Date: Tue, 3 Jul 2001 19:18:06 +0100 From: ben erikson Subject: My Summer with Carl Part 4 Growing up in England: My Summer with Carl A story by Ben Erikson Episode 4: A knock on the door I loved the rough and tumble of play-fighting with Carl. If he was working in the garden I would try and sneak up on him. Usually he'd make it obvious he knew what I was up to but go into a doddery old-man routine too deaf and addled in his brains to notice my approach. He'd feign surprise and fend me off uselessly and I'd end up on his back careering round, dizzying him if possible to bring him down and go in for the kill. My Mum had watched this one time anxiously (for Carl's sake, by the way, not mine) and told me off on my return that afternoon and had a word with Carl. He must, absolutely must send me back home if I was being a pest. "If he does that again you have my permission to give his bottom a good smack, OK?" She'd said this in my hearing, loudly, for my benefit, to keep my passions cooled. I blushed deep red, as was appropriate. "I'm sure it won't come to that." said Carl, diplomatically. And to me in the same loud voice my Mum had used: "You hear that, young man? You're going to have to behave from now on!" My Mum just beamed. She very much approved of Carl, his no-nonsense, older-than-his-years world-view, his flowing hair, his art and everyday practical skills, the easy way he handled tools. >From then on we tended to keep the wrestling for inside. I didn't need much by way of opportunity: helping Carl put up some shelves developed somehow into armlocks, "judo" throws and secret "death-grips" learned from comics. Sorting out his books and throwing out the ones he'd never read again, excuse enough for leaping on him, battering with cushions held aloft, the final triumph as I hardened against him, straddling his chest. He chased me round the house once only half in play and we ended up breathless, lying on his bed, not fully sure how we had got there, why the chase, or just how playful it had really been. "What am I going to do with you?" He gave me a gentle squeeze and we lay there together, getting our breath back, thinking of the future. Of everything that could be done with me in time. "You could always smack my bottom." I suggested. "I'll smack your bottom alright, young Benjamin." He leaned over me, his long hair hanging down and brushing my face and grinning at me. "Now where did I put that slipper..?" he made as if to get off the bed and mount a search. I pulled him back onto me, giggling hard. "No." I squealed, wriggling under him and getting my head lodged under his chin, a position I often took up, encouraging him to rub his day-old beard growth hard on the top of my head, something I loved him to do. We lay back some more and said nothing, considered the future again. His arm was loose around my front but enough to hold me secure. We breathed some more. Finally he said: "I wouldn't smack you, Ben...not for real...well, not unless you did something really bad, obviously." He had one time before when he'd caught me messing about with one of his power-tools. "And before you get any ideas..." He peered down at me with a half-serious glint in his eyes. "That's not an invitation or a suggestion or...anything." "I don't mind." I said simply. He was grinning now. A sudden realisation lit up his face. "You really want me to, don't you?" I smiled back. He sat up and rolled me over onto my front and swatted me gently three of four times on the seat of my jeans, straight away slipping his hand in between my legs and rubbing me slowly to show he wasn't serious. I was laughing now and a gathering ball of saliva bubbled at my mouth. I twisted my body over his and straddled him, feeling my pants bulge slightly at my daring. Pinning Carl down on his back I positioned my face over his and let the drop of spit take weight. I sucked it back, teasing him and let it form again. "Don't you dare, Ben! I mean it!" he was smiling broadly, but that didn't mean he didn't mean it. I tried one more time to suck it all back in but I was too late and it dribbled thickly over his mouth. He squirmed now, his head going side to side which only made things worse actually. He was trying to keep his mouth tight shut, still grinning like a maniac. I might have gone too far this time. I considered the future briefly, the immediate future, like the next ten, twenty seconds. He got control of me and wrestled me back, our eyes locked in happy battle. For a second he let me have ascendency again but gathered strength and made his move. I felt a weakness all over me as he lifted me clean up in the air, lying on his back with me supported on his outstretched arms and legs, the way a father plays with a baby. "Right! You're for it now." He'd set me on the floor. "Come here, you little puppy." He slowly undid the popper on my jeans, the zip and pulled them down. I made a play at fleeing, hampered by my trousers round my legs. He swept me up easily in one arm noting on the way the growing bulge in my Y-fronts. He smiled broadly. I was already going a bit red-faced with anticipation of what I was about to get, the manner in which I was about to get it. "Right, you! Across my knee" I tentatively bent over him and he started to spank me, with slow, deliberate, but fairly gentle slaps to my underpants, talking to me all the time between smacks. "This...young man, is...what you're going to...get if you...mess about...like that...with me...you understand?" At one point he ran his hand underneath my pants and rubbed me for a while very tenderly. The spanking itself hadn't hurt much, in fact I was having a whale of a time. I pressed my growing cock into his knee. "Is this what you get at that school of yours?" He was always teasing me about my posh boarding school, the things that he assumed went on. There was the cane but that was rarely used and I'd got nowhere near being bad enough to deserve that. Then there was the slipper which the senior prefects - boys of 17 or so - were allowed to give the Juniors for certain offences. I'd been threatened with this before but never had it carried out although there were friends of mine who had described to me their own humiliations in this area. Carl knew as well that my parents weren't that big on corporal punishment. My Dad, who would have done, was never there: my Mum who had done on occasion, was not, at heart, the type; too soft, too delicate, too pre-occupied to see the need, if need there was. He let me go and lay back on the bed. I made a grinning pantomime of rubbing myself through my underpants. I turned on him and pulled them down a little at the back. "Is it red?" I asked, trying to glimpse myself in his long wardrobe mirror. I stuck my only slightly-pinker cheeks almost into his face. Sliding across the bed he came to my side and swept up my legs so that I was pinned on my back, exposed, a baby readied for wiping. "Vot haf ve, here?" He put on this stupid accent from time to time to make me laugh; to make himself laugh. "A little boy's ved bottom, no? A-ha, ja, ja. I see it is a little pink around the...was is das?" I'd opened myself up a little with my fingers, showing him my little hole. "Actually" he said, tiring of the accent. "This is quite a good position for giving you a real spanking!" I squealed and wriggled in his grip as he gave me a couple of quite hard slaps on my bared buttocks. "And vot is this thing here, my little sausage?" His accent was crazily half-way now. He wobbled my penis quickly up and down with one finger and watched it reach out to him, involuntarily, and give the back of his hand a slightly sticky-wet kiss. I grabbed at him and held his hand there over me making him stroke me. I felt myself flush hot and red and the throbbing pleasure built up and for the first time continued building until I reached some sort of shivery conclusion, holding his hand and rubbing it again and again over my erection. The moment passed and eventually I took over and just sort of held onto it a while longer between my thumb and forefinger, feeling it pulse and subside; momentarily pulse again. Carl, it seemed, was bored of the game already and lay back on his bed staring at the ceiling, his arm now back around my shoulders stroking my side tenderly with his fingertips. A long time passed like this. "You OK?" he asked, perhaps not quite sure how to take my unusual quiet. I was still absorbed in thoughts of my own; of what kind of vast place it was I had just so nearly reached. I'd played myself to some sort of an edge before but this was the first time that I'd really had the sense of something way, way bigger, had actually had the sense of arriving at a door I'd need to pass through. I'd been banging on it long enough, although, I knew at once that I'd be banging on it a lot more in the future. I couldn't be bothered to answer Carl so nuzzled my nose into his arm by way of reply and gave the inside of his elbow a loud and wet-as-I-could-manage kiss, almost a bite. "I'd never hurt you, you know that?" "That hurt." I said eventually. "What did?" There was an edge of concern in his voice. "Just then when you smacked me!" "No it didn't!" he complained. "If you think that hurt, then..." it seemed he couldn't think of what came next so he just let it be. We were quiet some more; an hour or a week or a minute. Whatever. "I know" I said. "Know what?" "You wouldn't. Wouldn't hurt me. Would you." "That's right" he said and gave my head a little affirmative kiss. We lay together some more. It was turning into one of those pointless happy afternoons when nothing gets done. When goals you set or don't set aren't achieved, are put aside for later, for the rest of your life, your future. "Come on, pants on! I've got things to do." His sudden decisiveness was good for me; snapped me out of it a bit. Personally, I could have stayed there on that bed for ever. I pulled my pants up, all trace of my excitement long since gone. He hadn't had to say that by the way. About not hurting me. I knew he never would. Listen, I just knew OK?