Promise Me ~ A Style Fanfic ~

Chapter 9| The Concert 🍋

We were in Stan's car. The concert was about an hour away in Denver. I insisted on driving since the concert was my birthday present to him but he wouldn't allow it. He said that driving was one of the few things that kept his mind active. We were listening to a CD from the Terrence and the Phillipers. The band actually had nothing to do with the two 'comedy stars', thank god.

Stan kept one hand on the wheel and the other hand in mine, his thumb gently stroking me over and over again. My heart was beating so fast and skipping beats every now and then. And yet, the one finger massage was so relaxing I had a hard time trying not to fall asleep. I don't know if Stan could feel it but I was trembling. Being this close and intimate with Stan was making my nerves go haywire. I was so happy, nervous, and scared to be with him. What if at the end of all this, he doesn't want to be with me? What if he decides that he preferred to be in the company of Wendy? What if he decides that I'm not good enough simply based on my physical appeal? Godamnit, why didn't I take gym class seriously? I was just some scrawny, ass Jewish boy with a ridiculous hairdo. And I was ginger! Nobody likes gingers! All these emotions and thoughts had me stressed. I felt like Tweek. I needed coffee. Wait, that wouldn't help. Would it?

"Kyle," Stan spoke up, breaking me away from the trainwreck going on in my head, "Are you okay? You are shaking like a leaf. Is the A/C too cold?"

"No...thats not it," I said.

"What's wrong?"

"Why do you like me?" I blurted out. Godamnit, why did I ask that? We've only just came out to each other and I was already ruining this by acting like a psycho teenage girl.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you seen me? I weigh like a 100 pounds and you can see my ribs and my ass is flat and this hair. I basically have pubes on my head!" Why couldn't I just stop talking?

Stan burst out laughing and I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He saw I got upset and he grabbed my shoulder and playfully tugged me back and forth. "Kyle, come on. You're sexy and you know it."

"I don't feel sexy. I'm no Wendy Testaburger." Eww, what was I saying?

"If it makes you feel better, I've been jerking off to your Facebook picture since I was thirteen," he said.

"What?! Really? What picture?"

"The one where we went swimming in that lake during that one summer. We were shirtless, wet, and the sun was glistening on our skin. It's my favorite picture of us," he said. He pulled his wallet out from the cup holder between us and flicked it open. "I even have a picture in here."

I grabbed it and looked at the picture. I haven't looked at in years. We were smiling and standing on a dock with our arms wrapped around each other's shoulders. Stan was actually laughing in the picture. I remember. Kenny pantsed Cartman, who was actually taking this picture, because Stan had asked him to. I felt my dick stiffen in my pants. Weird. Even thirteen year old Stan made me aroused. Was that wrong?

I put the wallet back and Stan eagerly slid his hand back into mine and resumed his gentle thumb massage. "I would jerk off to your pictures too, if you still had your Facebook," I said.

"Facebook is dumb, Kyle."

"Yet you use it for the same reason everyone else does."

"I never said I wasn't a hypocrite," he said. I laughed.

"I like you for others reasons too," he pulled my hand up to his lips. "You're nice to me," KISS. He placed a kiss on top of my hand. "You're funny," KISS. "You're cute when you yell at Cartman," KISS. "You make me not want to kill myself." KISS.