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About ten days after the association carnival I was getting itchy to get Dave and Mike involved in some serious balloon busting, so I went over to their place and told my friends that I had a surprise to show them and that they should come over to my house with their BB guns. Both the boys had pump up Crossmen pellet guns which packed quite a bit of power and would easily break heavy glass bottles. I still had my Daisy Red Rider which I only used for balloon killing. Power wise that's about all it was good for. There had even been times when my shot just grazed a balloon causing the BB to ricochet off instead of puncturing the rubber.

They showed up wearing the scout shorts I had given them that their mother had forced them to wear. I noticed that their knees had recovered sufficiently from the short pants initiation we had performed on each other a week and a half before, so they were no longer sporting Band Aids. Their knees as well as mine were still mighty raw and we would have to be careful when we were walking through the fields and woods that we didn't plow through anything that would scrape against our legs. I had pulled my bandages off two days earlier.

Before they arrived I filled a paper bag with more than one hundred of the eleven inch 'cheepie' balloons from my using depository. I showed them the balloons as they came in the door.

"Wow, were did you get these," they asked.

I indicated that I had gotten them at the novelty wholesalers when dad and I had picked up the carnival supplies; but I didn't let on that I had an additional 3400 or so hidden away in my private stock. I think that might have made them a bit suspicious. Otherwise they likely would have suggested that we should bust all of them off in one day.

"I think I know where we can go with these," I said as they grinned in anticipation.

The venue I planned for our target practice I had used many times before by myself. They were old fields that hadn't been farmed since the Depression, which is probably when the nearby farmhouse had burned. There was also an old dilapidated barn that was falling apart on the site as well. The setting was in a bit of a valley with two fields on either slope separated by a narrow overgrown access road. There was a rusty barbed wire fence flanking the one side of the road.

When we reached the old farmstead I indicated that we could blow up the balloons and hang them on the fence, go up the hillside a bit and just pop them off. They liked the idea. I divided up most of the balloons among the three of us, but I held some back just in case I could get the boys interested when we were done in some more intimate and possible sexually stimulating balloon busting after we finished our target practice.

We each started inflating them, tying them off, and sticking the portion of the neck beyond the knot on the wire barbs. I was inflating my balloons to about rated size when I noticed they were only blowing theirs up about halfway. I said, "Whoa, you gotta blow them bigger so they will at least make a good pop."

They replied, "That's too much work and they will bust just fine when they are this size. Besides they are too easy to hit when they are bigger."

I didn't think it wise to pursue the argument any further or they might have suspected I was getting a lot more enjoyment out of the thin rubber toys than they could possibly imagine.

We finally got all the balloons I had handed out inflated. They were strung out in a brightly multicolored line over one hundred feet long gently bobbing in the light breeze. We walked up the hillside about one hundred feet from the fence and spread out so that about a third of the string of balloons was in front of each of us. They gave their Crossmans a few pumps and I cocked my Daisy.

Ready……Set……Fire. POPPP! Three of the brightly colored orbs disappeared as if by magic. Since the air rifles made little sound the only thing we heard was the pop a moment after the balloons vanished. We started shooting as fast as we could. Dave and I on the ends popping them off one at a time toward the center, and Mike working each side from the center out. I had a real advantage since I could get off at least two shots to their one because the Daisy only required one operation of the lever actuated pump whereas they were giving their pump up guns two or three pumps. However because of the lower power and pellet speed I had far less accuracy and I missed popping my target on several shots.

I quickly became sexually aroused as I witnessed the BB pellets ripping through the thin helpless rubber skins which then ripped asunder, and from the balloons I inflated at least, tore loose and fluttered to earth a few feet away. The balloons I blew up also produced a respectable pop when they were hit. The ones the brothers blew up only made a sort of a poof sound as they ripped open. For the most part the smaller less inflated balloons simply split open from the neck to the far end leaving one large piece of colorful rubber dangling from the fence. My more fully inflated ones either split in half or tore completely off the neck leaving just a nub of rubber hanging on the fence barbs.

Needless to say I had a raging hard on and was gooey by the time we had finished our destructive work. I took my time getting up while the brothers went down to check out remains of our fun. The older brother Dave took one of the busted balloons off the fence and started sucking bubbles in the rubber sheet which he then twisted to hold the air in. Then he snapped the bubbles by biting down on them. His brother also grabbed some of the torn balloons and was stretching the rubber sheets between his fingertips and digging his nails into it until they tore. I was pleased that they obviously seemed to enjoy extending their fun with the rubber toys even after they were busted.

After they had mutilated several of the large torn rubber sheets in this manner I suggested that we should clean up the rubber remains just in the unlikely event someone would come by. Because the broken balloons were all in large pieces we had no trouble with our recovery effort. When we had finished up Dave asked, "What should we do with all this rubber?"

Now I love to watch things burn, even if they are my toys, so I suggested that we burn the busted balloons to get rid of any traces of our fun. I found a large flat rock and in the middle we made a pile of the brightly colored rubber sheets. I applied a match and we watched as the orange flames quickly raced through the rubber sheets reduced the pile to a boiling black tar like puddle that must have burned and bubbled for at least another 15 minutes; all the while spewing out dark black pungent smoke. I had to restrain myself from stroking my crotch as I witnessed this sacrificial burning. Watching rubber burn really turned me on ever since I had witnessed my dad burn all the busted balloons from my seventh birthday party. The fact that he had purposely destroyed ten unused balloons along with the broken ones because I was afraid to blow them up until the burst had really turned me on many years earlier. I was surprised that the boys thought it was neat the way the rubber burned as well.

We were sitting on the hillside facing each other with our knees drawn up in front of us as we discussed what fun thing we could do next now that we were this far from home. The loose fitting scout shorts draped in loops under each of the boys thighs and I had to overcome an intense desire to lean over and reach up Dave's leg. Even though the scout shorts I had given them only extended  about half way down their legs, I thought the boys looked sexy in them. I wondered if they at least enjoyed the comfort and coolness that wearing them provided me. I really didn't think they would be sexually stimulated by wearing shorts as I was; that would have been too much to expect. I was just hoping that they no longer resented wearing them and wouldn't be looking for ways to abuse them hoping they would get ripped giving them an excuse to toss them out.

During a lull in our conversation I asked the boys if they didn't think that the shorts were cooler and more comfortable to wear than the heavy blue jeans that they would have normally been wearing. I was surprised when they both agreed that the shorts were more comfortable and now that they had gotten over the initial embarrassment of wearing shorts they preferred them. Dave asked me how long into the fall I planned to wear mine and I told him I was going to wear shorts year around. Mike looked at me and said, "You're nuts. People will think you are a real weirdo freezing your legs off in the ice and snow."

I replied, "School boys in England wear shorts year around and they seem to survive. By winter my legs will be tough enough to take it. Come on. You guys don't want to be chicken 'fraid of freezing your little ol' knees."

Dave was grinning as he commented, "Boy I can't wait to bust some snow balls on your pretty knees and watch 'em bleed."

I shot back, "Are you man enough to let me have a shot at your bare knees as well?"

Dave considered my proposal for a moment and replied, "If you ain't afraid to wear them then I ain't either."

Mike looked at us in wonderment as he said, "You guys are nuts."

Dave continued, "Mike you and I are stuck with shorts to wear for the summer whether you like it or not. You know mom is making us additional blue denim shorts for work and to play in so we can save these uniforms for when we go camping. They will be heavier and a lot longer and if we wear our knee high winter hunting socks we won't have freeze knees."

Dave then turned to me and said, "That reminds me; mom want's to make you a couple of pair of shorts as well and when we get back today you can stop over so she can measure you up."

I told Dave that wasn't necessary; that I had plenty of the scout shorts to wear; but he indicated she would insist on doing it in exchange for the scout uniforms I had given them.

I really didn't expect the boys to wear short pants much beyond Labor Day because either their mother or dad would probably not permit it, so I felt Dave knew he was on safe ground with his comment. In my case I was praying that my dad would relent and actually allow me to wear long pants during the colder months and also to school. I was just hoping against hope that shorts weren't going to be the only pants in my wardrobe and mandatory wear year around. There was still the very real possibility that he wasn't joking about forcing me to wear shorts to high school; in which case I would be bare kneed and most certainly black and blue year round.

With all but a few of the hundred or more balloons I had removed from my bag disposed of in less than forty five minutes I turned my attention to my friends who seemed to be resigned to wearing shorts and obviously had enjoyed zipping our BB pellets through the stretched rubber bags, hearing them pop, and watching the torn pieces flutter to earth. Neither, however, had shown any signs of sexual arousal during our fun. I still had about a dozen balloons left and I was wondering what we could do with them that the boys might also find stimulating when Dave piped up, "Hey! Do you have any more balloons?"

I nodded yes and said, "I have a few more."

"Good," Dave replied. "Blow up two of them but don't make them too big."

I grabbed a couple of balloons from the bag and started to blow them up. Dave and Mike were standing about five feet in front of me watching me intently. I was hoping I wasn't showing too much of a bulge in the front of my shorts; or worse, a damp spot, because I could feel the gym shorts I was wearing as underpants were a tad damp where the end of my dick was jabbing upward against them. As I tied off the first balloon at about eight inches in diameter and started on the second, Mike laughingly blurted out, "You know you look like a little kid blowing up those balloons and standing there dressed in those cute shorts."

They were both giving me a ha ha ha leering sort of grin

I took the second balloon I was working on out of my mouth and tightened up my leg muscles to make my thighs and calves bulge a bit as I looked down at my knees then back up at them as I slowly responded, "My sexy legs turn you guys on, huh?"

It was the only snappy retort I could come up with on the spur of the moment. Mike immediately laughed it off but to my complete surprise Dave's face momentarily tinged red as he quickly turned around and started walking away from me.

I finished inflating the second balloon and tied it off. At this point Dave had walked about thirty feet from me as I called out, "OK Dave, where do you want me to put these balloons?"

Dave turned around and said, "Just hold them by their necks so they hang in front of your knees."

Dave quickly pumped his Crossman air rifle once and shouldered it. I immediately realized what his plan was for the two balloons I was holding. "No way, Dave. You're not shooting me in the legs with your damn BB gun."

If he had suggested zapping the balloons and my bare flesh with my spring powered Daisy I would have gone along with him because I knew it would just sting my knees a little and the BB probably wouldn't even bust through my skin. But his pump up Crossman had far more power and I had little doubt that the BB after it had zipped through the balloon would just as easily rip through my skin as it had the rubber. Even if I was willing to take the pain to show my smart ass buddies I was tough enough to handle it, I could visualize dad's reaction to rushing me to the doctors to get a BB pellet pried out of my leg. As a minimum Dave would get his gun wrapped around his neck, I would get my ass flailed, and all my shorts would soon be in our incinerator.

The boys both immediately shouted, "Chicken chicken. 'Fraid to get your pretty knees bloody."

I still had the balloons in hand, away from my vulnerable legs, as I walked up to Dave and told him my objection to their fun was the real possibility of physical injury, not that I was afraid to endure the sting from the BB pellet. Frankly I was proud of the way I handled the pain when dad burned my knees with his cigarette a few weeks earlier and I welcomed an opportunity to demonstrate to the boys how I could tough out leg pain; but then again that experience really did hurt like hell. Worse, the pain had lasted several days. All else aside, I wasn't sure I really wanted to impress the boys that much and give them the satisfaction of hurting me. I think they were still somewhat pissed deep down about my role in forcing them to wear shorts.

Dave proceeded to assure me that he was only going to pump his gun once and it would not have enough energy to do more than poke a hole in my skin. He pointed out that if you wanted full power you had to pump it ten times. I figured he was right and unless he shot me in the balls or an eye, it was unlikely I would receive any devastating injury that a Band Aid couldn't handle. But why should I let him hurt me just for their pleasure.

I figured I would put a stop to their shit so I said, "OK. You hold the balloons in front of your legs and I'll pop them off. Then I will hold two balloons in front of my legs and you can bust them. I'll even let you pump it twice 'cause I've got tougher skin on my knees than you do because I have worn shorts a lot longer than you."

I couldn't resist getting that dig in. I was sure Dave wouldn't want to chance flinching when the pellets found their mark on his legs so I figured it would shut him up.

It didn't, however. To my surprise Dave admitted he was 'chicken' to let me shoot him but he still wanted to mutilate me. When I asked him why he said he wanted to see my pretty knees bleed. Actually, pain aside, I like to get my knees a little bloody. I think there's something sexy when you add a little sticky blood to the ground in dirt and grass stains on your knees; so in a moment of foolish bravado I told Dave I would hold the balloons in front of my knees as requested for him to pop off.

Mike and I walked back to where I had originally been standing and I faced Dave. I held the balloons in front of each knee. He had already given his weapon a single pump.

"Just make damn sure you don't miss, buddy boy, our you're dead meat," I shouted over to him. "I don't want any holes in these good shorts."

I actually had no worry on this point. I knew Dave was an excellent shot.

Suddenly the balloon in front of my left leg popped. I instantly felt a searing hot sting on my knee. It felt almost the same as when dad had applied his cigarette. I looked down and sure enough a small amount of bright red blood was trickling from a small hole just above my knee cap. At this point I decided that Dave had one bloody knee and that was all I was going to give him. I looked up and started to move when the other balloon popped and I felt a searing burn along the side of my right leg above the knee. The BB had just grazed me and had ripped a gash about a half an inch long in my soft flesh. This wound was producing plenty of blood, but it was running down the side of my leg instead of my knee cap.

As Dave came running up to view his handiwork he quipped, "Hey now that's what I like to see. A kid with bloody knees."

"Yah, and what I'm gonna see is a wise ass with a bloody fat lip," I snapped back. "Now help me dig the damn BB's out of my hide."

The pain had actually subsided fairly quickly. It didn't continue on like it did when my flesh was burned. My main concern at this point was insuring that the BB pellets were located and removed so I wouldn't have any complications from infection that would have been very hard to explain.

The BB above my left knee was no problem. It had gone straight in less than a quarter inch. A little bit of squeezing around the wound quickly popped it out. The wound on the side of my right leg was going to be trouble. First, I couldn't see into the wound like I could on my left leg because there was a lot more bleeding, making it heard to see into the tear in my skin. Second, since it had entered nearly parallel with the side of my leg the pellet had tunneled under my flesh and I had no idea of it's location.

Dave immediately knelt down and started working on the wound to locate it. After a minute of trying to squeeze around the cut all he accomplished was to increase the blood loss. I could see that like me he was becoming genuinely concerned. Then he beamed as he looked at me and chuckled, "Wait a minute. I'm looking in the wrong spot. After it went through your not so tough skin it plowed under it through all this baby flab you've got on your legs. If you would have given me two pumps it would have come right back out again."

Dave whipped a bandanna out of his pocket and motioned Mike to clean up some of the bloody mess that was running down the side of my leg. Then he had Mike apply pressure to the wound to cut down on the bleeding.

"Just find it, damn it, and get it out of me. Then I'll take care of your baby flab," I snapped back.

Dave started squeezing toward the back of my leg beyond the wound. "Found it," he chirped. "It's just under the skin about an inch or so further back. I'm going to try to work it back to the cut then I can pop it out."

I had been standing while Dave was working on me. His efforts to coax the BB back under my skin were very painful and unsuccessful. He said he had managed to move it about a quarter inch but it had also forced it further in away from my skin. With the finality of a doctor's diagnosis Dave solemnly intoned, "Looks like I'm going to have to cut it out."

With that statement he whipped out his pocket knife.

Now the last time I had seen Dave use his knife was to relieve a poor skunk that had gotten nailed by one of his traps of his fur coat; for which he got seventy five cents because it was a good size pelt. "Whoa. You're not going to cut me with that damn dirty knife," I yelped.

"Of course not, stupid. When I do professional work I always use sterilized instruments," Dave smirked.

He retrieved a pack of matches from his shorts pocket and had Mike light one while he passed the blade of his knife back and forth a couple of times through the flames. "There now. All the germs are dead," Dave went on.

I could see Mike was fighting a snicker and I was far from convinced; but what choice did we have.

Dave didn't want to cut the BB out while I was standing so he had me lay over on my left side so he would have a clear shot of the operating area. While I was lying down, Mike being the ever helpful one, snapped off about an eight inch length of a stick lying nearby and handed it to me. I looked at him and said, "What the hell is this for?"

Mike gave me a dead pan look and said, "You're supposed to bite down on it so ya don't scream so much."

"Oh yah, shit head," I shouted back.

"Well that's what they do in the Western movies," mike replied, with a hurt look.

Oops! "Sorry for yelling at you," I said apologetically. "Thanks anyway, but I don't think I'll need it."

Dave was getting edgy and he snapped at Mike, "The hell with him screaming. Grab his feet good and tight and make sure he doesn't move."

Mike pinned my feet down with as much weight as he could muster. What a laugh. With my strong legs I could have flipped him ass over tin cups. Dave was about ready to go in so I focused my gaze right into the sun. Just the thought of anything sharp slicing my skin always made me cringe and this was going to be for real.

Dave said, "Now."

I felt the hot pain as his blade plunged in. Then he quickly made a second incision that was almost completely masked by the pain from the first. I managed to avoid jerking my leg. Dave pried around for a moment before he exclaimed, "Got it."

I made him show it to me just to give me piece of mind that I wouldn't be taking it to the grave with me.

Dave wiped up a bit more of the blood from my leg and then tied the rather soggy bandanna tightly over the wound to stop the bleeding.

"I think we had better get you to our house and I'll have my mom clean this up and put a patch on you," Dave said matter of factually.

A week and a half before his mom had patched us up when we had ripped the hell out of each others knees and the agony of her ministration was still fresh in my mind. I think to keep household costs down she made her own soap out of lye and potash and after the clean up you got a saturating application of Iodine. I couldn't deny her treatment was effective from a healing standpoint but It was sure damn effective in generating intense pain.

My medical situation precluded doing anything with the remaining balloons in the bag so I transferred them to my shorts pocket as we headed for the boy's house. By the time we got there their mom was home from work and she immediately filled a bowl with water from the pump in the kitchen. The boys watched amusedly as I stoically stood on a chair while she cleaned up my legs. Mike even ventured a snicker when she liberally applied the Iodine to the large gash on my right leg knowing damn well that it was burning like hell.

Their mom hadn't missed their delight in my discomfort and when she finished slapping on some gauze and tape to seal things off she turned to the boys and sneered, "And why aren't your knees busted up like his."

Mike had an answer; the wrong one, "Aw he's just clumsy and can't stay on his feet."

"Afraid of a little bit of pain, are you. How do you expect to toughen up your legs if you don't  roll around on the ground and get them skinned up," his mother snapped. "Next time you two are out in the woods I want to see the red badge of courage below your shorts, understand."

Mike got a little red looking in the face. I took her comment as a mandate I would most certainly enjoy carrying out. After all I was obligated to help my good buddies out.

With my wounds under control their mom told me she was going to make us all some grown up boy shorts to wear. Then she ushered me into a corner of the living room where she had a large industrial sowing machine set up. It was still foot powered, but the sewing head was about one and a half times larger than the one that my mother had years before. As she was measuring me up she indicated that she had gotten a great deal on some really heavy blue denim and she was going to make us all some good tough shorts that we wouldn't have to be afraid of ripping the legs out of. She wanted to known how long and baggy I wanted them. The waist would be made with tucks that could be removed as we grew so we wouldn't outgrow them in one year. I had her make mine with a low rise and really full cut legs that would hang about two inches above my knees. I figured on wearing them during the winter months and I didn't want to completely freeze my ass off. Also having them cut plenty long they wouldn't get too short on me as I gained height during the next year or two. I thanked her in advance and headed for home.  Update 2/03.
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