Date: Wed, 27 Jun 2001 07:17:29 +0100
From: ben erikson <benhere23@hotmail.com>
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.