It Wasn't Enough

It was just suppose to be a one night thing. Not even that, it was a mistake; never suppose to happen. I hate him, and he hates me. It's just the natural order of things. Jew vs Nazi. Not Jew fucked by Nazi. He's a fat, racist, anti-Semitic asshole! I mean, he's not that fat anymore, but that's so not the point. He's still what I hate, and I'm still what he hates. But he fucked me, like a dirty slut. He's fucking homophobic is well to top it off. I don't know weather he even remembers, but I sure as fucking do.

How did it even happen? We were at a party at Bebe's house, one Saturday night about a month ago. I had drunk more than I normally do, just by the fact that my parents were out for the whole weekend and wouldn't see my hangover in action. I don't remember how much I had drank by the time he sauntered over to be. To be honest, I hardly remember anything apart from him dragging me into the toilet, bending me over the sink and thrusting into me. I moaned…I moaned like a complete whore. And afterwards, I just wanted more. He gave me more. Again against the wall. His strong arms around my waist, mine around his broad shoulders. I'm ashamed to say how good it felt. How even now I want that feeling again. But that was it. We were in the toilet maybe an hour, but the effect is still on going a month later. It'll continue the rest of my life.
After that Stan took me home. Dropped Wendy off, and stayed the night at my house. He was the one to ask: "What the fuck happened with you last night?" Maybe we're the only ones who remember, because nobody else has asked, and he hasn't said anything.

I haven't told my mother, why would I? What I get up to is my own business. But now I have to tell her. I can't do this alone. I can't do this at all. It just isn't normal. Maybe it isn't true…but that's probably just wishful thinking. It was Wendy who pointed it out, and me and Stan laughed in her face. She came round earlier and gave me one of her sets. I didn't want to ask why she has one, but I took it gratefully still laughing at the idea. But now I sit here with the positive stick in my hand, wondering: Hell the fuck am I pregnant with Eric Cartman's baby?