I think he's fucking Stan Marsh. That has to be it.

He told me to trust him. He told me I was delusional. I'm sure that's part of his plan. Convince Tweek he's mentally ill and making up the whole thing, and I can have all the cock I want without him ever knowing.

Craig lies to me a lot. I know that he does. It's in his eyes. Liar. You don't just kiss Stan Marsh and then forget about it. There's obviously some affair going on, he's obviously happy to be rid of me.

I know he's happy because he didn't even give a shit when I could have died right in front of him. He just gave me this look of disgust while I was sobbing and shoving all these pills down my throat. I took everything I could get my hands on-Xanax, Valium, Ambien, Zoloft, melatonin, whatever the hell else was around my house. You can tell what special snowflakes the Tweaks are. Anyway, I was choking, because really, I hadn't been in my right mind enough to think something like, "Ah yes, I should have a glass of water with my medications!" If I'd thought ahead, I would have had some vodka. That would have helped all those pills have more of an effect.

So my throat was burning, and I was coughing up all this blue Zoloft goo straight from my lungs while simultaneously attempting to swallow more pills.

And Craig just left me.

Like the cheating, lying asshole that he is, he just stared at me, like I was some zoo animal, some exhibit to be watched, and turned on his heel. He didn't even speak to me. He just blinked at me, while I was choking on a veritable miasma of medications, and walked away. He walked out of my bedroom, and down the stairs, and out of my house. He never even gave a shit about me, I bet. I'll bet he just dated me out of pity, while having a little Marsh on the side.

Living the good life, Craig?

Do you like gazing down at that little red poofball while getting a lackluster little blowjob? Stan's gentle and vanilla, isn't he. You wish it were my mouth on your dick, don't you. It's only my personality you hate. But that's probably why you stayed with me so long-the sex was good, at least. I'm glad I could at least be a good fuck toy to you.

You'd probably love to be with Marsh-someone stable. He's cynical and sad, sure, but he's not prone to do anything too crazy. I bet your ideal life involves a relationship with Marsh while you get some nice blowjobs from the crazy kid.

Well, too fucking bad, Craig. Because if you're going to leave me for Marsh, I'm not letting you fuck me.

But if that's what you're going to do, you jerk, you asshole, you stupid, two-timing whore, then I guess that means that I can do it, too. I can have sex with somebody that isn't Craig. I'll fucking show him how it's done. I'll bet that Stan doesn't even really move when you stick your dick in him. I bet that he just lays there like a dead fish. He probably isn't interesting at all.

What better way to show Craig that I am having more fun than he is than have the most amazing sex ever?

The only question would be, who the hell is going to have sex with me?

Only a real slut would do me. I don't mean that in a bad way necessarily. I know I'm a real slut.

Because right now, I am sitting in my mother's car, and she's being all cute and nice, all motherly, like, "Oh, I would love to drop you off to play with your little friends! I'm so glad you're getting out," and playing her 1950s music.

And I am sitting right next to her and thinking about how I want to get drunk off my ass and then have my ass pounded by anyone Craig hates.

It's then that I'm struck with a brilliant stroke of genius. The best of my career, you might say. There is no one more willing to take sex offered to him than Kenny fucking McCormick, and there is conveniently no one that Craig hates more. Probably because he knows that Kenny is more delicious-looking than he is. And because he knows that Kenny's dick isn't crooked like his is. It sticks a little off to the side.

As I'm plotting this, I feel a smile creep up onto my face. I hope my mom can't see. At least it's dark. It's just that, my mom knows that when I smile, I have an idea. And this idea is probably the best I idea that I have ever had in my life. Kenny is notoriously good at fucking. Everybody knows that.

I'm just so stressed and fucked up right now, you know? On top of the excellent revenge, getting a thorough fucking isn't a half-bad idea, especially when it's from a skilled libertine. I mean, that guy gets around. He's bound to give me a good time.

"Have a nice time at the party, Pumpkin," my mother says, interrupting my revenge sex fantasies. We've pulled up at Token's giant ass house. I can tell my mother is eying it, wishing she could have it since it's all pretty and nice. She always drives past it at Christmas time and admires it, saying, "Wouldn't it be nice if we had a light up nativity scene too?"

So she is probably thinking about how she has a boner for mansions with well-kept gardens while I am trying not to get a boner for Kenny, because seriously, the thought of Kenny grinding into me gets me really worked up.

"Bye, Mom," I say, sliding out of the car. "I love you!" Laugh if you will, but I do love her. Besides, how many moms would drop their kids off at what is really obviously a drunken teenage party ready to get busted by the cops? Of course, at this point, most of the other kids can drive themselves. I just can't drive because I'm crazy. At least, that's what Officer Barbrady told my parents when I drove our car into a ditch when I was fifteen.

I walk up the path to Token's house briskly, my mind focused like a laser beam on revenge against stupid Craig, stupid Craig who is probably fucking Stan Marsh as we speak. Though I doubt that what they do together is something that you could call "fucking," anyway. Stan is probably one of those babies that always wants it gentle and sweet, something totally retarded like that. He's one of those guys that just can't handle a dick, I bet.

I can handle a dick, just so that's clear. I can more than handle that shit. I fucking command dicks. Let me tell you, if I wasn't so weird and crazy, they would probably call me Tweek Tweak, Commander of Penises. Because that's what I do. Command them, I mean.

I can feel the bass that rumbles to the beat of the music. It's practically shaking the ground underneath my feet. When I yank the front door open, somebody calls out casually, "Have your mommy drive you, Tweek?" I stick my tongue out in the direction I think I heard it from and lift my middle finger, before I realize that flipping people off is Craig's thing.

Fuck, that makes me blood boil. I've even picked up that dirty fucker's habits.

Right. Revenge. Sex. Good sex. Good sex with Kenny.

I find Kenny in the spacious living room, sitting on the couch, sandwiched between Jimmy Valmer and Clyde. They're passing around a hookah hose, and although I hate to interrupt, I think that my predicament is kind of more important.

I don't actually say anything when I stomp over to Kenny, maybe because I forget to warn him, or maybe because I don't care and I don't think that he'll care either. So, instead of speaking, I tug him up by the collar of his orange hoodie, and smash my lips against his.

"Holy shit!" exclaims Clyde.

"J-Jesus," stammers Jimmy.

Kenny tastes kind of gross, like cheap flavored tobacco and beer. I don't really like beer, I prefer my alcohol in shots or mixed in with sweet, yummy things. But if it gets me drunk, it gets me drunk, I suppose.

I tear my mouth off of Kenny, who, when I pull back, looks less surprised than I thought he would. I say, "I want you to fuck me."

He glances at Clyde, though I don't know why, before answering, "Uh," he clears his throat, "Yeah, sure. Let's go. But maybe not sober, yeah?"

This guy can just read my thoughts, which is exactly why he deserves my fine ass.

"Oh, please," I say, yanking his arm. My other hand is on his thigh, trailing near his crotch. Teasing. I'm not doing anything to make him come until he gets some drinks in me. He's fucking me tonight, so it's his duty to take care of me by making sure I am properly sloshed.

I lead the way, because really, I am closer friends with Token than Kenny. I mean, right now, Craig's friends are kind of skeeved out by me, but when I have Craig's ass, I have Token's and Clyde's too. So I know exactly what alcohol is in the Blacks' liquor cabinet, all sorts of fancy stuff, and that is what I am having tonight-none of that shitty ass beer that Token has set out for the plebeians attending his party. I am no fucking plebeian. I am having the fucking Grey Goose. I set it in front of Kenny-along with a shotglass I find in the china cabinet-and I demand, "Pour me a fucking shot."

"Wow," says Kenny. "Craig must really like being a little bitch, huh."

I think Kenny realizes after saying this that I am in fact the crazy kid and I will not hesitate to smash the fucking vodka bottle over his head for bringing up my cheating, lying ex.

Because he complies and pours me my shot.

I down it in a single gulp and slam my glass down, lifting my eyebrows to indicate that I would like a second one. Kenny's too busy pouring himself a shot. I clear my throat noisily, with an, "Ahem."

He mutters, "Jesus, hold on. Stop being such a picky little bitch."

So I hit him.

"Ow, fuck, fine," he says. He pours a second shot.

I'm starting to feel good. Floaty, and good to go for something wonderful and dirty and naughty. Of course, I know some of this is just the warm feeling in my stomach as the shots set in. I make Kenny pour me four more before the room is properly spinny and I'm ready to go upstairs.

"You don't think I'm a slut, do you?" I say. "No, you can't think that...You've fucked everyone. No one will fuck me but Craig. But now he has Stan."

I am, for the record, a really terrible drunk. I just start spilling everything. My natural tendency is already to spill and talk too much, and the second I have the smallest bit of alcohol, I am ready to tell you everything. And the things I tell are often terrible because the things in my head are terrible. But I think it's an endearing trait that makes me totally fuckable. People just have shit taste.

"You are a slut," says Kenny.

"But you like it, don't you? You like my slutty little ass. You're gonna come inside that ass, aren't you? 'Cause that's what sluts do. They stick it in other willing sluts."

Only halfway up the stairs and I'm already dirty talking. Go figure.

I can't tell if the look that he's giving me is blank or if it's lustful, because I'm drunk and identifying things is hard.

Still, I somehow manage to find Token's parents' room. I could, in theory, have Kenny fuck me in one of the multiple guest rooms. They're reasonably nice. But reasonably nice pales in comparision to king-sized bed, ten million thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and some damn soft pillows. I know. I have jumped on this bed several times, because it is particularly wonderful and bouncy.

"Well, isn't this just romantic?" Kenny drawls. He might be being sarcastic, but whatever, I don't care, as long as he fucks me the right way.

I turn around and give him a sloppy kiss. These kisses are kind of gross. They're all slobbery and slightly off-center, but that might be my fault. Whatever. Kenny tears our lips away from each other and latches his onto my neck. It feels nice, and perfect, oh, fucking perfect. Craig could never do things hard enough.

"Bite me," I command.

He gnaws on my neck, tearing at the flesh. This is going to leave a mark. That's right, I'm Kenny's territory now. Craig never fucking left marks. He wouldn't let me mark him either. He said hickeys were embarrassing and immature. Now I know it was because he didn't want Stan to know he was still with me.

I want everyone to know that I belong to someone, that I am their property, that I am their bitch. I want marks all over my body. I bite Kenny's ear and neck and shoulders to show him that I want him to bite me everywhere. I want him to bite my nipples too, and when I make a move for his, I realize we are still in our shirts.

This is unacceptable.

I yank at the zipper of his hoodie, pulling it down and flipping the coat off someplace on the very expensive plush carpeting.

Interesting.

He is wearing no shirt underneath the hoodie for me to take off.

He would, that slut.

"You are such a fucking whore," I tell him, amazed at this new shirtless development, even though it is exactly what I wanted.

Kenny leans forward and bites my neck, nipping at my ear and tugging on the lobe with his teeth. He whispers in my ear, "But you like you like it, don't you? I know you do. I can feel it."

His hand is on the front of my jeans.

"I don't just like it," I moan. "I need it."

I want him to know that I am offering myself to him, that he can't just tease me by putting his hands there if he's not going to get me naked.

Luckily, Kenny gets that. Being a slut makes you sexually intuitive. Unlike Craig. Craig is that douche who, when you move his hand to your ass and demonstrate slapping, merely asks you, "What are you doing?" and totally kills the mood.

He "mmm"s against my throat and starts messing with my fly. I'm hard, painfully hard. I don't think I've had an erection like this in a long time. Like, okay, it's easy to get yourself hard, but it's not easy to make yourself so hard that you feel like you might die if you don't have somebody wrapped around you.

"Fuck," I mumble, when his hand dips past the waistband of my briefs and closes around my hard-on.

"Like that?"

"No more clothes," I tell him, whining a little as he begins to expertly pump his hand up and down. I nudge him back toward the Blacks' huge bed. He gets my message, tugging me into a rough kiss and releasing my cock to hoist me up and toss me backward onto the mattress.

Now, being drunk makes me extremely fucking hasty. With Craig, I usually like a bit of foreplay, not that he really ever delivers in that regard. But right now, I am thinking one thing and one thing only: Why is there no cock in my ass?

The answer to that, of course, is probably that I am still wearing pants, and unfortunately, my pants don't have an easy access buttflap.

But Jesus Christ, I couldn't have picked a better person to have revenge sex with. His hands are already gripping the belt loops of my jeans, already tugging them back so hard that he takes my underwear halfway down my legs, too.

Perfect.

I flip myself onto my stomach, climbing up onto my hands and knees. I hear the muffled clunk of him unbunkling his belt and his baggy jeans hitting the floor, then feel the mattress as it sinks down behind me.

Holy fuck, what is taking him so long? This isn't a goddamned game of chess. While there may be strategy involved in getting me to come, it starts with a pretty simple process. 1. Locate orifice. 2. Put dick inside said orifice. Hasn't he done this enough to know the mechanics? Jesus.

"Hurry the fuck up," I complain, moving my hand downward to touch myself, since some of us seem to be taking their own damned time.

"Hold your horses, princess," Kenny mutters. I hear him spit, and feel him prodding at my backside.

"There isn't time for that! Just fuck me, you stupid asshole," I bite out.

"You really want me to tear open your asshole? I don't think you're ready for that, love, and really, I don't want your ass blood all over my dick."

"That's too damn bad, 'cause this isn't about you, stupid," I say back.

Kenny looks at me like I've gone insane, which maybe I have. But, after a moment of us staring at each other, I tilt my hips back a little, rubbing my ass right up against his erection. This sends little sparks of anticipation and pleasure through me, which are only amplified when I hear Kenny's helpless little moan. It almost sounds like a half-sob, something that says, "Tweek is fucking crazy, but also fucking hot." Which I am, on both counts.

The thing is, I know Kenny is a horny bastard just like me. I can tell that right now, he is trying to be a gentleman. He is trying not to take advantage of my drunk self, trying to stop me from doing anything I'll later regret, despite the fact that I had this all planned out before even drinking. But he wants this just as much as I do. And as much as I'm sure he'd like to deny it, he likes quick and dirty sex. He has probably had lots of it.

So it's a bit cruel for me to be tempting him like this when he is trying his hardest to be good.

"Just fuck me," I whine, moving back again, pushing my body against his. I hope he'll get the hint. It's an invitation.

"Tweek -" He starts, and the way he says my name reeks of second thoughts.

Instead of answering him, I cut him off by pressing back further. I can feel his cock pushing closer and closer against me, and it feels awesome, if a little on the larger side. That's okay. I can take a dick. Like I said, I am a cock master. I am Tweek, Commander of Penises. As crooked as Craig's may have been, it was kind of a beast. I will not forget the first time that I saw the monster - on Mr. and Mrs. Donovan's bed - it terrified me at first. I told Craig I thought that it might break me in half. I was, of course, not yet a Commander of Penises. I am not much wiser. But at that time, well, I had only been fucked by Kenny, and his dick had not yet grown to its current enormous size. Now, Kenny's dick is comparable to Craig's, but I've also had quite a few dicks in me over the past couple years, so I am prepared for just about anything.

He mutters something under his breath. It sounds a little like, "Can't just go in dry," even though I already told him that I didn't give a damn how he went in, just that he gets in there quickly. I hear him spit into his palm and feel him slicking it over himself against me.

Kenny leans over me, so close that his chest presses up against my back. He pulls me back by my hair and kisses me roughly - it's a distraction tactic. Just as he pushes his tongue into my mouth, he thrusts inside of me in one, clean movement. It does hurt, but it's a good hurt, the kind of hurt that I love to feel and Craig could never quite bring himself to give me. I moan, or I try to. It comes out as more of a high whine. Kenny interprets this as a noise of need, which it is. I can't get enough of how Kenny just KNOWS. He knows what people like in bed. They don't have to yell out what to do and how to do it like with Craig.

He pulls out almost all the way and surges back in, hard and quick and rough. We make the springs in the bed squeak loudly, even though the Blacks have a nice mattress and it takes a damned lot of effort to make it make any noise at all.

Kenny is a great fuck, really, he is, but I must be just as insatiable as Craig always says I am, because I can't help feeling like I could be getting a lot more out of this. I am so close to overflowing, but I know it'll take a bit more work on my part to truly push me over the edge, so I leverage myself back, angling so that Kenny will hit my prostate while he's inside me. I find it after a few maneuvers on both our parts, and from there, I turn into a wibbling puddle of pleasure. I'm loud. I know I am. I shout at Kenny: His name, telling him to fuck me harder, telling him to treat me like a slut. With every command, unlike Craig, he obliges, gripping me by my thighs so he can drive into me forcefully.

Sometimes I wish I could be a lazy asshole like Craig and truly not have to do any work. I'd love to just be fucked into oblivion without doing a damn thing, but we don't all have that luxury, now do we.

Kenny leans down, licking along the shell of my ear as he pants in small bursts of breath. He whispers breathily, "You are a slut, Tweek. You're my slut."

I moan as he pounds into me relentlessly, pain twining with pleasure, and mumble, "Mmm, I am your whore."

This seems to have a positive effect on Kenny. He grunts loudly and twitches, bucking inside me more sporadically. He doesn't warn me that he's going to come, he just does. Unlike Craig, he comes inside me. Somehow, that makes me happy, knowing that I'll have to clean his come out of me later, like it's a reminder that I can fuck whomever I goddamn please, and I'll fuck them well.

Kenny stays inside of me and wraps his hand around my cock, pumping expertly. He slides his thumbnail gently across the head, and that's when I feel it coming. I feel all the pressure building up in my stomach, desperate to overflow. And with one more stroke of Kenny's thumb, my entire body freezes up, and I know that I can no longer contain the ecstasy within me. All the pleasure rushes through me, filling me up, and I am really sure that when I come, it should be like a fucking dam has broken or something-I'm always sure of that. I make the most incoherent groans, and I want to say something about what a whore I am again, but as I'm staining Token's parents' fancy ass bedsheets, I am way too euphoric to form any words.

It just so happens that as I am bursting with pleasure, the door bursts open...with Craig.

He has a beer in his hand and doesn't even look like he bothered too look hot for the party (but of course, Craig always looks hot)-and I'm sure he came in here to drink alone or something stupid and Craigish like that.

"Oh, um, I guess I'll leave," he says awkwardly.

"Fuck me," Kenny swears, and he pulls himself off and out of me. He looks caught, like a deer in headlights, and snatches up his pants from the floor while casting Craig a 'sorry, dude' look.

I can hear the disgust hidden in Craig's voice. I know that while he may sound apathetic, that's only because he always does. He's judging my sexual choices.

That whore.

"You asshole, you should stay!" I shout. I shout it quickly before he has the chance to shut the door and slip away and find Marsh for some boring sex. "You should've been here to watch every second of me getting fucked by Kenny! See how you like it! Because I can get fucked by as many guys as I want! Just like you've been having a grand old time with that Marsh douche! Did you like his cock in your ass? Did you?"

"What?" says Craig.

"Dude," says Kenny. "Are you kidding me? I'd like to stay out of this and all, but...Stan barely gets laid. He's always bitching about it."

"You're both fucking liars!" I say. "You're both conspiring with Marsh against me," I turn to Kenny, "and you! I wanted your dick in me! I should have known you didn't really care!"

"Um," says Kenny.

Craig doesn't seem to know what to say to me either. Craig never knows what to say to me, that fucking piece of shit who can't even string together a whole sentence.

Okay, maybe I've made a giant fool of myself.

Maybe I should put my clothes back on now. Right. Clothes. I want to be naked, really. Hell, I'd love for Craig to join us in bed. I could go for some angry sex. I have really good stamina, okay, and my refractory period is super short.

But I know that I have probably fucked up something pretty big and that more drunken sex might actually not be the answer. This confuses me a bit, because I kind of think drunken sex is always the answer.

"Well," says Kenny, shaking his head as he pulls on his hoodie, tugging the hood up to cover his head again. "I guess this is what I get for fucking the crazy kid."

"Dude, you have no idea," says Craig. "Don't even get me started." And he softly shuts the door.

Well, fuck.

I guess this isn't the first time my paranoid thoughts haven't exactly been right.