Date: Tue, 3 Jul 2001 19:18:06 +0100
From: ben erikson <benhere23@hotmail.com>
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?