productive, that's me
Kyle didn’t know how he managed to end up in these situations. First he and Kenny were hanging out after school one Friday night, eating pizza and watching extremely sad (sad pathetic, not sad melancholy) ABC primetime programming. Next they were discussing things they wanted to do before they died. (“Died like for serious,” Kenny had to clarify.) Next thing he knew, Kyle was sitting in a tattoo parlor in Denver, wondering if his mother was going to notice that her son had borrowed her Miata to drive himself and his slightly less-than-sober friend to their current location. Which was a hideously sketched-out tattoo parlor, Kyle noted. He clutched his cell phone so tightly in his hands that it was beginning to slip out of his sweaty grip.
“Dude,” Kenny said, trying to steal away the device. “Calm down. If she calls, just don’t pick up.”
“You don’t understand her,” Kyle rationalized. “If I pick up on the first ring, maybe she won’t be angry.”
“Seriously.” Kenny managed to grasp the phone from his friend’s clutches. “Aha! Gotcha!” He pocketed his prize.
“Kenny! Give that back!”
“Jesus, Kyle. Don’t you know how to deal with parents? Just pretend you didn’t know you were doing something wrong.”
“I want my phone back,” Kyle whimpered helplessly, reaching for it. “Come on, give it.”
“Don’t worry,” Kenny reassured him. “If it rings, I’ll tell you whose call you’re missing.” Kyle just moaned, and slumped back in his seat. “Oh, cheer up. You know what’ll make you feel better?”
“Getting my phone back so I can pick it up if my mom calls and apologize profusely?”
“No, sorry, wrong.” Kenny cleared his throat. “Help me figure out what tattoo to get.”
“You made me drive you here and you haven’t decided what you want yet?”
“I narrowed it down.” Kenny reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sheet of tattered yellow notebook paper. “I’ve got it down to three ideas.”
“What are they?” Kyle asked, leaning over to check out the paper.
“No peeking.” Kenny jerked the paper away from Kyle’s line of sight.
“You dick,” Kyle said casually.
“Yeah, well, let’s talk about dicks later. Idea one: Bebe.”
“You … want to get a tattoo of Bebe,” Kyle said drolly, unimpressed.
“No, not Bebe, the girl. Bebe the name.”
“Kenny,” Kyle said slowly. “That’s idiotic.”
“How is that idiotic, dude? We’re in love!”
“Yeah, well, it’s about the biggest cliché in the book! What happens when you break up?”
“Break up? You’re nuts.” Kenny crossed his arms. “This relationship is airtight.”
“Okay, fine.” Now Kyle crossed his arms. “Say your relationship will last forever, just like your tattoo. It’s still a lame-ass cliché, which is reason enough to avoid doing it.”
“Love isn’t cliché!”
Kyle sighed. “Fine, love isn’t cliché.”
“Thank you.”
“Next suggestion?”
“Skull and crossbones.” Kenny looked to Kyle, who shrugged, unimpressed. “But not like a pirate skull and crossbones. Like, a real skull and crossbones, with tally marks.”
“Tally marks for what?”
“Oh, that’s the genius part. I’m going to add a new one every time I die.”
“Every time you die,” Kyle said slowly. “How often do you expect me to drive you to Denver?”
“Twice yearly, maybe?” Kenny said without certainty.
“Besides, how do you even know how often you’ve died up until now?”
“That’s the beautiful thing. I’ve actually been keeping track since I was a kid.”
“Really.” Kyle sounded doubtful. “Since you were 2 or 3, you’ve been keeping track of your deaths.”
“Dying is a momentous occasion,” Kenny said, voice rigid and sober. “You’re damn right I’ve kept track of it. It’s traumatizing.”
Kyle sighed. “Just tell me your third idea.”
“Rampant lion.”
“Rampant lion?”
“Uh huh.”
“Why in the hell?”
“It’s like a Scottish thing.”
“Aren’t you Irish?” Kyle asked.
“I guess so,” Kenny responded.
“Well, then what the hell?”
“It’s just cool, okay? God.” Kenny heaved dramatically. “Don’t be such a little bitch about it.”
“Fine, okay.” He paused. “Oh boy.” He sighed. “I wish I could get a tattoo.”
“So? You’re at a tattoo parlor. Why don’t you get one?”
Kyle’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you fucking nuts? There are so many things wrong with that.” As Kyle enumerated the things wrong, he counted them off on his fingers. “One, there was this thing called the Holocaust, during which Jews had numbers tattooed on them because they were treated like inhuman cattle.”
“ ‘Inhuman cattle’ is redundant, Kyle.”
“So it’s a taboo, kind of, if you get me. Two, it’s expensive, it’s permanent, and I really haven’t thought about it so getting one right this second just to be impulsive would be stupid. And three - three is the important one - my mother would fucking kill me.”
“I have never met a 17-year-old boy in my life more afraid of his mother than you,” Kenny scoffed. “Grow the fuck up, man.”
“You don’t get it!”
“I get it. I get it perfectly. Your mom’s a cunt. She screams. Whatever, it happens. If you start doing what you want she’ll eventually get used to it.”
“I do plenty of what I want,” Kyle said defensively.
“I think you mean you do plenty of who you want,” Kenny corrected, blatantly referring to Kyle’s boyfriend.
“Yeah,” Kyle agreed. “And I’m damn lucky she lets me get away with that. So shut the fuck up about me getting a tattoo, because it’s not happening.”
Seemingly satisfied, Kenny shut up, and leaned back in his plastic chair, feet scraping against the linoleum floor. There followed a few minutes of silence, during which Kenny hummed to himself, holding the sheet of tattoo ideas in his hands, sweat turning the notebook paper gray. Kyle cross his arms and sulked, turning toward Kenny every 15 seconds in desperate hope that the blond kid might return his phone, or change his mind, or something.
“Get a piercing,” Kenny said suddenly, breaking the silence.
“Excuse me?” Kyle gaped.
“Well, you obviously don’t want a tattoo…”
“You’re damn right I don’t want a tattoo,” Kyle sighed wistfully.
“…but you obviously want something.”
“No, I don’t,” Kyle lied.
“Yes. Yes you do. You want to do something to take control of your life? Make a decision for once? Get a piercing, Kyle. You know you want one.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow - he was gifted with this ability. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “And what kind of piercing do I want?”
“Something hot,” Kenny said emphatically. “Something that draws attention to your good features.” He studied his friend’s face carefully. “You have cute lips,” he concluded. “They’re nice and pouty.”
“Thanks,” Kyle said drolly, raising another eyebrow.
“Well, I think you should get a lip piercing. You’d look awesome in snake bites.”
“My mother would never let me do that,” Kyle said calmly. “Besides, I never said I wanted anything.”
“Suit yourself,” Kenny sniffed.
They turned away from one another, but after another minute or two of tense silence, Kyle spoke. “I suppose…” he began.
“Yes?” Kenny asked, leaning into Kyle.
“I suppose if I got something she couldn’t see…” He trailed off. “Never mind.”
“Oh, no,” Kenny said warningly. “I like where this is going.”
“I have to face it,” Kyle decided. “I can never do anything to myself. Ever.”
“Okay,” Kenny said sadly. “You win.” He slipped Kyle’s phone out of his pocket and tossed it into Kyle’s lap.
“Why’d you give that back?”
“Look, Kyle. Do whatever. It’s your phone, it’s your body. Just stop being such a stupid little whiny baby all the time, okay?”
“Oh, I’m a whiny baby now?”
“A little.”
“Dude,” was all Kyle could muster. “All right, fine.”
“Fine what, you’re going to call your mommy?”
“Fine, no.” Kyle stood up and brushed some imaginary dust off of his pants. Kenny’s eyes trailed him as he stomped through the waiting area to the counter, where he spoke to the young woman with bleached dreadlocks who was sitting there, flipping through a magazine. “I’d like one piercing, please,” he said to her, grinning stupidly.
~
After all was said and done, Kyle and Kenny left Denver a few hours later and several hundred dollars poorer. In return, Kenny was departing in the driver’s seat with his girlfriend’s name seared into the skin right above his ass. Kyle, on the other hand, had reluctantly handed over the car keys so he could sit in the passenger seat with his legs spread out as far as they could go.
“Why did I do this, dude?” he asked.
“ ‘Cause you’re a freaking rebel,” Kenny guess. “And ‘cause it’s hot.”
“Hot? I have a fucking steel ring jammed in my penis, dude!”
“Relax, man,” Kenny said coolly. He began to fiddle with some buttons on the stereo. “This car has the worst radio stations.”
“Don’t touch them!” Kyle warned. “That’s what my mom listens to!”
“Your mom has horrible taste. I mean, light jazz?” Kenny began to twist some more knobs. “Does this turn on the AC?”
“Don’t turn on the AC! It’s fucking January!”
“Chill out, Kyle, Jesus.” With one hand on the steering wheel, Kenny reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small flask. “Here.”
“What’s this?” Kyle began to unscrew the top.
“Scotch, dude. Lifted it off my dad.”
Kyle took a strong whiff and recoiled in repulsion. “Jesus Christ. He drinks that? This shit could strip enamel off your teeth!”
“Just quit being a baby already,” Kenny repeated. “It’s like an hour drive back home. Just sit back and relax.”
“I should be okay as long I don’t make any sudden movements.” Kyle took a drink, wiped his mouth, and winced. “That is so nasty.” He took another sip.
“How long does that thing take to heal?”
“They said like six weeks.”
“Six weeks.” Kenny began to experimentally flick the brights on an off. “Six weeks with no sex. You’re a braver man than I, Kyle Broflovski. I salute you.”
“What are you talking about?” Kyle slipped lower into the seat. “I’m not going six weeks without sex.”
“Well, I highly doubt you should be letting Stan put that thing in his mouth while it’s still healing,” Kenny theorized.
Kyle’s eyes went wide. “Oh, shit!” he exclaimed, jolting upright. Then he cried, “Oh, fuck!” and clasped a hand to his groin.
“Does it really hurt that much? Here, drink some more.” Kenny reached over to tap on his flask, which was now sitting in between Kyle’s spread legs.
“Who cares if it hurts?” Kyle shrieked. “People are going to see this thing!”
“No they’re not. It’s in your pants. I thought that was the point, that nobody sees what’s in your pants, so your mom won’t…” Kenny trailed off, and gave Kyle a quick glance, only to find that the other boy was holding the open flask up to his mouth, which was hanging open in utter disbelief. “Ohhhhh,” Kenny drawled in recognition. “Oh yeah. There is that one guy who sees you with your pants off.” Kenny tipped his head to Kyle to try to get a response, but nothing came out. Kyle wasn’t even blinking. “Eh, whatever.” Kenny shrugged. “It’s Stan, dude. He’ll be fine.” Kenny took this opportunity to adjust the intensity of the windshield wipers, despite the fact that it wasn’t snowing. “This is such a nice car,” he concluded. “When I hit it big I’m getting me a Miata.”
Kyle just groaned and recapped the flask, handing it back to Kenny. He the proceeded to cover his crotch ever-so-conspicuously with his hands and curl his legs up under him, fingers crushed by denim-clad thighs. He let out a groan, and Kenny could only laugh at this.
The rest of the ride was endured in silence.
~
Kyle took pains on Saturday to avoid signing online all day. He sat down at his desk, though, with a pad of ugly gingham stationery that some distant relation had given him for his bar mitzvah. It was old, but it did the trick. Under the header From the desk of Kyle Broflovski in a hideous block font, in heavy navy blue letters, Kyle began to scratch out his veritable suicide note in his pristine, loopy cursive.
Dear Stan, he began, because it’s best to begin at the beginning.
Direct is best, so … I want you to know I got my dick pierced.
Kyle looked at these words. “Dick” was so inelegant, so … yeah. No. He tore this sheet off. Trying again.
Stan,
I know how you feel about making major life decisions without consulting each other. Which is why I have to apologize. See, last night I was out with Kenny, and he’d been drinking a little, and…
No, if he sent Stan that, Stan would think he’d been cheated on. With Kenny. Not good. Attempt No. 3.
Hey Stan,
You know how you’re always saying we should have more adventures? Well, now we’re on an adventure that begins with a ‘P’ and ends with a ‘rince Albert.’
Kyle reread that last sentence. He felt so, so stupid. Well, this was what he got for hanging out with Kenny - this genital piercing. It wasn’t so much that he thought Stan would mind it, he just … well, Stan was so … touchy about things. He liked things in their relationship so neat and ordered, so reliable. He got so nervous, it made Kyle nervous in return. He never got angry at Kyle. He just got shifty.
He looked around his room needlessly, like there were spies or something, spies everywhere. But yeah, obviously Stan didn’t have any spies; Stan would just climb up to Kyle’s window if he wanted to know what was going on.
The window, Kyle realized in a flash. He hopped up from his desk and pulled the curtains closed. He looked at them for a moment before grabbing a safety pin from his desk drawer and securing them, unnecessarily so.
....
Kyle avoids Stan all weekend.
Monday, Kyle picks Stan up, Stan tries to give him road head, Kyle says tomorrow.
Stan gets Kyle on Tuesday, gives Stan road head.
Wednesday Kyle brings Ike in the car.
....
etc etc
...........
“Kyle,” Kenny said very gently. “Stan is one of the kindest, most open-minded guys I have ever met in my life. And besides, he adores you. I really don’t think he’d dump you over something like a piercing.”
“Oh, I know he won’t dump me.” Kyle gave a very tense little laugh. “At least, not right away. He’ll just be secretly disgusted, because he’s not into piercings, and then he’ll be upset that I made a decision like this without consulting him. He’ll tell me it’s okay, but he’ll start becoming colder and more emotionally distant, and then he’ll say he wants an open relationship, because he stills loves me but he can’t bear to look at me anymore with that thing in me. Then he’ll start sleeping with everyone he can find who doesn’t have a PA, and I’ll be so distraught I’ll dump him. He’ll be a little upset about it, but basically he’ll move on and I’ll be stuck having to explain to my parents what happened.” After finishing this thought, Kyle heaved a great sigh, and put his head in his hands.
“Dude,” Kenny said. “What are you on?”
“Me? I’m not on anything.”
“Kyle, I know I’m not, like, butt-buddies with Stan or anything, but I’ve known him as long as you have, and this whole idea of yours is just fucking insane. For one thing, he’d never go for an open relationship.”
Kyle sat up and scowled. “Oh, you think so, do you?”
“I really do.”
“Well, that’s great. Allow me to inform you that when we started going out, he begged me to have an open relationship, and I in no uncertain terms told him no fucking way.”
“Dude.” Kenny covered his mouth with his hand. “Stan is majorly more bad-ass than I’ve been giving him credit for.”
“He’s really into all this free love and open sexuality shit,” Kyle explained.
“So why do you think he wouldn’t be into the cock ring?”
“He’s too vanilla. I mean, so am I, but … yeah. I mean, he might like to be with tons of people, but he wouldn’t do freaky things with any of them. Just thrust and snooze, that’s Stan’s thing.” Kyle looked at Kenny’s face, and groaned. “Please forget all of this.”
“Not sure I’ll be able to,” Kenny sighed. “Anyway, I think it’ll all work out.”
“Work out how? Might I remind you that I haven’t done it in, like, a week?”
“Oh, poor baby. Try dating a girl, then you’ll have that lovely break once a month.”
“How do you manage?”
“How do I manage? Dude. I jack it.” Kenny stood up, stretched, and yawned. “Well, Kyle, this has sure been enlightening. Let me know when you’re back on the market so I can hook you up with my dealer. I hear he’s looking.”
“Looking?” Kyle asked. “Dealer?”
“See you tomorrow!” Kenny cheered.
~
After dinner, there was a knocking at the front door. Hoping it wasn’t Kenny’s dealer - or worse yet, Kenny, back for more taunting attempts to solve his problem, Kyle listened from the top of the stairs, clutching the railing.
“Oh, hello, Stanley,” he heard his mom say warmly. “Yes, I think he’s here … he should be up in his room…”
Oh, fuck.
Not sure what else to do, Kyle crept back into his room and hopped under the covers, pulling them up over his head. He was trying not to breathe, but it was harder than it seemed. The lights flipped on, and he heard Stan say, “I know you’re in here, Kyle.”
Sheepishly, the lowered the blanket. “Uh, how did you know that?”
“Your mom said.” Stan sat down on the bed, folding his hands into his lap. “Plus, come on. Hiding under the covers? Who are you?”
“Kyle Broflovski,” Kyle answered stupidly. He sat up but made sure to leave his crotch well-covered.
“
“Dude,” Kenny said, trying to steal away the device. “Calm down. If she calls, just don’t pick up.”
“You don’t understand her,” Kyle rationalized. “If I pick up on the first ring, maybe she won’t be angry.”
“Seriously.” Kenny managed to grasp the phone from his friend’s clutches. “Aha! Gotcha!” He pocketed his prize.
“Kenny! Give that back!”
“Jesus, Kyle. Don’t you know how to deal with parents? Just pretend you didn’t know you were doing something wrong.”
“I want my phone back,” Kyle whimpered helplessly, reaching for it. “Come on, give it.”
“Don’t worry,” Kenny reassured him. “If it rings, I’ll tell you whose call you’re missing.” Kyle just moaned, and slumped back in his seat. “Oh, cheer up. You know what’ll make you feel better?”
“Getting my phone back so I can pick it up if my mom calls and apologize profusely?”
“No, sorry, wrong.” Kenny cleared his throat. “Help me figure out what tattoo to get.”
“You made me drive you here and you haven’t decided what you want yet?”
“I narrowed it down.” Kenny reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sheet of tattered yellow notebook paper. “I’ve got it down to three ideas.”
“What are they?” Kyle asked, leaning over to check out the paper.
“No peeking.” Kenny jerked the paper away from Kyle’s line of sight.
“You dick,” Kyle said casually.
“Yeah, well, let’s talk about dicks later. Idea one: Bebe.”
“You … want to get a tattoo of Bebe,” Kyle said drolly, unimpressed.
“No, not Bebe, the girl. Bebe the name.”
“Kenny,” Kyle said slowly. “That’s idiotic.”
“How is that idiotic, dude? We’re in love!”
“Yeah, well, it’s about the biggest cliché in the book! What happens when you break up?”
“Break up? You’re nuts.” Kenny crossed his arms. “This relationship is airtight.”
“Okay, fine.” Now Kyle crossed his arms. “Say your relationship will last forever, just like your tattoo. It’s still a lame-ass cliché, which is reason enough to avoid doing it.”
“Love isn’t cliché!”
Kyle sighed. “Fine, love isn’t cliché.”
“Thank you.”
“Next suggestion?”
“Skull and crossbones.” Kenny looked to Kyle, who shrugged, unimpressed. “But not like a pirate skull and crossbones. Like, a real skull and crossbones, with tally marks.”
“Tally marks for what?”
“Oh, that’s the genius part. I’m going to add a new one every time I die.”
“Every time you die,” Kyle said slowly. “How often do you expect me to drive you to Denver?”
“Twice yearly, maybe?” Kenny said without certainty.
“Besides, how do you even know how often you’ve died up until now?”
“That’s the beautiful thing. I’ve actually been keeping track since I was a kid.”
“Really.” Kyle sounded doubtful. “Since you were 2 or 3, you’ve been keeping track of your deaths.”
“Dying is a momentous occasion,” Kenny said, voice rigid and sober. “You’re damn right I’ve kept track of it. It’s traumatizing.”
Kyle sighed. “Just tell me your third idea.”
“Rampant lion.”
“Rampant lion?”
“Uh huh.”
“Why in the hell?”
“It’s like a Scottish thing.”
“Aren’t you Irish?” Kyle asked.
“I guess so,” Kenny responded.
“Well, then what the hell?”
“It’s just cool, okay? God.” Kenny heaved dramatically. “Don’t be such a little bitch about it.”
“Fine, okay.” He paused. “Oh boy.” He sighed. “I wish I could get a tattoo.”
“So? You’re at a tattoo parlor. Why don’t you get one?”
Kyle’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you fucking nuts? There are so many things wrong with that.” As Kyle enumerated the things wrong, he counted them off on his fingers. “One, there was this thing called the Holocaust, during which Jews had numbers tattooed on them because they were treated like inhuman cattle.”
“ ‘Inhuman cattle’ is redundant, Kyle.”
“So it’s a taboo, kind of, if you get me. Two, it’s expensive, it’s permanent, and I really haven’t thought about it so getting one right this second just to be impulsive would be stupid. And three - three is the important one - my mother would fucking kill me.”
“I have never met a 17-year-old boy in my life more afraid of his mother than you,” Kenny scoffed. “Grow the fuck up, man.”
“You don’t get it!”
“I get it. I get it perfectly. Your mom’s a cunt. She screams. Whatever, it happens. If you start doing what you want she’ll eventually get used to it.”
“I do plenty of what I want,” Kyle said defensively.
“I think you mean you do plenty of who you want,” Kenny corrected, blatantly referring to Kyle’s boyfriend.
“Yeah,” Kyle agreed. “And I’m damn lucky she lets me get away with that. So shut the fuck up about me getting a tattoo, because it’s not happening.”
Seemingly satisfied, Kenny shut up, and leaned back in his plastic chair, feet scraping against the linoleum floor. There followed a few minutes of silence, during which Kenny hummed to himself, holding the sheet of tattoo ideas in his hands, sweat turning the notebook paper gray. Kyle cross his arms and sulked, turning toward Kenny every 15 seconds in desperate hope that the blond kid might return his phone, or change his mind, or something.
“Get a piercing,” Kenny said suddenly, breaking the silence.
“Excuse me?” Kyle gaped.
“Well, you obviously don’t want a tattoo…”
“You’re damn right I don’t want a tattoo,” Kyle sighed wistfully.
“…but you obviously want something.”
“No, I don’t,” Kyle lied.
“Yes. Yes you do. You want to do something to take control of your life? Make a decision for once? Get a piercing, Kyle. You know you want one.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow - he was gifted with this ability. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “And what kind of piercing do I want?”
“Something hot,” Kenny said emphatically. “Something that draws attention to your good features.” He studied his friend’s face carefully. “You have cute lips,” he concluded. “They’re nice and pouty.”
“Thanks,” Kyle said drolly, raising another eyebrow.
“Well, I think you should get a lip piercing. You’d look awesome in snake bites.”
“My mother would never let me do that,” Kyle said calmly. “Besides, I never said I wanted anything.”
“Suit yourself,” Kenny sniffed.
They turned away from one another, but after another minute or two of tense silence, Kyle spoke. “I suppose…” he began.
“Yes?” Kenny asked, leaning into Kyle.
“I suppose if I got something she couldn’t see…” He trailed off. “Never mind.”
“Oh, no,” Kenny said warningly. “I like where this is going.”
“I have to face it,” Kyle decided. “I can never do anything to myself. Ever.”
“Okay,” Kenny said sadly. “You win.” He slipped Kyle’s phone out of his pocket and tossed it into Kyle’s lap.
“Why’d you give that back?”
“Look, Kyle. Do whatever. It’s your phone, it’s your body. Just stop being such a stupid little whiny baby all the time, okay?”
“Oh, I’m a whiny baby now?”
“A little.”
“Dude,” was all Kyle could muster. “All right, fine.”
“Fine what, you’re going to call your mommy?”
“Fine, no.” Kyle stood up and brushed some imaginary dust off of his pants. Kenny’s eyes trailed him as he stomped through the waiting area to the counter, where he spoke to the young woman with bleached dreadlocks who was sitting there, flipping through a magazine. “I’d like one piercing, please,” he said to her, grinning stupidly.
~
After all was said and done, Kyle and Kenny left Denver a few hours later and several hundred dollars poorer. In return, Kenny was departing in the driver’s seat with his girlfriend’s name seared into the skin right above his ass. Kyle, on the other hand, had reluctantly handed over the car keys so he could sit in the passenger seat with his legs spread out as far as they could go.
“Why did I do this, dude?” he asked.
“ ‘Cause you’re a freaking rebel,” Kenny guess. “And ‘cause it’s hot.”
“Hot? I have a fucking steel ring jammed in my penis, dude!”
“Relax, man,” Kenny said coolly. He began to fiddle with some buttons on the stereo. “This car has the worst radio stations.”
“Don’t touch them!” Kyle warned. “That’s what my mom listens to!”
“Your mom has horrible taste. I mean, light jazz?” Kenny began to twist some more knobs. “Does this turn on the AC?”
“Don’t turn on the AC! It’s fucking January!”
“Chill out, Kyle, Jesus.” With one hand on the steering wheel, Kenny reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small flask. “Here.”
“What’s this?” Kyle began to unscrew the top.
“Scotch, dude. Lifted it off my dad.”
Kyle took a strong whiff and recoiled in repulsion. “Jesus Christ. He drinks that? This shit could strip enamel off your teeth!”
“Just quit being a baby already,” Kenny repeated. “It’s like an hour drive back home. Just sit back and relax.”
“I should be okay as long I don’t make any sudden movements.” Kyle took a drink, wiped his mouth, and winced. “That is so nasty.” He took another sip.
“How long does that thing take to heal?”
“They said like six weeks.”
“Six weeks.” Kenny began to experimentally flick the brights on an off. “Six weeks with no sex. You’re a braver man than I, Kyle Broflovski. I salute you.”
“What are you talking about?” Kyle slipped lower into the seat. “I’m not going six weeks without sex.”
“Well, I highly doubt you should be letting Stan put that thing in his mouth while it’s still healing,” Kenny theorized.
Kyle’s eyes went wide. “Oh, shit!” he exclaimed, jolting upright. Then he cried, “Oh, fuck!” and clasped a hand to his groin.
“Does it really hurt that much? Here, drink some more.” Kenny reached over to tap on his flask, which was now sitting in between Kyle’s spread legs.
“Who cares if it hurts?” Kyle shrieked. “People are going to see this thing!”
“No they’re not. It’s in your pants. I thought that was the point, that nobody sees what’s in your pants, so your mom won’t…” Kenny trailed off, and gave Kyle a quick glance, only to find that the other boy was holding the open flask up to his mouth, which was hanging open in utter disbelief. “Ohhhhh,” Kenny drawled in recognition. “Oh yeah. There is that one guy who sees you with your pants off.” Kenny tipped his head to Kyle to try to get a response, but nothing came out. Kyle wasn’t even blinking. “Eh, whatever.” Kenny shrugged. “It’s Stan, dude. He’ll be fine.” Kenny took this opportunity to adjust the intensity of the windshield wipers, despite the fact that it wasn’t snowing. “This is such a nice car,” he concluded. “When I hit it big I’m getting me a Miata.”
Kyle just groaned and recapped the flask, handing it back to Kenny. He the proceeded to cover his crotch ever-so-conspicuously with his hands and curl his legs up under him, fingers crushed by denim-clad thighs. He let out a groan, and Kenny could only laugh at this.
The rest of the ride was endured in silence.
~
Kyle took pains on Saturday to avoid signing online all day. He sat down at his desk, though, with a pad of ugly gingham stationery that some distant relation had given him for his bar mitzvah. It was old, but it did the trick. Under the header From the desk of Kyle Broflovski in a hideous block font, in heavy navy blue letters, Kyle began to scratch out his veritable suicide note in his pristine, loopy cursive.
Dear Stan, he began, because it’s best to begin at the beginning.
Direct is best, so … I want you to know I got my dick pierced.
Kyle looked at these words. “Dick” was so inelegant, so … yeah. No. He tore this sheet off. Trying again.
Stan,
I know how you feel about making major life decisions without consulting each other. Which is why I have to apologize. See, last night I was out with Kenny, and he’d been drinking a little, and…
No, if he sent Stan that, Stan would think he’d been cheated on. With Kenny. Not good. Attempt No. 3.
Hey Stan,
You know how you’re always saying we should have more adventures? Well, now we’re on an adventure that begins with a ‘P’ and ends with a ‘rince Albert.’
Kyle reread that last sentence. He felt so, so stupid. Well, this was what he got for hanging out with Kenny - this genital piercing. It wasn’t so much that he thought Stan would mind it, he just … well, Stan was so … touchy about things. He liked things in their relationship so neat and ordered, so reliable. He got so nervous, it made Kyle nervous in return. He never got angry at Kyle. He just got shifty.
He looked around his room needlessly, like there were spies or something, spies everywhere. But yeah, obviously Stan didn’t have any spies; Stan would just climb up to Kyle’s window if he wanted to know what was going on.
The window, Kyle realized in a flash. He hopped up from his desk and pulled the curtains closed. He looked at them for a moment before grabbing a safety pin from his desk drawer and securing them, unnecessarily so.
....
Kyle avoids Stan all weekend.
Monday, Kyle picks Stan up, Stan tries to give him road head, Kyle says tomorrow.
Stan gets Kyle on Tuesday, gives Stan road head.
Wednesday Kyle brings Ike in the car.
....
etc etc
...........
“Kyle,” Kenny said very gently. “Stan is one of the kindest, most open-minded guys I have ever met in my life. And besides, he adores you. I really don’t think he’d dump you over something like a piercing.”
“Oh, I know he won’t dump me.” Kyle gave a very tense little laugh. “At least, not right away. He’ll just be secretly disgusted, because he’s not into piercings, and then he’ll be upset that I made a decision like this without consulting him. He’ll tell me it’s okay, but he’ll start becoming colder and more emotionally distant, and then he’ll say he wants an open relationship, because he stills loves me but he can’t bear to look at me anymore with that thing in me. Then he’ll start sleeping with everyone he can find who doesn’t have a PA, and I’ll be so distraught I’ll dump him. He’ll be a little upset about it, but basically he’ll move on and I’ll be stuck having to explain to my parents what happened.” After finishing this thought, Kyle heaved a great sigh, and put his head in his hands.
“Dude,” Kenny said. “What are you on?”
“Me? I’m not on anything.”
“Kyle, I know I’m not, like, butt-buddies with Stan or anything, but I’ve known him as long as you have, and this whole idea of yours is just fucking insane. For one thing, he’d never go for an open relationship.”
Kyle sat up and scowled. “Oh, you think so, do you?”
“I really do.”
“Well, that’s great. Allow me to inform you that when we started going out, he begged me to have an open relationship, and I in no uncertain terms told him no fucking way.”
“Dude.” Kenny covered his mouth with his hand. “Stan is majorly more bad-ass than I’ve been giving him credit for.”
“He’s really into all this free love and open sexuality shit,” Kyle explained.
“So why do you think he wouldn’t be into the cock ring?”
“He’s too vanilla. I mean, so am I, but … yeah. I mean, he might like to be with tons of people, but he wouldn’t do freaky things with any of them. Just thrust and snooze, that’s Stan’s thing.” Kyle looked at Kenny’s face, and groaned. “Please forget all of this.”
“Not sure I’ll be able to,” Kenny sighed. “Anyway, I think it’ll all work out.”
“Work out how? Might I remind you that I haven’t done it in, like, a week?”
“Oh, poor baby. Try dating a girl, then you’ll have that lovely break once a month.”
“How do you manage?”
“How do I manage? Dude. I jack it.” Kenny stood up, stretched, and yawned. “Well, Kyle, this has sure been enlightening. Let me know when you’re back on the market so I can hook you up with my dealer. I hear he’s looking.”
“Looking?” Kyle asked. “Dealer?”
“See you tomorrow!” Kenny cheered.
~
After dinner, there was a knocking at the front door. Hoping it wasn’t Kenny’s dealer - or worse yet, Kenny, back for more taunting attempts to solve his problem, Kyle listened from the top of the stairs, clutching the railing.
“Oh, hello, Stanley,” he heard his mom say warmly. “Yes, I think he’s here … he should be up in his room…”
Oh, fuck.
Not sure what else to do, Kyle crept back into his room and hopped under the covers, pulling them up over his head. He was trying not to breathe, but it was harder than it seemed. The lights flipped on, and he heard Stan say, “I know you’re in here, Kyle.”
Sheepishly, the lowered the blanket. “Uh, how did you know that?”
“Your mom said.” Stan sat down on the bed, folding his hands into his lap. “Plus, come on. Hiding under the covers? Who are you?”
“Kyle Broflovski,” Kyle answered stupidly. He sat up but made sure to leave his crotch well-covered.
“