Gluttony, Thy Name Is

I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child is a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout. (Swift, "A Modest Proposal")



"Use the napkin, for heaven's sake." Hook was irritated with Peter again, and the boy knew it was best not to irritate the pirate. The latter was rather fond of spanking Peter, sometimes without reason, but especially when he did something stupidly childish like wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. The boy hurried to bury his pudgy lips into the silk fabric.

His captivity on Hook's ship had been remarkably pleasant. The captain kept him in his own quarters, which were far superior to the bed of leaves he slept on inside the tree, and left him to his own devices between the four daily meals in his waking hours. The meals were sumptuous-- nothing like the sparse fare that Wendy ineptly prepared. Peter learned the taste of bread, of meat, and of honey-- the pirates being far more ambitious in their habits of procuring food. Despite his previous claims to the contrary [ch 7, hehe], Peter Pan found that he was quite fond of stodging just to feel stodgy when the food was as good as that served on the captain's table.

Peter stretched, the chains attaching his manacles to the chair's handles jangling stridently. The boy eyed the remaining bits of breaded Neverbird meat on his plate before throwing a glance at Hook. The man rarely ate along with Peter, usually content to watch him the entire time. The harmless pervert, Peter had to smile to himself. Captivity was so pleasant that its two weeks' duration flew by almost imperceptibly. Peter had no real intentions of leaving in the near future.

Smee entered the cabin as Peter was finishing up everything on his plate, indecorously picking up crumbs with his dampened fingertips and licking them clean.

"Send the men on another hunt, Smee," Hook said, sipping his wine, his eyes still fixed on Peter's content face. The boy pretended not to notice the gaze and patted his stomach, not only distended by its contents but by now also covered with a thin layer of flab. This was a complete novelty for Peter, and it amused him greatly when his flesh jiggled if he poked himself just right. He knew Hook appreciated the show.

"But, Cap'n, there aren't any more of 'em left..."

"There are plenty of Neverbirds," Peter scoffed knowingly. "You people just don't know where to look." Hook completely ignored Peter and told Smee to get out of the cabin. Peter pouted. He had grown quite fond of Neverbird meat, which was served at every meal as the main course, and it was a shame that he would have to do without for a few days.

Hook suddenly walked over to Peter's seat and crouched down to his eye level. "My, my, my, how plump we're getting. We've been making a little pig of ourselves, haven't we?"

Peter shrugged. "I take what's given to me."

"Indeed." Hook smiled. "Pray tell, Peter, hypothetically speaking, what would you think of a man who eats his fellow man?"

The boy grimaced. "I'd think he was a nasty, murdering rogue who deserves a swift death," he said, realizing with a measure of horror the obvious drift of Hook's thoughts only after finishing his sentence.

"You shouldn't condemn people so hastily," Hook said, pinching one of the tiny precursors of love handles that had appeared recently above Peter's hips. The boy began to regret his slight pudginess when he saw the hungry look in Hook's eye. His heart was racing. Hook was a fiend after all, and a terrifying one at that. The overly nice treatment was only a ploy to have juicy meat later...

"Stop! Stop it! Don't touch me!" Peter hastily cried out when he felt the cold of the hook caress his full belly. "If you want to kill me, just do it now, and throw me overboard. Don't bloody eat me!"

Hook was taken aback.

"No one is planning to kill you, lad, let alone eat you, so settle down." Then a sick smile crept onto Hook's lips. "In fact, it is I who should be slightly worried about your apparent lack of inhibitions."

"...What?" was all Peter could utter in response, dumbfounded and frightened as he still was.

"To think that you've grown so rosy-cheeked and cherubic on a diet of your own comrades!" Hook's expression was full of theatrical melancholy, while Peter's proceeded to contort into something quite grotesque as the idea registered itself in his mind. The hunts had not been for Neverbirds but his Lost Boys, now left vulnerable and easy to catch without his supervision. The tender, pink meat he had just devoured-- and had been devouring-- with such relish was human. And his pleasure at mindlessly stuffing himself was of the most horrible variety.

"This latest dias Was Wendy, if I recall correctly," Hook reckoned with mock concentration. "She was a sweet little miss in life, and I can only hope she did not disappoint in this respect as she slid down your greedy gullet."

Peter was beyond tears. He threw himself to the edge of his seat, and keeled over-- trembling, vomiting up the heinous contents of his stomach onto the lacquered wooden floor.

"I suppose we'll have to get you used to something else, if we're going to maintain such a nice, ample little bottom," Hook said, standing over the boy disinterestedly, his hands itching at the thought of the wonderful spanking ahead of them that evening. "Unless you'd prefer moving on to the Indians?"