South Park © Matt & Trey.
Lyrics to "Welcome to this world" © Primus.

All in Kyle's POV this time~

And oh my GOD I am so damn happy I finally finished this story after nearly 4 years! It took a million different turns until I finally figured out what direction I wanted it to go in lmao.

Warnings: abuse, pornography, STIs

1.

Oh, welcome to this world of fools
Of pink champagne and swimming pools
Well, all you have to lose is your virginity
Perhaps we'll have some fun tonight, so stick around and take a bite of life
We don't need feebleness in this proximity

I have a friend named Kenny. He is a pretty weird guy and sometimes he is hard to be around because of all his emotional baggage. After high school, he left Colorado. He said he had a casting audition. When I asked what it was for, he didn't say. He just said he was going to become "somewhat of an actor." That was one year ago. The rest of us were starting out first year of university, but not Kenny. He was going to pursue film. Of course, I doubted him. We all did… but somehow, he proved us wrong. He made something of himself… well, I suppose that's arguable. It depends on whether or not you set your morals to a place a desperate kid can reach.

Just last month, Kenny sent me a DVD in the mail. I almost tossed it across the room after realizing exactly what it was I had in my hand.

Fucking Frat Boys was the title. Need I explain? No. The title says it all. When he said actor, he didn't exactly specify what kind. It never occurred to me that he meant an, er, adult film actor.

"What the fuck is that?" Ike shrieked upon noticing what I had in my hand.

"Kenny sent this to me," I tersely informed him, feeling a range of conflicting emotions as Kenny's bedroom eyes and boner stared back at me from the DVD cover.

Ike grabbed the DVD and stared at it. "So, he's a porn star?"

"Apparently…"

Ike made a face before shrugging and handing it back to me. "Well… whatever, I guess."

"Yeah," I mumbled, though I felt unpleasantly conflicted.

I mean, I knew he liked guys… How else would I know he gives killer head? We all used to screw around, but I didn't think it meant anything.

When we were younger, we'd watch porn and jack off together. The ol' circle jerk. Something we'd do to waste time. Y'know how teenaged boys are… I'd always find myself staring at Stan's dick instead of the computer screen. He never noticed, or, if he did, he never called me out on it. When we were sixteen, we both got drunk and humped each other on his bed. Cartman was passed out a few feet away on the floor. It's something we dare not speak of, but I have a feeling it's something we both still think about at times. We had lots of happy sleepovers and lest we forget all the times we played doctor. We mostly did that so we could stick things up Kenny's ass. He was always the willing patient.

We were just curious, but eventually Stan, Cartman and I started to date girls. Kenny didn't and it clicked. It didn't bother me. I guess I took advantage of it because I'm an asshole. Every time a girl dumped me, he would give me a blowjob.

We've moved past the years of awkward boners. We're adults now and Kenny hasn't had his mouth near my dick since we were seventeen. That's two years ago.

After receiving the DVD, I sent him an angry Facebook message, scolding him for giving me the shock of my life. His reply was short and sweet, with improper grammar –

haha fuck you kyle i know you watched it and probably jerked off so don't be a bitch about it!

He's right, I did end up watching the DVD. I convinced myself that I was simply curious. Kenny's naked ass was nothing new, but this was completely different. Watching him get gangbanged by these so called frat boys gave me a raging hard-on. I hated myself for getting off to it because their treatment of Kenny was hardly gentle. Nonetheless, that's when I knew I had to break it off with Bebe after one year of dating.

"Why?" she had asked and I knew she deserved to know the truth.

"Because I think I'm gay," I admitted. I wasn't about to lie to one of the most important people in my life.

"Oh," she said before smiling sadly. "Wow. Well, this sucks."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I'm really sorry you wasted all this time with me."

"It wasn't a waste," she insisted, "but I kind of understand."

"What?" I asked, surprised at how well she took it.

"I mean, it makes sense."

"It does?"

"Yeah," she chuckled. "I mean… when we had sex, it was pretty emotionless. It was like there was a wall up, even when we were that close we were still far away. Sometimes it felt like you really didn't want to be doing it."

"I'm really sorry, Bebe," I apologized, feeling genuinely bad.

She just shook her head. "It's okay, Kyle. At least you're not dumping me for another girl."

"Yeah…" is all I could muster up.

"So, how'd you figure it out?"

"I feel like I knew for a long time, but I just ignored it," I said, not wanting to go into details about Kenny's porn career because I didn't want anyone to know about it. I still don't. I'm not really sure why.

I mean, I guess I didn't lie to her. I feel like I did always know.

"It's easier that way, hm?" Bebe asked. "At least, at first."

"Exactly," I mumbled.

"It's okay," she smiled again.

"I wasn't lying when I said I loved you," I told her. "I do love you, just not… not like this."

"I love you, too," she said softly.

Then we hugged it out. That all happened last month. Bebe remains one of my best friends, even now.

To be perfectly honest, I spent a lot of time trying to convince myself I was straight. That meant that I didn't watch gay porn. I was on a strict diet of female solos, but after Kenny's little… present… I got curious. Just like there are some really bad heterosexual pornos, there are some really fucking bad gay ones.

Some of the gems I found –

Call of Booty
Dick-ception
Hairy Potter and the Philosopher's Bone
Hairy Potter and the Chamber of Dirty Secrets
Hairy Potter and the Prisoner of Ass-Kaban
Hairy Potter and the Goblet of Sexual Desire
Hairy Potter and the Order of the Dicks
Hairy Potter and the Half Blood Stud
Hairy Potter and the Deathly Hoes
Lord of the CockRings: The fellowship of the Cockring
Lord of the CockRing: The Two Showers
Lord of the CockRings: The Rectum of the King
Schindler's Fist
Sure-Cock Holmes

I got second-hand embarrassment from some of these. Well, at least Fucking Frat Boys wasn't a bad parody. It was surely more tasteful than some other titles and that's saying something because it wasn't tasteful at all.

Let's just say, I skipped over those titles pretty quickly.

I fucking hate myself for watching porn because it makes me feel guilty. I don't do it often, but sometimes I get in these lonely moods. I'm not the kind of guy who will cruise around for a hook up, so I just resort to the internet.

I kept my sexual orientation a secret for the next little while. Bebe agreed to keep her mouth shut about it until I was ready. It was probably hard for her since we all know how much she likes to talk.

I was stressed out about it. One night I took my dad's car and went on a little joyride. I wasn't really paying attention to my surroundings. I spaced out and before I realized it, there was a cop following me. I pulled over, worried. "Yes?" I asked, rolling down the window.

"You were speeding," the cop pointed out.

"Oh," I said weakly.

"Show me your license," he demanded.

And I just started bawling.

The cop looked taken aback at my sudden mental breakdown.

I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel and sob pathetically, letting out the build-up of emotions that had been piling up. I think I was mostly upset about having to tell my parents I was a homo, but I was also scared that I'd get arrested because this wasn't my car. I felt like Stan. This is something he's famous for doing. Stan is a terrible driver. He can't drive for SHIT. He always runs red lights and stop signs, but he has yet to be ticketed. He gets too scared when the cops pull him over, he just starts crying and the cops just feel bad for him so they let him go with a warning. He gets warning after warning after warning, but never a ticket.

Still crying, I pulled my license out with shaky hands and gave it to the officer. I hit my head off the steering wheel in frustration and utter humiliation. "Shit," I sobbed. "Shit!" I briskly wiped my eyes and take a deep breath. I probably looked insane.

"Son," the cop started awkwardly, handing me my license back. "Go home."

I just nodded airily, wiping at my eyes some more.

That was last week. The following day, I told Stan. He just said, "That's cool with me, man," and life continued. My parents insisted that they always knew and that's why my mother fought so damn hard for gay rights. The entire coming out process was so unceremonious; I began to wonder why I didn't do it sooner.

For the first time in a while, I was feeling pretty fucking good. I was finally being honest with myself and it was like this looming sensation disintegrated – a sensation that I had become accustomed to over the years as my denial was constantly being regurgitated.

Too bad it wasn't this easy for all the gay kids. I know it wasn't this easy for Kenny. He was pretty messed up.

On one occasion he leaned forward, touching his mouth to mine and gently nudging my lips apart. I kissed back, not giving it much thought until we broke apart. That's when I noticed my cheeks were wet. I wasn't crying, but Kenny was. It caused something painful to twist inside of my chest as he went down on me, working his hands and his mouth.

"Kenny?" I said his name, touching the top of his head.

He didn't answer. He didn't stop. He kept moving, almost mechanically. I suppose, in a way, there was something mechanical about his movements because he's done it so many times. He had his eyes shut by then, trapping the tears, but I could see how hard they were trying to escape. It was the most uncomfortable experience of my life, but I still got off. Maybe that says something about me. Something bad.

He never told me why he was crying and I never asked. He always had a lot to cry about, so no one could really blame him for being a mess.

I wonder if he's changed much. I haven't seen him in so long. A year is a long time when you're young.

Part of me hopes he has changed, because there have been so many occasions where he's frustrated me beyond belief. His lack of self-worth makes me want to scream. But I suppose this is just the kind of guy Kenny is. He isn't picky. If someone's interested, he'll hop on their dick and take them for a ride. It's never love, just the most meaningless kind of sex. He'll let a stranger put their hand on his shoulder, or around his waist. They're saying, "You're mine for tonight." He is always okay with that and when this stranger asks, "Wanna come back to my place?" he'll always say yes because he's the kind of guy who belongs to everyone. He's the kind of guy who wants to experience everything life has to offer. He isn't selective. I always found that kind of sad.

It's May now and that means university is over for the year. I forego getting a summer job and decide to go on a road trip with Stan and Cartman.

It was hard to get Stan to agree to leave Wendy for the summer, but with Wendy's approval, he finally agreed. Cartman, on the other hand, had little trouble ditching his girlfriend for the summer. I still don't understand how he's dating a girl as popular as Annie is. Clearly she sees something in him that no one else does.

I spend the day packing, a feeling of anticipating overwhelming me. I sent Kenny an email yesterday, informing him that we'd be road tripping to California. He seemed excited and told me it was about time he came to visit him.

I wonder if Stan and Eric know what Kenny does for a living. I wonder if we all know, but we feel like we have to keep it a secret for Kenny's sake. Well, it will all be out in the open soon enough.

"KI-YOOOLE!" I hear my mother shout my name.

"What, Ma?" I shout back, leaving my room.

"Are you done packing?" she asks.

"Yes…!"

"Come downstairs then," she requests. "Dinner is ready. We're all going to eat together before you go off on your little trip."

"Okay!" I call running down the stairs and sauntering into the kitchen, where Ike and my father are already seated.

The conversation is very typical. My parents ask me about school, even though it's summer. They ask Ike about his reading program and they praise him on all his accomplishments and growing list of extracurricular activities. I love my parents, but I wish they'd ask me more about my life outside of school.

It will be nice to get away from this, even if it's just for a few weeks.

2.

Ask good MacDuff and Donalbain, so many good ideas are slain
by those who would dare not step out of line
But if I have my way tonight and chances are I think I might –
I'll turn those sour minds to grapes of wine

Early the following day, Cartman and Stan pull into my driveway. Stan helps me toss my things in the back, while Cartman just waits impatiently in the driver's seat.

I kiss my parents and hug Ike before getting in the back seat of the jeep while Stan hops in the passenger seat. I'd rather not be that close to Cartman because it would only cause a fight.

"I hope none of you get car sick," Cartman gruffly says, pulling out of the driveway.

"How long will the drive be?" I ask.

"About fifteen hours," he says.

Stan gets the GPS out and puts in the address of Kenny's apartment. "This is really exciting," he says giddily.

"Hold your shorts, Marsh," Cartman snorts. "We haven't even left Colorado yet."

"The drive is always one of the best parts," he says.

"Not if you're the one driving," Cartman murmurs distastefully.

"Kyle and I both offered to switch with you every few hours," Stan reasons. "You said no."

"I don't want you dumb turds driving my jeep. I don't trust you enough."

I roll my eyes. "Then don't complain about it, you fat bastard."

"I'm not fat, Jew!" he insists, not denying the fact that he's a bastard because we all know it's true.

"Yes, you are!" I laugh. "You have rolls of lard!"

"No, it's muscle –" he starts.

"Guys," Stan cuts in, rubbing his temples. "Stop… Please," he groans. "I cannot handle fifteen hours of this. Let's try and make this peaceful."

"I'll put on some tunes," Cartman declares.

And thus starts a painful journey. "Heat of the Moment" is blaring through the car so loud I can barely think straight. "Turn it down!" I shriek.

"Hell no, bitch," he says. "This song is tits."

"Stop saying tits," I shout over the loud music. "It's retarded and it's getting old!"

"It's cool," he declares. "I'm cool."

I roll my eyes, letting out a long, angry sigh. Stan reaches forward, pressing next and the following horrific tune plays.

"P-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face!" Cartman sings along to Lady Gaga and Stan laughs at how ridiculous he sounds.

"Fuck me…" I mumble miserably. This is going to be a long and painful drive, I can already tell.

The car ride is anything but relaxing. We argue a lot and Cartman forces us to listen to his horrific playlist. I am now mentally scarred. It is impossible to sleep with his shit blasting through the speakers. I guess he is trying to stay alert during the long drive up.

I think even Stan is getting annoyed, but he chooses to keep his trap shut rather than start another argument that could be avoided.

By the time we get here, it's the following day and it's light outside; however, we won't be doing anything exciting today. Today will be for catching up on sleep.

"Fuckin' hell," I murmur as we pull into the motel parking lot.

"I'm not sharing a bed with either of you fags," Cartman says as we make our way into the lobby. We're all moving like zombies, too tired to be energetic.

"No shit," Stan snorts. "You're too fat. Me and Kyle are sharing, right?" He looks over at me and winks.

I just chuckle.

"There better not be any hanky panky," Cartman sneers.

"Like you'd know," Stan taunts. I share a look with him and we both begin laughing. I can tell we're both thinking of that one time.

We check in and make our way to the room. It's modest, with two double beds and a small bathroom. The walls are green, as are the bed sheets. "Nice enough," Stan shrugs, throwing his bags onto the ground.

Cartman immediately flops onto the bed in the far corner of the room and conks out.

"I really don't know how he drove for that long without passing out at the wheel even with the loud-ass music," I admit.

"Well," Stan says, "he drank a bunch of energy drinks."

"Probably more than you're supposed to. He'll be pissing up a storm soon enough," I add. "Anyway, I'm going to shower. I feel sticky from the long drive."

Stan nods. "I'll go in after you if I don't fall asleep."

I enter the bathroom and undress, staring at myself in the mirror as I do so. Hell, I look tired. I turn on the taps and am quick to wash myself. The air feels painfully cold once I step out and I briskly dry myself off before pulling on a pair of plaid pajama pants and leaving the room. Stan is asleep by the time I get out, though I wasn't even ten minutes. I grab my toothbrush and brush my teeth in the sink before lying down next to him. Stan moves around in his sleep. He's punched me in the face a few times in the past and sometimes he'll dig his knee into my ass or dick, which is always a fuckin' great time.

There is light pouring in from the window, but I don't mind. I'm the type of person who can sleep any time and any place.

I stare up at the ceiling before closing my eyes.

I wake up at 5PM. Cartman is already in the shower and I call Kenny and inform him that we'll be on our way to his apartment shortly. He seems excited. "I can't wait," he says, smile evident in his voice.

"Us, too." I hang up a moment later and go to wake up Stan. I shake him into consciousness and say, "We're going to see Kenny in an hour."

He sits up groggily. "I need'ta shower."

"Cartman's in there now."

He gets up and bangs on the door. "Hurry up, fat-tits!"

"Bite me!" Cartman hollers from the other side of the door.

Stan rolls his eyes and begins gathering a fresh change of clothing. "Think he's changed much?" he asks.

"Who, Kenny? Nah."

Stan just smiles and I really want to know if he knows what Kenny's been up to here in Los Angeles…

Eventually Cartman leaves the bathroom, all dressed and ready.

"Finally," Stan says tersely, walking into the steaming bathroom. Unlike Cartman, he is quick and eventually the three of us leave the motel room and settle in the jeep. The ride to Kenny's apartment doesn't take long, but I feel a little bit anxious about seeing him for the first time in so long.

We push and shove our way through the lobby doors, acting like a bunch of little kids. After searching the directory, we dial his room and he buzzes us in. We take the elevator up to the fourth floor and move down the hallway. Soon enough, we're standing in front of his apartment.

Knock, knock.

A split second later, the door swings open and Kenny is standing in front of us. He looks much the same, still cute and childishly innocent. His wavy, dirty blond hair is its typical mess, only this time his bangs are pinned up out of his face. There are freckles lightly dusted across his nose. His skin is tanned. He's wearing a pair of basketball shorts low on his hips along with a t-shirt with some sports slogan on it. He's the shortest one out of the rest of us. I'm the tallest followed by Cartman and then Stan. Kenny is so fucking small. He stopped growing before the rest of us.

"Hey, guys!" he greets us happily, grinning splendidly. He hugs me first and then hugs Stan and Cartman before ushering us all inside.

We spend the next little while catching up. We tell Kenny about school and what the university experience is like so far.

Kenny seems much the same – just like he's always been. It's good to see the big city hasn't hardened him too much. But then again, maybe it's just hardened him in other ways.

Eesh, that sounds dirtier than I intended.

We send the majority of the day catching up and telling Kenny all about university. We're sitting in his kitchen drinking sodas, telling him about our recent school experiences.

"Let's order takeout," Kenny suggests when night approaches.

"KFC," Cartman demands in response.

I roll my eyes. Naturally he'd want KFC.

"Okay," Kenny chuckles. "There's one down the street from here."

Cartman fishes his car keys out from his pocket, practically drooling at the thought of the colonel's chicken. "I'll go with him," Stan says. "I won't let him eat all the chicken skin on the car ride back."

Kenny rolls his eyes, probably recalling the time he did. "Good."

The two of them leave a moment later, leaving me and Kenny alone in his flat. They just provided me with the opportunity to ask all the questions that are on my mind. I think Kenny knows this because he's smiling.

He gestures me to follow him into the living room. "Say what you want to say, Kyle."

I flop onto the sofa and he sits down next to me. "Why do you do it?" I ask. "Fucking on camera for money… letting the entire damn world see your private parts?"

"It feels good," he says in a tone that hints it should be obvious. He lets out a little chuckle and then adds, "What else would it be?"

"Money…?" I shrug.

"The money is good," he agrees, "but that's not the sole reason I do this."

"Really, Kenny?"

"Really, Kyle."

"Do you know that certain porn companies make money off of literally abusing people?" I point out. "You could end up hooked on drugs or getting raped on film and they'd still put it out there to be consumed. They'd make money off of it. This is shit that actually happens in real life, dude, I'm not making this up. So many companies don't give a shit about their actors."

"I'm not being abused," he insists dully. "Are you jealous? Is that why you're so angry?"

"No," I deny, though it's blatantly obvious.

"Come on, Kyle," he says, inching closer to me and reaching forward. "One for old time's sake?"

"No," I repeat, grabbing his wrists.

"I know you want to fuck me," he says pointedly.

"Not anymore," I tell him coldly. "You're all used up." I don't know what makes me say it. I guess it's probably the fact that I'm really fucking jealous, but I'm being cruel and I know it. He was right about that much.

"So, I'm good enough to suck your dick but I'm not good enough for more than that?" he asks evenly. "Kyle, you're trying to make me feel bad about what I'm doing and that's pretty low of you. I have no reason to be ashamed."

"Then it shouldn't matter what I think, should it?"

"It does, though!" he snaps shakily, starting to get emotional. "You're my fucking friend!" One of the worst things you can witness if somebody crying while trying to desperately not to. This is exactly what I feel like I'm witnessing as I watch Kenny press the palms of his hands to his eyes. "I didn't know you were so fucking mean!"

I feel my heart sink in my gut and I know I should say I'm sorry and that I didn't mean what I said, but I can't. Why? Because I'm selfish and admitting that I'm wrong has never been something I've been good at. I'm insecure, jealous and angry because of it.

"Do you really want to spend your time around people who think your name is Whore?" I ask him. "They don't respect you, that much is clear! You deserve so much better than this, Kenny. You deserve to be with someone who is going to treat you right."

He looks up at me, with red eyes and wet cheeks. "You know," he starts hoarsely, "I want to know how what I do any worse than the time your fucking girlfriend flashed everyone her cooter."

"Bebe isn't my girlfriend anymore," I murmur.

"So fucking what?" he shouts. "She was your girlfriend! You dated her after she got smashed and she spread her fucking legs for everyone. You didn't make her feel bad about it! You just told her it was fine and you still loved her and all that stupid shit."

"Bebe was drunk," I say. "You're not."

He lets out a frustrated growl. "Fine!" He throws his hands up. "I give up." He wipes his eyes and stares away from me. "You know, this makes you a hypocrite. You watch porn. I know that. You watch porn and I know you watched that DVD I sent you. I know you fucking liked seeing me get tossed around like that, so you really need to shut up. I thought you of all people would be open minded to this… but I guess I was wrong. I should've known. I guess you're just like every other person who thinks they're so above porn actors even though they cum to their fucking videos! Guess that's all people like me are good for, huh?"

I rub my temples, angry at myself for being such a tool. "Look," I snap, "I'm sorry, okay?"

"You don't sound it."

"Well, I am!" I insist. "I'm just… I want more for you."

"But this is what I want, Kyle… You need to understand that. If you're going to watch porn, you need to respect the people you're seeing on screen. I'm not expendable!"

"Fine, but… those guys really roughed you up in that video you sent me," I point out.

"My parents used to spank me a lot as a kid," Kenny says with a shrug. "I fucking hated it… but that changed. I'm kinky and gross now and maybe I like getting roughed up."

"Dude, there is nothing wrong with having kinks…" I tell him, "but you're parents suck ass and spanking is abuse. You're hurting and humiliating your kid by doing that and the people filming you are taking advantage of you."

"I'm fine now," he insists. "I don't care about my parents or the stupid things they did."

What a load of shit! Kenny's dad is such a fucking creep. Carol was just a kid when she had Kenny. She was even younger when she had Kevin – barely a teenager! Stuart was probably a fucking pedophile for getting a child pregnant. She's so much younger than him.

He still lives in that crack shack with Carol, but Kevin took Karen and moved out around the time when Kenny left for LA. Thank fuck they got out of there.

"Fine, then," I say once more. I can't really debate with him on it because, like he's said, I don't get it. I haven't experienced the things he's experienced. Maybe that's what it boils down to. I need to let him live his life.

He flashes me a smile that I can't help thinking looks forced. "I'm happy, Kyle."

I let out a soft sigh, not believing it. They're just empty words. Nonetheless, I know I'm not going to win this argument. "Well, if you're happy then I'm happy…"

"Good," he says with finality.

Cartman and Stan arrive back a few minutes later and Stan gives Kenny a strange look because his eyes are still bloodshot. "What happened while we were gone?" he asks.

"Kyle said something mean," Kenny admits, not bothering to lie.

Stan's eyes narrow at me accusingly. "Why…?"

"He doesn't quite agree with my choice in career," Kenny continues.

"Why not?" Stan asks offhandedly, placing the brown bag of KFC on the coffee table in the middle of the room. "It's just porn."

Kenny nods. "That's what I'm saying."

So, I guess I'm not the only one who knows but I'm clearly the only one who is this frantic over it. I guess Stan and Cartman don't understand. They don't read as much as me and they must not understand how fucking grim and empty the porn industry can be. You have to be so, so, so careful and something is telling me that Kenny isn't.

"Yah can't be surprised," Cartman adds. "We all knew Kinny would be slutting it up here in LA."

I roll my eyes. I thought Cartman would have made a bigger deal out of it, at least. I guess that makes me look pretty fucking stupid.

"What's your stage name?" Stan asks.

"Mac Stuart," Kenny says.

"The name Mac doesn't suit you," I cut in.

He nods. "Exactly. It's not supposed to suit me. I'm not me when I'm on film… Or at least, I'm not supposed to be. It's like an alter ego."

"Oh," I murmur. "Why'd you choose that name?"

"Mac… is kind of taken from McCormick and Stuart? Well, it's a big 'fuck you' to my dad," he laughs.

After eating, Kenny asks us what our plans for tomorrow are.

"Well, hopefully we'll be seeing more of you," Stan says. "That was the point of this trip, after all."

"Tomorrow is a Wednesday," Kenny murmurs quietly, as if he's in thought. "I'm supposed to be going to a party. You guys can come if you want."

"A party with porn stars?" Cartman asks.

"Yeah," Kenny says with a laugh. "A party with porn stars."

And when tomorrow comes, I begin to feel anxious. This isn't my kind of scene and I know I'm just going to feel uneasy the entire time I'm there. It's all just going to make me feel worse for Kenny.

When we're all ready, we head to a downtown penthouse suite.

Kenny is out of it, that much is clear. I don't know if he's stoned or if he's just trying to put himself in a different mental state. I should probably try to do the same if I hope to get through the night without getting angry.

I am in a room full of people that Kenny has probably either fucked or been fucked by. He's had his lips around all their most tender parts and, just like me, they're all probably thinking, "This kid gives killer head." It's been like this for too damn long and Kenny was once far too young to know so much. It was knowledge acquired through years of practise. I always knew it wouldn't lead him anywhere good. Kenny is the type of guy who kisses everyone with too much feeling. He kisses everyone like he loves them and it leaves me realizing I'm not so special after all.

Kenny introduces us to people he has worked with. His agent literally looks like a toad and I wonder if Kenny sucked his dick, too. The simple thought of it makes me want to vomit. Kenny is too good for all of this.

"Have you sucked him off, too?" I ask moodily.

Kenny's eyes narrow at me, as if he's annoyed. "No," he says pointedly. "Don't be a prick."

"He looks like a toad," I mumble. "He's fatter than Cartman."

Kenny simply shrugs.

"Is he nice, at least?" I question.

"Not particularly," Kenny admits.

I cringe at that and I can't help but think that none of these people deserve to see that much of Kenny. So, I say, "You're too good for this."

He shrugs again, probably not believing it… and it fuckin' breaks my heart.

I break away as Stan and Cartman awkwardly talk to the people Kenny introduces them to. Instead of making small talk, I find the alcohol and let the bartender mix me a drink.

"Make it strong," I add in a mutter.

A lot of the guys here look like Kenny… I guess the agency has a specific type of guy – young, pretty, lithe bodied. They all have different coloured hair and skin, but they're all young, they're all pretty and they're all slim.

I wonder if any of them hate their jobs. Then again, maybe they're just like Kenny – loving every second of it… or seeming to.

Being here makes me feel guilty. It's everything I'm unsure of. I guess Kenny is right. I'm a damn hypocrite, but I'm going to change that. From here on, I'm never watching porn ever again.

It'd be different if I felt like Kenny truly wanted to do this. Then I think I could find it in me to support him… but I have this nagging suspicion that there's more to it. Kenny was abused. Maybe it's unfair of me to make this kind of connection, but it has me wondering if that's what led him to this career choice.

After a few minutes of contemplation I feel a hand on my back. I turn around and spot Kenny.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," I echo.

He has the bartender make him a drink. As he waits, he glances back at me and says, "So, what do you think?"

"It's weird being here," I admit.

He smiles slightly. "Yeah… Cartman and Stan probably feel the same way. Stan was approached and asked if he'd ever be interested in this industry. He kindly declined."

I snort back a laugh. Of course they'd want pretty-boy Stan Marsh… but there's no way in hell Stan could ever do a thing like this. He's too shy. He'd end up hurling on camera. Then again, some people are into that…

"Quit looking like you're judging everyone in the room," Kenny says, sounding annoyed at me.

"Sorry," I apologize. I try to relax my face and put away the scowl I've probably been wearing for most of the night.

After downing the rest of my drink, I grab another. When I'm feeling a little past tipsy, I cut myself off. Kenny, on the other hand, has a few more than he should.

Towards the end of the night, he gets really incoherent.

"We should take him back," Stan says, putting an arm around him to keep him steady.

"Yeah," I agree softly, brushing the hair away from Kenny's face.

So, we slip out, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. Kenny passes out on our way down and Stan piggy-backs him. We pour ourselves into a taxi and head back to Kenny's for the night.

Cartman digs the keys out of Kenny's pocket, opening the door. We all pile through and Stan puts Kenny to bed.

"He's always been a drinker," Cartman murmurs. "Guess that hasn't changed."

"I wish it did," I admit bitterly. "I hate the thought of him getting drunk like this in a place where no one cares about him."

"Hm… yeah…" Cartman agrees.

"He's dead to the world," Stan says when he exits Kenny's room. "We should try to figure out sleeping situations."

"I call the three-seater sofa," Cartman says.

"Two-seater!" Stan nearly shouts a split second later.

"Then I get the floor, I guess," I snort.

Halfway through the night, I'm still awake. I piled three blankets from Kenny's linen closet, but it's still rock hard and uncomfortable.

After a few more minutes, I hear a creak. Sitting up, I see Kenny exit his bedroom. He leans against the doorway with his head in his hand.

I stand up and say, "Hey, are you okay?"

"Mm…" he moans. "I think I'm gonna hurl…" He slides his palm across the wall to steady himself as he walks to the bathroom. I follow, watching as he hovers over the toilet and unceremoniously dumps his guts out.

"Shit," I say sadly. "Kenny, what the hell?"

"Ugh…" he whines, grabbing toilet paper and wiping his mouth off. He flushes and then rinses his mouth out in the sink before gargling Listerine.

I watch silently, wondering how often this is his nightly ritual.

"I feel a bit better…" he admits.

"Well, that's good…" I respond.

He exits the bathroom, walking past me where I'm lingering. I follow him back into his room and he says, "I'm fine, Kyle…"

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Yes," he says impatiently. He strips out of his day-clothes, getting stark-nude before grabbing a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. "You can stay here if you want, though."

"I don't think that's a good idea…" I tell him.

"It's fine, Kyle," he says. "I won't try anything, I promise. My bed is a lot more comfortable than the floor."

I shrug and then relent with, "All right, then." So, I crawl into bed next to him . For a few minutes, I just listen to him breathe. There are things I want to ask him, but I know he probably isn't up to it.

"I can practically hear you thinking," he points out groggily. "What do you want to say to me?"

"I just want to know why you got drunk like that tonight," I admit.

"It's easier," he explains vaguely.

I don't like that answer. Something about it throws me off.

"What do you mean?" I pry.

He doesn't respond after that and I can tell he's fallen asleep. With a quiet sigh, I try to do the same.

I don't get another moment alone to talk with Kenny and the following days are much the same – another party, more take out at Kenny's apartment, drinking, some shopping, some sight-seeing… We take a lot of pictures for Facebook. I'll have to try to develop them when I get home and put them in my photo album.

When the week comes to an end, we prepare to take our leave. We pack our things in Cartman's jeep and stop at Kenny's for a quick breakfast. When we're all done eating, we prepare to part ways.

After hugs and goodbyes, I tell glance at Stan and Cartman as they slip into their shoes by the front door. "I'll catch up with you guys in a second," I tell them and they nod, making their way out of the apartment. I stare at Kenny and ask, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asks back.

I shrug. "Just a feeling, I guess."

"The only thing that's making me feel bad is you, Kyle," he points out.

"You're right," I relent, "and I'm sorry about that. I mean it. I'm sorry I said some heartless things and acted like I knew better. I don't know what's best for you. You know what's best for you. So… just keep doing this if it makes you happy."

"I forgive you," he says easily. "Many people in this line of work are numb," he adds. "We walk around, not feeling anything at all. It's so empty and there are too many guys and girls working to fill the void."

"Are you?" I ask.

He smiles, but quickly falters. "Maybe I am."

With that, I hug him again and I leave, preparing for a tiring journey back.

After an interesting week, me and Stan and Cartman make our way back to South Park. When I get home, I decide to look up Kenny's porn star name and soon enough I'm brought to his agency's homepage. I look at his profile. He looks happy in the photograph, but I'm still wondering whether or not it's a façade.

He's already starred in ten films. I read through the title list, cringing at some of them. I close the page and grab the DVD he sent me. I burn the disc and try not to think about it, but I can't stop. I keep seeing Kenny in all these positions. I keep seeing him with the bodily fluids of strangers all over his face. It's all out there now and it's there for the world to see. He can't take that back now.

God, I hate this so fucking much.

3.

Don't judge the boy by what you hear
The words are heard beyond the ear
The heart and mind are focus for this conversation
But be abound in mystery for that so much you do to me
For there are those who drown in adulation

Kenny hasn't been in touch with us much lately. He says he's busy, but I can't help feeling like something is wrong. Stan and Cartman tell me I'm just being paranoid, but I don't know. I can't brush off the feeling and it's all I can think about.

It's still summer, so I want to take another quick trip before I have to go back to school. This time, I'm going to fly. I don't want to waste time driving.

I won't tell Kenny I'm coming. Maybe it's sneaky of me, but if anything is wrong I don't want him trying to hide it when he hears that I'm on my way. So, I'll just show up at his door out of the blue and make sure everything is fine.

I guess this is pretty sneaky of me, but I feel too desperate to think about this rationally.

When I eventually arrive, I take a few deep breaths before knocking on his door. When he opens it, I feel my guts twist around in my stomach.

He looks dead. His eyes are swollen and red. There's a bruise on his jaw and some along his neck. His hair is pinned on top of his head again, but this time there is a cut on his forehead, held together with medical tape. He's wearing a pair of sweatpants and a baggy, wool sweater that I recognize immediately. My mom knitted it for him last Christmas. He looks tired and so unlike himself.

"Kyle," he murmurs my name. A split second later, he tries to slam the door on me, but I stick my foot out to stop him.

"Let me in," I demand.

Since I'm stronger and he knows it, he relents, letting go of the door and stepping away. "Damn it... Why are you here?" he asks weakly. He lets out a shuddery sigh, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Hey," I greet him gently, letting myself in and closing the door behind me. "I just… I thought something might be wrong… because you were acting so distant… and I was right."

"Yeah," he whispers, laughing bitterly. "Yeah, you were right about everything… I just didn't want to admit it. Too much pride, y'know… but that's all gone now."

I look at him piteously. "What can I do?" I whisper, pleading with him.

He lets out a breath that sounds like a soft sob, letting his head hang low. "Take me home, Kyle… Please…" he says quietly. "I'm done lying. I just want to be Kenny McCormick again."

We spend the next day packing up his things. Well, I do most of the work when it comes to lifting. Kenny is moving too gingerly. I think he's in a lot more pain than he's letting on. I still have no idea what happened to him and I'm too scared to ask.

When we're done, Kenny pays to have all of his things shipped back to South Park, but I buy him his plane ticket home. I know he has money now, but it won't last forever and I want it to last him as long as he needs it to.

"If your agency gives you any trouble about leaving, tell me," I say. "Then we'll call Cartman over to sit on everyone."

Kenny smiles slightly before letting out a little laugh. "Okay."

The plane ride back home is quiet. Kenny doesn't say much. I think he feels a little bit sore since he had to explain all of his bruises to the TSA. He sounded like he was two seconds away from crying, but they still asked more questions. All that, then he got felt up. He shuddered the entire time and I couldn't help but wonder how many bruises there are beneath his clothes.

"This is my first time flying," he admits out of the blue. "When I moved out of South Park, it was my first time leaving the state. I drove a piece of crap car I saved up for. It survived the journey over, but it died soon after."

"What'cha think?" I ask him.

"It's better than driving," he says. He sounds angry, but I know that he's probably just upset still. So, I can't take it personal.

"Quicker, too," I add.

He nods, staring out of the window. He takes his phone out and takes a picture of the clouds.

I let him have the window seat, since I'm used to flying. It's not as exciting for me.

When we land, we head to baggage claim and grab out luggage. I told Kenny to pack some things in an overnight bag since his other belongings might take a bit longer to arrive.

For now, he'll be staying with my family.

I haven't told my parents yet, but I already know they're not going to mind it. They love Kenny and when the see him, I know they'll immediately want to know what they can do to help. They're like that. They're overbearing as hell, but kind.

We take a taxi to my house and when I announce my arrival, I'm greeted with silence. "I guess everyone is out," I say.

"That's fine," Kenny responds. "They won't mind me crashing here, will they? I can get a hotel…"

"They won't mind," I promise.

We move upstairs to my room, taking out things with us.

Kenny smiles slightly, surveying his surroundings. "I missed this place," he admits. "I love your bedroom. It was always the most comfortable place. It was always far more comfortable to me than my own room."

I smile back. "Well, it's your room now, too… and when I go back to university, you can keep staying here. I'll come back on the weekends just like I usually do."

"Ah, I don't want to stay here for too long, Kyle," he says. "I don't want to put your family out."

I chuckle at that and insist, "They won't mind. Plus, I want you here. Put your furniture in a storage facility until you get back on your own two feet. Get a good job, save up a little more, and then move out."

"Okay," Kenny agrees. "I don't really know what else there is for me to do… I didn't finish high school. So, what can I do?"

"I don't know," I confess. "We'll figure something out. What are you good at?"

"Um…" he pauses, frowning. He takes a seat on the edge of my bed, furrowing his eyebrows. "I really don't know… I guess I'm organized. I'm good with numbers. I'm good with people."

"Maybe someone we know needs a secretary," I suggest.

He scoffs. "Don't you need an education to do that?"

"Depends who your boss is, I guess," I say.

Kenny frowns. "I don't really want to talk about this anymore, it's depressing me…"

"Fair enough," I relent, sitting down next to him. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

He lets out a soft sigh and then another and then another and then I realize he's getting emotional.

"Kenny…?" I question tentatively.

"I really don't know what to do, Kyle…" he whispers weakly.

"You don't have to do anything at all," I tell him.

"Why'd I let it go this far?" he asks, sounding like he's talking to himself rather than me.

"How did it start, if you don't mind me prying? I mean, what made you choose to do porn?"

He lets out a bitter laugh. "I was in Denver shopping with Craig last summer when some guy approached me in the mall. He was interested in the both of us, but Craig ripped up the card on the spot. I put mine in my pocket… and eventually I gave him a call. Craig is a big whore, but he prefers to keep it in the bedroom. Me, not so much. I guess I felt like it was the only way I'd be able to make something of myself. I know I'm a good fuck. Other than that, I'm talentless."

"Don't say that," I plead with him. "Kenny, look back on your life. You've done a lot of great things. You have a beautiful singing voice. Remember when you used to sing?"

Kenny lets out a sound of disgust. "I can't make a living by singing, Kyle. It's hard. Plus, I doubt anyone wants to sign a singer who used to sell his asshole."

"Stop berating yourself," I murmur.

"You berated me a lot the other week," he points out.

"I'm sorry about that," I say sincerely. "I was jealous... and if you still want to do porn, I'm not going to judge, okay? Just... work for yourself. You could be a webcam model or something. Don't work for some pig who treats you like shit."

"It's fun at first, y'know…" he starts wetly. "You have money and you think people like you… but then things start going downhill. Things get scarier. You feel conflicted. You start partying, smoking, drinking, then come the drugs because you want to be numb… And I swear, for half of the scenes I shot I wasn't even sober. Somehow, it was easier. Then I didn't have to focus on the pain. I'd just focus on trying to stay conscious. When I'm drunk, I feel like I only have room for one thought at a time. They'd pick me up and move me around, forcing me into impossible positions. The director just wanted to get the right shot… the most degrading shots possible while I gagged on their disgusting, dirty penises. People think that just 'cause you do it for money, then you must be willing to do anything with anyone… Soon, what you think and feel doesn't matter and you're forced into all this hard-core stuff. It's not fun anymore when you're getting beat up and fucked into the floor for hours straight by, like, five different guys."

I give him a piteous look.

He shifts gingerly and adds, "My insides got ripped up… I thought I was going to do a threesome. It sounded simple enough, but the guys I was working with freaked out on me. They just started beating and kicking me. I told them to stop, but they didn't and the directors kept filming. They'll probably market it as fetish porn and everyone will watch me get raped and jerk off to it, not knowing or caring that it's not pretend… Funny, you warned me about this and I didn't listen. I had to learn the hard way."

"I'm so fucking sorry," I choke out, overcome with nausea.

His eyebrows draw together and he stares at me. "You were right, y'know… I knew what I was doing was stupid and the industry is so fucked up… but I didn't listen. I didn't want to admit you were right and I was just hurting myself…" He pauses, letting out a grave laugh. "I have chlamydia. Gross, right?"

I shake my head, masking the shock I feel. "You're not gross, Kenny. The people who did this to you are gross. More than that… they're just fucking evil and people like that don't change." I sit with him and put an arm around him, trying to show him that I'm not disgusted by him or anything. "I'm sorry I said some shitty things a little while ago. I was just jealous. I was acting selfishly."

"I didn't do anything wrong, you know," he says, sounding hoarse and tired and robotic.

"I know," I respond gently.

He lets out a quiet, grievous sound. "I didn't do anything wrong…" he says again before starting to sob.

I don't really know what else to say, so I stay quiet and let him sink into me. I tighten my grip on him and try to telepathically communicate to him that someday he'll be okay. I don't know when or how or whatever else… but I know he's a strong person and he'll be okay.

I let him cry and, somehow, it sounds like he's grieving. For what? I'm not quite sure. For himself, perhaps.

When he quiets, I let him go and wander towards me bookshelf, grabbing a familiar large book on the bottom shelf.

"Here," I say, handing him my photo album. "I developed the ones we took when we went to visit you."

"I love this book," Kenny responds with a faint smile. He flips to the first page – in it, there are photos of us young and smiling. We're only five years old. It was a much simpler time. He continues flipping through and I feel like I'm watching us grow up all over again, year by year. Kenny stops in the middle and points to a picture of me at fourteen. "Your awkward phase," he says.

"Ugh," I chuckle, unable to disagree. I had braces, glasses and acne.

Kenny smiles down at the picture. "You look so different now. You're all manly and hot."

"Puberty was good to me," I say with a laugh. My teeth are nice and straight, I ditched the glasses for contacts and my skin cleared up.

Kenny and Stan were lucky. They've always been cute. Same with all the girls. They never had any awkward phases. I was sure I would be doomed forever, but I grew out of it.

"I'll say," Kenny agrees.

I sit down with him and together we look through all the photos until we get to the most recent ones.

"I don't even remember you taking some of these," he confesses, staring down at his smiley, oblivious expression.

"You drank a lot that week," I mention cautiously.

"That part I remember," he admits.

Later in the day, I call Cartman and Stan over. When the doorbell rings, we head down to answer it. When I open the door, they are more than shocked to see Kenny standing behind me.

"Dude!" Stan exclaims. "What the hell happened?"

Kenny latches onto my arm. "Kyle wanted to save me from the throes of sodomy," he says in a simpering tone, speaking lightly almost like he's making a joke. I guess he's just trying to cope with the fucked up situation. He's acting completely different than he was early. I know he is probably being facetious, trying to put on a good show so Stan and Cartman won't think the worst.

Stan frowns, looking piteous and seeing right through the act. "Kenny…"

"Someone rough you up?" Cartman asks tactlessly.

"In a way," Kenny admits, "but I don't want to talk about that. If you guys want all the dirty details, you can ask Kyle about it later when I'm not around. He'll tell you."

Stan shoots me a questioning look and I add, "I had a bad feeling. So, I flew back there and realized I had reason to be worried. Then I took him home."

They both nod slowly, satisfied with knowing this much for now… but I know that soon enough they'll want to know more.

We move into the living room and decide to just kick back and watch television. We chat aimlessly while channel surfing. I let Cartman man the remote, even though he's usually annoyingly indecisive.

When my parents get home with Ike, they're surprised to see Kenny as well. They're carrying a bunch of bags, so I can't help but assume they went grocery shopping.

"Boys," Mom greets, "and Kenny! Nice to see you, sweetie. It's been a while."

"Hi, Sheila," he greets sweetly.

She doesn't mention his cut-and-bruised face. Neither does Ike or my dad. I'm sure they'll take me aside later on and pry, though.

When they all move into the kitchen, I excuse myself and follow.

"Can Kenny stay here for a while?" I ask softly.

"Of course, bubby," Mom says.

"You don't even have to ask," Dad adds. "Is he in some trouble?"

"A bit…" I confess.

"You don't have to tell us the details. We'll talk to him later and make sure he knows that we'll help in any way we can."

I smile, feeling relieved. "Thanks."

After Cartman and Stan leave, my parents cook dinner. Ike sits with us in the living room while we wait to eat. I catch him eying Kenny with a look of mild curiosity, but he has enough tact not to make it obvious. He's probably smart enough to piece things together. He knows Kenny was doing porn. He probably knows that someone roughed him up over it.

Soon enough, my parents call us for dinner and we eat, talking mildly. Mom asks Kenny about some tourist attractions in LA. We avoid topics like work and family, since Kenny has trouble in both of those departments.

Afterward, Kenny volunteers to help my mom do the dishes. I think he just wants to talk to her.

"Oh, sweetie, you don't have to do that," she says.

"Please," he adds.

So, she relents and offers him a smile. Ike retreats to his room and my dad retreats to his study. I leave Kenny and my mom alone to talk and do the dishes. I debate on sitting in the living room and eavesdropping, but I decide against it and head upstairs.

"Kyle!" Ike calls me as I walk past his room.

"Mm?" I question, peering inside.

"About Kenny…" he starts.

"It's exactly what you think," I tell him. "His agency screwed him over."

Ike frowns. "Shit…"

"Yeah," I murmur before continuing to my own room.

I sit on my bed and grab my phone, looking through my notifications. I scroll through my Facebook feed lazily before deciding to group message Stan and Cartman.

KYLE BROFLOVSKI: As you guys know, Kenny got fucked over by his agency. They told him one thing was gonna happen, but when he got on set they just beat the crap out of him. I don't know if he was going to ever tell us, so I'm glad I followed my gut instinct even though you two turds just told me I was being paranoid.

A split second later, Stan responds –

STANLEY MARSH: Oh, shit… That's way worse than I thought. Sorry I thought you were overreacting when we were in LA.

KYLE BROFLOVSKI: It's fine.

STANLEY MARSH: Let me know if there's anything I can do.

KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Just don't tip toe. I think he's scared you guys will start being all cautious. That's why he tried to act normal today.

STANLEY MARSH: Yeah, I thought something was amiss. He seemed to be overcompensating somehow.

After another few seconds, Cartman finally logs on –

ERIC CARTMAN: Got it. Stan will have more trouble not pussyfooting than me.

STANLEY MARSH: That's probably true…

I snort at that, knowing for sure that it's true. Stan has always been the most sensitive one of us. He's really empathetic and has a hard time hiding that.

KYLE BROFLOVSI: Well, try! Anyway, I'll talk to you guys later.

With that, I set my phone back on my nightstand. Mere moments later, Kenny appears in my doorway and saunters into my room.

"I love your mom," he says with a sigh. "I wish she was my mom… but then we'd be brothers and that would be gross because I have a crush on you."

I chuckle at that. "Well, I have a crush on you, too."

"Sleep with me," he propositions suddenly. "I've always wanted to sleep with you. So, we should do it."

"Uh…" I hesitate.

"Come on," he urges. "Don't get all pathetic and start treating me like I'm made of glass. I'm not about to break. I just want to do it with someone who will actually make me feel good…"

"My parents are home," I point out.

He rolls his eyes. "We don't have to do it now… plus, I can't do it now…"

"All right," I say softly. I feel guilty for accepting his proposal, but I don't want to fight with him on whether or not I think he's ready for it. Plus, he knows better than I do. I can't argue with that. "For the record," I add, "I don't care about that. It's not your fault you got an infection."

He joins me on the bed, sitting down and looking contemplating. "I feel like I should make some sort of statement," he murmurs. "Like, on the internet maybe… I don't know. I don't really have any social media accounts. I just don't want people watching what I went through… but coming out and saying that might just make them curious and want to see it."

"People are sick," I murmur back. "You could threaten legal action if they try to release it."

Kenny sighs. "These things are expensive…"

"My family will help," I say. "Did you forget that my dad is a lawyer? One of the best around. He'd happily help you. He loves you as much as my mom does."

My dad is really damn good at what he does. That's why he gets paid so much.

"Oh…" Kenny says, mouth quirking upward. "I forgot…" He falters a moment later and then says, "Um… can you talk to your dad before I do?"

"Of course," I promise.

I decide to do it sooner rather than later. Kenny falls asleep early, so I make my way downstairs and into my dad's office.

"Can I talk to you?" I ask.

"Come in, son," he invites. "What's on your mind?"

So, start to end, I tell him.

When I turn in for the night, Kenny is awake again. "You spoke to your dad," he assumes. It's not a question.

"Yeah," I respond. "He wants to help you."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow…" Kenny murmurs.

"Take your time with it," I tell him, getting in bed next to him. "Don't force yourself."

"I want to get it over with," he admits, rolling over to face me. "I just… want to stop worrying about it, you know? It's like… I'm in this constant state of anxiety. I know that everyone has already seen these parts of me, but I was consenting to it, even though it was mostly pretty shitty… I didn't consent to the last thing they did."

"I know," I whisper, "I know the difference, Kenny… and I'm sure other people will, too. We'll make sure that they don't make money off of exploiting you."

He lets out a shuddery breath. "Good… that's good…"

4.

If I had a dime for each time that I heard them preach
Well, I'd have wicked thoughts upon my brain

"My chlamydia cleared up," Kenny says out of the blue.

"That's good," I offer.

"I still can't help but feel so disgusting," he murmurs.

I reach for his hand and hold it in mine. "I wish I knew what to say or do to help…"

"You've already helped," he says. "Seriously. You've done more than I possibly could have asked for. I can't believe how much you and your family are helping me. Really, I'm grateful."

Right now, we're in my living room. Kenny has been looking through the classified ads, trying to see if there's a job he's qualified for. So far, no luck.

"I don't think it's all bad, you know," Kenny adds. "I mean… when you think about it, it's just skin. That in itself isn't that bad, but there's all the issues of exploitation and consent. I don't think it's bad to sell sex, but I think that the industry needs to be torn down and rebuilt so it's just the people who really want to do it and not the people who are being taken advantage of or who feel like it's their only choice."

"Won't happen," I say simply. "They make too much money doing things this way."

Yesterday, he spoke to my dad. My dad said he'd make the call today. All we can do now is hope that this is the end of it. Well, for Kenny, I feel like it's something that he'll have to deal with for a long time. He can't just erase it from his mind. Maybe it'll be there when someone touches him. Maybe it'll be there when he's alone. I don't really know.

Kenny's belongings arrived the other day. We put most of his things in a storage facility, while his clothes and personal items are now in boxes in my bedroom.

"What now?" he asks.

"Whatever you want," I say simply.

"I don't mean generally, I mean…" he trails off. "Fuck it, never mind."

"What?" I pry.

"I was going to ask you where you think I should go from here…" he starts. "After your dad makes the call, I mean… but then I realized I don't want you to give me advice."

"Why?"

"I don't want anyone to give me advice," he murmurs. "I really don't want any. I don't want people making assumptions about what I'm ready or not ready for. I don't want people to make assumptions about what I want and what I can handle… and if you make this about you, I'm never going to talk about anything with you ever again."

"But… don't you want justice?" I ask.

"It's not about getting justice," he says, looking at me with a weary expression. "Right now, it's just about me getting through the days. I'm fucking tired and I don't want to have to go through some big, stupid trial where I'll probably get the shit triggered out of me. I don't want to revisit the event in front of a room of strangers who probably wouldn't give a shit about me."

I nod my head, understanding where he's coming from.

"You're strong," I tell him. "Way stronger than I'd be in your situation."

"And that surprises you? I've been burned before, you know."

"No," I say. "I mean, you've always been a strong person. I guess I'm just surprised this happened at all… I never met someone who experienced it."

"That you know of," he finishes. "A lot of people won't talk about it. There's a stigma… and rape culture is no myth."

"Yeah," I agree sadly.

"I don't think they'll be releasing that tape," Dad says later in the week. "If they do, they'll be facing some pretty serious charges and I told them that. No court would ever side with them. They'd have very little hope in winning a case like that even with the best lawyer around. A trial would be absolutely ludicrous and a waste of their money."

Kenny glances at me and I offer him a small smile. He smiles back and then returns his gaze to my father, giving him a sincere, "Thank you."

"Are you sure you don't want me to do anything more than this?" Dad asks Kenny. "You probably have enough of a reason to take them to court. I'd represent you."

Kenny shakes his head. "I… really don't want to go to court. I can't really stand up and tell that story, y'know?"

"I understand," Dad says. He offers Kenny a smile and then says, "Well, if anything else happens, come to me and I'll make it right."

"Thank you," Kenny says again. "Really, thank you. I feel like I can actually breathe a lot easier now."

The following day, me and Kenny have the house to ourselves so we decide to use it to our advantage.

"You're okay with this, right?" I ask him as we hover in front of one another in the center of my bedroom.

He rolls his eyes at me and doesn't bother responding. Instead, he reaches for the rim of his t-shirt and pulls it off. I follow, removing my clothes and discarding them on the floor.

Fucking him feels better than I thought it would. He seems to agree.

But I guess the word fucking doesn't really fit. We do it slow and soft, like it's our first time. I guess it kind of is. It feels like a scene in a movie and I guess that's how it's supposed to feel. I want him to know that he means something to me and all that mushy shit.

When it's over, I pull out and lie down next to him. For a minute, we're both quiet, breathy messes. We don't bother cleaning off yet.

"Are you mine now?" Kenny asks, turning his head to look at me.

"Yeah," I tell him, 'cause the idea sounds nice.

His lips quirk up into a little smile. "Then I'll be yours," he says with finality.

Later, me and Kenny are talking about work possibilities for him. My dad happens to overhear. "You're looking for a job?" he asks and when Kenny nods, he says, "Well, why didn't you say so? Why don't you come and work for me? I need a new secretary."

Kenny looks surprised. "I can't… I'm not qualified. Plus… do you really want an ex-porn actor working for you? Aren't you, like, kind of prestigious?"

My dad waves a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about any of that, Kenny. You'll do a fine job."

Kenny cracks a small smile. "Well, all right, then… I accept."

It's even later now and the house is quiet. Me and Kenny are lying side-by-side on my bed. The room is dim.

I know Kenny isn't okay yet. He might not be for a damn long time and that's fair. He'll talk to me when he wants to. I won't give him advice, but I'll offer him support. I'll be patient, kind. I'll be all the things I should be. I'll make up for my mistakes.

"It's weird," he murmurs suddenly. "I feel like things might work out. Funny… My life was a mess for so long and now everything seems to be going my way finally."

"See?" I start. "Things work out sometimes."

Kenny chuckles. "Yeah, I guess they do…"

I feel myself smile, though he can't see it. Soon, I'll go back to school and I'll continue to earn my degree in law. I'll become a lawyer, just like my dad… but I'll always end up back in South Park, the place where I was born and bred. School will take me away, but I'll be back. I'll always be back.

Home is where the heart is, right? I feel like my heart will always be here in South fucking Park.

Fin.