Man, there's been enough happening since I wrote this that I might as well write a sequel.
Contreltophobia, fear of sexual abuse. Loosely based off of Next Contestant by Nickelback and my own experiences with sexuality. Basically everything up until seventh grade is true... With some exceptions large and small. Contains spoilers for Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews. Enjoy.
Only now can I step back, look at all the details, and shake my head. I was screwed from the start. ~Me, Ochiba Konpeki
My name is Kyle Broflovski and I just lost my virginity to Token Black in the bed of Craig's pick-up truck. I'm still trying to figure out whether or not it was rape.
Story of my life, I guess. I'm never quite sure if I was a willing participant. Less consensual than sex, more consensual than rape. It was too my fault to be molestation, but I was too naïve to be a willing partner. Always, always, always. I'm never sure.
I can tell he's not sure, either. He keeps giving me these nervous looks, like he expects me to collapse into a crying, violated mess. Maybe I will. Not yet, though. I'll wait until I'm out of the car. I drew my knees up to my chest and rested my forehead against them. Token cautiously reached out to stroke my hair, trying to apologize silently.
"Where're we taking you, Broflovski?" Craig inquired from the driver's seat, voice soft, tinged with guilt. He's the one who gave Token alcohol, after all. We were fourteen, for fuck's sake. Tweek gah'd quietly, tugging at his hair in frustration.
I thought for a moment. I didn't want to go home. I wasn't ready to talk to Stan about this. I wasn't ready to look Cartman in the eye at all. "Kenny." I mumbled, letting Token translate for me when Craig didn't understand. No one said another word the entire car ride. That's okay, I needed it quiet.
When I was nine years old, my mother tossed me a book called Flowers in the Attic, by V.C. Andrew. "To get you asking the right questions." she'd murmured with a sly wink.
I was enraptured. My breath caught in my throat and froze, and I felt so naughty and so much more mature as I turned the pages again and again and again, experiencing Cathy's life. I cried and I laughed and experienced my very first ever sexual arousal. I was laying in Stan's bed at about ten thirty on a Saturday when I hit page two-seventy-nine.
I can still quote it from memory. I read it again and again, stunned. We held each other carefully. Our bare bodies pressed together; my breasts flattened out against his chest. Then he was murmuring my name, and tugging off the wrapping from my head, letting loose my spill of long hair before he cupped my head in his hands to gently ease it closer to his lips. It felt odd to be kissed while laying naked in his arms... And not right. "Stop." I whispered fearfully, feeling that male part of him grow hard against me. "This is just what she thought we did."
Bitterly, he laughed before he drew away, telling me that I didn't know anything. There was more to making love than just kissing, and we hadn't done more than kiss, ever.
There's more to sex than kissing in bed, with the lights off, naked? The thought seems ridiculous, now, but then? It was earth-shattering.
So I read on. Determined to find out more about sex. And damn if I didn't. Unfortunately... I didn't do it right. I never do it right.
"This wasn't Chris... This was someone I'd never seen before... Primative, savage."
"You're mine, Cathy! Mine! You'll always be mine! No matter who comes into your future, you'll always belong to me! I'll make you mine... Tonight... Now!"
"We wrestled, turning over and over, writhing, silent, a frantic struggle of his strength against mine. It wasn't much of a battle."
"... And he had much more determination then I to use something hot, swollen, and demanding, so much it stole reasoning and sanity from him."
"... He took me, and forced in that swollen, rigid male sex part of him that had to be satisfied. It drove into my tight and resisting flesh which tore and bled."
Several pages later, I set the dog-earned novel down and buried my face in my hands, numb from shock and crying and exhaustion. A glance at the clock revealed that I had just read for four hours straight.
I had already fallen head over heels in love with Christopher, and I simply couldn't comprehend the gravity of his fictional actions. Right there, in the middle of Stan's bedroom, I stripped down to examine my own flesh, what Cathy had called my 'knobby thing'. It was hard and swollen and sensitive and I still didn't understand why. I though about how Chris hurt Cathy because of this... Appendage, this thing, and glanced nervously over at my best friend.
I didn't feel the need to hurt him like that. I thought of Ike. No dice, but my erection was fading.
Just like me, Cathy and Chris couldn't decide whether or not he'd raped her, I remember. Rape is an ugly word, I think. Harsh, brutal, unforgiving. Molestation wasn't much better. Masturbation, penis, intercourse, vagina, orgasm... Why are all these words so stiff and uncomfortable and clinical?
I couldn't sleep that night. I couldn't read, either, though, so I sat on the floor, naked, until the sun began to rise. I dressed lethargically, falling into bed dramatically in my exhaustion, so many thoughts swirling around it my head. I wanted to know if sex was supposed to hurt, I wanted to know why my thing got hard, I wanted to know why sex was such a horrible thing between siblings. Most of all, I wanted to know why I wanted Chris, like Cathy, instead of Cathy, like Chris.
Why? Why why why why why why why?
I was distant and skittish the next couple of weeks, studying the bodies of the people around me. The people my age, the older people, the younger people, the teachers, Ike, Shelley. Even mom and dad. I just wanted to know.
Finally, I gave up and, late one night, I got on the family computer and Googled sex. The first website that popped up was called College Whores. I remember I mentally pronounced it College Wars. I nervously clicked the link, feeling horribly naughty.
The first thing that came up was a brunette with her back to the camera bouncing up and down on a writhing man's thing, counting one, two, three, four, pausing, and restarting. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
I was horrified. How did something so big fit in her butt? I didn't understand, and looking down at my clothed crotch, I felt horridly inadequate. With a shaky breath, I clicked back and typed in instead, "How to have sex", "the mechanics of sex", "What is sex like?"
It took me an hour to confirm the existence of the vagina. Goddamn, but did they have to assume that I knew?
After vigorously wiping the computer's browsing history, I went to bed, Flowers in the Attic, finished and reread, clutched to my chest.
Not long later, a little more than a month after I turned ten, I was molested for the first time.
Fourth grade was harrowing for me. I fell into depression halfway through and was cast ruthlessly into a pit of frustration and confusion and hurt not long after. What had happened was that my Mother's little sister had visited for the first time since I was very small, bringing along her son, my cousin, a dangerous-looking, copiously charming, funny teenager named Axel.
Axel and I shared a bed. Spare me your pity, please. While I didn't let him touch below the belt and above mid-thigh, I was left feeling very violated and lost and scared. By the time he left, I was terrified of Axel and the way he looked at me.
I didn't see him again for three months, two of which were spent seeing a therapist twice a week, though I never brought him up during sessions. They put me on happy meds and I got better. I stopped having crying fits in the hallway at school. I started eating right again, and sleeping properly.
Then Axel moved in with us while his mother recovered from surgery. The next year and a half were filled with molestation, fear, crying, avoiding home, and clinging to Stan and Kenny constantly. I didn't speak a word of it to anybody.
Axel is a nice enough guy. If I had been brave enough to verbally say no, instead of just pushing him away, I don't think this would have ever happened. I only got up the courage to actually say no twice; once when he tried to touch my thing under my clothes, and once when he tried to get me to suck him off. I cried at the latter, clawing at the hand tangled in my hair and apologizing tearfully as I wrenched myself back. "It's okay." he'd murmured, wrapping me in his arms and putting 'it' away. I was eleven, almost twelve.
Through all of the things I did with him -things like hand jobs and nerve-wracking one-sided dry humping- he never once kissed me. Plenty of times we cuddled and held hands as we drifted off to sleep, but never once did he kiss me, starting a four-year complex about my lips.
Halfway through all this, he started dating a girl named Ali who was just like me... Except for older and female and more of a whore. He even had the nerve to kiss her in front of me and touch me when she was in the room.
It all came crashing down when Ike found out. He gave me this pitying look and I marveled at his intelligence to be able to decipher exactly what had happened after a single glimpse of incriminating activity. He walked out, not giving Axel enough time to notice him, and told mom.
Axel was promptly kicked out.
There were lots of tears and explanations and accusations and confusion and frustration. One night, I stood in the kitchen with a knife held to my wrist, contemplating life, death, and self-worth. Ike walked in, though, just in time, and took it away. "You're special, Kyle." he muttered as he led me back to my room. "You're beautiful and intelligent. You're going to change the world somehow, and you owe it to the world to live."
I never considered suicide again.
Not long after everything died down, I told Stan everything-every detail I could remember. He'd been angry and hurt and confused and he clung to me for hours like I would break. He even cried for me. It made me feel better.
Eventually, Kenny was told-in not as much detail-what had gone down. He just shook his head, mumbling, "That's what I figured." and promised to look out for me better in the future.
A couple weeks before school let out for the summer before sixth grade, I discovered Twilight. I fell in love (though the romance only lasted about a month before I realized how infinitely stupid it was) and, desperate for more after finishing, discovered fanfiction.
Not able to use the filters right, I just read them down the row, each and every story being devoured. A week or two later, I discovered an unusual story... A story about sex. Not the sex like in the other ones, with vague descriptions of Edward and Bella's lovemaking, but graphic Edward/Jasper.
I stopped reading fanfiction, alarmed. I thought that Axel was just fucked up for doing those things to me, a boy... But...
That's when sexual orientation became a concern.
Barely three weeks after reading that smutty, fascinating slash fanfiction, Stan introduced me to Naruto. Three books in, it struck me how perfect Sasuke and Naruto were for each other... And I went back to and discovered Sasunaru. Then Kakanaru. Uchihacest. And after that, Snarry, DMHP, twincest. Then I read Fullmetal Alchemist and it was Royed and Elricest. Kingdom Hearts, Akuroku. Bleach, Ichigo/Urahara.
Halfway through sixth grade, after spending a ridiculous amount of time reading, it seemed almost natural to come to terms with my sexuality. I'm gay. It seemed... Almost irrelevant. Maybe because bisexuality runs rampant in my generation of South Parkians. Maybe because I fell in love with Christopher Dollanganger when I was nine. I don't really know.
So, here I was. A some-what confident, self-assured, closeted homosexual with a never-ending favorites list on Fanfiction. Then Max fucking Kinley fucked me up.
He was sweet and charming and easy to fall for-ask half the female population of the school. He had a handful of favorites, the people he manipulated the most-two boys and three girls. I was one of those boys.
I don't remember most of it... I seem to have blocked it out. But I remember him teasing me and telling me I was beautiful. I remember he called me Kitten. I remember him forcing me to take my godawful medication. I remember him picking me up and slinging me over his shoulder whenever he decided I wasn't where he wanted me to be. I started falling back into depression, desperately trailing after him and being violently kicked back every time I got too close. Max twisted me into a very self-hating, dependent person, convincing me that there was more wrong with me than there was.
Then, one day, out of nowhere, he pinned me down against his bed and attacked my neck, his hands groping everywhere. I started crying and telling him to stop because he was hurting me and I wasn't ready and-
Max's older brother is one of the kindest people I know. Also one of the strongest-I don't think many other people in South Park could have gotten that giant of a teenager off of me. He threw Max to the floor, scolding him with surprising calmness about 'why we don't molest people' and picking me up gently. He carried me home, crying, and formally apologized to my mother at the door. It made me wonder if Max had pulled this shit before.
Needless to say, I was forbidden from seeing or talking to Max and a few months later, the Kinleys moved away.
Again, the slow, painful process of putting my pieces back together. It didn't help that I was facing all sorts of harassment and bullying from the North Park kids. Kenny made a point of being around me as much as possible, because you don't fuck with Kenny. Kenny will fuck with you right back.
I don't know what I would have done without him. I really don't. Stan was usually too busy, but Kenny always had time for me.
Sometime close to the beginning of my freshman year of school, Cartman found out about all the sexual abuse and harassment I'd been on the receiving end of in the last four or five years. He found out about Axel, and Max, and the dozens of North Parkers who didn't know how to keep their hands to themselves.
Boy, was he pissed.
He ranted and raved to me about how I was his property and nobody else was allowed to touch me like that, ever. It reminded me forcibly of Christopher on the night he hurt Catherine, and I was absolutely terrified. I remember staring up at him and wondering if I would tear and bleed like Cathy did.
I was completely numb, paralyzed by the time he actually attacked me physically. He bit violently at my neck, touching and bruising my torso and my hips, and I wondered why nobody ever wanted to kiss me. I thought you kissed, then you touched, and then you had sex, but apparently, this was not the case.
He pinned my wrists above my head and pushed my shirt up, muttering angry German that I could sense was possessive. Mein, I would translate later. Mine.
He stopped abruptly, pulling away to watch the silent, numb tears rolling down my face. He cursed, pushing away from the wall behind me and clutching at his hair. He didn't stop me from leaving.
That was two months ago. Cartman basically just lets me avoid him. I'm grateful.
Then, today, Stan and I had a fight. Over Wendy. For the umpteenth time. Because she expects more of our time. Bitch. But me and Stan were fighting, my evening was free, and, due to Clyde's illness, Craig's group needed a fourth member. I'll never understand why it's so vital that every group have four people., but I suppose that's irrelevant. I was chosen because Token was crushing on me. Craig brought out alcohol but only he and Token drank, and while Token and I sat in the back of the truck, watching the stars and waiting for Tweek and Craig to make their way around Stark's pond and back to us, he pushed me down and started kissing my neck.
Always my neck. Are my lips poisonous?
I was so... Desensitized, so tired of being molested, so... Uncaring of what was happening that I didn't say a word. I cried, but I didn't say anything as he stripped me down, biting and licking and sucking, touching me in places nobody's ever touched before. I let him fuck me, and it hurt, and it felt good and shameful, and it lasted too long and ended too soon. I felt violated and filthy and... Bad. I felt like a bad person.
Token just looked guilty. Serves him right.
"Kyle." a familiar voice urged me. "Ky, wake up. ... No? Fine."
I groaned tiredly, burrowing into the chest of whoever had picked me up, swaying me slightly as they walked. "I'm sorry." I heard Token mumble again, sounding close to tears. Then whoever had me was walking, opening a door, climbing stairs, setting me down on a soft, warm bed. I clung to their neck when they tried to leave, protesting incoherently. A warm chuckle filled my ears and a warm body settled next to me.
With a tired sigh, I cracked my eyes open, figuring I better determine who, exactly, was in bed with me. I jolted awake, eyes wide, when I took in the familiar orange material covering the person's chest and I realized Kenny, Kenny McCormick, was... Cuddling with me, an arm wrapped around my waist and his chin set atop my head. I blinked in shock, voicing hesitantly, "Ken?"
"What are you doing?" He chuckled, tightening his hold minutely as though afraid I would bolt. I had a creeping, irrational fear that he could be my next attacker, but I pushed it away forcibly. Kenny wouldn't hurt me like that. He's not Max and he's not Eric and he's not Axel and he's most certainly not Token. He's Kenny.
"You wouldn't let me leave." he pointed out. "I see..." I whispered, much more alert now as I pressed a little closer to my best friend. Somehow, through all of this, I was still a complete whore for physical affection-friendly affection. Ask Ike. I just like people, I guess.
"Said the blind man to his deaf wife." Kenny commented. I smiled. That made no sense. "You wanna tell me why your little escort was so somber?"
Kenny had been my confident for a long time, so it wasn't terribly difficult to force out, "I lost my virginity to him."
Kenny tensed. "Craig?" he demanded, sounding infinitely pissed off. I shook my head softly. "Token."
Kenny mulled this over for a moment of silence. "Your sex life is pretty fucked up." he commented. I felt my eyes sting a little, wondering if I should tell him I didn't know if I had been raped. Reminding myself that I could tell Kenny anything, I went ahead and voiced it.
Stroking up and down my back comfortingly, Kenny offered with a sad note to his voice, "Want me to kill him?" I shook my head and he sighed. For several long moments, we laid in silence, listening to the outside sounds of crickets and frogs and the occasional car.
"Why me?" I burst out of nowhere, fists curling in his hoodie as my eyes stung with frustration. "Why me, out of all people? Axel is my cousin, and he could have had anybody he wanted, but he picked me, a scared little ten year old! Max could've molested one of the girls throwing themselves at his feet, but he chose me! Cartman was supposed to hate me! Token is supposed to-oh my god, Token cheated on Bebe..."
Momentarily distracted by the mental image of the pretty blond's inevitable heartbroken expression, I hardly noticed Kenny sitting up and taking off his hoodie and his shoes, only reacting when he started in on my triple-knotted laces. "I don't understand." I concluded quietly, obediently sitting up and letting my quiet best friend strip me of my jacket.
"Why do you think?" he inquired softly as he settled down again, pulling me back against him carefully. I sighed at the warmth, muling over my answer. "... I... I don't know. Everyone has vague answers that don't make sense... Stan says it's because I'm sweet, Ike says it's because I'm special, mom says it's because I'm corruptible, dad says it's because I look too much like a girl..."
"Well." Kenny sighed, "Maybe it's because... You're vulnerable. You're small and not very strong and you can't fight back properly. Stan has a point, too, you're very... Lovable, easy to obsess over. It may just be because God is testing you, lord knows he's a sick enough fuck to do it. You're also very pretty... You just seem... I dunno. Like something precious and rare."
Kenny trailed off, obviously having said more than he intended. He tended to verbally flood every once in a while. "Maybe..." he whispered, "Maybe people are just sick."
Kyle. Kyle. Kyle. Kyle.
It's like my mind is a broken record. Kyle. Kyle. Kyle. Kyle. Every spare moment is consumed by his presence, by the notes he's passed me, saying insignificant things, that I keep in a box, by thoughts of him. Kyle. Kyle. Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle.
"Kyle." I murmured into his beautiful carmine locks, marveling at how he allowed me to hold him. Kyle. He's ridiculously warm, and a little bony, but I like holding him, his knees pressing against my thighs, his face buried in my chest, his hands curled in my shirt. Kyle. I like the way his hip feels under my palm, and I like how I know his mind is focused on my previous words. It's like a drug. Kyle. Kyle. Kyle.
"Hm?" he responded absently, obviously still stuck on my commentary. Kyle. A dull rage was boiling in my chest, and I had a feeling that I was going to punch Token next time I saw him... Just like I punched Axel and Max and Cartman and Stan several times and a whole mess of North Parkers. Kyle. Kyle. Pretty, pretty Kyle...
"Ken?" he asked suddenly, pressing just a little bit closer to me. I shivered just the slightest bit. Kyle... "Yes?" I replied shortly, reigning in my war-weary self-control. I understood all too well why he kept getting hurt... Poor kid.
"Kenny, why are only some people sick?" An innocent question asked in an innocent voice, like a child asking why we fight wars. There's no real answer, no real explanation. "Why are people sick at all?"
I still didn't have an answer. I tightened my grip on his hip as he continued. "Why do we have murderers? Pedophiles? Rapists? Cheaters, liars, fuck-ups, thieves, terrorists, sadists? Why did Chris hurt Cathy?"
I didn't understand the last one, but that seemed to be his breaking point. He started to shake, whimpering shakily, "I don't understand..."
He burrowed into me and I wrapped myself around him with no hesitation, reveling in being so vital to him as he cried into my chest, even if that made me selfish. Kyle... Kyle. "Kyle..." I whispered, his heart-wrenching sobs shaking me to the core. I hate it when he cries. He has the sort of cry that sucks all the happiness out of everything. He can make entire auditoriums full of rowdy teenagers stop and silence themselves with the raw grief in his voice. Kyle. Kyle, Kyle.
I stroked up and down his back as he calmed himself. Eventually, the sobs faded off, as did the shaking, and he fell still, pressed tightly against me, deliriously warm and comforting. I figured he'd fallen asleep, but he sat up abruptly, rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly. "I'm sorry." he mumbled, a blush rising to his cheeks. I sat up quickly, taking one of his hands and both of mine and assured him quickly, "No need to be sorry, Ky..."
"I feel silly." he admitted, smiling slightly. "And I'm sore." he tacked on, smile becoming a little crooked. I faltered a little, smoothing my thumb over his inner wrist. "Don't feel silly, Ky. You can tell me anything, you know that." I responded automatically, feeling a little silly myself.
Kyle blushed again, eyes falling to his lap. "It's just... I just lost my virginity to the only black teenager in South Park in the back of a pick-up truck. I'm fourteen and I'm gay and still waiting on my first kiss. It's just... Absurd."
I couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped my lips. He cracked a smile and suddenly we were both collapsing into laughter, clutching at each other and holding our sides and just... Laughing. When was the last time I really laughed?
Kyle tried to calm himself, wiping tears away from his eyes and still giggling a little. His face was flushed and his eyes sparkled and his lips were upturned into a beautiful smile and... Kyle. Not thinking, I cupped his face and gently brought our lips together, watching his eyes closely and freezing in place. His lips were warm and soft and dry and so perfect and so Kyle and his eyes were such a beautiful emerald green, flecked with gold and silver and blue, wide with shock for several seconds before they slid closed and he hesitantly tangled his fingers in my hair. He pushed forward, closer, just a little too fast, a little too hard, and clacked our teeth together, pain flashing through my no-doubt bleeding lower lip and making me yelp.
We pulled away and he started tugging on his hair, blushing redder than I'd ever seen him and spewing nonsense. It was so cute and so funny and inexperienced and so Kyle that I laughed again, pushing our lips together once more.
Kyle. Kyle. Kyle.
I kept my hands stationary, one in his hair and the other one cradling his cheek, because I wanted this to be at his pace and because I knew I wasn't imagining the flicker of fear burning in his eyes. I wasn't imagining the faint tremble in his shoulders as he clumsily tried to return the little kiss. I smiled against his lips, withdrawing. I both was and wasn't prepared for the first thing he asked me, voice insecure and shaky.
"Are you sick, too, Kenny?"
I mulled this over for a moment. The obvious answer was yes, that's why I have a box of photos of you under my bed, and why I still have your old hat, and why I watch you sleep sometimes. But I didn't want to scare him, so I murmured uneasily, "Only if I hurt you."
He nodded slowly, averting his eyes, and inquired nervously, "Am I sick?"
I jerked a little in shock, shaking my head vigorously. "You're perfect." I stammered automatically, cheeks flushing just the tiniest bit.
"Can I kiss you again?"
I swallowed harshly. "If you want to. I won't force you to do anything you don't-"
He cut me off, but I didn't mind. I was concentrating on him, on his taste, the weight of his hands on my shoulders, the little pleased humming noise he was making. I was focusing on making him happy because I wanted him to be happy. "Will you hurt me?" he mumbled insecurely against my lips, hands clenching nervously.
"Never." I swore. That seemed to satisfy him.
Kyle. Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle... Kyle. Kyle Isaiah Broflovski.
My Kyle. My pretty Kyle, my curious Kyle, my fascinating, hurt, scared, beautiful Kyle. Kyle.
I dunno what is up with me and K2 recently. Anyway, this is a loose memoir of my introduction into sexuality... Axel relates as Clay in real life and Max as Kagan. I also had to translate it into boy, so... Oh, and almost all of the comments on why it kept happening to Kyle are real things the people around me said, blah blah blah. Therapeutic and all that good stuff... so this is my story with a happy ending.
All the usual shit and
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