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The Ties that Bind	By : Spacefille Category: +S through Z > South Park > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4383 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
Some Kyle/Stan crept into this fic. I didn’t expect that.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 3
Tenderness

Kyle’s point of view

-

The first time I ever had sex I was 13. Yeah, it may seem a little young, but Stan got laid at 11, so I was a bit behind the times. But hey, I beat Cartman… that’s good right?
I had sex with Riley… a 12th grade boy. I never told anyone… except Stan… and it wasn't until all the crap happened to me in December of grade 9 that I told him that Riley and I had 'done it'.
For a while Stan thought the first time I ever ‘had sex’ was when three boys jumped me at the beginning of grade 9. In actuality my first time was a lot more pleasant.

-

Riley used to sit on the edge of the school field during lunch, usually reading a book. He sat with a bunch of other 12th graders who seemed to like to play card games … he didn’t participate. I think he just sat there so that he didn’t stick out too much as a freak with no friends. Sometimes he would pause in his reading to tuck a lock of shoulder length black hair behind his ear. Other times he would look up and glance around the school field, almost as if to make sure it was still there, then go back to reading his book.
During the first couple weeks of grade 8, when it was still warm enough to go outside during lunch, a bunch of us used to play tag football. That about the time I made the mistake of telling Cartman that he was too fat to play football on the school team. You know, the mistake that ended up causing Cartman to actually start exercising which ended up leading to him joining the football team in grade 9? Yeah. In retrospect, I should have kept my mouth shut and let Cartman continue to lead his existence as a fat annoying bastard, instead of a fat annoying STRONG bastard.
Oh well.
Beginning of grade 8… that was also the time that I noticed Riley looking at me.
He wasn’t doing it in a mean way, or a threatening way or anything. I would just occasionally glance over to where he sat after someone tackled me, or I made a touch down or whatever and see him looking back at me with an introspective look on his face. Whenever our eyes met he would instantly bury his head back into his book.
When October came around and we all started having lunch inside the school because of the cold, I didn’t see him for the longest time. It wasn’t until half way through November that I bumped into him in the library. I had just finished studying for an important test the next day… I could see by the science text books laid out in front of him that he was studying for a test as well.
Our eyes met briefly over the pile of books. He smiled at me. I smiled back and ducked my head, intent on continuing on towards the library doors without being noticed too much.
He called me back. “Hey… kid.” He said.
I stopped and trekked back to where he sat. “Yeah?” I replied, curious to know what he wanted.
He smiled at me, and closed the text book he was currently holding. The way he smiled… it was nice. Like he actually cared. “What’s your name?” He asked.
“Kyle.” I replied.
“What grade are you in Kyle?” He asked.
I hopped into a chair next to his. “Eight.” I said.
He raised an eyebrow at that. “Eight? Wow.” He shook his head slightly. “You’re younger than I thought!”
“I’m almost 14!” I defended myself. “How old are you?”
He smiled again, and it was then that I noticed how brilliant and blue his eyes were from beneath his mop of long black hair. “17.” He replied.
“Oh.” I fiddled with my cap, which I had been about to put on before he called me over. It was only a four year age difference… but when you’re in high school, four years is a lot. Riley was old.
He held his hand out to me suddenly. “My name’s Riley.” He said.
I took his hand. He held on to it just a tiny bit longer than I expected him too. It made me feel funny, him touching my hand like that.
By feeling funny, I mean I felt an odd fluttering in my tummy. It was accompanied by the feeling that I was floating, that I was on the verge of something indescribable.
I took my hand back from his, blushing.
He was looking at me again, with the same introspective look he had given me back in September. I blushed again and shifted uneasily in my chair. “Um, well, I should probably be getting back…” I made a motion to leave.
He reached out again, almost as if he didn’t hear me. I sat absolutely still and a little bit shocked, as he reached out and tweaked a tightly coiled lock of my hair. “You’re very pretty,” He said suddenly.
Any other circumstance I would have ran away from that situation as fast as I could. But there was something about Riley… something that wasn’t threatening. Like he was merely making an observation, not saying I was pretty to humiliate me, or embarrass me or anything like that.
I licked suddenly dry lips and choked out a “thanks”. Besides that I didn’t move. I just sat there on the chair with some 12th grader I had just met tangling his fingers in my hair and observing me like I was some fascinating artifact or something.
Then, in a singularly anti-climatic fashion, he let go of my hair. He sat back in his chair and gave me another kind smile. “It was nice to meet you Kyle.” He said.
“Uh. Yeah. You too.” With that I took off out of the library as fast as I could go without making it look like I was running away from him.
I must have jerked off 15 times that night. Even though I knew that I would never be able to look Riley in the eyes again, I couldn’t help myself. God damned hormones.

-

He was in the library a lot in the couple weeks that followed. I kept on peeking over the top of my text book to see if he was still in the spot he usually sat. He was, but frustratingly enough, he never looked at me again. Just kept on studying like nothing was wrong, like he had never even introduced himself to me. I was so frustrated and so completely unable to study that I finally gave up.
Then, randomly, one day after trying and failing to study I ran into him when walking back from the corner store. I had intended to go back inside and call my mom to come get me when I saw his familiar figure coming towards me on the sidewalk.
I froze. Honest to god, I lost the ability to use the muscles in my legs for a short time.
He looked up when he was nearly in front of me. And smiled. “Hello Kyle.” He said, stopping. “Are you heading home now?”
I stared at him. My mouth opened. Not a sound came out. All I could focus on was how he towered over me. And how incredibly hot he looked. And…
His smile faltered slightly. The look on his face turned to one of mild concern. “Are you all right?” He asked.
I still stood there speechless. God, he was going to think I was retarded or something…
He leaned down so that his face was closer to mine and grasped my upper arm gently. “Kyle?” He questioned.
I don’t know why I did it, but later I was very glad I did. I leaned up and kissed him on the mouth. At about the same time my legs unstuck.
I ran like hell.
He caught up to me before I could even made it past where the short stop would have been if the school field wasn’t covered in snow. Caught me and spun me around, tried to get me to look at him. I fought him like my life depended on it, because as far as I knew it did. I had just kissed a 17 year old boy who had a good foot of height on me. He was going to kill me.
I said as much. “Don’t kill me!” I shouted at him, flailing at him with my fists. “Don’t! Ahh!”
“Kyle!” He fought to catch my wrists before my fists could connect. “Hey, stop it…”
We went down then, rolling about in the snow for a bit before he managed to subdue me. By subdue me, I mean pinning me beneath him and bringing my face around to look him in the eye.
“I’m not going to hurt you kid.” He actually looked somewhat hurt.
I huffed and panted for breath. “Y- you’re not?” I managed.
“No.” He sat up, then stood, taking me with him. Once standing he brushed some of snow off of my jacket.
I was still staring at him. “Dude.” I said, a bit awestruck. “I kissed you.”
He grinned. “Yes… you did.” He replied. There was laughter in his voice. “May I kiss you back?” He asked, giving me a very solemn look now.
My knees nearly gave out at that. “Oh. O-okay.” I managed.
He leaned down and kissed me on the lips. I very quickly became aware of wet. And heat. And ohmygod it felt so good…

-

A couple weeks went by. I met him on the school field nearly everyday after class where we’d go to a small grove of trees and when we were certain no one was looking, proceed to make out.
There was almost a sense of urgency to what we were doing… he told me his parents were moving soon and he was going to go with them. I might not have the opportunity to do this again… especially in a tiny red neck town like South Park.

We had sex a couple days before Riley had to move to Denver. His parents were out of town that night, working out the last details on the house. Riley offered to drive me home from school that day in the car he borrowed for the week from his mom… but instead of going to my house we went to his instead.
I felt the thrill of doing something horribly wrong when he drove the entire way to his house from the school with his hand in my lap. He had felt me up before of course, but now, sitting in the passenger seat of his parent’s car, it felt naughty. He parked out side of his house and turned off the car, then returned his hand to my crotch. He watched me with his intense blue eyes as he rubbed the front of my jeans. I tried to suppress a moan, and let my head fall back against the seat. Oh god, if he kept it up, I was going to come in my pants.
Then he did the most incredible thing ever. He unbuckled and leaned over me. A few deft movements later he had my pants unzipped and my penis in his mouth.
I came in less than a minute, flushed, with eyes desperately trained on the street hoping that no one would walk by and see a 8th grade boy getting a blow job from a 12th grade boy. I really didn’t want to have to explain that one to some cops, seeing as I wasn’t even 14 yet. Yes, I wanted him to touch me and do everything he was doing to me, but I knew enough to know that he would be in major shit if he was discovered. I didn’t want him to get into trouble either… he was a really nice child molester/boyfriend, not to mention that he was doing the most amazing things to my body…
He invited me into the house, and we went to his room. Most of his stuff was already packed in boxes, but apparently he kept some, uh, supplies available. My mom was phoned and told I was staying over at a friends’ house, and then we proceeded to have sex no less than five times in a row. He was very considerate, he never pushed me, but I wanted to know and learn and discover. We hardly talked either, just fooled around until we were too exhausted to have sex any longer, then kept on finding new ways to have sex anyway. And when he fucked me, he made sure I was well prepared ahead of time… it barely hurt at all and ended up being far more pleasurable than I could have imagined.
Looking back on the entire thing, I’m very glad my first time wasn’t face down in the dirt barely able to breath and quite certain that I was going to die. … Or with Eric Cartman. Fuck.
I miss him.
I was crushed, though I tried not to show it, when he left. He didn’t keep in touch… there was nothing, really, we shared in common anyway. We didn’t even chat over the Internet… it wasn’t really his thing. But I was grateful I had met him anyway.

-

In September of grade 9 I was jumped. It was and it wasn’t expected… I knew the rumors had been going around the school since the end of spring semester that I was gay. I knew that inevitably someone would try to kick my ass because of it.
They jumped me as I was walking back from the corner store with a slushie in hand. (I will now never go get a slushie after classes again. Ever.) I knew I was in trouble the moment that they stepped between me and the school and wouldn’t let me pass. I tried to reason with them. I even told them my mom was coming to get me soon. Anything I said they laughed off as they surrounded me, jeering.
Most of their insults were of the calling me a little Jewish whore who liked to take it up the ass variety. Yada yada blah blah blah, I’d heard the anti-Semitic comments a million times before from Cartman. And the anti-gay comments I got enough of in the locker room during the last half a year that they didn’t faze me much either.
What did get me was the fact that there were three of them, and two of them were considerably bigger than I. One I could take in a fight. Two I could possibly run away from. Three? Not a chance. I was doomed.
After they were done beating on me, they dragged me to that grove at the end of the school field. I remembered feeling dread that they’d beat the shit out of me more and leave me to die in a puddle of my own vomit or something. The trees were secluded enough that I was worried that no one would find me until it was too late. I decided, then and there that I would do my utmost to stay conscious enough to yell for help when they had finished beating the shit out of me. I had to be able to call for help…
That was before I found out what they really wanted to do with me. They were going to fuck me, and they punctuated their words with trying to get me out of my clothes.
I struggled even harder then because I knew that there was an even better chance that I was going to die if I didn’t get free. I saw things like this in the news all the time. My remains were going to be found somewhere, and the news reports would be like “Just another gay kid found beaten to death; a tragedy that he decided to adopt such a lifestyle and get himself killed…” and the post script would read that the dead kid was raped repeatedly before he was tortured to death.
Which is why I was so relieved to see Cartman. I thought… wrongly of course, that he would do something. That, somewhere in his horribly small and self centered heart he’d find the inkling to help me, and probably save my life in the process.
No dice. Cartman got a good laugh, I got fucked in ass. Life isn’t fair is it?

-

Jesus saved me… or rather the guy who used to play Jesus on the “Jesus and Pals” show saved me. I hurt so badly that I couldn’t move let alone stand after they had left… I honestly don’t know how he saw me… maybe he heard me groaning in pain or something. Anyway, he came trekking over from the sidewalk and discovered me in the bushes there and helped me out to the school. The rest blurred after that… next thing I know Stan is standing over my hospital bed demanding to know who they were so that he could kill them.
I didn’t want Stan to get involved. I never did. It’s my fight, not his… my problem, not his. I know Stan… I know he has a bit of his dad in him… he’d end up getting into a stupid fight defending me and end up getting himself hurt in the process. I hate seeing my friends hurt. I hate seeing anyone hurt, but seeing Stan hurt…
I could get fucked, battered, broken and left for dead, but I think something inside me would die if anything happened to Stan because of me.

-

Besides not wanting Stan to fight, I also had a couple reasons for not wanting him to get involved. First reason? One of the boys, I think it was Cory, told me that they’d do it all again if I told anyone… except next time they’d kill me. I didn’t want to risk messing around with them… I was willing to let it go. They could go away feeling all manly that they ‘put me in my place’, and I could start trying to piece my life back together and try to forget what they did to me.
Second reason sucks a whole lot more than that. Second reason has been buried by years of denial and will continue to be buried for the rest of my life. Second reason is the fact that I have a crush on Stan. Had a crush on Stan. Whatever.
That one isn’t necessarily a hard one to figure out… we did spend every waking moment of our lives together. In grade 6 I realized I was staring at his cute stubborn nose and gorgeous blue eyes during class instead of working on my assignments. I decided I needed to cool it or else I was going to loose him as a friend.
I started by stopping the things that we did together that could be dangerous… the first thing to go was having sleepovers together and sharing a bed like we were still five. If we had to stay over at each other’s houses one of us slept in a sleeping bag on the floor. I told him I was too old to share a bed now. Stan accepted that at face value like he always does.
My attraction to my best friend is a little white lie to add to the several I’ve told Stan over the years to protect him from things he doesn’t have to know. I said ‘Craig’ that one day when I told him I was gay to throw him off of thinking I like him. Because I don’t. Because I know he’s off limits. And, well, after denial of several years, these things can be suppressed. He’s still Stan my best friend, who sucks at relationships with girls despite the entire Wendy thing, and I’m his intellectual fun-loving best friend who just happens to be gay. No biggie.

-
It still hurt when he found out about what really happened. I didn’t want him to know. I was tired of having to lie, sure, but lying and keeping it all inside hurt less than knowing that Stan knows.
Though I have to admit I’m very thankful he was understanding. I should have realized he would be… he was understanding both when I told him I was gay, and the first time I told him about Riley. Sorta. (Well actually when he first found out about Riley he threw an angry fit that I was getting molested....it was very sweet.)
Actually Stan, over all, was much more understanding than I thought he would be. I mean Stan has always been an extremely, uh, heterosexual guy. He doesn’t access his feelings nearly as easily as I do, for one, or even Cartman does when he shows that he actually has feelings. But Stan… he’s had problems expressing himself for nearly as long as I remember. I just naturally assumed that he’d turn on me if I cried in front of him, and instead of being supportive and stuff, he’d just retreat.
But he didn’t. And I cried a lot after he found out I was gay, and even more when I got jumped. It’s very comforting to cry on Stan. He’s very solid. I can’t cry around almost anyone else, even around my parents it’s hard, but for some reason the moment Stan is around, all my emotions want to escape.
He’s a very good friend that way. Even so, I couldn’t tell him about Cartman. I was too ashamed. Stan wouldn’t have forgiven himself if he found out I had gotten jumped again and he couldn’t defend me. I know Stan. It would eat him up inside.
I was also still afraid that he’d retreat completely and leave me without a support in my life. And after time went by, I realized Stan couldn’t know for a different reason. What would Stan think if I told him I didn’t even try to resist Cartman’s advances after the first couple times? That somehow I somewhat enjoyed what Cartman was doing to me? He couldn’t possibly understand that. He would think I was a freak. Hell, I thought I was a freak…

-

Anyway.
It was my own damn fault I got jumped the second time… I missed the buses home back to South Park that day. I was angry and because of it I wasn’t even thinking clearly. I should have realized that it would probably be safer for me to make my way around the side of the school that faced the main street as opposed to the side that faced the play ground. Even if it was shorter distance to the doors that had the phone.
Trent, who had resigned himself to making kissy faces at me in gym class was standing there against the side of the building smoking a cigarette.
“Hey, it’s the little faggot!” He called out, approaching me. At the same time he tossed his cigarette to the ground and ground it out beneath his heel.
“Oh god damn it,” I muttered under my breath. I was in serious shit.
“Hey baby,” he continued, winking and licking his lips. “I’ve missed you…”
“I’m sure.” I retorted. With that I picked off and RAN.
I almost got to the doors before he did. Almost. I would have made it if he wasn’t originally between me and the school building. He tackled me and we both went down.
“Let me go!” I shouted at him. “LET ME GO!” My boot connected with his jaw… his fist connected with my stomach. I doubled over and he got another couple good head shots in. I think I would have been able to get away if he hadn’t managed to disorientate me so excellently.
Next thing I know I’m shoved up against the wall, with the fucker trying to stick his tongue down my throat. I kicked him in the crotch. That didn’t seem to work… he merely slammed me up against the wall a couple times. When I cried out in pain, he pressed an arm across my throat, blocking off my airway. At the same time a hand wound up on my crotch and began to squeeze.
Not again. I began to struggle anew, which only made Trent smirk and press his forearm harder against my neck.
I relaxed. I had to or else I was going to end up passing out. I tried to breathe properly past his arm as he continued to do whatever the hell he wanted to me.
Like trying to kiss me sloppily. I tried to twist my face away, disgusted. Fuck, I hated this…
That was when I saw him.
Why oh why, was it always Cartman? Cartman, of all people, was just standing there, like he had just happened upon the scene and looked a little bit shocked.
I didn’t expect him to do anything. I just looked at him as best I could and silently willed him to go away.
… Go away Cartman, go back to your happy Jew-hating existence and let me die in peace.
And then he surprised the shit out of me by coming out and telling Trent to get away from me.
What the fuck?
Cartman… Cartman who left me to die last time, Cartman who’s hated me since grade fucking 4, knocked Trent out cold for me.
I was so shocked I passively let him haul me into the school and away from where we left Trent unconscious.
I should have known Cartman had ulterior motives. This is Cartman we’re talking about.
But I don’t think anything could have quite have surprised me more as to what Cartman’s motivation really was.

-

School was torture the next day. Especially when Cartman completely ignored my command to stay away from me and proceeded to do the exact opposite. As soon as he saw me he sidled up to me and asked how I was. I told him exactly where to go and how to get there. He passed a note back to me in English class which merely read “Hey Kyle”. I crumpled it up and threw it at the back of his head. (Then I got yelled at by the teacher for throwing paper. Fuck.)
When he sat next to me during lunch and offered me a cookie, I told him to fuck off. I wasn’t going to forgive him for what he did to me, and being nice to me wasn’t going to work.
Stan, who had taken up sitting next to Kenny, looked up at me and gave me a quick questioning look. I shook my head “no”. He went back to talking to Kenny. He had been talking to Kenny a lot lately. I suppose he thought I was fine now.
Oh God. For the first time I thought to myself how much I couldn’t tell Stan. I would die if he knew I had sex with Cartman…
I glanced at Cartman. He was smirking at me… his eyes narrowed. Thinking. Planning. And it was about me. I felt suddenly sick and excused myself from the table.

This time Stan didn’t follow me. I was alone.

-

I tried the avoidance thing by making sure I was always surrounded by other friends… heck, I even spent a day hanging out with Butters, even though we have nothing in common and nothing to talk about. (We just played video games the entire time.)
Making sure I was surrounded by people when not at home didn’t work either. Fucking bastard showed up on my doorstep two days later. He convinced my mom of a sob story about us being in a group together at school and desperately needing Kyle, her brilliant son, to come out and help him on the project. I was kicked out of the house and into Cartman’s care before I could offer up a protest.
“What do you want dough boy,” I said as I grumpily followed him down the street.
“Why Kyle,” He said, turning around to smirk at me. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.” God, I hated that holier than thou voice he used. “I want you, Kyle.”
What? I glowered at him, my hands balling into fists within my pockets. “Well you can’t have me Cartman!” I snapped.
He stopped then, I stopped too. “Ah Kyle… you don’t realize…” His chin lowered and the look on his face darkened. “I already have you.”
My fists emerged from my pockets. “You do NOT fat ass.” And then I lunged at him.
He stepped aside. Fuck! I spun around and got a good shot in on his jaw before he could hit me. He grabbed my arm, I punched his face again, and we went down. I almost managed to kick the fat fuck off of me when he grabbed my balls.
HARD. And he squeezed.
I froze for a microsecond and let out a blood curling yowl. I reached out with my hand, desperate to grab something sensitive of his to convince him to let go of me.
Cartman had this planned. He sat up so that the only part of our bodies that were connected was his fist and my crotch and with his crotch twisted far enough away that I couldn’t reach it.
“Give it up Kyle.” He said as I struggled. “It’s just going to make it hurt worse.”
“Fuck you Cartman!” I screamed at him. I pounded against him inefficiently with my fists. God damned flab… I couldn’t even hurt him… at least not at this angle…
He started talking like it was perfectly normal to be sitting on the sidewalk holding another guy by the crotch.
“Look Kyle. There are two very simple options here. First option - you continue to be a stupid stubborn Jew and you loose your balls. Second option - I let you go… and you follow me home and I promise that things will start sucking less for you.”
“That’s not an option Cartman!” I yelled. “I’m NOT going home with you! Let me GO, god damn you!”
He continued like I hadn’t even spoke. “I cringe to think of what the people at school would think if they knew what a gay Jewish slut you are.” He inspected the fingernails of his unoccupied hand. In the meantime, my nuts were going numb. “I think they’ll be very interested to know that you like to get blow jobs from 12th grade boys like a little whore…”
I turned white. “How do you know about that?!” I demanded to know. I started to hit and kick him and he finally let me go. Now he faced me as I scrambled into a sitting position, a knowing smirk on his face.
“I make it my business to know all about you Kyle.” He said.
I felt a chill sweep through me.
I stood carefully. He stood as well, standing between me and my house. For a long moment I just stared at him, while he smirked back. Finally I kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk. “Screw it Cartman.” I said. “You can’t scare me… I’m going home.”
He almost let me pass before he said something that froze me in my tracks. “I’m sure your parents will be happy to know that their perfect son has sex with older men.” He commented. “Yeah, that’s really going to make their week… oh wait a sec… their lives.”
I turned back around to face him slowly. “You wouldn’t.” I said tonelessly.
He knew he won. I could tell by the way his smirk changed to one a little bit more triumphant. “I won’t if you give me what I want.” He said serenely.
I took a step closer to him, trying vainly to disguise the fact that I was trembling with both fear and rage. “You disgusting bastard.” I sneered at him. “Why the hell do you want me anyway, Cartman?” I asked point blank. “I’m beginning to think you’re gay or something.”
That sickeningly sweet Cartman smirk didn’t even falter. “Maybe I am,” He replied as he stepped closer to me. Yeah, right, whatever. OR he was just fucking with me.
I drew in a sharp breath as he took one last step towards me and snaked his arm around my waist. Then he kissed me, which would have been grosser if he slobbered, but he didn’t. Didn’t stop me from glaring at him when he pulled away. “I hate you.” I told him point blank.
“You’ll learn to like me eventually Kyle.” He said. The way he said it, like it was a statement of fact. I glared at his backside as he actually turned around and started walking towards his house.
I just stood there on the pavement with my mouth hanging slightly open as he continued to walk away from me. “Dude!” I said finally in utter disbelief. “Do you just expect me to follow you to your house?!”
“Yes,” His reply wafted back at me.
“Like HELL!” I screamed at his backside.
“Oh you will follow me Kyle.” His voice was sing song now. “You’ll follow me, or your life becomes very unpleasant. Your choice.”
I let almost a half a block get between us before I realized he wasn’t going to drag me… I was going to have to follow him under my own will power.
“Goddamnedsonofabitch.” I muttered under my breath as I started walking.
Manipulative asshole. I pitied the poor girl who ever got involved with Cartman… then I realized I was probably that girl and nearly wrenched out my hair with anger.

-

I was still trembling with anger when we got to Cartman’s house. I kicked off my boots and yanked off my jacket. I could barely nod at Mrs. Cartman as I followed Cartman down the hall to his room. He silently let me in and shut the door behind us, then locked it.
I barely noticed. Instead I sat on the very edge of his bed, my hands balled in fists of rage, staring straight ahead. I thought of the many ways I could perhaps kill him as he silently shuffled though his draws of his desk and closet, obviously looking for something. My brain came up short. I couldn’t kill the bastard… he didn’t even have a fucking baseball bat in his room.
He turned back around to face me and looked me up and down. He almost seemed clinical about it, he was looking at me like I was a patient at a doctor’s office, not someone he’s known for several years and hated for nearly all of them.
“Take off your clothes.” He said finally.
“No. Fuck you.” The reply was instantaneous.
He raised an eyebrow. “I can’t unless you take of your clothes.” He said in a super logical tone of voice.
“I’m not taking of my clothes.” I said, folding my arms across my chest stubbornly.
He rolled his eyes. “Kyle.” He said, taking a step towards me. “Need I remind you why you are here?” He frowned. “Don’t make this any more difficult on yourself than you have too.”
I glared at him. “Fuck off.”
“All right,” He sighed and went for his door. “I guess I’ll just have to call your parents and let them know what their son’s been up too.”
That got my attention. I unfolded my arms and slammed my fists into his mattress. “This is blackmail Cartman.” I hissed through clenched teeth.
He turned back around and looked at me. “That would be the general idea Kyle.”
“I hate you.” I said again.
“I don’t really care.” He pretended to yawn and glanced at his watch. “You have thirty seconds before I leave this room and go find a phone.” He added.
I didn’t move for nearly 20 of those 30 seconds. He looked bored as he scratched his upper arm, glanced at his watch again, looked around the room, picked lint off of his shirt, looked at his watch again...
“God damn it. FINE.” I gave him one last death glare, raised my arm and began to take off my shirt.

-

“Lay back on the bed.” He ordered once I was done.
It took a bit of struggling with myself, but I finally did. The comforter smelt like lemon scented laundry detergent. I stared at the ceiling. My hands were still fists at my sides. I breathed deeply a couple times, focused on the patterns in the paint up there. I refused to look at him. I didn’t want to think about this… I just wanted to be a million miles away.
I ended up being jerked back to reality when he hovered over me with a cloth in his hands. I tried to sit up abruptly when his hands descended over my eyes. “Dude, what the hell?!” I questioned.
By trying to sit up, he was able to bring the cloth around the sides of my head. I began to twisting to get free. Like hell I was going to let him blind fold me. “Dude NO!” I shouted at him.
He held the cloth against the sides of my head with a vice like grip. “Stop being such a baby Kyle,” He said, scorn in his voice. “It’s not going to hurt you. It’s just a fucking blindfold.”
I stopped struggling… a bit. “I don’t want to be blind folded.” I told him stubbornly.
“Kyle.” His face was close to mine now, I could smell his breath. It smelt like mint toothpaste. “Kyle listen to me. You don’t want to be here, right?”
“Congratulations fatass, you got it.” I would have been glaring at him if I could see.
“Then why don’t you make it easier on yourself and let me do this.” He tugged on the cloth, bringing the sides together and began to tie them behind my head.
I tried to wrench my head away again, beating my fists against his still clothed arms. “No Cartman, no.”
“Shh, Kyle.” He said softly. “I told you already. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” He finished the knot and just held the sides of my head in his large warm hands. “Just lay back and pretend...” His lips pressed against mine again… gently. I relaxed by degrees, still blind folded and now blinking back tears against the cloth. He was right. It was easier for me to just pretend.
You know what’s funny? Once I stopped associating Cartman with what he was doing to my body, I kinda found it relaxing. I mean he was actually gentle. It was horrible, but he actually reminded me of Riley a bit… he took the time to make sure I was prepared before he did anything… well oiled and prepared. And he didn’t smell, (who would have expected that the fatass bathed frequently?), so I couldn’t even be repulsed by that.
The first time he fucked me… I expected the illusion to break. I expected the world’s dirtiest words to flow from that mouth… that he’d call me a gay pussy slut and a whore and all such other things. What I didn’t expect was the slow gentle process I actually got.
That made me tear up again… thank god I was blindfolded. It hurt… not in the ass, he made sure of that… it hurt because I knew he was just fucking with me.
He didn’t care about me… he was just going slow and gentle to make sure I enjoyed it. He didn’t love me, certainly not, and he definitely didn’t care about me either. You can only pretend so much.

-

Cartman fucked me nearly everyday for an entire month. I was really becoming used to it when Stan found out.
I had become so used to having sex in fact that we even started talking about other things like school and which teachers we hated and stuff while he was doing me. It was messed, but really, I honestly felt we were beginning to become friends. He didn’t insult me anymore, or when he did, the insults were half hearted. And when I stopped moping about being in a relationship with Cartman I realized it wasn’t all that bad. I didn’t dread going to his house anymore… I stopped needing the blind fold. After about three weeks, I started hesitantly touching him back when he asked me too, which earned me praise and lots of “Good Kyle”s.
I even kinda found it exciting when he dragged me down to the gym room to have sex. I started wrestling with him on the gym mats, vying for supremacy… a fight he’d always win. I could tell he enjoyed it though, by the way his eyes lit up and he laughed. Hell, I enjoyed it too.
The only thing that bothered me was the fact that he to kept on asking me if I liked sex, usually after he had made me come. I wouldn’t answer, but I knew I did enjoy it. The evidence was streaked all over my midsection.

-

The day Stan found out, both Cartman and I heard his footsteps going back up the stairs. I flipped out then, surprising the hell out of Cartman who wasn’t expecting it. I wrestled him off of me, jerking my shirt back down as I lunged to the door.
There was no one there. Stan had already made it up the stairs and out of sight.
I heard Cartman laughing from behind me. His arms snaked around my waist and I struggled against him again. “Let me GO! Damn it Cartman someone SAW.”
He didn’t listen to me, merely shoved the door closed again.
“They’re gone now,” He said. He gave me a curious look, his analyzing gaze taking me in. Then he leaned down and kissed me on the mouth.
The sickening thought that someone had seen us together had completely killed whatever mood Cartman may have possibly inspired in me before the footsteps. I turned my head to the side. “Don’t,” I hissed. When he began kissing my now exposed neck, I pushed against him harder, fighting to get free. “Eric stop it! Please.” My voice cracked.
He pulled away and merely held me by my upper arms as he looked me up and down. Finally, for the first time since the entire fiasco started, he actually did something I asked him to do. He let me go. Actually pushed me away a little bit so that I stumbled backwards.
“Go.” He ordered.
I stared at him. There was a catch. There had to be. He never stopped before when I said ‘don’t’ or ‘stop’ or ‘I’m going to kill you’, or anything else…
Instead he went over and picked up my bookbag and his from where we had put them into the corner. He tossed mine at me.
I stood there with my jaw hanging open slightly. “… what?” I managed, stunned.
He gave me that ‘you’re retarded’ look. “Go. Home. Kyle.” He said very deliberately.
He didn’t have to ask me again. I turned around and ran out of the room.
The walk home was particularly horrible, especially since it gave me a good hour to think about it. Why had he let me go? I turned over my last sentence to him in my head. It wasn’t what I said… I’ve called him Eric before on very rare occasions. It wasn’t the fact that I begged… I’ve done that too. Cried, begged, the works.
He wasn’t protecting his own ass was he? Even if someone saw… it wasn’t like he was going to have to worry about kids ridiculing him at school tomorrow. I had to worry about that. I was the gay one after all.
There was no reason why he would let me go. It made no sense… well, unless my theory that we were becoming sorta friends was correct. Perhaps that was it. He actually… cared about me a tiny bit…
Ugh. No he didn’t. He was Cartman. If he could have gotten away with it, he would have happily killed me back in fourth grade. And that was the absolute honest truth.

-

I was mentally exhausted by the time I got home. I had decided by the time my long walk was done that the actual reason he let me go was to make me suffer by having to think about it so much, the bastard.
I found out VERY fast who had seen, the moment I got into my room.

-

At first I was completely devastated. Stan couldn’t know, he couldn’t…
Then I had to think about survival on top of feeling like my entire world was crumbling around me.
I thought he was going to kill me. I have NEVER seen him look at me like that before. He’s never hit me like that, or called me what he called me before… I was so shocked I didn’t even block his attack. Within seconds he had me on the bed, wailing on me with his fists. When I tried to turn my head to the side, he grabbed my jaw and yelled in my face.
Stan…
Oh god, my heart was going to break. Was breaking. I knew he wasn’t gay, he didn’t have to tell me. He didn’t have to hit me like that either…
Amazingly he stopped. I could feel more than see him sitting at the edge of my bed. I struggled to get a grip.
I could tell he had calmed down by the tremble in his voice when he called out my name. I turned my head and looked at him.
He looked absolutely lost. He had his arms wrapped around his knees and looked like someone had just told him his grandmother died.
It was strange, but I was glad he was traumatized by the fact that he just beat the shit out of me. It meant that Stan didn’t hate me completely, despite knowing about Cartman.
I broke down after that. Told him how I felt about the entire thing. That I enjoyed it, despite being coerced into sex. And he was amazingly understanding, he held me as I cried, like usual. He basically said that blamed Cartman, which made me feel even better.

-

My mom broke that up fairly quickly by coming into my room and babying me. I couldn’t stand it. She sent Stan away, and after he was gone, I did something I was sorta proud of. I told her to fuck off and leave me alone. When she screamed at me for being disrespectful I called her a bitch and left the house. I was going to be grounded for a month when I came home, but I didn’t care.

-

I went straight to Stan’s house. I know he probably wanted to be left alone now, but I couldn’t help it. I needed my best friend right then. Badly.
He answered the door when I knocked.
“Hey dude.” I said weakly. “I really can’t deal with my mom right now.”
“Uh huh.” He replied. He stepped aside and motioned me to come in.
We were making our way up the stairs to his room when Mrs. Marsh came out from the kitchen, cordless phone in hand. “Stanley,” She said. “Sheila’s on the phone. She said to send Kyle back home right now.” She frowned disapprovingly at me. “You’re grounded mister.”
Stan looked at me. I looked back at him, probably a bit desperately.
Stan walked back down the stairs and motioned for his mom to give him the phone.
Mrs. Marsh shook her head. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea Stan.” She said.
Stan gave her an even look. “Give me the phone mom.” He replied.
“Well, all right, I gue--” Stan took the phone from his mom and clicked it off. “Stanley!!” Mrs. Marsh exclaimed.
Stan shook his head and put the phone down. He took his mom by the arm and led her into the next room. There I heard him talking to his mom in a quiet voice, but I couldn’t make out the words. Occasionally Stan’s mom interrupted with either annoyed or sympathetic tones. I wondered what story he was making up for me. Or if he was telling her the truth. Somehow Mrs. Marsh knowing about me wasn’t nearly as terrifying as my own parents…
I sat down on the steps and awaited the verdict.
Mrs. Marsh and Stan came back into the room after a couple minutes. Mrs. Marsh eyed me appraisingly, then let out an exasperated sigh as she picked up the phone again. “All right Kyle, you can stay the night… but you’d better appreciate this young man!”
Stan walked up the stairs and grasped my arm. “Lets go.” He said quietly. We made it the rest of the way to his room to the sound of his mom negotiating with my mom over the phone.
Apparently Stan’s mom won, because no one came up the stairs to get me later.

-

We hung out for the rest of the night. Stan played an online computer game, I read a book on his bed. We didn’t talk, we didn’t need to. Just being around Stan was enough to help me relax.
I ended up dozing off on his bed… he woke me up around 10 pm and tossed a pair of his pajamas at me. I mumbled something about how I should go get the sleeping bag, but he shook his head. “It’s okay.” He said. “I’m taking a shower.” He added. “Do you need anything?”
I shook my head no.
He came back into the room with his pajamas on when I was just in the middle of sluggishly changing. I would have been embarrassed, but he’s seen me dress and undress often enough.
He stopped me before I could pull the pajama top over my head and knelt down beside me. He silently grasped my jaw and moved my head from one side to the other, inspecting my face and my neck. It took me a couple seconds to realize he was looking at the bruises he had inflicted by punching me earlier.
“I’m sorry,” He said finally, letting me go.
I smiled at him. “It’s not like I’ve never been beat up before Stanley.” I said in a teasing voice.
He gave me a forlorn look. “I’ve never beat you up before.” He pointed out. He thought about it for a second. “At least I don’t THINK I’ve ever beaten you up before…”
My smile grew. “There’s a first for everyone.” I said, patting him on the arm.
He gave me a sheepish smile back and grabbed a pillow. “Shut up dude.” He said, thumping me over the head.
I grabbed the other pillow and thumped him back in the face. We had a very short pillow fight before he sighed and laid back on his side of the bed. I laid down beside him. We both looked up at the ceiling.
“Are you going to be okay?” He asked after a significant pause.
I felt tears well up at that. Damn it, he only asked a question! I forced the tears back. I had cried far too much lately. I decided that Kyle’s new goal in life would be to stop crying so damn much. I was going to start calling myself a pussy if I kept this up.
“Yes.” I replied finally in response to his question. “Yes I think I will be.”
He reached down and picked up my pajama top. He tossed it at me. I put it on while he pulled up the quilt and crawled beneath it. He patted the bed beside him, indicating I should crawl under the covers with him.
I hesitated.
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t care if you’re gay dude,” He said. “Despite what I said earlier.” He added, looking a bit chagrined.
I blushed and he let out an exasperated sigh. “Just get in here, okay?” Stan said grumpily, curling up under the blanket.
I carefully slid in under the blanket, amazed that for the first time in, what? 3 years? I was sharing Stan’s bed with him. Wow, he must really feel badly if he was willing to let his gay friend share a bed with him… I shut my eyes briefly, remembering exactly why I had decided that sharing a bed with Stan was a bad thing back years ago. ‘Must not think dirty thoughts, must not think dirty thoughts… come on Kyle, you can do this…’
“So… dude?” He asked sleepily, shifting in the bed beside me. “What are we going to do about him?”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Cartman?” I asked.
He looked very serious now. “Yes.” He replied.
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know.” I said. I turned on my side so that I was facing away from him again. “I just… I don’t want to talk about it right now.” That was the honest truth. I had thought about Cartman way too much in the last couple months.
He gave me a couple supportive pats on the shoulder. “No prob.” He said. He shifted, turning off the lamp. We were plunged into darkness, except for the light that was coming in from the street. I shut my eyes, intent on trying to fall asleep.
“Kyle?” Stan asked into the darkness.
“Yeah?” I replied, reopening my eyes.
“I’m sorry for being such a bad friend,” He said remorsefully.
I turned my head back slightly. “It’s okay Stan. Forget about it, alright?”
He was silent for a long moment. Then he surprised me. He sidled up behind me and gave me a hug. It lasted for a very short second before he pulled away and scooted back over to his side of the bed.
“Okay, that’s it god damn it,” I said. I turned back over and flopped down on his side of the bed, wrapped my arms around his upper chest and laid my head against his side.
“Now you can beat me up,” I grumbled after enough time had passed.
He chuckled. “… Only if you do anything funny.” He mumbled. He patted me on the shoulder again but didn’t push me away. Instead he relaxed, his arm resting somewhere along my back and the blanket tucked under his arm pit. “Mmm… Good night Kyle.” He said with a yawn.
After a second or so, I shifted my head ever so slightly so that I could see his face. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly slack. He looked peaceful.
I looked away again.
Wow.
WOW.
Right then I felt like the luckiest gay guy in the world. I laid there in the dark and listened until I heard his breathing even out, then let myself drift off as well.
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The Ties that Bind