Title: Truth or Dare?
Author: Twitchable Wiz
Genre: Angst/Horror
Rating: M or R
Fandom: South Park
Pairing(s): Kenny/Cartman, unacknowledged Kenny/Kyle
Warnings: language, slash, sex, consent issues. IF YOU ARE NOT LEGALLY ALLOWED TO READ ADULT MATERIAL, OR ARE AFFECTED BY SERIOUS PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAUMA, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON'T READ.
Summary: IF YOU ARE NOT LEGALLY ALLOWED TO READ ADULT MATERIAL, OR ARE AFFECTED BY SERIOUS PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAUMA, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON'T READ. It's like some kind of twisted addiction. I can't ever resist. I hate that it happens more than anything. Not even God will help me. And it's cost me the only boy I ever loved.
Disclaimer: All characters presented herein are the property of Comedy Central, Trey Parker, and Matt Stone. No profit of any kind is being made from this story. I don't own; please don't sue. Any and all song lyrics or literary quotes, unless otherwise noted, are the properties of their respective owners, who will be credited at the end of each chapter. Once again, I do not own, don't sue poor Twitch! Anything otherwise noted, such as poetry or original lyrics, as well as the plot and storyline, are mine. Please do not use, copy, or post elsewhere without explicit permission from me. Printed copies are perfectly fine (if you actually think my work is good enough to print out) as long as proper credit is given. You can reach me through my homepage, listed in my profile.
Further Disclaimers: This story contains sexual relations between males of either dubious or nonconsensual nature. This is not for the young or faint of heart. PLEASE DON'T READ if you are underage to view adult material, or if easily affected by serious psychological trauma.
The poem "Hurt Me" belongs to me, aka Twitchable Wiz.
Author's Notes: This is one of the darkest things I have ever written. It came out of a rather horrible nightmare, based mostly on true facts from a certain person's life and adapted for SP characterization. Like the military says: don't ask; don't tell. But I needed to get this out of me, because it was making me crazy with pain. My nightmares are no laughing matter, and the experiences in here are more than anyone should EVER have to deal with. As I have mentioned before, writing is my only therapy. I see no shrinks and only recently have begun taking drugs for my diseases, so without my writing I would end up in a strait-jacket. Dead serious. So this was an attempt to force the thoughts and feelings I was experiencing out of my mind. They came out as this fic. I usually find it easier to write out my feelings as fics, as opposed to journal-style or freeform. I can change things to how I wish they were, instead of what they are. But I just couldn't do that with this fic. It refused to let me write a happy ending. I just cried and cried while writing this. I apologize that I am inflicting this on everyone. But I have a horrible feeling that someone out there can relate. You have more sympathy and compassion from me than you could ever imagine. Started this at 3 in the morning, no beta. So if there are grammatical errors I apologize, and if it makes no sense or seems totally out there, I apologize for that as well. This is not even close to the stories I usually write, and doesn't do me any justice at all. Just makes me look like a twisted fuck.
For all the Cartman lovers, I really don't hate him. I don't like him all that much either. He just seemed the most writable character for this particular dive.
Dedicated to anyone who knows what true pain is. I pray you find the light you need to overcome.
Hurt Me
Beat me
Each bruise turns me on
Turns me around
Turns me upside down
Whip me
I'm your slave
I'm your animal
I'm your bitch
Burn me
The fire makes me gasp
Makes me shiver
Makes me hard
Cut me
Every slice is a throb
A pulse
A climax
Make me bad
Make me bleed
Make me cry
Make me come
Lick me
Hit me
Stroke me
Scar me
Feel me
Crush me
Caress me
Fuck me
It's all the same
Give me pain
Give me pleasure
Give me peace
Hurt me
I never know when it's going to happen. Never know when he'll decide he needs to mark me again. Make me forever his.
Fourteen. Such a carefree, innocent age. I was so excited to just be alive. Death had been my constant since before I could remember. But all that changed. Life snuck up on me when I least expected it. I finally lived day to day with no more worry than keeping my friends close and my grades up. As if God decided to stop his heartless game and give me my place in the sun.
I should have known it was nothing more than a cruel divine tease.
That's when it first happened. I'd spent the day with him and Kyle, watching the new Terrence and Phillip movie. My favorite Jewish boy in the whole world bought me an extra-large Cherry Coke, a bucket of popcorn, and some Junior Mints, knowing exactly what my favorite movie treats were. When I bear-hugged him, he gave me an embarrassed grin, and turned a rather alarming shade of red. When I laughed at him, he flipped me off and said that I'd squeezed the breath out of him. A grinning, blushing Kyle is one of the true wonders of the world, at least in my opinion. We found great seats in the center of the theatre, and there weren't any big-headed people like Mackey around to block our view. The movie was "shoot the aforementioned Cherry Coke out your nose" funny. All in all, a pretty fucking righteous day. When he asked me if I wanted to stay the night, I jumped at the chance to round out my perfect day with some one on one with my best bud.
It started out as a game.
"Truth or Dare, Kenny?"
I wasn't a pussy. I could handle anything he could dish out and then some. Simple little things to start off with, like wearing his mom's leather panties on my head while running around the block, or sticking a cinnamon Tic-Tac up my nose. It soon became a contest of who could top who in outrageousness. Teenage boys typically think with their dicks, and I was no exception. I told him to make out with Clyde Frog. He told me to lick his pajama-covered ass. I told him to hump Polly Prissy Pants. On and on, till he asked me to whip it out, and I did with a smug grin. Dad once told me that I was definitely a McCormick, and no McCormick ever had a reason to be ashamed of their "junk", as he called it. Plus, I had a full set of pubes and I knew he barely had any, so I was eager to prove that I was the more mature one.
I dared him to do the same, and without the slightest hesitation he was naked. I'd seen him naked in the school showers before, but to have him totally nude three feet from me gave me the creeps. His skin was dead-fish white, and rolls of fat were present everywhere on his body. I actually couldn't see his dick at first. He dared me to touch his cock, and I did without comment once I found it. No big deal; I touched my own quite frequently, a certain redheaded basketball-player flashing through my head. When I dared him to do the same, his eyes flashed with an emotion I couldn't even comprehend then. I recognize it now as lust. But it wasn't lust for me, or even just lust for sexual experience. It was a lust to dominate and destroy. Should have been my red flag, but I was too busy proving myself able to take anything he could throw.
He didn't just touch; he grabbed and squeezed. At fourteen, you become aroused by math problems. But his warm, squishy hand had me hard in record time. He smiled that shit-eating grin of his and told me that he liked my dick in his hand, but he'd like his dick in mine better. After that, Truth or Dare got tossed out the window as his exploration took over. I tried in vain to protest, but he rather forcefully insisted.
I ended up giving him a blowjob that night. If you could call it that. He just took my mouth and did his thing. I remember him grunting rather like a pig getting fucked by an elephant. I remember nearly choking to death when he got too enthusiastic and slammed his cock into the back of my throat. But mostly I remember the stream of filth coming out of his mouth, hands clenched painfully in my hair as he face-fucked me. Filthy fucking whore, dirty slut, cocksucking queer…he kept it up the entire time I inexpertly "serviced" him. When he was finished, he patted me on the head and told me I was a good Kenny for swallowing. Not that I'd had much choice in the matter. He then said he was really tired, but we could play again another time. Three minutes later, he was snoring in his bed, while I lay in a sleeping bag on the floor, trying to spit the taste of him from my mouth. The taste reminded me of something, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
All I could think of was whether I had done a good job, pleased him. I loved him, in spite of the fact that he was a fat, racist asshole who had just used me for his own selfish pleasure. He was my best friend anyway, and I would have done anything for him.
He tells me now that I'm a pro; nobody sucks a dick like Kenny McCormick.
I prayed the next night, down on my knees by my bed.
Dear God,
I know you're pretty busy and all, but I need your help. I don't know what to do anymore. I've committed a terrible sin, and I didn't mean to, but I didn't stop it very well either. I know I'm not so good at talking to you, but I hope you hear this and can spare me a moment. Help me, and help…him. Bless my family, bless Stan, and especially bless Kyle. He's a friend of mine.
Jesus is doing good. I check on him every now and then.
Love, your friend,
Kenny
Kyle entered my thoughts just once, but I quickly shunted him out. I didn't deserve to think of him after what I had just done.
The first time he ever fucked me was on the night of my fifteenth birthday. Euphoric from the surprise party painstakingly planned for me by Kyle and Stan, when he asked to stay over I immediately said yes. Didn't think anything of it; the happenings of the last time we were alone hadn't been repeated or even mentioned. I was doing my best to forget. I figured we'd pig out on left-over ice cream cake and watch the Star Wars Trilogy given me by Kyle, who had worked for three weeks shoveling sidewalks just so he could buy it for me with his own money. He knew how much I wanted them, and he'd gone out of his way to make sure I got them. Kyle's generosity and kindness went hand in hand with his boyish good looks.
He had other plans.
"Truth or Dare, Kenny?"
Uncomfortably remembering last time, I tried to suggest something else, but he was adamant and I gave up. After some of the usual lead-ups, he got straight down to business. When he dared me to let him put his dick up my ass, I refused. He called me a big puffy 80-year-old woman's cooter. I told him that I didn't want to because it would hurt, and I didn't want to have sex with anyone yet. His ears began to turn red, a sure sign he was losing his cool, and would start shouting. Not wanting to wake my parents, especially under the circumstances, I told him I would try it, but only if he promised not to hurt me. He assured me in that unctuous voice he did so well that he would stop if I told him it was too much.
Nobody lies like he does. Satan, the Prince of Lies himself, is jealous of him.
I begged him to stop over and over, finally biting into my pillow to keep the screams in. Raggedly chewed fingernails left crimson trails parallel to my spine, and felt a rib crack as he crushed my sides in his powerful grip. The filth was back as well. An unending onslaught of the most disgusting talk imaginable.
When it was all over, he withdrew, wiped himself on my shirt and crawled into his sleeping bag without a word. I lay there sobbing, curled around myself in anguish. Blood, shit, and his cum seeped out of my torn body, staining my bed-sheets. The smell of feces and sex made my stomach churn. When I could breathe again, I crawled to my feet and staggered to the bathroom. The wonderful homemade pizza made by Kyle and the ice cream cake decorated carefully by the same all ended up in the toilet. I cleaned myself up as best I could, gingerly wiping myself and applying Neosporin. I washed my face to get rid of the tear tracks and returned to my room to strip my bed. My sheets ended up out back in the garbage bin, and I returned to bed, lying awake staring at the ceiling till morning. Why did it all seem like one big case of deja-vu?
All I could think of was if I was any good. If he liked it. I still loved him, even though he had taken my last shred of innocence. He was my best friend, and I had surely proved I would do anything for him. Right?
When my mother asked about the sheets, I told her I had accidentally caught them on my parka zipper and ripped them. My dad smacked me around a couple times, and my mom told me that that was what I got for being careless. A trip to the thrift store, and it was like it never happened. Never told a soul. Still haven't till now.
He says now that even after all these years, Kenny McCormick is still the tightest fuck he's ever had.
I prayed that night, sneaked all the way to the church and broke in to do it.
Dear God,
Sorry for breaking in, but I needed to talk to you, and I figured maybe you'd hear me better from here. God, I'm at the end of my rope. I've done something so horrible I can't even say it. It just happened and I couldn't fight it. Please forgive me! I'm really sorry. Please help me, and help…well, you know. Bless my family, and bless Stan. But especially bless Kyle. I know he's Jewish, but he's a really cool guy. I think you'd like him a lot.
Haven't seen Jesus for awhile. Been scared to go see him. But I'm sure he's taking care of himself.
Love, your friend,
Kenny
Kyle tried to show up in my thoughts again, but I ran from him. Even in my imagination, I couldn't bear to look him in the eye after what I just let happen.
Only once did he ever suggest something for my "benefit". We were hanging at his house, playing Okama GameSphere. Stan had just left for a date with Wendy. Kyle, though uncharacteristically reluctant to leave, was forced to by that evil queen bitch he called mom. He seemed to be looking at me rather funny, and told me I should call him really soon. I nodded, confused. He left after giving me a one-armed hug and a weak smile, red curls falling into green eyes dark with worry. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why he looked so scared. The fact that Kyle wasn't very big on personal displays of affection made his hug seem a little creepy to me. Not that I minded the show of love, far from it. But it was out of the ordinary, and all I have ever wanted is ordinary. Shaking my head, I shifted my attention back to Gorefest 3. After being beaten for the forty-third time that afternoon, he let out a "Meh!" of exasperation and threw his controller across the room. When his mom came to see what the crash was, he whined that he wanted some Cheesy Poofs. She told him that they were out, and he whined louder. She immediately said she would get some for her little poopy-snuffle-wuffems. I knew this meant she would be gone for at least 3 hours, as she needed to go "make some money" to buy the Cheesy Poofs. It wasn't until the door closed behind her that I realized he and I were going to be alone again.
"Truth or Dare, Kenny?"
When I told him I didn't want to play, for once he didn't get mad. He looked hurt, and told me that he was sorry things got out of control the last time. He apologized over and over, telling me that he loved me and he never meant to hurt me. Just lost control, he said. And to prove it, he'd let me fuck him. Said there was nothing like it in the world, and that it'd prove he was still my BFF. When I still said I didn't want to play, he began to sob, wailing about me hating him and having no friends in the world.
I think dying all the time made my brain defective.
He had lube and a box of condoms in his backpack. He gave me detailed instructions on how to use them, and then stripped naked. I followed every instruction he gave me, and he seemed to enjoy my prepping. But when I positioned myself and began to push into him, he gave a cry of pain and began thrashing about violently. I instantly pulled away and asked him if he was okay. His fist lashed out with all the force of his two hundred pound body behind it. I crumpled to the floor, clutching my eye and gasping in agony. He was on his feet and kicking me in the ribs before I could even whimper in protest. I lost count of how many times his bare feet crushed into me before I lost consciousness. I guess I died, but I wasn't awake for it though. When I came back, familiar electric tingle racing through my body, I was lying on his floor with a blanket draped over me. He was sound asleep in his bed, thumb in his mouth. Okay, yeah I die all the time, but why did this death feel like it should have already happened?
I quietly pulled my clothes back together and left. All I could think about was how much I must have hurt him, for him to actually kill me in his rage. I was certain he was sorry for it, and I come back all the time anyway. For the first time in my life, I cursed myself. Cursed myself for driving him to it. I still loved him, even though he'd beaten my body and heart to death. He was still my best friend, and after everything we'd been through, he just had to know I'd do anything for him. Right?
He tells me now that I'm the favorite of all his bitches, because the Big Man Kenny McCormick bows to him, and he can do things to me he can't do to any of his other toys.
I didn't pray. I realized God wasn't paying any attention.
No Kyle that time either. My mind finally accepted that he could never ever want someone like me.
I slowly trudged back to my own house, lost in thought. How could I have let this happen? What the hell was wrong with me?
Flashes and images careened around in my mind, making my steps waver with dizziness.
I should have run. Told someone. Done something.
Yet I did nothing. Did our friendship really mean that much? That I would forsake everything I believed in just to make him happy? Somehow that didn't make much logical sense.
Pushing open the front door, I entered my motor oil-smelling home. I was going to head to my room, but my dad called from the living room.
"Kenny, is that you? Come see who's finally come back here to visit." My dad was facing me, speaking to a man in blue overalls, red t-shirt, and trucker's hat. He turned to look at me, and I realized that it could only be Bo, my dad's twin brother. They looked so much alike it was creepy. But even creepier were his eyes. The color was wrong, and he was a great deal older, but the look in them made me think of…him. Lust…
"Well well well, look at little Kenny all grown up."
That voice…
He was still talking, but everything was washed away in a flood of visions and sounds.
dark scary where am I
that's a good little Kenny
eyes glowing unca bo whatcha doin
let's get you outta these...heh...
cold need my clothes
much better now for some fun
cramped can't move
jus you an me Kenny you know Unca bo loves his Kenny
n-no…unca bo stop…
ohgodmakeitstophurts
hurts…st-stop please
why was a good boy…ohjesushelpme
no oww….OWWW…
god Kenny so tight
getoffam-me…
HELP
HELP
I knew then. Why everything felt so familiar. Why I accepted everything he'd done without fighting back. I thought he'd broken me…but it was all the man who stood before me. The damage had been done way before him. Everything came howling back into my head, and I choked as I emptied the burning contents of my stomach everywhere. I ran from the room and out the door, father calling after me to come back.
very good…that's my favorite nephew
now we're not going to tell anyone about this right
no unca bo…won't t-tell
good good come on we'll get some ice cream
Six years old. My entire life truly ended then. I can come back all the time now because I haven't been truly alive since then.
Six years old. How could God let something that awful happen to me? Easy. He despises me.
I ended up at Stark's Pond after running from my house, tears streaming down my cheeks. The wind whipped them back into my eyes, making it hard to see where I was going. So I didn't notice the figure walking the path in front of me until it was too late.
I crashed full-force into him, spinning us both around before we hit the ground.
"Kenny?"
Kyle righted himself and stared down at me. I wiped my eyes hurriedly and got to my feet. His eyes widened at my distraught state.
"Oh God, Kenny! You stayed! Why did you stay?"
I told him I didn't know what he was talking about. My eyes were focused on the dry, cracked leaves scattered everywhere. The wind whirled them around, and my vision blurred them into liquid swirl of tan and burnt orange.
"He hurt you, didn't he? I'll fucking kill that fat fuck!"
I told him I was fine, that I just hit my knee really hard.
"Don't you fucking lie to me, Kenny! You think I can't read you like a book? I've known something was wrong with you for weeks! Don't ask me how, but I know he did something to you! And I knew it was going to happen again! I've known it was coming since yesterday. I've felt it before, but this feeling topped them all. He was bragging about finding the best lay ever, and the only person he's spent any time alone with is you. Tell me, Kenny. Tell me what happened."
He knew. Who knew how, but I could feel that he was serious. It just made everything that much harder.
"Look, Kyle. I'm fine! Fatass didn't do anything. Why are you freaking out so goddamn much?"
"Because I care about you!" I couldn't help myself. My eyes shot up to his in an instant. He seemed to realize what he'd said, because his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Then the look became determined.
"Yeah I said it. I care about you. A lot. I've liked you since before I realized what it was to like someone. I want to be there for you Kenny. I want to hold you and kiss you and go on dates with you and all that mushy romantic stuff. I think you're amazing, Kenny. You're funny and good-looking and shy and you like the same things I like and you are a good friend. Wow this sounded a lot better in my head." He paused for a second to collect himself.
In all my life, I never wanted anything more. I loved him from the moment I met him. Sure I could be quite the little pervert, but that was just how I was raised. In my heart, it was always Kyle. Never wanted anyone else. And here he was, telling me he felt the same way. Tears pooled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I couldn't let him see how much this hurt.
"Kyle, I'm very flattered, but unfortunately I already have someone. I can't tell you who, but rest assured they treat me very well. I'm sure you'll find someone a lot more special than me out there."
My heart shattered when his eyes misted over. He gulped once, whole body shaking. Then he gave me the most fake smile I have ever seen from him.
"Well, that's great news, K-kenny! I'm really glad that you're happy. And I hope whoever it is keeps you that way for a long time. Uh..well..I gotta go now. S-see ya around."
I sank down next to a tree and cried.
Cried for my lost innocence. I wondered if I'd ever had any to begin with. Somehow I don't think so.
Cried for the loss of my best friend. Seeing the man who killed my innocence before I could even use it made me realize that my best friend was gone. He'd become a monster, and he'd taken me with him.
But most of all, I cried for my lost love. For all that would never be. Because I could never give the one person I loved more than anything damaged goods.
I never went home again. My uncle was found dead three days after our meeting. I can't lie and say it didn't feel amazing. Revenge can be sweet.
He takes care of me now.
You name it, I've done it. It's all yesterday's news. Whips, chains, knives…hell he's even fucked me dead. I hate it, but I'm used to it now. All the torture, it's the only way I feel anything anymore. There is no escape except his death. I just don't have it in me to kill him. Part of me still loves him. Besides, I'm too far gone to care now. There's no way to ever undo all the shit I've done. And even if I could, Kyle's gone. The only desire I've ever had. He left South Park a month after our last conversation. Sometime in the following months he ran into an old friend, and now lives happily ever after. Christophe is everything he could ever want, and I hope wherever they are they are happy.
No reason left to try. I serve my master because there's nothing left to do.
There's no longer even a pretense of actual Truth or Dare, though I always know when he's in the mood, because he winks at me and asks me that one little question. That one little question that makes me want to die forever. Too bad God hates me.
"Truth or Dare, Kenny?"
End notes: I once again apologize for the horrors written about in this fic. If I get enough negative reviews, I will delete it. But as I mentioned, I have this terrible feeling someone will read it who can relate. If you are that person or persons, and ever need someone to talk to who understands, you are more than welcome to e-mail me any time. I'll put you in touch with the right person.
Once again, all my sympathy, compassion, and understanding.
Silver linings are everywhere, if someone will just show you the way.
Twitch