To the Count of Twenty
Written at the request of my little sis, Fogged Tears, who is the most diehard South Park fan I have ever known.
(Be warned : in attempt to stay in-character, this is probably one of the most depraved fan fictions you'll ever read. If you don't want to know what fifteen year old boys really do in their spare time... you should probably turn back.)
The weather was frigid and the ground was completely frosted with ice, as per usual in the mountain town of South Park, but Stan Marsh's face was hot enough to heat a moderately sized classroom as he tried explaining his most recent date with Wendy Testaburger to his eager friends. "And she uh... we were sitting on her couch, y'know... and she leaned over to kiss me, right?"
"And?" came Kenny's muffled voice impatiently from beneath his parka.
"And... she sorta... slipped me the tongue...."
"And then what?" barked Cartman, trying hard not to look too curious. Stan fidgeted uncomfortably for about the thousandth time since the start of the conversation.
"And then...." He looked seconds away from pissing his pants. "I ralfed all over her."
His three friends fell backwards onto the snow, tears leaking out of their eyes (and milk out their noses, in Kyle's case at least) as their laughter echoed off the nearby mountains.
Kyle was still sniggering even as he and Stan filed into the high school's cafeteria, much to the annoyance of his best friend. "Ah, c'mon, dude," he sputtered out between laughs. "It's not... so bad, you know." Stan frowned.
"Are you kidding me?" he asked as he grabbed a lunch tray and fell into the cafeteria line. "Kenny will have died at least twenty times before I ever get laid."
"You would probably puke out a lung if Wendy ever took off her coat in your presence," Kyle started with a grin before Stan chucked a carton of milk at his head; it exploded promptly, showering them both. Laughing harder than ever, Kyle added sympathetically, "At least you've got a better shot than Cartman – just looking at that fat ass should cheer you up." Stan rolled his eyes.
"Why has no one shot you yet?"
"Because I'm adorable."
Stan finally cracked a grin as they paid for their lunches and headed outside to join Kenny and Cartman, who were conversing loudly at their usual picnic table. They shut up as Stan and Kyle reached earshot. "Hey, Jew!" Cartman called to Kyle, who was so used to this by now he didn't bother retaliating. "Fixed your performance problem yet, Stan?"
"Ha ha, very funny," Stan snapped sarcastically as he plopped down across from Kenny, who was stealing food from Cartman's tray when he wasn't looking. "At least I've got a girlfriend, lardass." Cartman pulled a face, slapping away Kenny's hand as he tried to sneak a pudding.
"Oh yeah? At least I can... er...." he cast around frantically for an insult. "Get it up!"
Stan looked utterly nonplused. "What the hell...? Who said I couldn't?"
"Kenny," Cartman responded quickly, pointing, to which Kenny frowned and flipped him off, grabbing the pudding and stuffing it into his parka. "Why else would you get so nervous around that ho Wendy? Besides, if you can, why don't you whip it out and prove it?"
"Dude!" cried Kyle, dropping the sandwich he was about to take a bite out of; he'd suddenly lost his appetite. "Sick!" Kenny was choking he was laughing so hard.
"You wanna see Stan's chode? You're such a fag, dude!" he mumbled between laughs.
"Ay!" yelled Cartman. "Don't call me a fag, you poor piece of shit!"
Kenny pursed his lips for a moment as if in deep thought. "... fag." He only had a moment to grin cheekily before Cartman completely lost his temper and swung his lunch tray as hard as he could at Kenny's head. The resulting collision sent blood flying everywhere and the three boys distinctly heard a bone crack. After a minute of waiting hesitantly for Kenny to pick himself up off the ground, Stan gasped out loud, "Oh my god! You killed Kenny!"
"You bastard!" roared Kyle, sending food flying as he jumped over the table to beat the shit out of Cartman, who was still holding his tray in the air as though frozen in the act, but he quickly regained his composure in time to kick Kyle in the shins. Within seconds, the two were engaged in a full-out brawl on the snow covered ground; classmates had started to gather around them to watch the fight.
Stan stared, wide eyed, from Kenny's body (which had already begun to attract rats) to the battle of fists and swear words that was his friends, then let out a sigh.
Well, he thought miserably. That's one.
Stan lay in his bed, fully clothed, eyes turned to the ceiling in quiet contemplation. Why was he so constantly nervous around Wendy? They'd been an on-and-off couple for the past six years.... Damn, thought Stan as he sat bolt upright. Has it been that long? Christ.... Laying back down, he let out a long exhale, completely void of ideas to fix his "performance problem" as Cartman so affectionately put it.
"Stan?" Mrs. Marsh's voice asked through the crack in his bedroom door. Stan glanced up lazily. "Kyle's here."
He frowned; he hadn't invited his best friend over, but shrugged and said regardless, "Come in, I'm not beating off or anything."
Kyle smiled at Mrs. Marsh's red face then shut the door behind him as he entered to ensure them some privacy. "What are you doing here?" Stan asked curiously, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and chuckling at Kyle's pout.
"What am I doing here? Oh, that's real nice for someone who just got out of detention and surrendered their remaining hours of daylight to be with their best friend." Stan laughed.
"You sound like a chick."
"You wish," Kyle muttered under his breath with a smile before swinging his backpack over his shoulder and onto the ground. "Anyway, what I'm 'doing here' is coming to help. I realized after kicking the crap out of Cartman that I can't have a best friend who's such an unbelievable pussy." It was Stan's turn to look offended.
Kyle shot him an appraising look. "Well, it's true, isn't it? And I don't think I can live in a world where Cartman is actually right about something." Stan stuck out his lip.
"Fair point. So what've you got in the bag?"
"A plan." He pulled out an armload of books and dumped them onto the floor. They all had titles like "Sexual 101," "Dating for Dummies," or "Sabrina's Passion." Stan went bright red.
"Dude... this is all shit for loser chicks who can't get dates... why do I –"
"Look at this," said Kyle quickly, opening a book and thrusting a full-page photograph of two women making out under Stan's nose. He promptly threw up all over the floor (and the book, which Kyle was sure would piss off the librarian he'd borrowed it from). Smiling as his best friend wiped away traces of vomit from his mouth, Kyle declared triumphantly, "That's why. Your problem is that you're a complete sexual spaz."
Stan opened his mouth then closed it wordlessly, glaring. After a minute of composing himself, he retorted angrily, "I am not!" But he was lying and they both knew it... and, for that matter, so did anyone who'd ever watched him hurl whenever a pretty girl spoke to him. Obviously not fooling the smirking jew, he sighed and continued, "But what's this brilliant plan of yours...?"
Kyle grinned. "I'm glad you asked." He piled all the books into a neat stack and hauled them over to Stan's bookcase, giving them a reassuring pat. "The challenge is to get your sorry ass laid before the count of twenty." Stan raised an eyebrow.
"The count of twenty?"
"After your comment about Kenny dying twenty times before... y'know... well, me and Cartman bet on it during our detention together."
"Oh?" Stan asked, trying but failing not to smile at his friends' childishness. Kyle plowed on.
"All you've got to do is become completely impervious to the idea of spontaneous, immoral sex. In other words, become a guy." Stan muttered something offensive about Jews in a low voice. "With the aide of these books and a generous helping of porn, I think turning you into a man is a possible goal."
"Will you shut the fuck up, Kyle?!" Kyle just cracked a grin, zipping up his backpack and sliding it back on over his shoulder.
"Remember that I'm on your side," he said in what Stan assumed was supposed to be a bracing voice as he walked over to the bedroom door and pulled it open. "So not a word to Cartman... fifty bucks are riding on it. You've got to the count of twenty." He winked and then, without so much as a good-bye, disappeared out the door.
Torn between swearing and laughing, Stan settled for chucking one of the heavier books at the door where Kyle had been seconds before.
"What's going on up there, Stanley?" shrieked his mother's voice from downstairs. Stan donned a grin identical to Kyle's before sliding off his bed and grabbing a book entitled "What Goes in Where?!"