school around noon were carrying these bright-white flyers around with them on the walk to the cafeteria where Stan accosted him in the lunch line. “Craig?” he cried, shaking his friend by his shoulders. “Craig? Motherfucking Craig!?”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “Oh, now you care about me, but yesterday when I was miserable in the library all I got was ‘grow up’ and ‘get over it’ and ‘just ignore Cartman.’ ”
“Two distinct issues!” Stan protested.
“How the hell do you know?”
“Dude, it’s sick, you smell like Craig!”
“What does Craig smell like?”
“Shouldn’t you know? You’re the one sticking your face in his crotch!”
Kyle blushed, actually embarrassed by this. “Who told you?” he asked in his highest voice that wasn’t a falsetto.
“Oh, please, everyone!”
“I don’t really have time for this, dude. First you don’t give a shit about me, now I can’t date Craig. Make up your mind, Stanley!”
“It’s sick!”
“And here I thought you were all tolerant and shit.”
“I don’t care whose crotch you cozy up to!” Stan felt weird having said this, because it wasn’t true. He lowered his voice. “Just please, not Craig’s.”
Kyle gritted his teeth, and poked Stan in the sternum harshly. “For your information, you miserable breeder asswipe, I’ll be with whoever I please! And if you want to have a say in it, you can’t just treat me like crap all the time!”
“Dude.” Stan’s eyebrows shot up, but he was frowning at this. “That hurts.”
“Then stop hurting me!”
At this Stan just scoffed. “Look, dude, you know I love you. You’re my best friend. But you can’t walk around acting like a damn victim all the time, and then get pissed when I say anything to you, well, you’re just making it really hard. Okay?”
Kyle thought that this was entirely absurd, because Stan was the one making it hard for him, and he had been forever, but apparently he either had no idea or refused to acknowledge it. “You think I don’t love you?” Kyle asked, his voice low. “I love you so much, and I just…” He heaved a sigh, and then raged again. “I just want to be with Craig, okay! And if you hadn’t treated me like crap I wouldn’t have done anything with Craig! You don’t get pissed when I hook up with other people, what the hell do you care about Craig so damn much for?”
“Ladies, please,” said a senior boy in front of them. “Some of us don’t want to hear your homo drama!”
“He’s not gay!” Kyle snapped. Stan just blushed.
“Then stop having the gayest fight ever, you little fairy!”
Kyle gave Stan a pleading look, and Stan was ready to totally deck their antagonist. The older boy looked down on Stan questioningly, as if asking him to bring it, but for a moment Stan paused, fist poised near his shoulder. He wasn’t sure he should bother standing up for Kyle if Kyle was just going to be a douchebag all the damn time. In that long moment, however, the senior turned away, and Stan dropped his appendage, no longer required to do anything at all.
“Face facts, Stanley,” Kyle sniffed, slamming his tray down on the lunch counter. “You don’t care about me or my happiness.”
“Do you know how much you’re hurting me when you say that?” Stan asked. “I mean, I’m just so fucking sick of trying to get through to you!”
Kyle rolled his eyes at this.
“Oh look,” the world’s most annoying voice sneered from behind. “The lovers are fighting!”
“God dammit Cartman!” Kyle cried, stomping his foot down for effect. “We are not lovers!”
“And we never have been,” Stan said calmly.
“And we never will be!”
“I don’t know, fellas,” Butters cooed. He was clinging to Cartman’s arm, holding an empty tray for both of them in the hand that wasn’t hanging onto Cartman. “You certainly fight like lovers.”
“What the hell would you know about lovers, Butters?” Stan asked, rolling his eyes.
“Eric is my lover,” he replied, pulling Cartman’s arm harder with each syllable.
“Cut it out, Butters.” Cartman said this in a bored tone.
“You guys couldn’t possibly,” Kyle scoffed.
“Please, Kyle.” Cartman shook Butters off of his arm. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” He grinned at this, flashing a dangerous row of teeth.
“I refuse to believe that you two have had sex!”
“Oh? Is that like how you refuse to believe that hooking up with Craig isn’t going to solve any of your problems?”
“How the hell does everyone know about that?”
“Craig was talking about it.”
Butters nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he told me, too.”
Kyle shot daggers at Stan. “Well, don’t look at me,” he drawled. “I don’t talk to that guy. I heard it from Clyde.”
“All right, fine!” Kyle stomped both feet this time, making a kind of rhythmic clomp-clomp-clomp noise. “I really can’t believe you would stoop to letting him fuck you, Butters, let alone kiss you. He’s not even gay!”
“I assure you, I am 100 percent ass-rammer.”
Butters just shuffled his feet, looked down, and clutched the lunch trays in front of his crotch as if he were hiding something.
“What? Oh, God, Butters, please tell me you haven’t.”
“I’m not saying anything,” Butters sing-songed.
“You’re not gay,” Kyle seethed, reaching out to grab Cartman by his anemic little scarf. “Back the fuck away from Frank Granger, and leave poor Butters alone! I’ll pay you!”
“It’s always about money for the Hebrew people.” Cartman directed this comment to Butters, who just shrugged, not really feeling comfortable with being the receptor for not-so-subtle racism in the lunch line.
“Fine! What do you want? Do you want me? Do you want to hurt me? Do you want to fuck me?” Kyle felt tears welling in his eyes.
“I’m not sure I really want to be up in Craig’s biznatch, so no. Plus you’re not really my type.”
“I’m your type.” Butters nodded.
“Be quiet, Butters.”
“Kyle, dude.” Stan put his hand on one of Kyle’s shoulders. “Please, just let it go.”
“He’s horrible!” Kyle threw himself into Stan’s unwitting embrace.
“What did I tell you, Butters?” Cartman crossed his arms. “Don’t let Kyle phase you. He’s just fucking unstable. Sadly, there’s nothing we can do about this tragedy. Sometimes I just want to tell all the Jewish people, ‘Ay! Jews! This is what happens when your religions promotes inbreeding!’ And obviously Kyle here is a wonderful example of that.”
Kyle let go of Stan and whipped around, but before he could let lose any attempts at damage, Stan’s arms were around him.
“Aw, dude,” Stan moaned. “I am not letting you get yourself clobbered again.”
“Let go of me, Stanley!”
“Yes, let go of him.” Cartman wiggled his two index fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion. “We all know I can take him.”
“I don’t think you want to be fighting around Butters.”
“I’m-”
“Shut up, Butters!” Cartman cried. “This is between me and the Jew.”
“Mr. Cartman!” Suddenly a voice rang out from a few feet away, and all four boys - plus several of their lunch room voyeurs - turned to see the school principal standing in the small doorway to the lunch counter. “Call off your dogs!”
“Why, sir, I was just talking to my friends here.”
“Oh, can it, fatty, I know all about you.”
“I’m seriously,” he said plainly. “I would never hurt my friend Kyle.” Then, under his breath: “Unless provoked.”
“Enough! Marsh, Cartman, Broflovski! My office! Now.”
~
The four of them trudged, single-file, to the main office, Stan leading, Kyle following him, and Cartman bringing up the rear. Along the way, Kyle noticed that he was trampling on white flyers, hand-scrawled and Xeroxed. He didn’t bother to read them. He already knew about that stupid dance.
The entire walk was only a few minutes long, and largely silent, except for one remark Kyle heard from behind. “I got you in trouble again.” Kyle’s fists clenched and his left eye began to twitch, but it wasn’t in vain, because he was able to restrain himself. For the moment.
Arriving at the principal’s office, the older man took a seat behind his desk. “Sit, boys,” he said wearily, indicating a few chairs in front of his desk. Stan tried to get in between Cartman and Kyle, but the large boy shoved his friend out of the way and plopped down in the middle. The principal gave them an odd look, but he shrugged it off.
“I’m afraid I have some horrible news,” he said dully, removing his glasses. “I really shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, but we received a call from the family.”
“Whose family?” Kyle squeaked, assuming it was his, because his mother was the only person he’d ever met who ever bothered calling the school for any reason whatsoever.
“The McCormicks.” He searched the boys’ expressions, but Stan’s and Kyle’s were blank, and the one in the middle, well … he just looked annoyed. “It seems that there’s been an accident.” He waited for a remark, but they all sat in front of him entirely silent. “Your friend Kenny is dead. It seems he overdosed on sleeping pills. I’m so sorry, boys. His father said you were his closest friends, and he asked me to tell you. If there’s anything I can do for you all-”
“Dude,” Stan droned.
“Weak,” Cartman shrugged.
“So, we’re not in trouble?” Kyle asked.
“Trouble? Why?”
“We were fighting in the lunch line.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” Cartman agreed. “I thought you were gonna expel us or something, after two days ago.”
“What happened two days ago?” The old man gripped the arms of his chair.
“Um, nothing,” Cartman hastily replied.
“Exactly.” Kyle nodded.
“None of you are concerned that your friend is dead?”
Stan spoke up. “Oh, yeah. It sucks. But we’ll see him tomorrow.”
“Oh, no.” The principal shook his head. “Oh no, no, no. I’m so sorry, boys. You are never going to see your friend again. I know this takes some time to get used to, but I’m sure in time-”
“Dude,” Kyle rasped. “It’s Kenny. Have you ever met him?”
“Well, no.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Stan said.
“Yeah, that little prick is always off and dying.”
“Mr. Cartman,” the principal drawled. “Your close friend is dead.”
“Yeah, and he was yesterday and will be tomorrow, that’s all I’m saying.”
“I can’t believe this. Do you even understand the gravity of this situation?” Kyle raised his hand. “You don’t need to ask permission to speak here, Mr. Broflovski. Go ahead.”
“I, uh, I think we’re all in shock,” Kyle said slowly. “We really need some time to let this sink in.”
“Yeah,” Stan agreed. “Yeah, that’s what we need.”
The principal looked at them incredulously for a second, but then he sighed. “Oh, all right,” he said. “I’m so sorry for your loss, boys.”
~
Two people were sitting in the reception area when Stan, Kyle, and Cartman finished their consoling meeting, and in alphabetical order they were Butters and Craig.
Stan and Craig made eye contact, and Stan looked to Kyle, who just glowered at him. “I’m out of here,” he said pathetically, retreating.
“Hi Eric!” Butters cheered, getting up. Craig sat silent. “What was your meeting about?”
“Ugh, Jesus, nothing. Kenny’s dead, what’s new.”
“That’s terrible!”
“Butters, don’t you have a class or something?”
“Yup!” Butters hopped on one foot. “I got physics!”
“Well, then, uh, why don’t you go to it?” Cartman asked through gritted teeth. “I don’t want you to miss anything.”
“Oh boy! Um, okay!” Butters skipped away, humming something too upbeat to himself.
“Carry your books to Latin, Kyle?” Cartman asked, extending his arms in offering.
“Just get away from me.”
“Kyle, denying this sexual tension between us isn’t necessary. You can’t let hate get in the way of love.”
“He said to leave him alone,” Craig said sternly, rising from his seat, brandishing his middle finger at Cartman like it was the first time.
“Oh, wow, Craig. You can extend your swear finger. I had no idea! I’m sure Kyle’s into that sort of thing, too. You guys make such a cute pair.”
“Get out,” Craig growled, dropping his brows and pointing to the empty secretary’s desk. “Or I’ll have you incapacitated before she comes back.”
“Real mature, Craig,” Cartman mumbled, pushing through him and Kyle on the way out the door.
“Baby,” Craig began, turning to Kyle.
“I’m not talking to you, Craig.” Kyle crossed his arms.
“Aw, honey, why not?” Kyle was really hoping these names were all in jest and not something Craig planned on using in earnest.
“Why? Why? You told basically the entire school about us!”
“Well, we’re dating now, right? Why shouldn’t anyone know?”
“I don’t want them to know what I do with my mouth! I don’t mind if people know what I’m not doing with my mouth, which is playing the clarinet, because I gave that up in eighth grade.” Kyle paused. “But seriously!”
“I only told the guys at lunch. And Clyde.”
“Yeah, and he told Stan apparently!”
Recognition dawned on Craig’s face. “Oh.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Well, um, I’m sorry.” Craig took Kyle’s hand and kissed it quickly. “I have something that will make it up to you.” He took a white piece of paper out of his back pocket and began to unfold it.
“I’ve seen it, dude. I don’t want to go to that stupid dance.”
“That’s not what this is,” Craig said smugly, presenting the unfurled flyer before Kyle with both hands, who immediately recognized it as the original of the one he’d been seeing around the school. The words, scrawled in fat black print, read:
Fight Intollerance!
Protest against the end of homosexuality!
Rally!
Saturday @ 3!
City hall!
Punch and pie!
“Craig!” Kyle cried, grabbing the flyer after he finished reading it. “Now I have to get food?”
“No, I’ll cover it. I can hardly expect you to feed 1,000 people.”
“What?”
“That’s how many flyers I dumped around the school.”
“Oh. Uh.” Kyle scratched his chin while he tried to figure out what to say. “That’s 10 times the number of people who go here, dude.”
Craig shrugged. “Eh, whatever. I mean, I’m not actually going to get food. People just need to see that if they need a reason to show up.”
“Where did you figure that out?”
“You.” Craig and Kyle both blushed.
“But I thought we were going out on Saturday.”
“Oh?” Craig asked. “You still want to go out with me?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you were pissed.”
“I’m not, I’m just - well, I’m late to Latin. Please just don’t tell anyone else what we do, okay?”
“What are we going to do?” Craig asked, absent-mindedly placing the palm of his right hand over his left nipple through his shirt.
“I’ll have to figure it out,” Kyle admitted. “But I won’t disappoint you.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. I totally promise.”
“Good.” Craig smiled as Kyle rushed out of the room to Latin class.
~
The truth was, Kyle wasn’t sure that he couldn’t disappoint Craig in the end. Kyle was working with the twin deficiencies of sexual inexperience and a profound, lingering longing for another boy.
Which wasn’t to say that Kyle didn’t like Craig. Actually, he found him quite attractive. He had nice pink lips that were good for kissing, and they were soft and full and gave a little resistance when Kyle gently gnawed at them. Craig’s hair was nearly as black as Stan’s, but not quite, and unlike Stan, Craig owned not only a brush but also hair products. The afternoon following their initial hook-up, Kyle found himself sitting on Craig’s bed following one extended make-out session, anxiously wondering when the next would follow. Craig had lost his hat in a moment of ardor, and was now teasing his hair with a brush and a blow-dryer in the mirror. It was full and shapely, and looked nearly perfect peeking out of the blue hat when Craig pulled it back onto his head.
“I can’t believe you just did your hair to put on a hat,” Kyle hummed, still thinking about his unattended erection, and how pleased he was with how angry he had seemingly made Stan earlier that day.
“Whatever,” Craig scoffed, fiddling with a few stray pieces of hair. “It takes work for the rest of us to look as good as you.”
“Oh, I don’t look that good at all.”
“Are you crazy?” Craig flopped back down on the bed.
“Sometimes I think I might be,” Kyle confirmed.
“Well, I think you’re so hot. I find craziness a little hot, I guess.” Craig shifted and slid one hand under Kyle’s shirt, which made Kyle squirm and seize into the touch. “Hey,” Craig whispered. “You barely have any chest hair.”
“Sorry,” Kyle gasped. “I, ah, just don’t.”
“I always thought you would.”
“Wait.” Kyle grabbed Craig’s hand and stilled it through his shirt. “Please tell me you haven’t been thinking about whether or not I have chest hair.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, a little.”
“Dude.” Kyle inched a little away from Craig. “That’s … it’s a little creepy.”
“Oh.” Craig’s hand wriggled out of Kyle’s grasp and slid downward, stopping at the waistband of Kyle’s underwear. “Don’t tell me you don’t think about those things,” Craig hissed seductively. “I know you do.”
“Well, yeah.” Kyle tried to give Craig’s hand a little push south, but Craig just hooked his thumb around the elastic band.
“Don’t tell me you don’t.”
“I do.”
“What are you thinking about now?” Craig slipped his other hand underneath Kyle’s jeans, and over his underwear.
“I’m-”
“Make it sexy,” Craig commanded. “Lie if you have to.”
Kyle grasped Craig’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze, moving his face near to Craig’s. He gave Craig something of a liberal sniff, and finding that the boy smelled like gasoline and nearly raw banana peel, Kyle pressed his lips to Craig’s, lightly applying pressure but refusing to open his mouth while he thought.
What the hell was he thinking about? Homework, how Craig did his hair as he created a carefully sculpted rat’s nest. His Latin homework, a translation of the first 10 lines of the fifth book of the Aeneid, and how that wasn’t getting done as long as Craig’s careful little fingers were playing close to his pubic hair, teasing a couple of strands and retreating back to his hip bones. He was also thinking of Stan, and what this would be like with Stan’s fingers instead, bony and long as they were. It was something he contemplated repeatedly, all the time, since he was old enough to think those things. Generally when he was alone, Kyle indulged in these visions. With someone else he generally felt wrong and confused, like he was betraying Stan despite the fact that Stan was with girls all the time, and betrayal would indicate that Stan had these thoughts about him, too.
But he couldn’t say this to Craig. Craig was so simple, and yet complex. Ha, yes, he was like a simplex, a mathematical theory he didn’t quite grasp or an infectious virus. Perhaps if he said this to Craig, Craig would find it alluring. But no, that was just scattered sex talk, it didn’t mean anything. All Kyle wanted was to feel Craig’s hand on his cock, all he had to do was figure out what to say to bring that about again.
Direct was always best, he figured. “I’m thinking about your hand on me,” he murmured, concluding this statement with his tongue on Craig’s lips. They were still a little swollen from making out before, and for a moment Kyle wondered why they’d stopped, but then he remembered: So Craig could do his hair. And then put on a hat. Craig: the only kid in the world who would stop kissing to do his hair, and then cover up the hairdo.
Craig grinned and Kyle felt the corners of his mouth stretch under his tongue. “Awesome,” Craig gasped, following Kyle’s orders. “I hope to hell I can take your pants off this time.”
“Yeah.” Kyle wiggled his bottom up a little, and undid his pants, allowing Craig to slip to them down to the floor. “What about you?”
Craig continued smiling, and he pushed Kyle down on his bed while he removed his bottoms. Then he basically sat down on top of the smaller boy, and laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Kyle tried to thrust up, but Craig used his butt to keep Kyle’s groin down.
“It’s not funny, I’m happy. I have waited so long.”
“So?”
“Well, you read about people requiting their love, and you just don’t think it’ll happen to you.” Craig sniffed again and didn’t cry. He blinked. He bounced up and down a couple of times. “Do you like this?”
“I’d like it more,” Kyle growled, grabbing Craig’s shirt with both hands. “If I got off this century maybe.”
Laughing still, Craig grabbed Kyle’s legs and put them over his shoulders. He took the waistband of Kyle’s underwear in one hand and practically ripped them off, or at least you’d have expected to hear the sound of tearing fabric, but the underwear only got as far as Kyle’s knees before Craig leaned over and committed the act he committed second-best.
~
Having left his car at home before sloshing over to Craig’s, Kyle now had to slosh back to his house, and hopefully get in without his parents knowing where he’d been. Granted, they were likely to have figured out by now that their son often went off to commit acts of sodomy, but he was expected to keep these to weekends and holidays. And seeing that it was now dark out, and probably past dinner, his ability to complete his homework was indeed going to be severely compromised. So yes, he hoped they didn’t ask any questions.
Continued here.