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The rural township in which we lived had a small civic association which held an annual carnival to raise funds for the association building upkeep. Two years earlier I had contacted the president of the association and gotten permission to run a booth at the carnival that would sell the novelties that unskillful parents were unable to win for their kids at the gaming stands. My rational for this was that my stand would also sell stick and helium balloons and I therefore would be able to get my hands on some decent balloons.

My father was a member of the association and because of the nature of his work was in a position to drive to the neighboring city, about an hour and a half drive away, to get the prizes and carnival supplies from the novelty wholesales. A high point of the previous summer was making the trip with him and helping him select the prizes and balloons that would be needed for the carnival games. Although Dad had apologized the next morning for his drinking as well as the destruction of my scout shorts and balloons when I had come home from the fireman's carnival in town, I was still a bit leery that he might suggest I destroy the remaining balloons he had discovered 4 months earlier that I had hidden away instead of burning them in our furnace as he had suggested. However the thought of missing out on being around so many (but so out of reach) balloons swayed me to chance making the trip with him.

We left home at AM and it was already getting hot. As we approached the city he offhand mentioned it would be a good day to be wearing shorts. Again he said how sorry he was for destroying my only pair of non gym shorts. Then he really got my attention when he said that he wanted to buy me some shorts to replace the scout shorts because he knew how much I liked wearing them. A year earlier he had found out from the gym teacher about all the gym shorts I had scrounged out of the trash barrel when I was in eighth grade. Aside from several days later when he ripped up some of the gym shorts that were too small for me to wear, had not discussed them or the boy scout shorts I enjoyed wearing on my hikes into the nearby woods.

I would have jumped at his offer except I was suspicious of his motive since he had strongly pointed out that it was quite unusual for a boy my age to actually want to wear short pants. I was afraid that if he bought me replacement shorts he would expect me to wear them on a regular basis in public situations where there would likely be other boys my age present.

Public wearing would most certainly expose me to additional ridicule from my friends Dave and Mike that lived down the street and untold horrors from other classmates that lived in town. While I was thinking this over he said we could easily stop by the large department store in the city before we picked up the carnival supplies. He said he would buy me some shorts to wear for summer. Realizing it would be stupid to throw away such a golden opportunity and noting the stirring in my ball room I finally said, "Yes I would like shorts to wear in hot weather, especially when I am mowing the lawn."

I knew that the boys department in the store carried boy scout uniforms and supplies and had bought several items to use during the time I was active in the scouts. I wanted loose fitting shorts with full cut legs so I would have maximum freedom to bend and squat and I was hoping if I couldn't buy scout shorts like the ones my uncle had given me maybe they might have full cut camp shorts that would be just as satisfactory.

When we reached the store there was no parking room on the main street so dad parked in a side alley next to the building. We walked around to the front of the store, went in, and I made a bee line for the boys department. I went first to the area with the scout stuff and noticed the mannequin dressed in the scout summer uniform had different stockings and shorts with longer and less full cut legs than the ones I had gotten from my uncle a couple of years earlier.

While I was considering this a salesmen came up and asked us if we needed any help in finding anything. Since the store had just opened we were the only customers in the men's / boys area of the store. I mentioned to him that the scout uniform looked different and he said yes they had changed both the style and the material. He asked me why my question, because if I was in scouting, I would have known the uniform had changed a couple of years ago. I explained to him I just wanted to get some more old style shorts like my uncle had given me. "Oh," he beamed, "You don't care if you buy the old style uniform?"

I replied, "No, I just want loose fitting shorts like the old style ones."

Before I knew what he was about he whipped off the tape measure hanging around his neck and quickly measured my midriff, smiled at my dad and said, "Have I got a deal for you. We have a whole pile of old style uniforms we have been trying to get rid of. If you will wait here a couple of minutes I'll be right back."

The wait seemed like an eternity; certainly more than a few minutes. Dad was becoming annoyed at the delay. I was afraid that he probably couldn't find any of the old scout shorts left in my size. While we waited dad said in a stern voice, "If I buy you these uniforms you realize are going to wear them. I don't want you to come running home with your tail between your legs like you did when your mother bought you those blue shorts that you only wore one day."

I had gotten beaten up by a gang if bigger boys the first full day I had them on and had run home and refused to wear them again. Dad added, "You also are not going to be sneaking around wearing them only at night, either. I want you to show off your good looking legs to your buddies, do you understand?"

Finally the clerk appeared from the back room pushing a cart piled with brown cardboard boxes. He rifled through the boxes and handed me a pair of knee socks, garters, shorts, and shirt saying, "Here, try these on and let's see how they look."

I went into the dressing room and changed into the scout uniform. My balls were beginning to tingle and I was fighting an arousal in my lower member as I looked at myself in the mirror. Wow, nice and roomy in the legs just like the shorts dad had destroyed.

As I came out of the dressing room dad and the salesman looked me over. The salesman commented, "I wish I could get my son to wear shorts. Your boy with his strong muscled legs looks really good in short pants."

I know I turned beet red because I could feel the rush of heat to my cheeks. Dad nodded agreement with the salesman's assessment and told me to leave the uniform on. Un Oh. I immediately hoped that no one would see me leaving the store or at our final destination the novelty supply house.

It turned out that the store was about to throw the old uniforms out because none of the boys who came in to buy uniforms didn't want to wear shorts to begin with and they definitely didn't want to wear those old style high exposure baggy little kid shorts. As a result the salesman was willing to sell us the whole stock of uniform parts he had on the cart for twenty dollars. That was still a lot of money so dad stared straight at me and said, "Do you understand that if I buy you this lifetime worth of uniforms these are what you will be wearing. They are not going to sit around in your unused drawers. Is that clear."

I was worried about his interpretation of "what I was going to be wearing" but with sexual elation of getting a lifetime supply of super sexy shorts I firmly responded, "No problem dad. I'll wear them until they wont fit any more".

"You bet you will," Dad firmly replied.

Since I also wanted some neckerchiefs to finish off my outfit I got Dad to agree to buy me several along with three neckerchief slides so my buddies back home would be able to wear them as well.

Because we had so much stuff, the salesman wheeled it out to a side door that faced on the alley about fifty feet from where we had parked, so we didn't have very far to haul the stuff. We packed it in the trunk as tightly as possible while dad was mumbling about not having enough room left for the carnival supplies which was the primary reason for our trip.

As we headed from the department store to the novelty wholesalers I was psyched to say the least. A damp spot had formed in my underpants. In my euphoric state I decided it was now or never so I said to dad, "The boys and I really enjoy popping off balloons with our BB guns or 22 rifles. In addition blowing them up is good exercise for my lungs. I have some of my birthday money with me. Would it be all right if I see if they have any old balloons they would see me cheap, just for busting?"

Dad scowled at me as he said, "You sure seen to have a thing for balloons, don't you? Will that keep you from stealing the carnival balloons?"

Many of the balloons he had discovered back in February were from the previous years carnival. I said defensively "Dad, I paid for every balloon I took. I didn't steal any. You know I wouldn't do that."

He thought about it for a bit and said "I really don't think you are doing yourself any good long term playing with balloons the way you do. If you insist on playing with balloons, and you promise to keep them hidden from your step brother (he was 4), and you don't get silly with them (that was a term my mother had used when I was about 7 and it meant 'get sexually aroused') I will let you get some; but only if we have any room left in the car."

What, I thought, me get silly with a big pile of decent sized balloons along with all those lovely shorts I just got; you bet I would. I was really having trouble keeping things under control down below as we parked in front of the novelty supply house.

As soon as we walked through the door the owner spied my boldly exposed legs and mentioned to dad what a strong he-man boy I was. I could feel the glow creeping into my cheeks as father acknowledged his comment and gave him a rough idea of our carnival needs. Normally I would be absorbed in the selection process as the owner showed us samples of everything from 1 cent trinkets to $2 stuffed animals; but my mind was consumed with thoughts of how to ask about cheepie balloons. Would he have any? How many could I buy with the $10 I had to spend, etc. After about an hour we had selected a wide range of prizes to give away at the various carnival stands and we got to the balloon requirements. This was always left to last because only two kinds of balloons were needed; cheep 11" rounds that were tied to balloon sticks for the penny pitch stand (like I had won the previous week) and a better quality helium balloon that would be sold at my stand.

My main reason for being on these trips was to insure that there would be balloons left over that I could subvert to my personal stock. Dad felt 2 gross of penny pitch balloons would suffice- I was holding out for 4. I reminded hem that I had no trouble snagging 12 of them the previous Friday night (bold ass lie- it took 45 minutes of concentrated effort and over $4; all to evaporate in less than two seconds from his burning cigarette). He agreed 2 gross wouldn't cut it and we compromised on 3 gross which we added to the growing mountain of goods in the center of the floor. At this point the owner showed us a box of 560 tubular airship balloons. They were the same price as the helium balloons we were going to get. Dad didn't think they would be any good; you couldn't use them with a stick because they would surely drag on the ground a pop before you get ten feet. If we filled them with helium the tops would float up too high and get hung up on the over head lighting wires. I could see his point, but I also could think of some marvelous things I could do with these beauties. I finally got him to agreed to try a gross. We also took two gross of the heavier helium balloons.

It took a while to add up the bill and dad indicated I should start helping him load up the car. I knew packing was going to be tight because the trunk was already almost full of shorts, shirts, knee socks, and neckerchiefs. I started to panic. When could I ask the guy about his junk balloons? The owner finally got things added up and on the next trip in dad made out the check. The load I was carrying I piled on the sidewalk outside the car door, hoping dad would start packing the stuff in the car. As I was re-entering the store dad was on his way out with a load and the owner was coming around the counter to give us a hand in carting the stuff out. I headed him off and popped the question that had been burning in my mind since the start of our trip. An instant surge of silliness hit me as he smiled and said, "Sure for the Boy Scouts. I think I have just what you need. You don't care if they have printing on them, do you?"

I was suddenly relieved regarding his assumption. I wouldn't have to give an explanation of what I wanted a large number of balloons for. Fortunately dad didn't hear his comment or he probably would have set him straight, to my embarrassment. As the owner disappeared into the warehouse in the back of the store I grabbed another stack of boxes and carried them out. Dad was about to get out of the car when I plunked them down right in front of him. He said, "Okay, you carry, I'll stack".

Super, I thought.

As I came back into the store the owner emerged from the storeroom with a stock cart loaded with several large plain cardboard boxes. He stopped at the end of the counter, reached in the box on top that was opened, and in one quick motion had a balloon on the compressed air nozzle located at the end of the counter. By the time I had walked up to him the clear dark green  balloon had blossomed into an over inflated pear shape that had to be a good thirteen inches. Emblazoned on the side in white block letters was "VOTE REPUBLICAN". My mind immediately thought- that's my party. He pulled the balloon off the nozzle and handed it to me. I made a point of waving it under my nose. He seemed to sense my action and volunteered, "These are natural rubber so they won't last too long in the sun. They are primarily for indoor use".

I mumbled something about them not having to last long at all as I let the air escape. He continued, "The full boxes have 1000 balloons each. There are about 500 or so in this opened box and that larger box has 14" inchers."

I pocketed the green balloon and drew out my $10 in birthday money and asked, "How many can I have for $10?"

I was hoping he was staring at my well built legs and bare knees and not at my crotch which I thought sure must be showing a wet spot by now. He slowly scanned me up to eye level and said, "Well, for the Boy Scouts, I guess you can have them all."

Wow! I thought I was going to explode on the spot. Then he added, "If you come back next year I may have more for you".

At that point father was back in the store and pointed at the boxes on the cart , "What's all that stuff?"

"I got a few balloons for targets," I said offhandedly.

"No way," he said, "We will never get all that stuff in the car." At this point I think I would have walked the 50 miles home carrying those boxes rather than part with my rubber bonanza. When I added my balloons to what still had to be crammed into the car I had to admit dad was probably right; it wasn't going to all fit. Then I noticed that the passenger end of the front bench seat was all the way back. I released the catch and slid it all the way forward. This added an additional couple of cubic feet or so of cargo space. More importantly, the large balloon boxes just fit neatly between the front of the rear seat and the back of the front seat. As a result we finally managed to get everything in including my balloons and still get the back doors closed.

The car wasn't the only thing that was packed. Fortunately the scout shorts I was wearing had plenty of 'ball room', and as I entered the car I was fortunately able to get my raging hard on into a comfortable position for the hour and a half ride home. It was all I could do to keep from stroking myself as we pulled away from the curb. My mind was filled with the endless balloon popping possibilities the 3500 or so balloons packed behind the car seat would provide and the fun I would have playing with a busting them in all those scout shorts.
Revision Date 2/03.
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