Self Improvement, Part II
*
Since she's a senior and a chronic over-achiever, Wendy has already completed most of the course load needed to graduate and has a shortened school day during this, her final semester of high school. Unlike any sane person, she's not using the free time to go home early, masturbate and watch TV. Instead, she's been volunteering with various projects around school, such as the stupid community garden that grows dirty, yellowed lettuce and anemic little carrots that are approximately the size of Kyle's dick, among other totally unappetizing things. The garden is the most pointless, idealistic hippie piece of crap that anyone could possibly waste their time on, so of course Wendy spends at least an hour a day weeding and watering and fucking around self-importantly between the rows of gross vegetation.
"Ey, Testaburger!" Cartman shouts when he spots Wendy among the other seniors who are on their knees in the dirt. Craig and Millie are working alongside her, though not voluntarily. Craig was assigned to garden duty because of chronic truancy, and Millie was drunk and belligerent at senior prom.
All three of them look up and glare at Cartman as he approaches. Undeterred, he stomps his way into the middle of the garden, brushing aside tomato plants.
"Careful!" Wendy says. "Eric, goddammit! You're stepping on things."
"I am not!" Cartman quivers, privately, for a moment: he likes it when she calls him Eric. "Look, Jesus. There's nothing under my feet but dirt."
"What do you want?" Millie asks. "Were you hoping to steal some food?"
"Psssh, you call this shit food?" Cartman touches the leaf of a tomato plant. He likes the smell it leaves behind on his fingers, because it reminds him of the hippie-ish reek of Wendy, which he is very unfortunately attracted to. It's as inexplicable as his lifetime of throbbing erections for that gaywad Butters: the dick wants what it wants. "No, fuck your vegetables," he says. "I'm here to pass along some sensitive information. Wendy, I'm afraid it concerns your philandering boyfriend. May we speak in private, perhaps?"
"No," she says. "We may not. Is this going to be your eighty-fifth attempt to convince me that Token is cheating on me? Because you think I'm going to start trusting your worthless word any day now?"
"Eighty -- I haven't -- that was just a few times, okay, and you know he still has feelings for Nicole! Their connection is very deep, Wendy. Primal, you might say. You and I wouldn't understand."
"Oh, fuck off." Wendy waves her hand through the air and turns back to her baby carrots. "I don't have time for your crap right now, Eric."
Bolstered by this second use of his Christian name, Cartman moves closer and squats down beside Wendy. She's frowning down at the carrots she's watering, certainly perturbed by what Cartman has suggested about Token and Nicole, if only subconsciously. Now for the one-two punch.
"It's not about Nicole this time," Cartman says, speaking more quietly while Wendy pretends to ignore him. "No, I'm afraid it's -- much worse."
"Uh-huh. Great, I'll be sure to grill him later. Now, please--"
"As you know," Cartman says, glancing at Craig, who is pruning a jalapeño plant. "The boys in our school have a certain condition. You might even call it contagious. Speaking as a virile alpha male, even I haven't been exempt."
"Oh, is this your theory that there's gay in the water in South Park? Fantastic. I haven't heard this a thousand times."
"There is gay in the water, though," Millie says. "Or the air," she says, looking up at the clouds. "All the guys here--"
"I don't want to hear it, Millie," Wendy says. "You guys are bigots. It's just a coincidence. People are born gay, or bisexual, or whatever. It's not a fucking poison."
"I don't know, Wendy," Cartman says. "Token was saying some strange things about Butters this afternoon at lunch. And we all know Leopold Stotch was patient zero in the gay epidemic."
"He totally was," Millie says, and Wendy glares at her.
"Millie! No."
"Yes," Cartman says, nodding gravely. "Yes, Wendy, and now he's set his infectious sights on the last remaining holdout. And Token seems mighty interested."
"Eric," Wendy says, so gently that Cartman is taken aback. She places her hand on his shoulder and he starts to sweat. "Honey," she says, softly. "You're not a good liar. Nobody believes anything you say. Just stop, okay? Stop."
"Wh-- no, I -- what? Pff, okay! Okay, Wendy, yeah, sure, I'm just lying, not trying to, to -- warn you--"
"Leave Butters out of it."
Cartman whirls around to look at Craig, who is holding the pruning clippers somewhat menacingly.
"Excuse me?" Cartman says, and he stands. He might not have arm muscles, but he's big enough to throw a tall, wide shadow over willowy Craig.
"Whatever you're doing," Craig says. "Leave Butters out of it, I said."
Craig stands, and Cartman remembers that he's tall, too, though also so fucking skinny that he looks like a cancer patient. Craig isn't scary, even with a sharp object in his hands. He always looks kind of half-dead, and today is no exception.
"You're telling me -- you're telling me what to do with Butters?" Cartman laughs and takes a step toward Craig, pushing through the line of tomato plants. "Uh-huh, okay. And on what authority, Craig, do you get to say anything about him? Huh? I'm the one who owns him, as I'm sure you know. You might have stuck your dick in the kid -- who hasn't! -- but he's my lackey, and he comes running when I say so, you got that?"
"No," Craig says, expressionless. "I don't got that."
"Guys," Wendy says. "If you're going to fight over Butters, please don't do it in the middle of my garden. You're going to knock shit over."
"You hear that, Craig?" Cartman says. "Wendy wants us to take this fight elsewhere. You want to step over into the soccer field, let me break your bones until you get what I'm saying about Butters?"
"No," Craig says. Cartman waits for more, perhaps some kind of threat involving the clippers, and he scoffs when nothing comes.
"Okay, pussy," Cartman says, wondering how this sidebar will factor into his plan to get Wendy back, which is spiraling quickly out of control. "I guess, uh. You admit defeat, then. Again! Kinda like that summer when Butters left your limp-wristed ass for me, a real man."
"You're not a real man."
"Oh no? Then how come Butters is still with me, huh? And not you?"
"Okay, this is going to a really weird place," Wendy says. "Guys--"
"Shut up," Millie says. "This is great."
"I'm leaving," Craig says, tossing the clippers down. "You people are awful."
"Me?" Wendy says. "What did I do?"
Craig doesn't answer, just walks away looking defeated. Cartman would shout further insults after him, but he doesn't want to look crass in front of Wendy, or like he cares too much about Butters.
"Look," he says to her, holding up his hands. "You've just witnessed firsthand the kind of mayhem Butters' ass can cause between two otherwise reasonable men. It's a powerful force, Wendy. Don't underestimate its appeal, or overestimate Token's ability to restrain himself once it's on offer. Because it totally is."
"Cartman--"
"Ask Butters, if you don't believe me! I think you'll find that he's extremely eager to have Token's junk up in his guts as soon as possible."
"Jesus, stop it!"
"As soon as possible, Wendy," Cartman says, walking backward and trying to make his expression appropriately grim. "As soon. As possible. He'll stop at nothing."
"Get the hell out of here!" Wendy says, and Cartman goes, pleased that he was finally able to rile her.
Now seed two has been planted. All he has to do is add water and watch his diabolic plantings grow.
*
After school, Cartman summons Butters to his house via text:
Get ur sweet ass over here asap :P
The emoticon indicates he'll eat Butters out, which he might not actually do, though he is in a good mood and it could happen in the heat of the moment. He's definitely going to give Butters a good, hard fucking, and he'll then let Butters do all the cuddling he wants, because he has proved, once again, to be a surprisingly valuable asset. When Cartman's phone dings he assumes it's a text saying Butters is on his way.
I can't right now, Eric. But thanks for the invite!
Yes you can. Right now. Get over here >:(
The angry face indicates a potential nipple torture session, which Butters actually likes, but it's still an incentive to get moving. Cartman is breathing hard, beginning to panic a little when another text arrives.
It's really not a good time, I'm sorry! Later, maybe
Get over here or your not my fuck buddy anymore
You know I don't like that term, mister >:(
When Butters sends an angry emoticon, it doesn't indicate the promise of nipple torture. Cartman has no idea what it indicates, because Butters has never dared to send him one before. He's typing a furious response, breathing harder now, when he gets another message from Butters:
I'm turning my phone off for awhile. Bye!
"Butters!" Cartman shouts, and then he feels like an idiot, because he didn't mean to say that out loud. Instead of sending another enraged text, he forces himself to take a deep, calming breath and activates the GPS search option that he's installed on Butters' phone. Butters thinks he can play hard to get all of a sudden? Fine, that's fine. Cartman will just have to drag him away from whatever he's doing, take him home for an erotic spanking, then firmly and verbally establish the rules of their previously unspoken understanding.
It's not the first time he's investigated Butters' whereabouts by activating the phone's GPS, but he's never been so worked up as he makes his way there. Previously, he was just bored and looking for something to do, a potential locale outside of his house where he could surprise and seduce Butters. This is different: this is serious. Butters might spoil everything that Cartman has carefully set in place for his Wendy plan if he decides he's a free agent all of a sudden.
The GPS leads Cartman to the wooded area between City Hall and the main street shops, far enough from the road that the sound of passing cars is only faintly audible. Cartman hears voices up ahead and quietly creeps toward the clearing that they're coming from, wondering if he's going to come upon Butters in the midst of some tryst with another boy. If he's lucky, Token will be balls deep in Butters when Cartman finds him. He readies his camera phone, just in case. He's disappointed when he draws closer, keeping low and out of sight, and hears only conversation, not grunted sex noises or Butters' pleasured whimpering.
"You just don't understand," Butters says, his voice shaking a little. He sounds frightened, upset. If he's about to be assaulted, Cartman will spring out and save him, thereby earning Butters' trust and loyalty for good: that would be ideal. "Heck," Butters says, and he sniffles. "Even I don't understand it half the time."
"But I do understand."
Craig. Cartman resists the urge to spring up from his hiding place and shout his ownership of Butters at Craig again, furious. He has to stay cool, for now. He should wait and see how this plays out.
"You do?" Butters says, softly. From between the fronds of the juniper bush Cartman is hidden behind, he can see Butters' fists pressing nervously together.
"I think so," Craig says. "Remember, uh. How we used to talk about how our parents are dicks to us?"
"Oh -- shoot, I don't know if I said that, maybe I did when I was sore at my dad for some thing or another--"
"Butters. They're dicks. They're not nice to you. Mine are like that, too. It can lead to intimacy issues."
Cartman barely contains a disbelieving snort. Craig clearly has no idea how to seduce Butters, if that's what he's playing at. Talk of 'intimacy issues' isn't going to make anyone wet. Butters wants to be thrown down and dominated. Being told to shut up and suck some dick makes him hard. Has Craig even met Butters? Let alone fucked him?
"Intimacy issues?" Butters says. "I don't think I have those, Craig. I enjoy sharing my body with friends."
"Friends, sure. And people like Cartman who don't have any depth. Or Stan and Kyle, who treated you like a party favor."
"Hey, now! That's not fair, that was--"
"I'm talking about emotional intimacy. I'm not good at it myself. But with you. That summer. That was different."
"That summer -- ah, hell, Craig!" Now Butters is pulling at his hair with both hands, turning away from Craig, who has surely blown it. "Why are you bringing this up now? It hurts my heart to think about how I treated you."
"Yeah. It hurts mine, too."
"Craig--"
"Look. Earlier, Cartman mentioned it. So you told him. About us."
"Eric? Oh, yeah, we were discussing it recently. I was saying how I'd slept with everyone in our grade except Token, and how lousy that makes me feel."
"It makes you feel lousy?"
"Yeah, because I left Token out on account of his skin color! I didn't mean to, but I've got all this internalized racism, seems like."
"Maybe, but that's not why you didn't sleep with Token. He's straight."
"Well, fine, but so is Jimmy, and I gave him a blow job that time."
"Jimmy's just obsessed with getting his rocks off however he can. Always has been. Token's not like that. He loves Wendy. He has since fourth grade."
"What about Nicole? Token dated her for a while!"
"Yeah, because Wendy was with Stan, or Kenny, or something. Token and Nicole only ended up together because Cartman is an evil sociopath who wants to manipulate everyone into doing what he wants. Like how he's convinced you that you're a sex addict who should put out whenever anybody says so."
"That's not true!" Butters grunts and runs at Craig, lifting his fists as if he's going to pummel him. Craig catches Butters' wrists and pulls him close. Cartman is grinding his teeth, torn between breaking up this scene and waiting to see how it's going to end. "You're mean!" Butters says, starting to cry. "Saying that about me!"
"I'm not saying it about you, I'm saying it about him. You didn't do anything wrong. It's okay to have a lot of sex, if that's what you want. I guess I'm just jealous, because. Yeah."
"Because 'yeah'?"
Butters sniffles. Cartman tries to get a better angle to see what's going on: they're standing together, sort of hugging.
"Because I liked it when you were just with me," Craig says, mumbling. "That summer. Then Cartman came back and Iago'd you again."
"Iago'd me?"
"It's from Othello -- never mind."
Craig lets go of Butters and walks away. Cartman starts to stand, wanting to clap his hands and point to his feet so that Butters will come running back and resume his place, but Butters runs to Craig. He throws himself onto Craig's back with a whine, hugging him from behind.
"I'm so sorry," Butters says, his voice just a pained little squeak. "That was so bad of me, going back to him, but, but -- maybe it did scare me, Craig! Our, um, intimacy. It's easier with Eric 'cause it's not real, and he treats me like I'm used to. Like my dad treats me, like a servant."
"Maybe that's what you like," Craig says, motionless in Butters' grip. Cartman nods to himself: yep. Now Craig is getting it.
"No," Butters says, very softly. "I liked it with you."
"Yeah?" Craig sighs. "Why?"
"I liked how you put that aloe stuff on my back when I got sunburned. And how you washed my hair that time we took a shower together. And the way you kissed me, like you weren't in any hurry to get to something else. And you told me stuff, honest stuff like how my flip flops were ugly, but it wasn't mean. You took me shopping for some better ones."
"I didn't buy you better flip flops. Nobody east of the Pacific islands should wear flip flops, even in a hick town in the summer. I bought you boat shoes."
"I still wear them!"
"I know. And you wear them with the wrong pants, always."
"Oh, shoot. Craig, I'm sorry."
"God." Craig sighs again and turns to face Butters. "I just." He reaches for Butters, then pulls his hand back, both of his arms dangling at his side in their usual corpse-like way. "I just want to take care of you," he says, mumbling. "It's dumb."
"It's not dumb," Butters says. The tears are flowing freely now, his face all wet. Cartman's knees are starting to hurt, but he's still not sure how to interrupt this scene. He withholds a groan when Craig reaches up to dry Butters' cheeks with his thumbs.
"I can't stand the way he talks about you," Craig says.
"He -- who?"
"Cartman. He's vile."
"He's just a sad old bear."
"No, that's -- that's what he wants you to think, Butters. He preys on your pity for him. He's a poisonous snake. I'm a sad old bear."
Butters giggles and stands up on his tiptoes to press his face to Craig's. Nuzzling: Butters is a big fan. Cartman should be glad to be rid of it, if Butters is going to go all monogamous with Craig or something, but he's feeling cheated, and he should stomp over there and make a scene, but Craig might hiss at him or something. Craig is nuzzling back at Butters, subtly marking Butters with his scent. Getting possessive and shit.
"You're not a sad old anything," Butters says. "Oh, Craig, you're like -- like a brand new pack of crayons. Or markers, maybe. The fancy kind from the art store, not the crummy ones from the office supply aisle at King Soopers."
"What."
"I just want to grab all your colors and draw beautiful things with them!" Butters groans and winces. "Aw, see. I don't know how to talk about my intimate feelings. All I know is what to say during sex."
"You're doing okay," Craig says, and then they're kissing. It's kind of hot at first, because Butters is making soft little noises, but Cartman is quickly depressed by this. Butters never made those noises for him. Cartman should ruin this moment for them, but he doesn't want them to know that he witnessed it. He slinks away, knees aching.
At the edge of the woods, staring at the passing cars on the road, he reminds himself that all is not lost. In fact, nothing is lost, because Butters has always been a matter of mere convenience. It's Wendy he really wants, and he's got seeds of discontent to sow.
When he arrives at Wendy's house he has no real plan. Stopping to think too much about what just happened seems dangerous, so he barrels ahead anyway, preparing to knock on her front door when he hears voices from the backyard. Wendy is laughing, and she sounds happy. Not a good sign.
Cartman sneaks around to the side of the fence that encloses the Testaburger's backyard. He's scaled this fence many times, in attempts to spy on Wendy and sometimes just to see if there was anything worth stealing back there. Are these the behaviors of an evil sociopath? Fuck no! More like a brilliant con artist. Mitch Connor's apprentice, man of many talents. Son of a championship Bronco. Awesome stuff like that.
"You're burning them!" Wendy says. Cartman puts his eye to a hole in the fence that he's very familiar with and surveys the yard until he sees Wendy and Token roasting fucking marshmallows over the family's outdoor fireplace thing.
"I like them burned," Token says. "It creates a nice, crispy texture."
"Weirdo," Wendy says, and they kiss while Token's marshmallow catches aflame, which makes them both laugh when they pull apart. Cartman gags internally at this Lands End catalog shit. Nobody is really like this. Token is probably daydreaming about Butters' pert ass while he pretends to be Mr. Wonderful for Wendy and her marshmallow roasting bullshit.
"My dad said I could borrow his car for the trip to Denver," Token says. "The new Lexus, the one you like."
"I don't like any car in particular," Wendy says, but she's grinning like she's pleased by this. Fake bitch. Rich asshole! It's not fair. Cartman wants to do something, to mess this scene up somehow, but all he can think of is throwing rocks, and that probably wouldn't end well for him.
"Cartman might be there," Token says. "He said his mom is taking him to the same play."
"Shit, seriously? I doubt it's a coincidence. I shouldn't have posted about it on Facebook. He's such a stalker."
"Yeah, he's still obsessed with you. He sat with us a lunch today, and it was pretty fucked up. He was trying to talk me into -- sleeping with Butters, or something?"
"God! He came to the garden and was spouting some crazy crap about that. Poor dumb jackass. Maybe Butters broke up with him or something."
"Jesus, I hope not. Cartman is like King Kong, and Butters is like - what's the blond girl's name? The one he carries up the skyscraper at the end?"
"I don't know, but I know exactly what you mean, and it's awful. Poor little Butters deserves better. And we've just surrendered him, to appease the beast!"
"Damn. But maybe Butters really likes him?"
"Doubtful," Wendy says. "I don't think Butters knows what he likes. I heard he let Kyle hire him for a threesome with Stan."
"I heard that, too."
"He'll be okay, though. Butters, I mean. Kyle and Stan, they're a whole other kind of fucked up. But once Butters goes off to college, he'll be free of Cartman Kong."
"Yeah, and what happens to Cartman? He rampages his way across Butters' campus, drags him up a tower and falls to his death while the military fires on him?"
"Christ, I don't know. How dark! But not unlikely."
Without realizing it, Cartman has wandered away from the fence. He's moving sluggishly through the ditch behind Wendy's neighbor's house, and then he's nearing the street, and then a car is honking at him, waking him from a kind of punch-drunk trance. He blinks at the car that has squealed to a stop a foot away from him, feeling like he just went ten rounds with a rabid gorilla, but he's the gorilla, they said--
"Hey!" Stan sticks his head out of the driver's side window, glowering. Kyle, of course, pops his head out of the passenger side, also looking angry. "What the fuck, man?" Stan says. "Get out of the road!"
"Cartman, are you on something?" Kyle asks. "He looks drugged," he says, more quietly, to Stan.
"Dude," Stan says, his expression softening. "Cartman, hey. Are you crying?"
Cartman runs.
He feels beast-like as he tears into the woods on the other side of the road, grunting angrily so that he won't start sobbing. Maybe they're fucking right: he is King Kong. Yeah: good! King Kong is big and powerful and everyone cries at the end when he's treated like shit and dies, because the world is cruel and King Kong didn't mean any harm, he wanted one thing for himself, after a lifetime of isolation, just one fucking thing, and the little blond bitch teased him, she made him think she was his, she baited and switched and he was so fucking pissed off he destroyed part of the city, and good for him, he's the real hero, he's the one the movie is named after -- motherfuckers don't even remember the stupid blond's stupid fucking name!
Stark's Pond comes into view as Cartman Kong rips out of the tree line, ready to destroy something. He stumbles and tips over onto all fours, landing hard. When he hears himself sobbing he tries to punch himself in the chest, Kong-style, because he could tear this whole pathetic town apart with his hands and fuck everybody, but despite the persisting shake in his chest and his stinging eyes, he's not actually sobbing. Somebody else is, nearby.
Cartman sits back on his heels and sniffles, surveying the area. He spots something down toward the half-sunken dock: a Cows letter jacket. Somebody is wearing one while he sobs into his folded arms, his knees pulled to his chest. It's fucking Clyde.
Clyde cries all the time. He's on the football team and has friends, all that shit, but he's also a big joke who girls trick into skinny dipping so they can steal his clothes. Cartman stands up and gathers himself, wiping at the corners of his eyes. Ragging on Clyde for crying will make him feel better, so this is good. He walks down the shore, kicking rocks, and prepares to lay into Clyde for being lame enough to cry in public.
"Sup?" Cartman says when Clyde lifts his splotchy face to see who's there. Clyde sucks in a snot-laced breath and rubs his palm over his face.
"Leave me alone," he says.
"Leeb bee a-lonne," Cartman says, mimicking Clyde's stupid voice, which is made extra stupid by this ridiculous crying. "Why should I? It's a public pond. It's a free country. What the hell's wrong with you, anyway?"
"You know," Clyde says, still wiping at his face.
"I know? No, I don't. Tell me."
"You were there. At lunch. You heard what that bitch said to me."
"What bitch?" Cartman frowns and wracks his brain, unable to remember any girls lobbing insults at Clyde during lunch. Girls sure hate him, maybe because Clyde was smug about his imagined sexual prowess before it was revealed that they only wanted his father's shoes. "Ohhhh!" Cartman says, grinning. "You mean Kyle. What did he say? I don't have the stomach to listen to much of what comes out of that shrill mouth." Cartman walks over to sit beside Clyde, keeping a manful distance.
"He called me Mr. Lonelyhearts." Clyde's face pinches up again, as if repeating this is a fresh blow to his ego. "He said I'm jealous and bitter. Well. I am. I'm the only person in school without a girlfriend or a boyfriend."
"Um, hello," Cartman says, and he flushes when he realizes what he was about to admit. "I mean, yeah, Butters basically belongs to me, but he's also way beneath me, boyfriend-wise. I wouldn't even call him that. I mean, I'll probably break up with him. I just kind of did, actually. He was all upset and shit. Went running to Craig. Pssh."
"Why does everyone hate me?" Clyde asks, as if he didn't hear any of that.
"I dunno," Cartman says, muttering. "They hate me, too, so. Your guess is as good as mine."
"But you're fucking mean to everyone. I'm not!"
"I'm not mean, Clyde, okay? I'm honest. I'm upfront!" Cartman holds out his palm and jabs it with his index finger. "I have principles, and standards, and--"
"Whatever." Clyde puts his hands over his face. "It doesn't matter. Butters pity-fucked us both. Great. What a legacy I'll leave here when I graduate."
"That wasn't a pity fuck, Clyde! Well, maybe it was in your case, but--"
"Just go away. I want to be alone."
Cartman harrumphs and looks out at the surface of the pond, not moving. Clyde can't tell him what to do. And anyway, he's lying. He doesn't really want to be alone. Cartman can tell.
For a while they just sit like that, the pond lapping against the shore, Clyde sniffling, and Cartman sighing with exasperation. The pond has recently thawed, and the weather has been warmer during the day, but as the sun begins to set the cold creeps in.
"You're lucky to have Butters," Clyde says. "Even if he fucks other dudes. He goes to the movies with you and stuff."
"Well, fuck Butters, because I broke up with him. Clyde, look. It's been a long day. A long seventeen years, here in this shithole. I say we make the most of the time we have left."
"I'm not going on a killing spree with you, Eric."
"Clyde -- Jesus! I'm not -- I meant we should have sex! Me and you. With each other. And go to the movies together," he says, mumbling. "If that's so fucking important to you."
"God," Clyde says. "That's just what I need to put the cherry on this fucking day. Your dick in my ass."
"So you're into it? I have condoms if you've got lube."
"I was being sarcastic."
"Oh. It's hard to tell, with your fucked up voice."
"Shut up," Clyde says. He sniffles some more and rubs at his eyes. "I could fuck you, though," he says. "If you like that."
"I --" Cartman is furious, insulted, offended. He's not some fucking bottom. Clyde is obviously the bottom, between the two of them. And yet he can't make himself pass up on this opportunity, because if he does it's just home, crying in the shower, dinner with his mom, TV, angry masturbation. He doesn't want any of that right now, and he's curious about Clyde's dick size. "Fine!" Cartman says, looking up at the sky and groaning. "Fine, Clyde, fine. You've had a hard day, and I'm a generous person."
"There's calamine lotion in my van," Clyde says, standing. "For lube." He offers Cartman a hand, and Cartman shouldn't take it, because what a girlish, bottom thing to do, but he does.
"This van is totally gay," Cartman says as he climbs into it, beginning to feel nervous. He once put a vibrator he stole from his mother up his ass, and it mostly hurt, but he left it up there for a while, hopeful that the experience would develop positively if he kept at it.
"It was my mom's van," Clyde says, climbing in behind Cartman. They're in the backseat, which Clyde folds down to make a kind of platform-bed area. "And Kyle's right. You should stop calling stuff gay like it's a bad thing. You just asked me to fuck you in the ass, man."
"Okay, first of all, I did not ask, I volunteered, because you were crying like a baby and I'm nice, and like I said to that bitch Kyle, there's nothing gay about--"
"Yeah, yeah," Clyde says. "Here's the lotion, if you want to prep yourself."
"Pssh." Cartman stares down at the very pink bottle, and the pink crust around the cap. His heart is pounding, but this is good, this is cool. It's about time he was with someone other than Butters, who barely counts. "Um, no." He tosses the calamine back to Clyde. "Only wusses need ass prep. Just put that stuff on your dick and get on with it. Oh, and this, too." Cartman digs out his wallet and hands Clyde a condom.
"Fine," Clyde says. He starts unfastening his jeans, and Cartman does the same. He turns away from Clyde, leans forward onto his elbows and points his ass in Clyde's direction before shoving his underwear down along with his pants. His face is very hot, so he hides it in his arms. "Damn," Clyde says.
"Don't say anything about my ass! It's big and fat, ha ha ha, very funny."
"I wasn't -- I just mean -- what you're doing. You're hardcore."
"You're goddamn right I am. Get ready to experience gay sex like never before, Clyde. I mean, anal sex that's -- heterosexual. Or, like. Masculinely bisexual, I mean."
"Okay."
Cartman listens in tense silence as Clyde tears open the condom wrapper and rolls the thing onto himself. He hears the bottle of lotion option, then a disturbing squishing sound. He wants to check over his shoulder to make sure Clyde doesn't have a colostomy bag, or only one ball, and curses himself internally when he realizes he missed an opportunity to ask Butters about those rumors. He sucks in his breath when he feels a big, slimy dickhead inching up along his ass crack.
"Are you sure about this?" Clyde asks, putting his hand on Cartman's hip.
"Yes. I -- why wouldn't I be, like. I've done this hundreds of times."
"You have?"
"Just -- what is this, twenty questions? Are you fucking my ass or not?"
"Alright, god. This is so weird."
If Cartman could choose, 'this is so weird' would not be the words he'd select for the moment right before a cock breached his ass, but he grits his teeth and moves his knees apart, trying not to think about how frightfully big Clyde feels from this angle. In a way, it's worse than the vibrator, bigger, but there's also a kind of heat and give that the vibrator didn't have, and Cartman is able to contain his pained panic for the first couple of inches. Then it bursts out of him in a whimpering 'gynahh!' sound, and Clyde freezes.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing!" Cartman is breathing hard, clawing at the folded-over van seat and determined to do just one thing right today: this. Butters does it all the time, so how hard can it be? "Just keep going! God!"
"You're really, like. Tight, though."
"Oh, I'm so flattered, thank you noticing. Fuck that ass, Clyde! Fuck it like a man!"
"Jesus Christ." Clyde sighs and continues pressing in slowly. Cartman whimpers again and bites his wrist, moaning. Sweat is pouring down the back of his neck, and Clyde is essentially ripping him in half, but it's fine, it's cool. Whatever.
"Am I tighter than Butters?" Cartman asks, needing a distraction. He regrets the shake in his voice, but that's just physical strain. This is hard work, it turns out.
"I barely remember," Clyde says. "But, yeah. I think so."
"Ha, good. I -- I'd better be. That Butters, what a ho, am I right?"
"Shhh." Clyde pets the small of Cartman's back, which is probably degrading, but it actually feels kind of good. Cartman lets out his breath and tries pressing his hips back, pushing out on Clyde's dick with his ass muscles in the process. It makes him whimper again, but this time it almost feels good. It's a small good feeling in a sea of 'huge thing in ass, eject, eject!' but it's enough to calm him down enough to feel it again, still distantly. Butters loves this, and Cartman has envied that about him at times. The little ho is kind of a sexual badass.
"Are you all in?" Cartman asks, because Clyde has stopped moving, and because he's pretty sure it would be humanly impossible for a dick to be much longer. Clyde's feels like it's halfway up his throat.
"Uh-huh," Clyde says, still petting Cartman's back. "Are you okay?"
"Of course I'm okay!"
"'Cause you were making noises like maybe you aren't?"
"I'm fine--"
"I know I'm big. Millie said I have a horse cock."
"What the hell does Millie know about it? You were with her?"
"No, but she tricked me into stripping for her and Patty and then they stole my clothes and ran away."
"Oh, Jesus," Cartman says, like he hasn't heard this story before. "Fuck those bitches. Your cock is great." Cartman squeezes around it and Clyde groans. "Millie just has penis envy or something. That chick is whack."
"That chick is whack," Clyde says, and he laughs. "Yeah, she is."
"Enough about chicks. Give that ass the business, Clyde. I can take it. Look at me, I'm built for impact."
"What does that mean?" Clyde sounds almost sad, his hand going still on Cartman's back.
"Seriously, you need a translation? Fuck me!"
Clyde does, in shallow thrusts, grunting and holding onto Cartman's hips. It feels weird in three places but good in two, and Cartman gets a little bit hard just as Clyde falls forward onto him with a moan and unloads into the condom. Clyde pants against Cartman's back, then pulls out slowly. Cartman is glad when he's out and quickly not sure why he just let Clyde do that. He slumps onto his side and touches his dick, but his erection wilts irreversibly as he listens to Clyde pull off the condom.
"You okay?" Clyde asks.
"Yeah. You didn't last very long."
"Sorry, it's been a while."
"And I didn't come."
"Oh, shit. I could, like. Hand job?"
Cartman shrugs, still lying on his side. His ass hurts. The calamine lotion stinks, and the smell is going to linger on him until he does some kind of thorough ass cleaning, which - how do you even do that? He'll ask Butters, maybe. He tenses when he feels Clyde settling in behind him, his hand resting on Cartman's shoulder.
"Hand job?" Clyde says. It's soft, like an endearment. Cartman grunts and pulls Clyde's arm around him, bringing Clyde's hand down toward his dick. He sighs and closes his eyes when Clyde's fingers close around him, coaxing him back into hardness.
"Yeah," Cartman says, pushing his hips forward. "You like that, Clyde? You like -- cocks?"
"They're okay."
"You like fucking asses?"
"It's pretty good."
"Jesus, you're not impressed by much, are you?"
"I want a -- like this," Clyde says, and he puts his face against Cartman's neck, breathing there hotly before licking him. He kisses the roll of fat under Cartman's jaw, then bites at it a little. Cartman grunts, and Clyde licks him again. "Like that," Clyde says, still pumping Cartman's dick. "And the movies, too. And prom."
"Didn't you, ah. Go to prom?"
"I went with Bebe. She's in love with Kenny."
"So why didn't -- ah, ha -- how come she didn't go with him? His poor ass couldn't afford a suit?"
"No. He disappeared during prom. She thought he was dead. She cried the whole time."
"Jesus. Harder."
Clyde moves his hand faster, his fingers pinching in tighter. Cartman whines and tries to get there, wants to finish, but everything's so fucked up. He tries to picture Clyde fucking Butters, probably in this very van, after those girls stole his clothes. Clyde probably cried. Butters probably brought him some clothes to wear home, after. Or before?
"Say something hot," Cartman says, unable to clear his head.
"Like what?"
"I don't know, Clyde, Jesus!"
Butters is good at this part. Oooh, Eric, your big wiener feels so good! Eric, your balls are so big and full of yummy come! Your nipples are soo sensitive, aren't they, Eric? That kind of shit.
"Call me Eric," Cartman says, jerking his hips.
"Eric."
"Not just like that! Clyde, fuck, what is wrong with you? Use it in a sentence! For Christ's fucking sake, man!"
"Okay, god! Um, okay. Eric, I -- you seem like you need to come. Eric."
"Clyde, I swear to god--"
"Do you want to come, Eric? You want to come in my hand?"
"Unh, yeah, just--"
"Go on, Eric. You can come in my hand. Fill up that hand with come, Eric. Get it all over my fingers, all over my van--"
So Cartman comes, finally, to the thought of defiling Clyde's dead mother's van with his seed. It's a fairly spectacular orgasm, and he turns onto his back while he's still spurting, hoping Clyde will kiss him.
He does, and Cartman can taste the cheap tomato sauce from the cafeteria tortellini, but he's in no position to complain. Cuddling must be a bottom thing; Cartman suddenly understands why Butters always seemed to need it after sex. It feels essential now, though still fucking lame, so Cartman rolls against Clyde like it's an accident of gravity that leaves him pressed to Clyde's chest. Cartman is really too big to be cuddled, unwieldy and Kong-like -- he's always known that -- but Clyde puts an arm around him and kisses him again.
"This was the King Kong vs. Godzilla of fucks," Cartman says when they've been like that for a while and he's starting to fall asleep, not entirely sure what just came out of his mouth. Clyde is playing with the back of Cartman's hair, nodding.
"Yeah," Clyde says. "It's kinda true."
Cartman grins, his face hidden against Clyde's shoulder. This is ridiculous, his ass hurts, he's hungry, but he'll lie here for a few more minutes. There's something satisfying about what's going on right now, and he can't put his finger on it. Like, he lost the fight against Godzilla, but it's fine?
Godzilla gets it. Godzilla was crying alone. Butters was just some puny human shrieking in his palm. Wendy was one of those smug explorer guys who always looked at him like a monster. Nobody's going to name a movie after such meager background players. Godzilla has a horse dick and a dumb voice, but he's also a good kisser, and he's very pleasantly warm right now.
**