Who Is Peter England? (Pt. 2)

The day I met him felt no different than any other. My parents had already left for their business trip, so I made myself breakfast, got myself ready and left for school. I walked my normal route, all 17 minutes of it, lined up for class, it was all routine. Yet still, this was my most fateful day to come. The day I met my maker. He was this little blond kid, with blue eyes and perfectly groomed, straight hair. With his slight build, very non-threatening, he had this gentle look about him, dangerously disarming. He had a way with words, always so polite and so very charming. You could say he was that kid that adults loved. Teachers adored him, as did the students. He always smelled.... what was it again? Like maple oatmeal. Not to say that that's why people liked him, but it added to his image.

He was well kept, hair always combed, nails always cut. Never a crease in his pants. He looked like the mould for little white boys everywhere. Well it wasn't long before I came to realize that this boy and I had a lot in common. We met his first day at Little River, we were in the yard and he was crouched down in the corner, playing with something by his lonesome. Intrigued, I walked over to investigate, something out of character. As I crouched down beside this child who would eventually change my entire life, I noticed what it was he was looking at. It was a robin, barely alive, trying desperately to get its wings airborne.

“I found it like this.” said the boy, breaking my train of thought.

“Is it dying?”

“Yes, slowly. What do you think we should do?” He looked over at me, as if he was studying me. He was watching my face intently, looking as though he was trying to assess my reaction. Every facial flinch or flicker, as if each movement had its own meaning, and he had the key to decipher.

“I don’t know. Maybe we should try and help him. Maybe we can save him.”

I remember the way he put his hand on my back. It seemed as though he was trying to reassure me, through my naiveté.

“I don’t think he can be saved. I think we should put him out of his misery. Do you want to do it?”

I politely shook my head in protest.

“Alright then.”

And just like that, he snapped that little birds neck like a twig. I gasped in shock, as I heard the deafening crunch of its bones, echoing in my ears, ringing on for an eternity. As I sat there in awe, peter just got up and walked away as if nothing had happened.

All day, the curious boy was in my thoughts. Right outside the classroom window, the bird lay there in the corner, seemingly beckoning for closer examination. Throughout math, social studies, religion, all I could think of was the boy, and the bird. I wasn’t quite sure if I was terrified or excited, but I was captivated either way. He was quite different underneath all that perfection. He had this darkness about him, even so young, as did I. Up until that point, I hadn't had many friends. Not that I wanted any, but still it was nice to see the possibility finally coming around.

Lunchtime rolled around, and outside we went, to play the innately abstract game of Manhunt, or Red Ass, or whatever. I went to my usual spot to read a book, and try to pass the time. As I sat there, I noticed the sunlight slowly creeping away, being replaced by this menacing, almost malevolent shadow. I smelled him before I ever saw him. Such a sweet smell.

"Is this what you normally do on such a beautiful day?" Peter sort of shocked me out of my trance like state.

"And what would you suggest I do?"

"I don’t know, enjoy it?"

"My mistake, I thought I was already doing that."

"Of course you did.”

“Is there a reason you came over here?” I asked in my usual manner, although i wasn’t actually all that bothered.

“None at all.” And with that, he walked away.

Lunch time came to an end, and in we went to continue our studies. I was pleasantly surprised when I noticed my new friend was still outside waving at me. I thought for sure by now, the custodian would have removed it by now. Well, there it remained, until about 5 minutes before the last bell. Looking outside, out the corner of my eye, I saw my other new friend running off with the first one, towards the woods. I was a little hurt, to be honest, but I was also excited. I had a play-date to look forward to.

As I left school, I made a beeline for the woods, barely able to contain myself. Walking into a clearing, a fair ways in, I heard what sounded like a strained yelp. Curious, I went over to check it out, and I was pleasantly surprised to see Peter, standing over a small dog, foot on it's neck. I asked him what he was doing and he simply replied;

"Would you like me to show you?"

I was a little past curious now, especially after the bird, so I nodded my head yes. Not another word was said, as he solemnly twisted his foot with a slight jerk, and snapped the little dogs neck. That crunch was loudest, most satisfying sound I had ever heard in my entire life. I probably should have been scared, maybe even a little disgusted, but all I felt was an immediate release. An immense build up, just escaping the very core of my body. What shocked me even more was, I wasn't even aware of it. This pent up frustration, that had clearly been weighing me down for some time. I was mesmerized by Peter in that moment, but he looked as if he was staring at nothing more than vomit. He turned and walked away, completely ignoring my presence. Not even a backward glance.

Even as a child, I understood the innate stupidity of most people, and so, I was generally in control of myself. Emotions like love, infatuation, lust, they always eluded me. Constantly escaping my comprehension. But this boy destroyed my apparent ignorant perception. Maybe I didn’t know as much as i thought i did.

My dreams were invaded with pleasant visions that night. Before that night, i can’t even recall ever having a dream, but that night, i dreamt of the future. Before i my eyes even shut, i was dreaming away, contemplating and formulating, planning and re-planning. For the first time, i saw a viable way out.

I had no routine the next morning. No breakfast, no carefully selected outfit, I dragged my clothes on and ran to school as fast as i could.

“Do you do that sort of thing often?” Not even a hello, these questions had burned me in my stomach, all throughout the night before.

“I’m not really all that interested in your conversation right now. Leave me alone.”Mind you, we were in the 6th grade at the time, yet he spoke like a grown man.

I basically begged him to show me how he did it, to let me try. I was quite attached to that feeling and, quite frankly, to him. Yet, as far as i could tell, his interest in me had dissipated almost as fast as it had formed. My heart sank in that moment.

I begged and pleaded, day in and day out, wearing down my newfound mentor with vigour and tenacity. I walked to our spot every day, hoping he’d be there again, waiting for me with a new surprise. For a while, i was greeted with nothing but disappointment.

I kept picturing what I would do, and how I would do it. Would I go slow and savour it, or would I get too excited and go all in right away? I played out scenario after scenario, trying to contain my excitement. It was obvious that I was unable to focus on anything beyond my own imagination.

A week went by without Peter in attendance. No greetings in the school yard, no lunchtime pow-wows. No peter. I didn't think i was capable of missing someone like this, but i longed to see him, to smell him. To feel him. His face, so clearly burned into my eyelids. The anticipation was unbearable.

2 weeks had passed now and I thought maybe he had moved away. That his parents had decided to swoop him up and take him off to Switzerland to go and live abroad. That is, until my first. I was walking home from school, having just given up on ever seeing him again, when I walked passed that same clearing. I had a feeling... hard to explain, but something told me to stop and reminisce. I came up on that same clearing, and there he was, plain as day. Looking back, I think he just wanted to see me squirm, but he said he would need to test me to ensure that I wasn't just intrigued, that I really had it in me. We walked to the little shack, behind the school that the high school kids from down the road used to frequent. Probably to fornicate. Even as I aged, I never understood fornication for the simple primality of it. Maybe as a means of reproduction but for enjoyment? Its asinine.

Anyway, we ventured towards the cabin, and inside, there was a table with a very large kitchen knife. The smell was hard to miss, sort of musty, but a kind of foul I’ve never experienced before. Peter placed the cage on the counter and opened it up, gracefully picking up the squirming squirrel. He put the squirrel down, strapping it down to the table, with his belt. He then looked at the knife as if to imply that I was simple if I didn't know I should pick it up. I was so excited, I thought I might explode. I could feel my blood rushing as I picked up the knife. The feeling was indescribable. To try and put it into words, I felt as though I finally understood myself. I finally knew who I was. That was the first time I had ever been erect.

As the knife raised above my head, I felt better and better with every inch. The build up was utterly orgasmic, so much so that I wasn't sure if I even wanted to compete the task. But finally, the suspense was too strong. With all the strength my little body could muster, the knife came down with a loud thud, straight into the middle of the squirrels back. And as I felt the knife penetrate the flesh and bone, and I'm embarrassed to say this, I had my first real, awake ejaculation. I remember trying to hide it all from Peter but I could tell he knew. He never spoke on it, but that smirk on his face was all the reassurance I needed. I had been caught in my shame. Even that though, couldn’t dampen this moment. I still remember the smell of the blood. The feel, sort of sticky, but slippery at the same time. I wanted to taste it, but I thought maybe peter would look down on such crude behaviour. The fact that that mattered, meant that I was experiencing a brand new feeling.

As I recall, I developed sort of a boyhood crush on Peter. I was never sure if I was gay or straight, as I never understood why people felt that way about other people. I wasn't even sure why people loved their own parents. But it was safe to say I was attracted to Peter, in the very least, and that angered me, because I couldn't understand it so I couldn't control it. The saddest part is that that attraction only grew with time.

It was the last day of the 6th grade, my last day of elementary, and Peter had the idea that we should skip school. Apparently he had a surprise for me. Sort of a graduation present.

I met him at the little muffin shop, Muffin Madness, or some other asinine thing. Miss. Kravits, a crochety old bat of a woman, ran the shop with her 30 year old son. Her shop always smelled like moth balls, so obviously, the muffins had a similar taste.

He took me behind the shop, and led me down this pathway, into the forest that stood in the middle of town. We walked for about 10 minutes, past the cottage that some of the older kids liked to use in the summer time, until we reached the creek, which had a particularly foul smell today. I hadn't been this way in a while, so I attributed it to the degradation of the river, but it was a little… off. It smelled strong, almost overwhelming. Almost like the shack where I was born, but somehow stronger.

As I was going to comment on it, Peter turned to me, asking me if I was ready. Curious, as he kept me in the dark the whole way over, I eagerly nodded. We stopped by a bush, where the smell had reached its apex. Clearly this was the epicenter. I had a feeling my surprise and this morose smell were very much connected. The brush began to clear away, with a stroke of Peters smooth, pale hand, and slowly, it became more and more obvious just what kind of surprise awaited me.

The details are burned clearly into my brain. First was a black dress shoe, with a slightly blue tinged ankle, covered partially with a black dress sock. Kind of like my father’s. The flesh had began to peel away,, revealing rotten flesh and bare bone. The smell was almost too much to bare, but I had to see the next piece. And the next one. my heart was racing, I could barely control myself. I remember the gratification I received as Peter teased me ever so gently. I was unaware of this side of me, but evidently Peter knew me better than I had known myself.

He slowly revealed the lower half of what appeared to be dark blue jeans, ripped and torn by the animals in the area. His genitalia had been eaten, for the most part, only the base and one testicle was left after the gruesome assault. As we got up to the lower torso, I was genuinely aroused. It appeared to be a middle aged white man, with some type of severe wound in his abdomen. Probably sliced clean across, or at least, that was the image I painted for myself. To get close and see what it looked like, all the gory details, that would have been a real treat. I had a feeling something bad would happen, like I would get sick but it was almost worth the risk. We crept further along, constantly getting closer and closer to the face of the man who created my true thirst. Or more accurately, brought it to my immediate attention. There were multiple wounds in his torso, and as we approached the neck, I saw it too was sliced clean open. I realized that I had recognized the man after a few seconds of pure awe. I had seen him in the school a couple times but I couldn't place who it was. Until I realized he bore a striking resemblance to Peter. That was when it struck me. This was peters father.

"Do you know who this is?"

He had startled me out of my trance. I nodded my head, probably looking dumbstruck.

“Did you do this?” I asked quietly.

"That depends. Do you like it?" he said with his cute little half smirk.

“It’s the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen.”

"Everyone thinks they're out of town on a business trip. I'll be long gone, before they ever realize a thing."

And it was absolutely beautiful, I was fascinated. I wanted every detail; how he did it, how big was the knife, I even wanted to know what he was wearing and if I could see the clothes.

He told me to follow him, and I thought we would walk back up into town, but we went further down the trail, down to the lake, where a lot of the wealthier people in town had cottages. We walked for about five more minutes until we came upon this massive stone cottage. I assumed it was peters family's, as the box for mail said English on it. The back door was unlocked, and as we stepped in the house, the same foul stench invaded my nostrils. I wondered how it could travel that far but then I realized that this pungent aroma was quite strong, and it undoubtedly was coming from a new source.

Stepping inside, we received a rather cold welcome. In the hallway leading to the common, was a woman, face down in a pool of dried blood. Peter stepped right over her, and ever so casually introduced us.

"This is my mother. I hope you don't mind the mess, by the way, it's a hassle to clean this stuff up."

She had the same bluish tinge and that smell was hard to misplace, so I assumed she probably died around the same time as her husband.

“They had outlived their usefulness. I mean, parents are only good for taking care of their children right? And I'm completely self sufficient. You hungry?”

Peter seemed so indifferent. I would say cold or callous, but that would imply some sort of emotion, although negative. No, he was indifferent, the way you would be if you lost a pencil, or a nickel. I, on the other hand was excited. I wanted more.

“I want to try. Can you show me how?” I assumed he had done this before. Or at least had done it again since.

He stood there, assessing me, making an informed decision. After a couple of minutes, finally he spoke.

“I’ll show you. But not here. We have to leave town. We don’t want to draw too much attention.”

I was nervous at the prospect of being on my own, as much as I despised my parents, but I trusted peters judgement.

“Can I go home and pack some things?”

“I have access to all my fathers accounts, credit cards, and a sizable amount of cash. We’ll get you new things.”

I had no idea what I had in store for me, not really. There was no way I could have. It was too late at that point, though, we packed a to-go bag, grabbed a the cash in the house, and headed out. And just like that, I, along with my new mentor, began my our life. Or more accurately, I began my real life.