Author's Notes: This started out as a drabble. I obviously need to work on brevity. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!


I'm pretty sure I was fifteen when I first had sex with another dude. Don't wanna bore you with the details, so I'll be brief: me, high school party in North Park, booze, and some hot junior. It wasn't bad; in fact, I think I was the one who came on to him. I've got bleary memories of standing on my tiptoes to kiss him under a dim porchlight, and feeling his hands press into the small of my back.

We made it upstairs damn fast after that and, uh, it was an experience. Sex with girls was the norm for me up 'till then (before you ask, I lost it on my thirteenth birthday), but there was no way I was gonna pass up someone like what's-his-name. I mean, come on. The last thing I remember is kissing his neck when we we finished, grabbing my clothes, and getting the hell out of there. I'm not the biggest fan of basking in the afterglow.

I wasn't surprised when word got around though. After all, I'd seen Bebe there. The newsflash probably went something like this: FW: OMG kenny + np junior. Srsly!!1! One of my biggest regrets is that I wasn't there to see Cartman's face when he got the text. Stan assures me that it was pure gold.

But I guess Kyle hadn't really seen the funny side, because the next morning at the bus stop he walked up to me slowly, like I was gonna explode. (Not that I hadn't done that once or twice.) The city had put in a bench when we were in sixth grade, and I was sitting on it cross-legged, trying to stay warm. Fucking Goodwill and their fucking thin jackets.

"Hey, dude."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and gave me a halfhearted smile. "What's up?" Nice enough, I guess, but he stayed where he was.

I jerked my head to the empty half of the bench. "You can sit down, you know. I'm not gonna rape you."

That got his attention.

"Shut up, Kenny." He brushed snow off the wood slats and sat down, flecks of ice sticking to his fuzzy mittens. Damn, those things looked warm. I wrapped my arms around myself, shoved my numb hands under my arms, and did my best not to resent him. I'm kind of a dick like that. I know it's not other people's faults that they're better off than I am, but sometimes it helps to think they are. It's a poverty thing. Don't worry about it.

We sat there in silence for a minute, doing our best to make an awkward situation seem, well, less awkward. The other guys would show up eventually, and save us the trouble of talking to each other. I honestly don't know why it was so weird with Kyle. I mean, Stan would have shrugged it off, Cartman would have called me a fag (and then privately congratulated me for scoring, no matter what the "scoree's" gender), but Kyle was just...Kyle. He'd want to know why, if only for curiosity's sake, and probably wouldn't take "I was smashed and he was hot" for an answer. Jesus.

Kyle scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirty snow. "I heard about the party. Sounded pretty cool."

I shrugged. "It was okay. Booze was good."

Snow always muffles everything, but I could hear cars in the distance, rattling around with their snow chains on. Kyle gave me sort of a sidelong look, and I couldn't tell if his cheeks were red from cold or embarrassment. Poor kid. "So, um, are you, like, gay now?"

I expected to laugh when he said it, but something in his tone stopped me. He sounded unsure, like he was genuinely scared of hurting my feelings. Gotta love Kyle, man. Sensitive son of a bitch.

"Nah." I flash him a grin. "Kenny McCormick is not a one-trick pony. Either way is just fine with me. Besides, I could never give up on the ladies; what would they do without me?"

He cracks his knuckles, and it sounds extra-loud in the freezing air. "I dunno. Maybe branch out to other guys? Face it, Ken, there's not a lot of girls to choose from with you around."

I roll my eyes."Oh please, everyone knows I never actually date them. They're wide open for serious relationships, if that's what you guys want."

"You're missing the point, dumbass."

Of course I was. Purposely. I hated talking to Kyle about my escapades. Don't get me wrong, he was never a jerk about it, but I always felt like I was rubbing my experience in his face. I knew that I was a slight exception to the rule, and that most fifteen year olds don't exist on a steady diet of sex, especially with upperclassmen girls. Then again, I don't know how you can expect a fifteen year old not to brag about that.

Kyle? He'd made out with a couple of chicks, but he was still about as big a virgin as it's possible to be. Maybe it had something to do with his religion... Hell if I knew. I never payed much attention to that sort of thing.

"Would you think I was a total freak if I asked you what it was like?"

My head jerked up. He was half-joking, I could see him smiling, but half-joking and joking aren't the same thing. Like, at all.

"Kind of."

He crossed his arms and laughed."You're such a dick, dude."

Maybe it was the laugh that did it, or the green-grey eyes squinting up at the snowflakes, or the long line of his torso as he leaned back on the bench. I dunno. And it doesn't really matter. Because all of a sudden, I wanted to kiss Kyle Brovlofski. My friend. My straight friend.

Weird, right?

But you know what was even weirder? Leaning in, nice and fast, grabbing his upper arms, and pressing my lips against his. Surprised? You shouldn't be. This is me, after all.

I saw his eyes go wide a split-second before I closed mine. He could sit there like an idiot, but I was going to enjoy this. I scooted a little closer on the bench, not bothering to break the kiss, and cupped his jawline in my left hand. Girls (I still couldn't say much for guys at that point. Drunk, remember?) usually liked that. Some sort of intimacy thing, I guess.

Kyle had his hands flat against my chest, like he'd planned to push me off and then gotten distracted. Not that I blame him. He was kissing back now, opening his mouth awkwardly, and I could tell he had no idea how maintain the delicate balance of making out and breathing. I bit his lower lip, just a tiny nibble, and he yelped. Like a puppy.


He winced a little when I slipped a hand under his shirt, and for a second I felt bad. My fingers were freezing.

I really do love the way guys feel though. A girl, even a skinny one, is still kind of curvy. Soft. Guys are all planes and angles, like something out of a geometry book. Kyle was no different. I slid my hand across his belly to his hipbone, and let it rest there, tapping my index finger every now and then.He went in to kiss me again, overshot, and got me on the chin. Points for enthusiasm, Brovlofski. The funny thing was, I could tell he was totally weirded out, but he didn't pull away. Not once.

Of course, it stopped mattering about ten seconds after that, when we heard the distant, but unmistakable call of the Cartman: "Oh my Gawd, you guys! You guys!"

Kyle leapt off the bench like the fucking thing was on fire. "Shit! Kenny, look, I, uh...I mean, we, um, can't, you know...And stuff. Shit."

I tucked my hands back into my armpits. They were a hellava lot warmer under Kyle's shirt, let me tell you. "No worries, dude. It's cool." I gave him a crooked smile. "That's what it's like, by the way."

I'm pretty sure I was fifteen when I first had sex with another dude. And the only part of that weekend I can really remember is kissing Kyle.