A New Beginning

My heart is pounding. Carl and Richard are about to be alone for the first time. What's in store for our two young Romeos? Please place 25¢ into the slot to start this fantasy - thank you. Our story continues through the eyes and heart of our fair Richard ...

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'Wow...look at that little guy shag his butt up to his porch. He's fishing somethin' out of his tee shirt. Oh, a key on a string around his neck: must be his house key. That's soo cute: my little latch-key kid. Well, he has the back door open and he's just standing there, grinning. Hmm ... I'm not sure, but it looks like he has a an erection!'

"Now, Carl" I ask him, "you're sure it's safe fer me to go through that door? You don't have any evil plans in store for me when ya get me alone, do ya?" I ask, facetiously. 

"Moi?" he responds, with an evil grin, wagging his eyebrows. 

"Now, Richard, how could you even suspect a boy with this innocent face?" And he pokes his index fingers into his cheeks to make dimples. I glance down at his trousers. Yep... he's tented!

"Yeah ... right, Carl. Put those fingers up to your forehead to make devil horns and they'd look more appropriate," I tell him with a chuckle.

"Horns ... as in honk, honk," and he slaps my butt as I step over the threshold into his kitchen. He follows behind me and closes the door.

The first thing I become aware of, as I walk in, is a feeling (or a sense) of this house. Although the Fullers have only been here for about a week, there are lots of little homey touches. Someone has worked hard to make a home out of this place. Everything's spotless! There are wall decorations, potted plants on the overhead cabinets and scatter rugs on the linoleum. The house seems to radiate a sense of well-being. I feel comfortable here.

"Kick off yer shoes, Richard" I'm told, as the little rug rat sets his shoes by the back door.

"Just because I like ya doesn't mean my Mom won't prepare you for our dinner if ya track up her floors."

"Oh, no, Carl! Don't tell me... you're a family of trolls that lay in wait for the innocent and boil them for supper?"

"Yep," he says, grinning widely, "but while Mommy troll is away then baby troll gets to play with his food... heheheh."

I go toe against heel to slip my own shoes off, then I slide them next to Carl's with my foot. 

"Well, come on" he says as he grabs my hand. "I'll give ya the grand tour." 

He tugs me to the opposite end of the kitchen.

"Ta-da," he says, sweeping his free arm towards an old-fashioned, chrome dinette set in the kitchen alcove. The Naugahyde backs and seats of the chairs looked reupholstered. The table and chairs are ancient but obviously taken care of. Curtained windows on two sides give the nook a bright and airy feeling.

"This..." Carl says, rubbing his hands together, "is where the troll family consumes their victims," which he follows with a villainous laugh.

"Except for evil, baby troll..." he continues, "who does his consummating up in his bedroom," he giggles.

Is 'consummating' a word, I wonder? I decide not to press the point.

"So, are there other sibling trolls to fight over the victims?"

"Nope, only the baby troll," he retorts. 

"What about a Daddy troll?"

"Well, Mommy and Daddy troll are divorced, that's kinda why we moved to Idaho." 

Hmm... he said this without losing his smile so I figure this isn't a real sore spot with him. Or at least he doesn't let on. I decide not to press that point, either.

"Okay, baby troll. Show me the rest of the joint."

"Yeth mathter." He hunches over and does an Igor imitation. Grasping my hand again, he tugs me towards the living room. The furniture in here is clearly old but it's also clean and cared for. It's apparent that this isn't a wealthy home. But, doilies and knick-knacks and pictures on the walls seem to be saying 'this is home'. Even the small TV sitting on its stand has seen better days. But it's been polished to a gleam. Everything I've seen tells me that Carl's lacking in material stuff, but this is a family that knows how to make do. The home shows pride and love. It gives me a good feeling. And I realize that I like Mrs. Fuller even though I have yet to meet her. We both have something in common. We both want, more than anything, to take wonderful care of this little guy standing next to me... who is trying so hard to maintain an Igor smirk on his face.

"This..." he says, while again making the grand sweep with his free arm, "is where the trolls broil their minds with the flickering light tube," and he points to the TV. "And, where Mommy troll casts a sleeping spell on baby troll and orders his butt off to his bedroom: evil... evil Mommy Troll."

I just stand there taking him in... grinning. This guy is just pure entertainment! Hell, if I lived here, you could chuck the TV out the window, stand Carl in the corner and he would give ample entertainment.

Carl notices my quiet demeanor and the soft smile on my face. He unscrunches himself from his Igor stance and stands up, facing me - matching me smile for smile. Then he walks up to me, places his cheek against my chest and wraps his arms around me. 

"Welcome to my house, Richard. You're the one thing this place has been lacking." 

His arms pull me in tight to his body and my arms wrap themselves around his neck and shoulders. I squeeze him closely, running my fingers up into that brown mop of hair, then I lay my cheek on top of that cute, little cowlick.

We stand there, hugging, silently for a few moments. Then, the oddest thing happens. We both start sobbing again just like we did when we were standing at the flagpole. I can't explain it - I doubt that he could, either. It isn't unhappiness as this is definitely not a sad moment. On the contrary, while my chest's heaving in sobs, my heart's singing and soaring. But still the tears come - they come and come. Neither of us try to hold back. Some kind of a dam has burst and there's no little Dutch boy to stick his finger in the cracks. And these aren't silent sobs, either. They're vocal and loud. Our bodies are shaking against one another. 

"Oh shit, Carl," I say, trying to speak coherently, "you're exactly what's been missing from my life, too." 

He just nods his head against my chest and keeps on sobbing.

He strangles out some words... "Do you f...feel happy, Richard?" 

"Yeah, bud... I'm really happy," I choke back at him.

"Me, too! So what the heck are we crying about?"

"I don't know, but if feels good, doesn't it?" 

After a minute he nods his head. Yes... it feels damn good! I bet we stand there, in that embrace, for a good five minutes. Me - running my fingers through his hair, toying with his ear. Carl - rubbing small circles on my back, giving me little squeezes with his hands. Slowly, eventually, our sobs dry up, but we still cling to one another. I find myself rocking him back and forth, the movement somehow soothing to the both of us.

Carl lifts his cheek from my chest and replaces it with his chin. Now he's looking up into my smeary face. Neither of us is embarrassed about our tears. They seem to belong there, somehow. I put my hands to the sides of his head and push him back just far enough to take in his whole face. There, in my hands, is the summary of all good things to me. He's truth, beauty and innocence: trite words, I know. But sometimes words can't do justice to the things you feel - those tender brown eyes, those sweet beauty spots sprinkling his nose, those tears streaming down his cheeks and that small, round chin just fill up my heart. Slowly, that tender mouth curves up into a gentle smile. His brown irises take up a gleam. I feel like a feral animal caught up in the glare of headlights. I'm captured... entranced. All I can do is stare back.

Carl slowly raises up on tip toes, his lips come against mine in their first, sweet, awkward embrace. This isn't some battle of the tongues - this kiss is as tender and as soothing as the love we feel for one another. He kisses me as sweetly and gently as you would kiss the forehead of a puppy or a baby. I feel my tears renewing themselves and my lips quivering against him. He pulls back, slightly.

"It's alright, Richard," he says. "I love you... and it's alright." 

I know that. I know that! The tenderness of his kiss tells me that. His tenderness is what's causing this surge of emotion to sweep through me. My heart is clutching for him as we stand in warm embrace. I nod my response to his declaration - then our lips press together again in a slightly tighter nuzzle.

Now... I'll be the first to admit that I'm no Casanova. The only practice I'd had in kissing techniques were on the back of my hand, in my own little fantasy world. And I'm not going to tell ya what my other hand was doing at the time. And I'm sure Carl's kisses have been limited to his Mom and his aunts - bleah! But we don't seem to require an instruction manual and a set of blueprints. Instinct takes over where experience is lacking. Some primal set of instructions, written on our psyches , are more than sufficient. I pinch his lips between my own, moving from corner to corner of his mouth. His mouth opens slightly and I gently squeeze his lower lip with my own two. Drawing his lip into my mouth, I swirl this sweet bit of flesh between my lips and tongue. Then I stroke it gently with tongue tip. It's Carl's turn to shudder now - more like a spasm. I hear and feel him take a sharp intake of breath. His exhale is ragged... audible.

He pulls his face away and steps back a bit. We just stand there, staring, one to the other. Somehow our hands have found and clasped each other's. We've drained ourselves of years of pent up emotions. Our tears have washed away every aching night we've spent in our beds alone. Everything is finally right - things are as they should be. There's only one thing left to do...

"Carl?" I ask, quietly, looking into those doe like eyes, "do you think it's important to keep your word?" 

His eyebrows wrinkle a bit - a quizzical look, reacting to my question. Perhaps he's wondering if he's failed to keep his word to me. 

"Well, I guess... I mean, yeah... sure it is. Why?" he asks.

Instead of answering, I try to copy his Igor look onto my own face. Then I slur out ...

"Becauth I promithed thomeone I wath gonna thpank - hith - butt!" 

Carl's eyebrows shoot up and then he squeals and tries to twist away from me. But I hold firm to his one hand and spin him around, forcing him onto the floor - belly down. Then I squat down and sit on his thighs, a good striking distance from his bum. Carl squeals in laughter as he twists his upper torso around so he can look at me. He's covering his most exposed butt cheek with one hand. 

"Now, now, Richard" he says, "trolls can exact revenge, ya know!"

"Prepare yerself, ya nasty little troll," I say, "You're gonna pay for teasing me on the sidewalk. You - are - gonna - pay," punctuating each word with a finger poke to his ribs.

"Screech, screech, screech!" He pulls his hand from his butt to protect his ticklish sides and rolls flat on his belly. I keep poking with one hand and use the other to swat his butt cheeks - gently of course, just making a whacking sound against the seat of his trousers. 

"All right, Richard... uncle... UNCLE!" he yells, probably close to peeing his pants. 

I fall forward on top of him, laughing. We're both laughing as hard as we had been crying just minutes before. Finally, I roll off him, onto my side. He rolls to look at me. I put my hand on his shoulder and he copies me. We lay there until the laughter subsides to giggles and the giggles fade to smiles and the smiles - well, the smiles linger. 

"So, Carl, do you plan to show me your bedroom sometime during this lifetime, or what? I don't think your Mom is gonna stay away forever, ya know."

"Oh, shoot," he says, glancing up at the clock above the TV set. 

"Oh, man... we got about twenty minutes is all before she gets home." Then he giggles. He says "I guess you're gonna have to show me yer blushing butt another time, Richard." This causes me to blush. 

"Darn," he says, "I missed my chance. I should have pulled down your pants just then." I blush again, deeper.

"Oh, man... I give up. Come on, Richard." He stands and offers me his hand. I let him help me to my feet. 

"I'm gonna grab a couple'a Cokes and then I'll show ya the 'boudoir', which is French for the 'butt showing room'. Giggle, snort."

Carl runs to the fridge, sliding the last few feet in his stocking feet. He grabs two Coke cans and skips back to the stairway. 

"Follow me, mon ami." And he proceeds up the stairs and heads into an open doorway. Carl stands to the side to allow me to enter and hands me a soda as I walk past. 

What I see is a typical boy's room. A single bed in a corner with a night stand next to it. There's a chest of drawers and a small student desk. An ancient, e machine computer is sitting on the desk. The printer, sitting on the floor, is an old model, too. These were probably a yard sale purchase. On the wall, above the bed, there's a poster with a picture of a frog on a lily pad. The caption beneath it says, "I'm so happy I could just shit!" I chuckle at that. The opposite wall, above the computer, has a poster of Arnold Schwarzenegger - with his naked, muscled chest showing. 

"So, leetle boy. You iss into ze muscley men, eh?" I tease him.

"What do you think, hunky?" And he pats me on the tit. I blush once again. 

"Darn it," he says, "don't do that again unless your pants are down! I wanna see if your butt blushes!" I really feel myself blushing now.

"Har, har, har! Richard... you just slay me! I'm gonna stand ya in an intersection, tease ya, and watch ya imitate a stop light."

"Oh, yeah?" I quip back at him. "How about if I give you a glove and a whistle and you can do yer Michael Jackson, traffic cop routine?"

That's all it takes to get my little Carl going. He's grabbing his crotch, twirling around and waving imaginary cars down the road. He's lookin' pretty good, actually. But hell, he could stand in one spot and look pretty good - dancing around he looks excellent. Nasty little troll... he's making my pants tent out. It doesn't take him long to notice this effect on me, either. He does this moon walk shuffle towards me, stops, grabs his crotch and says...

"Hey, big boy - happy to see me?"

Even before I have the chance to blush again we hear a noise downstairs. It's the sound of a door opening. Then a lady's voice announces...

"Carl... I'm home sweetie." 

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Darn, 'spankus interuptus'. Leave it to a woman to spoil the moment. Talk about bringing a jar of peanut butter to the party! Oh well, the boys have only known each other for four hours. How far did you think they were going to get, anyway? Oh, you did, huh? Shame on you! Now go wash your mouth out with soap. Well, I guess I'm gonna have to write another darn chapter now! Can you write? Good... then you can write me! My address is here somewhere.

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Attention Students: The teacher's lounge is not a boy's lavatory. Their sink is not a urinal! Do your business elsewhere!

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