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A week prior to my 16th birthday my friend Bob who lived in the nearby town and had access to a set of wheels, stopped by the house and asked if I wanted to go to the fireman's carnival that was being held in town. Since I had been around the house all day I was wearing the old pair of loose fitting scout shorts my uncle had given me. Dad strongly suggested that I wear them on a regular basis since he had found out that my uncle had given me his boy scout uniform. I felt his reasoning was that the more I wore the shorts the sooner they would wear out and the sooner he could suggest that I get rid of them. I was surprised I still had them as well as my balloon supply since dad had strongly suggested I destroy my fetishes when he accidentially discovered my balloon stash back in February

I told Bob if he would wait a minute I would run upstairs and change into long pants. In those days a boy my age caught wearing shorts would not only risk ridicule but would probably get his knees well skinned up from the local toughs as well. Bob sarcastically said, "Chicken to show off your pretty legs, are you?"

I quickly replied, "Damn right. I don't want to get called all kinds of wise ass sissy names."

Bob shot back, "Not to worry. We'll stop by my house and I will put on scout shorts too. I think the two of us can handle any wise guys from school we may run into."

I didn't question that. Bob was one of the biggest and probably the strongest kid in our school. I didn't think there were too many men in town that would want to have a run in with him either let alone guys from school, so I said, "Sure, I'm game if you are," and off we went.

On the way in I wondered what kinds of balloons the carnival would have and what were the possibilities of my snagging some without it being obvious to Bob. Good balloons were very difficult for me to get because I lived in the country and there wasn't a decent source of balloons in the five and dime in town. The only ones besides the small penny airships I had access to were the ones I sold at the carnival stand every spring.

We went to Bob's house and he quickly changed into his scout shorts and we headed down town to the carnival site which was within walking distance. When we got to the carnival I made a bee line for the penny pitch stand were you could win a stick balloon by tossing pennies into shallow saucers floating in a large wash tub filled with water. The tub was placed in the middle of a large square carnival stand about 16 feet square. It was the same set up as we had at our association carnival. (This was the same stand where I had won the Mickey Mouse balloons several years earlier).

What luck! This year they had at least 14 inch round balloons that they were handing out to those skillful enough to get their penny to stay in one of the saucers. The balloons were tied to bamboo balloon sticks  and their inventory of several dozen were hung over ropes cris-crossing the upright corners of the stand. Since we wanted to look over the rest of the carnival and get some eats we passed on by. I started to mentally come up with a plausible reason why I would want to blow what I knew would be several dollars to win a couple of cheap balloons. It would certainly take me a good period of time and as I definitely didn't want Bob to suspect I had a thing for the pretty rubber toys, I quickly feared it would not be feasible to get my hands on any.

I really didn't want to spend any more time wandering around than we had to because we were both getting odd staring looks from both the adults as well as younger kids. It wasn't any too often they got to see a couple of teen age boys wearing shorts in public. Then I began to panic. If they think I look cute in shorts, what will they think when I start carrying around a handful of balloons. A lot of people there knew who I was and also knew my father so my childish appearence and activity would probably get reported to him. But since no one confronted us directly I figured nuts, if anybody wants to know, the balloons are for my younger step brother.

When we were ready to leave, to my great luck, Bob suggested we try to get some balloons at the penny pitch stand. He wanted to take some home for his younger sister. She was about ten at the time and he said she really liked to play with and bust balloons. I felt a twinge in my balls as I wished I had a sister that liked busting balloons.

After thirty minutes of tossing and about $4 later I had accumulated 12 of the rubber beauties. There was no question my skill had improved since my last visit four years earlier. My friend Bob, who I was sure wasn't into balloons the way I was, had 4, which he was supposedly going to give to his younger sister. At this point I should have done the intelligent thing and deflated the balloons. This would have definitely simplified transport. However, since he didn't seem to mind our 16 balloons crammed into the back of his 2 door coupe, I arrived back at my house with the balloons inflated.

Normally there would not have been any one home because my father and step mom would have walked down to the taproom a few hundred yards down the road as was their weekly custom. However, as I came in the house through the living room I spotted my father sitting in his lounge chairsmoking a cigarette and watching our "squint-a-vision" 10" TV. Because of the difficulty I had getting through the door with my cluster of 14" diameter balloons and not realizing he was home, needless to say I caught his attention. He had been under a lot of stress at work, and was most out of character this night. I quickly realized he had been drinking. My step mom and little brother were fortunately not at home at the time.

Dad asked me grufly, "Where did you get all those silly balloons?"

"Oh, Bob and I went into the fireman's carnivel and I won them at the penny pitch stand," I said in an airy voice.

"And just what in the hell does a 16 year old boy need all those balloons for?' Dad bellowed. "Just what are you planning to do with them? Don't you think you have enough balloons hidden around here to get yourself all excited with."

I was beginning to get nervous and a sudden swelling began in my lower parts. I quickly mumbled something to the effect that the boys and I would finish them off tomarrow with out BB guns, but it was pretty lame and he wasn't listening anyway.

He had discovered my stash of penny and carnival balloons some 5 months earlier and at that time had strongly suggested that I stick them in our furnace. At that time I felt certain that he knew that I was sexually stimulated by playing with balloons, but to my surprise he didn't follow through and force me to destroy them. His next comment, "Don't you think you are a little too old to be running around town in shorts with a handful of balloons?" really got me hot.

Dad gave me a disgusted look. "Let me see your pretty balloons there," he barked.

My worst fears were about to be realized. He was obviously in no mood for an argument. I walked over to where he was sitting holding the balloons somewhat behind me. "I said I wanted to see them," he snapped. "Do you realize how silly you look wearing those short pants and standing there holding those damn balloons".

"Please don't just bust them on me," I cried, "I'll pop them off tomarrow with my BB gun".

"Yes, I bet you will," dad snapped, "And you will get yourself all silly while you are watching them bust. Well I want to see you get silly right here and now."

(Being silly was a term my mother had coined when discussing my sexual arousal caused when dad and I would play with balloons many years before). Actually I was too frightened to be sexed up and my stick that had begun to ooze went suddenly limp as I walked across the room toward him.

"Stick them out here where I can see them; NOW!" he barked.

I shoved the cluster of twelve balloons in front of him. He reached out with his left hand and roughly grabbed one of them. The tight rubber skin squealed loudly as he squeezed his fingers together. He took a long drag on his cigarette causing the tip to glow brightly. Then he grabbed it out of his mouth with his right hand and in a quick figure eight motion swung it through the cluster of balloons. The burning cigarette seared through the thin rubber skin of my balloons causing them to rip asunder with a rapid POP POP POP like a machine gun. In an instant I was left holding a handful of bamboo sticks with brightly colored shreds of rubber hanging from the ends. The remainder of my evenings labor was so much multicolor sheets of rubber laying about on the floor.

"Well that takes care of your damn balloons, boy. Now clean up this mess," was his next command.

I turned away from him and dutifully bent over to start picking up the rubber remains from the floor.

I had been really gutsy this night in allowing Bob to talk me into wearing the only pair of real shorts, besides all the gym shorts I had, to the carnival. They were the old style scout shorts with nice comfortable full cut legs that my uncle had given me made even more so because they were a bit large on me to begin with. I always wore them when engaged in balloon play outdoors down in the woods. Wearing them was as much a sexual turn on for me as my balloon play.

As I was bending over to pick up the torn balloon remains, Dad grabbed the hem of the left leg of my shorts and gave a hefty jerk. If he hadn't planted his foot on my butt at the same time he would have yanked me right into his lap. The shorts were nice and soft, having been through many washings and years of storage in a hot attic., They were no match for the abuse my father inflicted. The outer seam ripped from the hem right up to the waist band with a sudden almost sighing sound. "Turn around and let me bust the other side. Your too damn big and old to be running around in shorts and playing with balloons," Dad yelled.

Rrrrriiiippp went the other seam and I was left standing in a very baggy olive drab breech cloth. I suddenly began to wonder if my father got some stimulation of his own out of ripping apart shorts, because he really seemed to enjoy tearing the gym shorts off me the same way the previous year out in our barn.

The sudden destruction of my precious shorts really made me angry but I didn't want to confront my father considering his mental condition at the moment. I also was hoping he didn't realize that wearing shorts got me all sexed up just like playing with balloons did. If I were to make a scene he would logically suspect that short pants were more to me that just an article of clothing. If he even suspected I was sure he would make me burn all the gym shorts I had salvaged from the high school locker room. As it was I was certain he was going to make me hand over my stash of balloons right then and there and I would get to watch them go up in flames along with the ones he had just destroyed.

I did his bidding, expecting at any moment he would tell me to add the balloons I had hidden in the back of my bureau drawer to the items that he wanted me to burn. I quickly finished the cleaning up the rubber shards from the floor. When I was done Dad told me to take the rubber and the ripped shorts out to our incinerator behind the barn. (I was wearing school gym shorts as underpants so I wasn't mooning after I removed the torn scout shorts).

I forgot to take any matches with me, and in any case it was pitch dark and I really wanted to burn my destroyed treasures while I could see them going up in smoke, so i just folded the torn rubber in the remains of the scout shorts and placed them in the fire box.

I could hardly wait to get upstairs to my room. I immediately had a near instant jack off right into my loose cotton gym shorts. Two more followed when I was in bed before I got to sleep that night.

The next morning after dad went to work I salvaged the scout shorts from the incinerator. Since we didn't own a sowing machine, I felt repair was out of the question. I gathered up the rubber remains of my treasure and the rag that remained of my shorts placed them back in the incinerator and put a match to them. The flames quickly devoured the torn rubber sheets then went racing up the ripped  cotton that I had suspended overhead. I relieved my sexual tensions watching the flames do their destructive work. My main concern was for that evening when dad came home. Would he make me torch my balloon stash as he had suggested I do when he found it several months earlier? What about all the gym shorts I had salvaged from school that I still had left. Revision Date 2/03.
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