I wanted to be like him

-As you cooked the porridge, so must you eat it-
Russian proverb

There was encouragement, yes, but I have to take responsibility for what happened.
It was August 1996 and I was 23 years old. I was living in Kent at the time- in Canterbury to be precise.
I worked in a popular, alternative pub and found it, in the beginning, to be an enjoyable experience. My boss, Rupert, was a public school dropout and a curious character.
He was in his late twenties, tall, graceful and always wore black. His favourite word was 'meander'. He believed that mankind was doomed and regularly drank straight shots of whiskey. He seemed to take a great liking to me and complimented my demeanour and appearance.
There was a certain darkness to him; a devil-may-care attitude that was both appealing and slightly disconcerting.
We bonded instantly, becoming great friends and confidants in a matter of weeks.
We discussed all manner of things, from the rights and wrongs of religion to the breasts of the women we served. I started to become aware of Rupert's intense chauvinism (and my own ability to find it amusing).
At first it was just the odd joke, then a story here and there of some 'wench' he had bedded and finally a confession that would be the beginning of the end.

*

She was twenty, green eyed and freckled and was studying Art History at Canterbury Christ Church.
She stormed inside one Wednesday afternoon soaked from the rainstorm and demanded, in the sweetest voice, a large rum and coke.
"It's meant to be bloody summer," she complained, "I'm fed up with all this rain."
"Yes," I replied, made dumb by her beauty, "yes, it's tiresome isn't it?"
I fumbled around, wishing Rupert was there for moral support and not in Margate with his cousin, gave her the drink and watched with fascination as she grasped the glass in her small white hand, studied the contents and then, appearing satisfied with what she saw, closed her eyes and began gulping the liquid down as though it was water.
Finding this strangely arousing, I turned away but I could not stop myself imagining my nails digging into the soft flesh of her neck, then pulling her to me, tasting her mouth, spitting in her mouth...
My cock stiffened and I moaned noisily. She smirked at me.
"That was just what I needed," she said, and her bright eyes studied my face for a moment. Then: "I'd better go- but see you around, yeah?"
I pressed myself closer against the counter and nodded, made mute by my steadily growing erection and she departed, laughing softly to herself.
My face burned.

*

I told Rupert, of course, and he listened thoughtfully; he didn't interrupt me once.
When I was finished, he looked up at me and he smiled this peculiar smile, like he'd just heard something that had made his day.
"Well?," I asked, made sensitive by the day's events, "what?"
"You want her, don't you Eddy?," he said and something flashed in his eyes; like a hunger, a memory- something that made him feel the need to cross his legs and compose himself more greatly.
He told me then, his terrible secret.

*

He'd raped this girl when he was nineteen and still living in Oxford with his parents.
There had been a party at a friend's house, a lot of alcohol and a bet in a room at the top of the house.
She was called Suzanne and was known for being beautiful, aloof and out of bounds.
Could someone bed her that night?
Yes, Rupert had bragged, I will.
No you wont! jeered the friends
They slammed fifty pound notes on the table.

*

Rupert lit a cigarette and cleared his throat.
"It was easy," he whispered, "oh so easy."
I stared at his face, hypnotised by his voice.
"She was like an angel. Blonde hair, blue eyes. But icy. No one could touch her. There was a kind of regal quality to her. She pissed us off, but everyone one wanted her. They were obsessed with her. God- I-" He frowned with the memories. "I- I needed to break the spell she had over my friends. I thought if someone shagged her she wouldn't have the same power any more. Then this bet came up and I pounced on it."
As I listened, I felt a surge of terrible excitement building up inside me. Outside the rain was pouring again and lashed at the windows with almost surreal ferocity. I fixed my eyes on Rupert once more and urged him to continue.
He glanced up at me, his eyes shadowed by lack of sleep.
"I hated her," he spat, "I hated her for being so perfect." He scowled at me. "I shouldn't be telling you this."
"No. I want to know." I replied, quickly- too quickly, and our eyes met, understood.

*

After taking a piss he had gone downstairs and, pushing past the groups of merry students, found her alone in the kitchen, slightly drunk and bemused. Suzanne was rarely left alone. Had the matter of the bet been shared? Were people just willing him to have a go and fail miserably?- or were some eager to hear about her sexual antics should he succeed?
Either way, it was perfect. He had grinned at her, all floppy hair and shy eyes and that upper class English charm he knew he could switch on with ease. Suzanne was most receptive. Though they were acquaintances, they had never really spent any time together before so he used the reasonable anonymity that existed to his advantage and crafted a new persona for the occasion.
It worked enough to get her civilised, amused and even mildly flirtatious.
When he offered to walk her home (a short ten minute journey), she accepted.
They had strolled for a while in her garden, in the moon light. She showed him the flower beds, busy with roses and lilacs. He tried to kiss her. She resisted. He gave up on consensuality. He was upon her like a beast shattering her innocence in seconds, smothering her cries. He told her if she ever spoke of it, he would do her little sister next.
He had climaxed as he shoved her face into the soil and the flowers; breaking their stems and their order.

*

"What happened to her?" I asked
Rupert sighed. "She kept quiet. She disappeared. A few friends said they thought they had seen her in London but no one really gave it much thought."
"Didn't people think it was odd? And what about the bet? How did that get left?"
Rupert looked at me coldly.
"I said she was frigid. I lost fifty pounds. People moved on. They certainly didn't connect the dots."

*

We didn't speak for a while after that.
Rupert busied himself with paperwork. We were polite to each other, but distant, wary.
It lasted a few days. Then I was slithering up to him like the snake I had become, making it clear I had no issue with him.
And I did not.
I wanted to be like him.

*

It seemed like fate, then, when she turned up on the last day of August.
It was an oppressive day, the heat almost unbearable, and sweat dripped freely from my brow.
"Hi," she said cheerfully, "remember me?"
She was wearing silly sunglasses and a babydoll dress. I inhaled and smelt my lust creeping up my body; sour, wretched, difficult to ignore.
"Yes. I do." I replied, "It was raining. You were wet. You were very thirsty."
I swallowed.
She peered at me through the her sunglasses.
"Yeah," she mused, "that's right."
I noticed that some of the men who were sitting by the window were watching her.
"Can I get you a drink?" I asked.
"Yes thank you. Same as last time, please." It sounded like a test. I didn't flinch.
"A large rum and coke coming up." I kept my voice steady.
She seemed surprised, flustered. My cock twitched.
"Oh, that's on the house." I said as she fumbled with her purse. A pound coin fell to the ground and she bent down to retrieve it.
One of the men at the window muttered something to his friends and there was a burst of dirty laughter.
"Dicks!" she retorted.
I smiled sympathetically.

*

I'm currently in prison. That's where most people like me will end up.
I was too impulsive. If I had just bided my time a little more-

After that encounter on that fateful final day of August, I felt a shift within me. Something had been stirred. I could not sleep at night. I was bombarded with images of fucking. I fantasised and masturbated but it was not enough. I tried to meet women but something always went wrong. I started to believe I was cursed.
Rupert hovered around me like a bad smell. I was getting tired of him. I resented him, blamed him for my descent into this sordid, depraved world.
He purred: "You know, Eddy, you should try everything once."
He whispered: "She was so wet inside. I was... slipping."
He persevered: "I know you want to Eddy."
Looking back I suppose he wanted someone to be as guilty as him, to share the shame. He didn't want to be alone with the burden of his conscience any more.
At the time, I was blinded with my carnal desires.
I wanted the girl with the freckles and the posh little voice. I wanted to possess her body. I wanted her reluctance. I wanted the rush I believed I would have.

Let me tell you now- I'm not proud of my actions.
I hurt the girl and I hurt myself. I let myself down. I should have controlled myself.
When I followed her that evening, when I bumped into her- accidentally on purpose, when I invited her for a walk in the park (with the swans and the stream), when I-

Well anyway, what I'm trying to say is I should have never done any of those things. I do see that now. It's hard for me to accept what I have done.
But...
It's just- well, at the time-when I grabbed her shoulders, when the moonlight hit her eyes and I could see the fear, the beautiful fear trickle in and settle there- it was just like Rupert had said it was.
It was easy. Oh so easy.