Press Next, Peter

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is my first post here! A short story about a boy who invests too much in his cyber social life.

Submitted: December 19, 2011

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Submitted: December 19, 2011



Press Next, Peter


Peter was a shy boy. He didn’t have many friends at school and he certainly never hung out with anyone when he got home. At dinner, his mother would fold her hands and smile, “So, Peter, would you like to invite a friend over tonight?” He’d inevitably decline and his mother would inevitably push the matter. He’d inevitably start yelling and she’d inevitably send him to his room: this was always what he wanted.


Sometimes Peter’s father also had input on his social life. He’d pat Peter’s knee as he took a seat on his bed. “Are you interested in any girls?” he’d often start. Peter always knew what was next; he couldn’t count the amount of times he was lectured about sex. His father’s favorite story was about accidentally slipping his finger into a girl’s anus. Peter hated this story, but his father thought it was very important that he not be confused. He’d always end his talk with an assignment. “This week, Peter, I want you to talk to a girl and take her to dinner. The two of you can even hang out in your room afterwards if you want.” He’d wink and sometimes even leave a condom on Peter’s desk as he left the room.


Peter would admit that he was a bit socially starved. He would also admit that he had no idea how to remedy the situation. Once he carried out one of his father’s assignments and asked Tanya Tucker to dinner. Afterwards they went to Peter’s room and Tanya tore off his pants. Tanya was happy when they started kissing, she was annoyed when she had to take off her own shirt, and she was pissed when she couldn’t get him hard. “Peter, you’re the strangest boy I’ve ever met!” she snapped as she flounced out of the room.


One day, however, Peter’s life changed. He suddenly had more friends than he could count. He didn’t know any of their names nor where any of them lived but he loved them. As soon as he got home from school he’d run to his room and throw open his laptop. He had discovered Chat Roulette and the green light of his computer’s camera was becoming his best friend.  He’d sit at his desk for hours banging on the next button, making eye contact with dozens of strangers. Some were inquisitive children, some were drunk college students, some were lonely women looking for a good conversation, some were lonely women looking for a good fuck, some were old men wearing nothing but bathrobes and tube socks, and more yet were faceless dicks dancing to the beat of their owners’ hands.


At first, Peter didn’t speak to his friends: he’d simply look at them for a few seconds before moving onto the next. It was only a matter of time, however, before he’d land on someone who’d break his silence. Daniel was from Australia. He was sprawled across his bed with beer in his hand and a cigarette wasting away in a bedside ashtray. First he asked Peter’s name, then he asked if Peter liked guys, then he told Peter Peter liked guys. “If you’re on Chat Roulette, you’re gay, man.” He took a drag of his cigarette and the screen went black.

Gradually, Peter became more comfortable. He started talking to everyone that crossed his computer screen. He would talk about school, about how he was a lonely kid, about how Chat Roulette had saved his life. He, like everyone else, also loved talking about sex. Predictably, one night his excitement got the better of him. His hands gripped the sides of his desk chair as his heart started racing. With hungry eyes he stared into cyberspace, warmth stretching from his thighs down to his legs and up again to his torso. His chest rose and fell as tension started to build beneath his zipper. Women, children, men, tits, dicks, people. They all passed before his eyes. So intimate. So connected. Peter bit his lower lip as his fingers fumbled at his jeans’ button. The release of tension was overwhelming. Like losing one’s virginity, he suspected. And, as Peter’s boxers fell around his feet, his entire world seemed to come together for a few moments. People were seeing him for who he was, the real him. He was dancing like the rest, basking naked in the flickering light of Chat Roulette.


And then it was over.


Peter’s hands were sticky with shame. He clumsily slid on his boxers and hid from the computer as the camera’s green light teased him for being such a pervert. For the first time since he discovered the site he didn’t want to be on it. He corrupted it. He fucked all his friends. He threw it all away.


No one was really surprised when Peter was found. Sure, his mom screamed when she saw him hanging from the ceiling but the fact that he committed suicide certainly didn’t blindside her. She may have been a little more shocked if she had watched it happen, if she had actually seen him turn on his webcam and climb on top of his desk chair. If she had watched him tie the Ethernet cord around his neck and kick that chair out from under his feet. She certainly would have been appalled to know that he had an audience; that dozens of people had watched as her son’s body jerked uncontrollably, his hands clawing at the wire around his throat.  She would’ve been frightened to know that strangers had seen him twitch as he took his final few breaths, and that strangers had gawked as his lifeless body dangled from the ceiling like a marionette with an absent puppeteer.  Although Peter’s mother would surely been disturbed by her son’s public passing, she would have loved to know that he had died happy, in the company of his best friends.

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