It was the weirdest experience of my life, and well, that's got to be saying something. I'm Stanley Marsh, I'm nine years old and I live in South Park, Colorado. I have black hair, blue eyes, and an uneven fringe that hangs down over my eyes (probably obscuring my vision when I think about it, but still, I'm used to it now). And I have a fluffy hat with a red poofball on top that very probably makes me look like a fag... but, well, I'm used to that now too. I think most so-called adults are total douches, I mean, real big ones. And since I've already conquered John Edward in terms of psychic ability, that's got to be saying something. All they ever do is run around, making up problems that aren't there and blaming the government for things like terrorists and the recession, when really it's their own stupid faults for provoking everything. That's why I think they're total douchebags. The only person I really like is my Super Best Friend, Kyle Broflovski, who is the only Jewish kid in South Park. He's also kind of a genius, academically speaking, because he spends way too much time studying textbooks to appease his dumb bitch mother and not enough time throwing rocks at cars with me. Still he said he would do it today, so all I have to do is wait for him to turn up.

It doesn't take him long. He shuffles over and sits down next to me at the roadside, clad in his usual attire of orange jacket, green trousers and lime green mittens... not forgetting his hat, to disguise the awkward Jewfro that he so resented.

"Hey dude." He greeted, somewhat forlornly.

"Oh, dude, hey." I mimicked, turning to look at him properly. He looked bad. Not bad in an ugly sense, I mean if I'm honest I've always thought he was kind of cute (as well as being my Super Best Friend)... just... messed up.

"Um, Ky, is something wrong?" I asked nervously, wanting to eliminate any tension and yet unsure of how to do it.

"It's just... um... Stan... well no, it's nothing. I just don't feel myself today. Kind of cranky."

"If you say so, dude." I replied, noticing how his lips pouted slightly as he turned away from me. For some weird reason, I felt excited as I watched his tongue slither out, wetting his lips... God I hope I'm not a fag.

There were hardly any cars going past today. I figured we might need a new vantage point to throw rocks from (if only we could find one that wasn't already occupied by sixth-graders). As I noticed Mr. Mackey's old van approaching, I nudged Kyle gently.

"Hey look we've got one. You wanna get it or shall I?"

"Stan you know I can't do co-ordination to save my life. And besides I don't want to get in trouble. You do it."

Taking aim as well as I could, I swung my arm back and let the rock fly... then watched as it collided with Mackey's windscreen, smashing it in a display of what can only be described as perfection.

"Woah, dude." Kyle murmured.

Mr. Mackey thrust his head out of the open window, glaring at us.

"Boys that is not appropriate behaviour, mmkay. You see the thing about throwing rocks is, it's bad, mmkay? Because somebody could get hurt, mmkay? You wait till I tell all your parents about this, mmkay?"

"Oh Jesus Christ, does he have nothing better to threaten us with?" I muttered scornfully, looking to Kyle for affirmation, but it seemed as though all the colour had drained from his face.

"Stan... I don't think we should be throwing rocks at cars anymore. We could hurt someone."

Instead of responding, I lunged onto him, pressing him against the hard ground roughly, and forcing him to lose his hat in the process. He stared at me wide-eyed, unable to respond from sheer confusion (or was it horror...)

"Maybe somebody needs to teach you not to be so uptight, Jewboy." I said in what can only be described as a crap attempt at sadist roleplay.

"Stan... WHAT." He shrieked in disbelief, his teeth gritted firmly as I wrestled my tongue against them, trying to force him to succumb to what I wanted... and just goddamn enjoy it.

He's too stubborn for his own good...

Eventually, I felt him relax in my grip, and open his mouth slightly, allowing my throbbing muscle to venture inside and explore his mouth hungrily, savouring Kosher boy's taste. I licked his lips somewhat erotically, dampening them a little, and feeling him gasp as I rubbed up against him, still attacked his mouth with my tongue as I did. Let's not forget I am horribly, horribly inexperienced, so just the fact he is enjoying it is something, right?

"Um Stan...do you like me?" Kyle asks quietly as I pull away from him, gazing at me with those wide, emerald eyes and practically killing me in the process.

"I guess... I mean I don't think I'm a homo... but I mean, we're Super Best Friends right. So it's okay."

"Mm."

I'm not sure Kyle is convinced.

Nevertheless, I lie down beside him and bury my face in his curls; sniffing the sweet smell of Jewish shampoo (I'm not sure if Jews actually use different hair products, but still.)

He doesn't seem to mind. I guess he finds it... comforting?