Swagger Like Us

Chapter One: Want to Fuck, Fuck, Fuck This Up

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: Hi guys. Okay, so YCNGB is close to finished. I should probably focus on finishing all my other fics, considering the amount of death threats I've been receiving, but not having a fic that's totally style isn't jiving right with me, so tada. I'll warn you right now; it's full of drunken exploits that aren't exactly…well, nice. We've got boys being boys, and boys being worse than most boys. Thus the mature rating. If you have a problem with the boys being completely amoral, you should probably skip this fic. If not, I hope you enjoy it. It will eventually be style, and there might be other slash pairings too.

-Los Angeles by Sugarcult-

Hi. My name's Kyle Broflovski, and I've got vices. But really, who doesn't? I like girls and booze, or any combination thereof. The only problem with my little habits is that sometimes they get me into trouble.

I guess I should start at the beginning.

I'm at a party. Some rich kid in North Park is throwing it, but fuck if I know his name. I'd been invited by Clyde Donovan, who has an in with pretty much everyone under the age of twenty five in Park County. It might be because he's a generally chill guy, or it might be because he always brings at least three handles to every party he goes to. My guess is the latter. His uncle owns a liquor store, so he gets the stuff discounted. And he's not really as chill as he might claim.

Anyway, I'm at this party. My best friend, Stan Marsh is doing keg stands on the lawn. I know, because I peek out the window to check that he's well away. When I see Clyde and my other best friend, Kenny McCormick, holding his legs up, I know I'm safe. Let me get this straight right now. Stan's a good guy. He was the golden child of Park Regional High School. He got a football scholarship to a local university, and he graduated with a three oh GPA in liberal arts a few weeks ago. He's been working an internship with his dad's geology department ever since, and I've been helping out too even though I know jack shit about rocks and the cataclysms they sometimes cause. I'm supposed to be the smart one too, but that's way off topic. The point is, you would think that with Stan getting me a summer job so I can put off the real world, I'd be a little bit more of a loyal friend. Getting me a job isn't the only thing he's ever done for me either. We've been attached at the hip since we were in diapers. There isn't a thing we don't know about each other.

Except this. Yeah, Stan wouldn't like what I'm doing right now. Or more what's being done to me right now. It's not the kind of thing a loyal best friend does. But you know, everyone is somebody's secret, and right know, the girl who's got my dick clasped between her boobs is mine.

Her name's Wendy Testaburger. She's got sugar pink lips that look like they're coated with strawberry frosting, but they taste like cherries. Trust me, I know.

Oh, and her boobs are fucking amazing. I've never had a girl try to get me off with her breasts before, but the sensation is ace. I'm as hard as I've ever been, which isn't really saying much. When I'm this drunk, I could get hard at the sight of a pine tree. On the other hand, if I was one more shot over the edge, I wouldn't be able to get it up at all. I probably should have had one more shot, because I seriously doubt I could fuck up things any more than I am right now if I'd been at that point. On the other hand, I also probably wouldn't remember what I'd have done, which would make the crushing guilt I'll feel when I'm sober that much easier.

Let me explain. Wendy, of the frosting lips and the bodacious breasts, she's Stan's ex girlfriend. She's kind of a fire cracker, but too bitchy to actually be my type. Still, she's been working at my dad's law office, so since the beginning of the summer, she's been making bedroom eyes at me and getting me all hot and bothered. Normally I'd never take advantage of a hot girl being warm for my form when I know a friend has already gone spelunking in her nether regions. But when alcohol is involved, I turn into the biggest dick in the universe. My penis controls what I do, and as a good friend, Stan should understand. I think.

He won't. But that doesn't stop me from groaning to Wendy, "Babe, this is great, but could you go faster?"

She's a keeper. When she realizes her breasts aren't going to get the friction I need, that mouth of hers wraps around the head of my cock, and-fuck-any guilt I feel goes out the window.

Two hours ago, I was getting ready for the party. I wasn't thinking I was going to get off, although that's always the goal. By getting ready, I mean I was sitting on the couch in Wendy's apartment. She lives there with two girls; Bebe Stevens and Red. Both are mega-sluts. Both have had rather intense meetings with my dick. With Bebe, it was two years of dating in high school and lots of wild sex behind the bleachers during Stan's football games. With Red, it was one night in the bathroom at some club in Denver. She rode my cock like it was a mechanical bull, and gave me a couple of hand jobs at one time or another to boot. So I guess I kind of saw hooking up with Wendy as the trifecta. But I wasn't planning on doing it. Really, I wasn't. I was just sitting on the couch with Stan and Kenny, drinking a few beers and watching Bebe put on her game face.

"Oh my god, she's killing the environment all by herself," I stared at Bebe in horror as she sprayed three quarters of a bottle of hairspray into her frizzy tresses.

"Now we know where global warming came from," Kenny replied, taking a swig of his beer and keeping his eyes firmly trained on Bebe's boobs. He wouldn't fuck her, since he has the same rule I do about muff diving on another man's turf, but that didn't mean he couldn't stare like she was some sort of walking porno.

Wendy waltzed out, dressed like she was a contender for VH1's Charm School, "Guys, is Clyde here yet?"

"Nah," Stan told her, watching the way her dress rode up over her milky white thighs. They'd dated for three years in high school, and on and off in the elementary years. They'd 'given' each other their virginity and all that jazz, but I don't think they'd actually fucked since winter break freshman year of college. Now that he was home and lonely, Stan was looking to score, and I knew he was watching Wendy like she was easy prey.

When Clyde finally showed up, we had to pile into his minivan, inherited from his dad the shoe salesman, who said it was the safest ride he could get. Mr. Donovan didn't care that having Clyde be safe was sort of social suicide. Whatever. The point is, we piled into the van, and somehow Wendy ended up on my lap. I could tell she liked it, too, because even while we were just a little buzzed she kept grinding her bits against mine. She practically left a wet spot through her panties on my jeans. She tried to pull my hand onto her thigh, but Stan was sitting right next to me with Bebe on his lap. He had a face full of frizz, and wouldn't have noticed, but at the time I was nowhere near intoxicated to screw a lifelong friendship over for pussy. Even one as wet as Wendy's.

After four rounds of tequila shots upon first entering the party, Stan and I ended up in a kickass game of beer pong. And another, and another, which we were dominating. We beat the North Park douches we were playing against, and were then pitted against Wendy and Bebe. I don't know how much you know about beer pong, but this kid's house rules were that if you landed a ball down a girl's cleavage, it was game over.

I, having been a basketball player extraordinaire, landed the shot. It was difficult, too, what with Wendy and Bebe flashing us their bras and wiggling their butts to distract us. Right after, Stan was dragged outside by Kenny and Clyde, and a couple of North Park freaks who'd been funneling in the corner made me surrender the table. Wendy and Bebe decided it was an ideal time to do car bombs. I had five.

Bebe passed out on the kitchen floor.

"She's fine," Wendy smiled sloppily, licking her lips, "Want to go somewhere more…"

She was trying to say private, but it came out as some nonsense word. Against my better judgment, I nodded. She was off like a prom dress. The main bedroom was occupied by what looked like a threesome, but we found some room papered in rocket ships and planets that was probably property of a twelve year old. Wendy danced inside, pulling me hard behind her.

"You like me, don't you?" she asked, her light blue eyes dancing with mischief.

"Um, yeah, I guess," I muttered, when frankly I would have liked a dog in a birthday hat at that point.

"I like you too," she trailed a finger down my chest, stopping at my pants. With a grin, she kissed me, pressing her lips against mine with so much force that our teeth knocked together. Her fingers fumbled with the button of my pants, and she pushed me against the bed. The back of my knees hit against it, and I sat down instinctively, splaying out against the football sheets. She yanked my jeans down around my ankles so hard I might have gotten denim burn. My shirt followed suit. The slinky black dress she'd been wearing fell the to the floor, and I found myself faced with a half naked girl wearing nothing but lacy La Perla unmentionables that happened to be completely see through. Yeah, I was sprung.

She poked my dick with a manicured finger, saying, "Frisky now?"

With a guttural noise, I grabbed her wrist, pulling her on top of me. That was ten minutes ago. Which brings me to now.

Her.

Topless.

My cock in her mouth and clutched between her breasts, the friction unbearable.

"I want you to fuck me," she mumbles against the head of my dick, even though we both know that there's no way we're sober and coordinated enough to have sex. She's going to make me cum, and not get anything herself, and I'm enough of a jackass that I'm okay with that.

It's right about when I'm seeing stars that the door creaks open. The light flicks on. Wendy's mouth leaves, just for a second and I cry, "No!"

Right as I cum all over Wendy's face. Her high cheekbones are splattered with my seed as she turns to see the intruder. A look of total horror crosses her face, and mine too. My stomach is warm and sticky from whatever splashed back onto me. It coats my navel, my chest.

And Stan's standing right there, to witness it all.

A/N: Alright. So. I don't know if I'm going to keep this entirely in Kyle's POV or switch back and forth from him and Stan. We'll see. I don't know what's with my propensity for making the SP boys huge jerkoffs. Maybe it's because I see that as one of the most realistic outcomes. They're pretty much dicks as kids, so why wouldn't they be grown up?