Date: Wed, 27 Jun 2001 07:17:29 +0100 From: ben erikson Subject: My Summer with Carl Episode 3 Growing Up in England: My Summer with Carl A story by Ben Erikson Episode 3: Neighbours. June-August 1976 I had become so completely at ease with Carl, I even allowed him to see me defecate one time. He was fixing tiles behind the toilet door and would not - could not, I suppose - interrupt his work. I appeared in a pair of his old swimming trunks, shrunk now enough to be tightened round my waist. Why I should have been wearing them, I have no real idea except that I liked to try on odds and ends of clothes of his I found in drawers or scattered on the bathroom floor. I had three smelly T-shirts he'd not yet missed, balled underneath my bed at home. I wore them on those nights I had to sleep alone at my house. Once, Wasim stayed with us for three days - the only days I didn't pine for Carl. In bed, my mum would kiss us both goodnight and leave a little light for Wasim's sake. Eventually, we'd slip out of bed, dress-up in Carl's T-shirts and wrestle on the floor. I'd let Wasim win and pin me down, his legs across my heaving chest, his long, thin penis floating in the air before my face. I stood there at the toilet door and hoped that Carl would take the hint. He carried on patiently squeezing grout to the backs of individual tiles with a ridged plastic applicator, a phrase I strangely approved of. Ridged plastic applicator. "I need to go in here" I said. "You'll have to go at home. I'm doing this." "I can't. I've got to go now." "It'll take you one minute to get back...what are you wearing those for?" "I need to go now." "I'm in the middle of this, Ben. I can't stop now, love, not even for you. OK? Just nip back home. Or do it here if you must, I don't mind." He returned to his tile, his applicator. "Don't look!" I warned. I put down the seat and checked to make sure Carl was keeping to his end, as it were, pulled down the trunks and wriggled myself into position. It had felt pretty urgent but nothing came at first, then all at once with a noisy giveaway of air. I looked quickly at Carl who must have heard but carried on his work. I kept my knees locked together, leaning forward in useless modesty. Frankly, it was already a bit late for that now. Each time I loosed a little turd Carl made a noisy plopping with his mouth in imitation. I loved him very much. There wasn't any paper. "There's no paper." "S'not my fault." Carl engrossed in work again. "Get me some! It is! It's your bloody bathroom!" He raised his head. "Can't you get it? There's spare rolls under the kitchen sink." He knew I wasn't getting up. I shook my head. I wasn't moving. I wasn't saying anything till I'd talked to my lawyer. I was king of this castle. Why should I move? He returned with a single roll of white two-ply and held it tantalisingly out of reach. "Need me to wipe you're bum as well?" he teased. "Fuck off!" I said. "Oi! Don't you talk to me like that, my lad!" He handed me the paper, rather sulkily, I thought. He only ever called me things like that; "my lad", "young man", even, once, "you little puppy", when he was teasing me and enjoying himself at my expense. I waited for him to get back to work (I mean! Those tiles had needed fixing for weeks!), so I could stand and wipe myself unobserved. I looked briefly at what I'd done, let the swimming trunks drop from round my knees and kicked them clean out the door. I started, naked, after them. "Flush it, Ben!" he said, not even looking up. He didn't miss a trick, this kid. I wriggled a little dance past him and then back again as the cistern did it's work. "You crazy, mad thing!" he said in his Goon-show voice. "You crazy, crazy people you!" When Wasim came to play at my house we were under stict instructions from my Mum not to bother Carl. Even his garden would be out of bounds. It's not, of course, that she didn't trust him to keep an eye on us. He'd do that alright. Both eyes, if possible. She was concerned, though, that I would wear the poor boy out with my attention-seeking. It wasn't fair, she said. Just let him alone. You've got Wasim to play with now. She'd be back before tea-time; we were to be good and only bother Carl if it was really, really urgent. There were snacks and drinks prepared; it wasn't like she hadn't thought it out or anything, was neglecting us. With one last reminder to behave ourselves she turned the car off the drive, beeped us a short goodbye and headed into town. There was really no getting out of it, she had explained to Carl. She had to be away that day. We'd be no trouble. We'd both been warned in no uncertain terms. "Don't let them bully you into playing with them" she told him. "You know what Ben can be like. Well, not unless you want to, obviously. But I have told them not to bother you, OK? There's planty here for them to do." It was nearly half-past nine and already the early sun had started clouding over. Carl would, no doubt, be still asleep or lying restless at the unfamiliar lack of one small, clinging boy snuggling his back. We helped ourselves to some biscuits and began to plan our day. We'd set up a short badminton net in the garden, on our side - there was no fence dividing us from Carl. We stood either side and made ridiculously ambitious practice swipes. I lobbed the shuttlecock to Wasim, he reached for it desperately and missed. He picked it up, positioning himself close to the net and served again in turn. I missed, picked up and served to him and the whole pantomime began again from Wasim's end. We only kept it up for a couple of minutes before it became obvious that it wasn't going to work. We looked at each other across the net. "Let's play something else. I'm bored." I had to agree. Believe me, you'd have done the same. The sun was back again and things were hotting up. We carried all the toys we'd need into the garden, spread them in a circle, making camp. I watched for movement in the window of Carl's house but he must have been taking the opportunity for a lie-in. No doubt he needed the rest. It would do him good. We had Lego, cards and soldiers, comic books and crayons and two gaudy-coloured plastic waterpistols. We sat inside the corral and moved our possessions about listlessly. I dealt some cards for Snap, the only game Wasim knew how to play and we sat cross-legged, facing each other. It might have been the strictest poker game. I only had shorts on, an ancient pair from school that were too tight now except the elastic had gone enough to make some room. I hadn't bothered with pants this morning and had by now kicked off my flip-flops. Wasim was dressed in full picnic gear. T-shirt, vest, his underpants (the white ones with a little cartoon dog I liked to see him wear) and regulation school-grey shorts, white ankle socks and sandals. With his imp-like face, those eyes and straight black hair he was so sweet to look at, it was all that I could do not to stare at him in wonder for minutes on end. I'd have been quite happy doing that; did, indeed, at other times. He won the first few rounds. "You've got to take something off if you win. That's the rules." I improvised. "Take what off?" "Your sandals." It didn't seem unreasonable. "And your socks." He thought about this a second and folded up briefly, giggling at the implications. He had a very quick and lively mind and the decency to know that games had rules. "OK." he said. He won again (and no, I wasn't letting him!), stripped off his shirt and we resumed. This time the game went on till almost all the cards were gone, just two cards each left. I won. "Uh-oh!" I sing-songed heavily and looked around with a theatrical sweep. There was little chance of discovery here, we really were very secluded. My eyes briefly visited Carl's windowpane. I paused some more to let Wasim contain his giggles, looked him in the eye and struggling to my feet tugged down my shorts. My little cock popped out with the smooth action of a particularly surreal cuckoo clock. Wasim doubled up again and I sat down. He stared at me fascinated as I pulled at my foreskin. After two more games, Wasim was in his underpants and nothing else. Our laughter now was automatic, non-stop, giving rise only to more laughter. I shushed him more than once for fear the noise of it would wake my sleeping neighbour. When I won next Wasim was quick to point out the unfairness, the advantage I now had, being bare, being unable any longer to comply with my own house rules. "You've got to set a dare." I said. "But nothing bad.OK?" He thought about this hard, the novelty, the scope. What would be appropriate. How far to go. Not too far, otherwise when, in his turn, he was dared... "What shall I dare you?" he asked sweetly. "You say. You've got to say. It's the rules." He thought some more. "Run up to the road and show your bottom." We were holding onto each other now, laughing so much at the outlandishness of it all. I realised at last, that having made the rules I really had to do as I was dared or...or what? I hadn't thought the game out that far yet. With one last stalling laugh we unclasped and followed for the first few yards by Wasim, I ran as quickly as I could to the end of the garden, the short drive and to my great relief saw no traffic, an empty lane. I hopped out to the verge and stuck my bum into the air and wiggled it briefly all the while eyeing Wasim, making sure he saw how it was done for when his own turn came. I turned in triumph, started back and caught the smiling face of Carl, watching with evident amusement from an upstairs window. He gave a cheery wave but I didn't think I should wave back. I draped my arms round Wasim's thin shoulders, bent my face to his and breathed hard, a little tired from my run. We'd suddenly lost interest in the cards. "What about me?" he said. I still wasn't sure what Carl would think of this, despite the wave. "Let's play something else." I said. "But what about me!" He was standing now twisting slightly on his heels with both hands pulling at the front of his pants like he wanted to pee. "You've got to dare me." "OK." I said to get it over. "Run up to the road and show your bum." Instead of giggles this was met with frowning gloom and more twists of his underpants. He was clearly reluctant to face the risk, the awful public shame should suddenly a coach party of schoolgirls idle past, pointing, making faces, calling names at his exposure. Like happened round here maybe once a hundred years or so. He shook his head gravely aware that, in refusing the dare, he was breaking some solemn contract. I wanted to let him off but knew that that would hang between us too. He wanted what I got. We were in this together. We should have the same or near the same; as close as possible. His twisting had put me in mind of my own desire to pee. "You've got to do a wee-wee over there in front of that house" I said, pointing him away from the road, away from any public gaze. He thought about this and smiled, made a little, stifled yelp and scampered quickly in the direction of Carl's garden. He already had his willie out in preparation and I watched from a distance the round orbs of his buttocks as he pulled his pants a bit, catching them clumsily in his crack. He was, it seemed, to take me at my literal word, for having cleared the short path and the patch of dwarf French beans that Carl was coaxing out, Wasim had still not stopped and ran on further; ran on, indeed, until he was a yard or less from Carl's front door. I saw the arc of piss curve up into the air as Wasim leant back, holding the front of his pants down with one hand and turning to wave the other back at me in wild celebration. Carl stood there as the shower petered out. "And you must be Wasim." was all he said. Wasim looked up startled and the last drops of his spray washed over Carl's bare feet. Desperate, Wasim looked round for me. I'm afraid I was laughing too hard to be of any use to him. But so was Carl. The look on Wasim's face had said enough, it's sudden crumple nearly into tears. Carl crouched down. "You finished, little one?" he said and pulled at Wasim's pants to get them straight. "Come on." He took the boy's hand in his own and lead him along the path and back to me. "I don't think you're supposed to bother me today." he said. He winked at Wasim who was by now beaming up at him with the kind of undisguised, unselfconscious and completely uncritical hero-worship that only very small boys are capable of. "If you want to pee, do it on those plants there. They need it more than I do!" With that, Carl turned back to his house and left us to our waterpistols. By now I was sleeping naked in his bed four nights a week. I knew it couldn't last; the next school-term was coming up and my mother had already begun to prepare me, hinting more than once that Carl had surely earned a break from my attentions. I caught a Summer cold and had four days at home in bed. My Mum made up for all the time she hadn't spent with me the previous six or seven weeks with trays of treats and comics. Her special treat was letting Carl come up to visit me. She was paying him good money to re-paint our outside doors at front and back, our gate and window-sills. As always, he was a meticulous and dedicated worker. They popped in to check on me together after Carl had finished for the day. I hated him to see me here like this. Tucked up, as babied as could be, snug and tight in Spiderman pyjamas I got when I was eight and which barely covered my belly-button. At least I hadn't sneaked on one of his T-shirts. I hated that he saw my childhood things, the books, the wallpaper. My God! The cuddly panda bear I'd left one time on Wasim's bed when he forgot to bring his own soft toy. But Carl was cool. An actor to his fingertips, he cued me effortlessly with phrase and tone of voice - there wasn't much I could do by way of body-language, trussed up, as I was, in my Spiderman straight-jacket. Together we displayed for my Mum's benefit the complete range of awkward, matey, not-quite-sure-I-want-this kind of friendliness that exactly didn't reflect the true passions of our neighbourhood.