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The day before Labor Day I got a call from my friend Bob informing me he was home from working the summer at scout camp and wanted to fill me in on his summer's adventures. Bob was the one who had taken me to the carnival in town where I had won the balloons that my dad had summarily dispatched with his cigarette at the beginning of summer. Bob was a year older then me, a big powerful kid that weighed at least 220 pounds; all muscle and bone. He was the epitome of the all American boy. A guy that was instantly good at whatever task, mental or physical, he engaged in.

Bob showed up about 15 minutes after his call, and because my little stepbrother was home, I ushered him up to my room. He showed up wearing the new style scout uniform he had been wearing at camp during the summer. We planned to go for a hike later in the afternoon, and it was appropriate attire for a hot day. As usual I was wearing one of the dozens of pairs of old style scout shorts in various sizes that dad had bought me the previous June.

As we sat on the bed he eyed up my shorts which were the same style that I had been wearing three months earlier when we had gone to the carnival, except that they weren't nearly as faded. He asked me about them and I filled him in on the details on my trip to the city and my good fortune to get a major supply of them. I then went up to the attic and dug out a pair of shorts and a shirt in his size from my stash.

As he was putting on the shorts I had given him he thought to ask me what I had done with all the balloons I had won at the penny pitch stand back in June. His query took me by surprise. My initial thought was not to tell him what had actually happened because my dad and his were good friends. But then I thought 'hell why not', and I described the sudden demise of my dozen balloons; victim of dad's cigarette. I also told him how he had ripped the well worn pair of shorts off me and that's why my father had gone out the next week and bought me the one's I was wearing.

Bob shifted around a bit on the bed as he digested my narrative. I began to get nervous that I had made the extreme sexual arousal I experienced that night too evident in my telling. Finally Bob looked squarely at me and said, "Did having your dad bust those balloons and rip your shorts give you a good hard on?"

I just gaped at him. Did he suspect something and was hoping I might reveal my intense sexual attraction to the articles that were so ruthlessly destroyed. My only safe response was to look incredulous and respond, "Why would you think such a thing?"

Bob looked down at the bed for the longest time then turned to me and asked me that if he told me something about himself would I hold it in the strictest confidence. Feeling my cock beginning to rise with anticipation I promised 'Scout's honor' to never reveal our conversation to anyone.

Bob began, "The reason I asked was because my dad did a similar thing to me several years ago when I was thirteen. I have always liked balloons since I was a little kid. Really liked them, you know what I mean? I liked to squeeze and rub them, bounce them around, you know, until finally they would break. We always had them for my and my younger sisters parties. Occasionally my Mom or one of my aunts would buy me some as well. My aunt noticed as I got older that I really seemed to enjoy popping them. She especially liked to see me blow them up until they burst, which I started doing when I was around eight. Anyway, for my thirteenth birthday she gave me two gross boxes of big round party balloons. My Dad wasn't too thrilled with the gift and thought I should destroy them or give them to my younger sister because as he said, 'Balloons are for girls', not boys'. As it turned out my aunt gave her two boxes of the same kind of balloons for her next birthday as well.

Bob continued, "I don't know about you, but I have been playing with myself, you know rubbing my dick, since I was about nine. I would experiment with holding various things in my hand as I stroked it. One day I used a old soft balloon. It felt so good rubbing it down in my crotch and on my legs. Using balloons like this soon became my favorite way of jacking off. Anyway, a couple of months after my thirteenth birthday, I was up in my room relieving myself when my mother suddenly barged in and caught me balloon in hand just as I shot my load all over it. She was furious; called me a sexual pervert and made me give her all of the balloons I had. She also let me know that dad would straighten me out when he got home. Man did he ever. I was so embarrassed I stayed in my room until he showed up. It didn't take long before he came storming up the stairs and into my room with my two nearly full boxes of balloons in hand. He waved the boxes in front of my face while he read me the riot act. You know, jerking off will make you nutsy etc.

When he had calmed down a bit he gave me the old father / son sex talk. After fifteen minutes of telling me most everything I already knew he informed me the balloons were to be destroyed and I would be punished with a whipping. He had never given me an actual whipping before, only a few swats with his hand on my behind. This time was going to be the real thing because he made me strip off my jeans and under shorts and put on a pair of our thin cotton gym shorts from school. We went downstairs, balloons in hand, and stopped by the den where dad grabbed the narrow blade stiletto from the knife collection you know he has. He then took me out to the far end of our yard behind the grape arbor.

Dad placed the two boxes of balloons on the grass and proceeded to flatten them down by repeatedly stepping on them. He made me get down on my hands and knees, handed me the knife, and told me to start stabbing it all the way through the two stacked balloon boxes. I pressed down on the boxes with my left hand to keep the balloons compressed and pushed the knife straight down through all the rubber. It was sickening how easily the knife punctured through both boxes of balloons. I visualized how many balloons I was puncturing and destroying with each jab of the knife. Feeling the sharp knife tear through all that beautiful rubber got me aroused just as though I were sticking it into inflated balloons. Dad made me keep doing it even out at the far corners until the boxes started to fall apart. The chance of any balloon surviving without the knife blade ripping through it was nil. What a waste.

I was so caught up in destroying my balloons I didn't even realize I had gotten a real hard on. You know I have a pretty big one and it's impossible to hide it in a loose pair of gym shorts; especially with no supporter. Dad saw my 'boner' and really blew his stack. He made me bend over a saw horse that was nearby while he removed the belt from his pants. Then he swung and let me have it right on my ass cheeks. Man I never felt such pain; and I don't ever want to again. He must have whacked me a dozen times until I finally fell on the ground. The pain was so bad I got sick and I guess this scared him and he stopped. I could barely walk, but he managed to get me up and back to the house. Now, even though it was so painful at the time, every time I think back on that day I tend to get a hard on."

So I had noticed. While he was relating the story his right hand had dropped down to his crotch where he was absent absentmindedly fingering a large bulge in his scout shorts.

Bob's narrative had not only turned him on but me as well. If it weren't for the fact that he had sexually stimulated himself with his own story I would never have believed that he wasn't trying to sucker me into revealing my unusual love for balloons. Having a trusted friend, the schools ace athlete and general all American boy, admit to being sexually stimulated by children's rubber toys was an unbelievable revelation even to me.

He was staring at me with a pained look on his face that mirrored his concern that he shouldn't have so rashly exposed such private information. I smiled at him and said, "Yes when dad destroyed my balloons and ripped my shorts I sure did get a dandy hard on. Seeing things that sex me up destroyed always gives me a boner. In fact I never have been so sexed up in my life as I was that night."

Bob's relief was instantly displayed as he gave me a wide grin. I then proceeded to relate my balloon history to him and we shared stories and experiences. During this entire time we were both sitting on my bed with uncomfortable erections in our shorts, and I for one, felt a growing dampness down below.

I recounted the trip dad and I had taken to get the carnival supplies back in June and my great fortune in not only picking up all the old style scout uniforms as I had already told him, but all the left over political campaign balloons for next to nothing as well. I showed Bob my 'using stash' of balloons in the back of my bureau drawer and indicated that I had several thousand more hidden under the front porch. He admitted to having several hundred balloons available as well, including a number of really big ones, that he had managed to obtain via mail order. He was anxious for me to see them and we set up a sleep over for Saturday night two weeks hence, at which time he indicated his parents would be away for the weekend. Because my step mom and little brother were home, I suggested we stuff our pockets full of some of my balloons and head out to the woods for some isolated fun activity.

After dodging my little step brother we got away from the house and made our way down to my balloon popping area of the woods about two miles away. I sensed as we hiked along that Bob seemed overly interested in looking at my shorts and knee sock clad legs and I wondered if he had the same sexual attraction to loose fitting knee pants as I did. When we reached the small open grassy area where I usually played with my toys I said, "This is it. We shouldn't be disturbed here."

Bob immediately whipped out one of the twelve inchers and said, "Lets see now fast we can blow these suckers up."

I knew he meant balloon busting contest; which wouldn't be much of a contest since his chest was a good 30% larger than mine. We started blowing together but his balloon was soon way bigger than mine even though I was giving it all I had. As his reached the bursting point he held back the last breath until I had about caught up. We both had fully distended pear shaped balloons in our faces. I tried to force my last breath in before he did but to no avail. Bob's balloon popped with a loud BANG moments before mine let go. The remains of our toys fluttered to the ground like fine confetti. We then proceeded to pop off a dozen or so more by over inflation when I had to call a halt to catch my breath. I could see that Bob was enjoying and getting excited with our fun.

After about a minute Bob observed, "You know with your short stocky legs you really do look like a little kid in those baggy shorts. I like to see guys with good looking nice and tan legs with tough skinned knees wearing short pants."

I could say the same about Bob. However with his tall huge muscular frame the scout shorts only came about 1/3 of the way to his knees, and his bulging thighs did a pretty good job of filling up the generously cut legs as well. To me he definitely looked more like a pro wrestler than a youthful boy.

Bob continued, "I can see how your dad might have been upset seeing you wearing them and coming home with that bunch of balloons. My dad would have probably busted the ones that I had if he had been home."

I asked him how he kept his balloon interest from being revealed to his dad and younger sister. He responded, "I try to insure when I bust them at home that I clean up all the mess. Occasionally I will miss a piece that mom might find in which case Claire (his younger sister) covers for me. She really loves popping balloons and my parents don't seem to have any problem with her playing with them and busting bunches of them down in our rec. room."

"Gheeze," I said, "You mean sis knows about your balloon fun?"

"Sure," he replied. "We often play with them together. She gets hot and I get hot."

I stared at Bob in disbelief. He read the question that was displayed on my face and gave me a disgusted look; "No I don't bang her. I don't lay a hand on her," he snapped back. "I love her as my sister far too much to ever do anything that could possible hurt her; and nobody else had better never try anything either."

After a lengthy pause I offered, "That must take some real 'don't' power on your part, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, especially when she asks me to rub her sensitive areas which I refuse to do," he replied. "I won't allow my self to get into a situation I can't stop, and for that reason I wont let her touch me either. But I do get her thing really going."

Bob then inflated one of the fourteen inch balloons to the max, then allowed about a third of the air to escape. He tied off the nice squishy balloon. "It works like this," he said as he pushed me flat on my back on the grass and started to grind the soft latex bag into my crotch.

I already had a half a hard on just from our conversation and it couldn't have taken more than a few heart beats to get me to full erection. The rubber squeaked in protest as it was scrubbed on my scout shorts and within a minute it burst under the pressure of Bob's hand which immediately dropped down and grabbed my stem.

"Ooooh, does it feel good little buddy?" he said with a wide sadistic grin.

After rubbing my bulge a few times in stuck his hand up the leg of my shorts and started fingering my balls. "Oh," he commented, "I just love guys that wear boxer under shorts especially under shorts."

Bob didn't know at this point that I was wearing thin cotton gym shorts as under pants. He was being fairly rough with his arm and I was afraid he would rip the hem of my scout shorts so I asked him to take it easy on them. His hand then shot up and unbuckled my belt and started to unbutton my fly.

"Lets get these shorts off you and take a look at what you've got in there," he commanded firmly.

I suddenly got the feeling that one of my best buddies was going to sexually attack me. I quickly pulled away from his hand fumbling for my fly and rolled momentarily out of his reach. Bob gave me a pained look and said, "Too soon?"

I told him I thought we came out here to have fun busting my balloons, not my balls. I quickly re buttoned my shorts and cinched up my belt as Bob inflated another one of his balloons. I followed suit and we both tied off our balloons. "How does this  little boy like to bust balloons?" he smirked.

I didn't want him to start attacking me again and I was always interested in new and novel ways of getting enjoyment out of my rubber toys so I replied, "What are some of the things you and Claire do with them, besides rubbing them in her crack?"

Bob got my hint as he dropped his balloon on the soft grass. He positioned himself in front of it, then grinning widely, he squatted down and flattened the helpless balloon in the grass under his massive knee. POW, and the balloon was gone. I tossed him my balloon which he clamped between his bare knees. He then squatted squeezing the balloon between the back of his thighs and the calves of his legs. I grimaced as the balloon burst with a loud bang and shreds of rubber flew out from around his bare legs.
"Sting?" I asked. Bob grinned, then we both blew up additional balloons.

I knew it was my turn to do the deep knee bend squash. I had a bit more protection as I was wearing knee length scout stockings and he was wearing just the ankle length field socks. I positioned my balloon between my knees and squatted down. The balloon however didn't cooperate. As I was squatting my knees were forced apart and as my legs started to apply pressure the balloon squirted out behind me. Bob retrieved my errant toy and on my second attempt I held the neck with my hand from between my legs so that it wouldn't escape a second time. The balloon burst with a nice loud BANG, stinging the back of my left leg below the hem of my shorts.

Bob and I finished off several more balloons by squashing them with our legs or kneeling on them; grinding the thin rubber into the grass. Finally we both wound up lying on the grass and as I had many years earlier I had my one leg raised with my heel pulled up to my butt causing my knee to stick up. This was too much for Bob to resist as he picked up one of the balloons in his big paw and crushed it down with a twisting motion on my knee cap. The balloon squeaked as I saw my knee pushed deeply into the flattened rubber moments before it burst. I let him pop another on my knee noticing the while that he was looking at my ass through the generous opening between the back of my thigh and the drooping leg of my shorts. As when dad had done this to me years before, I had a good hard on from the feel of the balloon rubbing on my bare leg. He couldn't see this of course because it was concealed in the folds of my shorts caused by my raised leg. I asked him to let me try popping a couple on his knee and he was most anxious to comply. I could see that Bob was at least partially aroused as well, even before I started on him.

We had finished off the inflated balloons so we emptied our pockets of our remaining supply. I casually asked Bob other fun ways to get rid of balloons.

He grinned and said, "Sure," as he picked up one of the fourteen inchers and stretched the rubber bag between his strong fingers and two hands. I could see the rubber being pulled tightly over his fingernails. I yelled, "Hay, you're going to tear the balloon."

With that his nails punctured the rubber skin and the balloon ripped in half with a sudden snap. "See, one busted balloon," he grinned, "And I didn't have to exert any effort blowing it up either."

Having balloons destroyed without the benefit of bursting was still stimulating, but I much preferred seeing and hearing them go in the way they were intended. I told him I didn't want him to be wasting my balloons in that manner, so we both proceeded to blow up the several dozen that were left.

"What else do you do with them when you are at home?" I queried.

"Well," Bob said, "I like to sit on the big ones that I have that are nice and soft; then rock back and forth feeling the rubber pressing against my nuts and stem. It feels great and really gets me going in a hurry. Your balloons are too small to do this with and we don't have a smooth clean place to put them on out here anyway where they won't bust when we sit on them. When you come for your visit I will let you try 'riding' a couple of my big ones and we'll see if it turns you on like it does me. Claire and I also like whacking them around in the recreation room with ping pong paddles. They bounce all over the place and you really have to swat them good and hard to get them to pop. What I enjoy most, though, is when I'm wearing just my gym shorts and she rubs me all over with a nice soft balloon. Man that really makes my tits and dick stand straight up. Why don't you shuck those scout shorts and I'll show you what I mean."

Bob made another grab for my belt buckle. At this point I knew that one way or another I would have to relieve the sexual tensions that had been building inside me since Bob had reveled his interest in balloons. I quickly unbuttoned the scout shorts and tossed them to one side along with my shirt, T shirt, and neckerchief I was wearing.

I was wearing a yellow pair of gym shorts from the athletic store that day as under shorts and I stood there facing him with a raging hard on bulging the front of the thin cotton into a sort of tent. He removed the pair of scout shorts I had given him along with the shirts he was wearing as well. I noticed the bulge in his under shorts was actually lifting the elastic waistband of his boxers.

He grabbed a couple of balloons and pushed me over on my back on the grass. He started rubbing the first balloon on my legs and then upward over my loins and finally up to my chin. Ohhhh it felt so good. The rubber squealed as it passed over my bare skin, stopping only while it traversed over my shorts. My inhibitions of having him forcing himself on me sexually rapidly dissipated. I was on the verge of 'popping' my load when the balloon he was rubbing me with gave up in mid squeak with a muffled POOF.

It didn't matter. I was ready and I yanked the waistband of the gym shorts down under my balls. Pre cum was beginning to run down my stem as he grabbed it in his big fist. I expected him to finish me off with a few quick strokes of his hand, but instead he hunched himself up on his elbows and buried his face in my crotch, sticking my tool in his mouth to the hilt. On the verge of orgasm, I only mentally objected to this sudden unexpected oral sex. The pleasurable release that washed over me as I unloaded in his mouth blocked out any inhibitions I might have harbored. He didn't swallow, and after nearly a minute he released his lips from my penis, turned and spit my seed on the ground. Bob smiled at me and said, "How was that little buddy. Did it feel good?"

Whoa yea, did it ever. I lay on the ground in total relaxation. I wiped the residue from my orgasm off my still hard stem with my hand and then wiped it on my thigh. With things fairly cleaned up I flipped the waistband of my gym shorts back up to it's normal position.

Bob was consolidating the ten or so balloons that were left next to me and in the process popped one of them on something sharp that must have been in the tall grass. The sudden sound brought me back to reality and the immediate dread of what Bob would want me to do to him fell over me. I had heard about oral and anal sex, and what guys do to guys to have fun. The thoughts really turned me off. I had found that playing with balloons or watching some one else engaging in balloon play was sufficient to get me fully aroused and I didn't feel that I would enjoy the bodily contact games I had heard about.

Bob was kneeling on the ground next to me staring intently at the bulge in my shorts that had no intention of going down. He commented as he pointed at my tool, "Didn't I take care of him. He still needs more?"

He started rubbing me again with one of the balloons. He was rougher this time and the balloon only lasted for two trips from my ankles to my chest. He broke two more the same way. I didn't realize how excited he was getting from playing with me until he suddenly, after the third balloon popped, he grabbed my left leg in his strong grip and started squeezing the muscles in my calf and thigh. He then started to lick and press his teeth into my knee as though trying to savor the dirt and grass stains that were on it. His roughness took me by surprise. He interrupted his licking my knee and commented, "We need to get a little blood on here too."

I found the knee licking to be somewhat sensual but his heavy handed massage of my legs muscles was down right painful. I told him to stop because it was hurting me and it was hard for me to concentrate on the fun I should be having. He suddenly realized what he was doing and started instead to massage the lump in my shorts. Ahhh, that felt better. In short order he felt the wet spot in the thin cotton over the head of my stem and pulled down the front of my shorts to reveal my masculinity. Sensing I wasn't too pleased with his mouth job from the first time he said he wanted to see how much of a load I really had. He started stroking me as only someone with a lot of experience can. As I rapidly reached climax I wondered how many boys at scout camp he had practiced on. I shot my load into the air and it dropped on my stomach. It wasn't anything spectacular, especially compared to my first shot, but then again it had only been about 10 minutes since I had dumped my first load.

By this time I was totally spent. I had had two orgasms in about a ten minute time span; certainly a record for me. I finally found the strength to roll off my back and up on to my hands and knees. As I did so, Bob who was behind me grabbed the waist of my shorts and yanked them down around my knees at the same time pushing me face down in the grass. In a moment he was on top of me trying to drive his massive stem deep inside my ass. I had been told this was supposed to feel good but the pressure felt more like three day old constipation. The pressure and burning sensation as he rammed his bone hard penis into my rectum felt like he was ripping the lining out of my colon. Fortunately he was so near climax that he shot off before his massive stem had fully entered. He just lay on top of me moaning while his crushing weight on my chest was making it impossible for me to breathe.

Finally he got off my back. When I managed to get a full lung full of air I gasped, "Did you have a fun time?"

Bob gave me a euphoric look and said, "Oh, wow! I never have had such a good fuck job with any of my other boy friends."

Suddenly I got a very sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew that I certainly had homosexual tendencies. Being around Dave, Mike, and even Bob when they were wearing shorts I definitely found to be sexually stimulating; but it appeared that Bob was fully into boy boy sex. I had little doubt that it wasn't so much the scout uniform and short pants I was wearing that turned him on, but me.

I was unable to control my curiosity so I had to ask him to give me details regarding his homosexual activities. There was no question I felt comfortable with the jack off session with Dave and Mike when we were in the tent on our hike a few weeks before. Solo sex is nice but having someone to share it with is far better. One thing I was sure of was that if things got out of control with the boys there wouldn't be an unwanted pregnancy. As Bob was relating his sexual activities to me it was obvious that he had graduated from playing with his sister and rubbing himself with balloons to more adult games. The more I heard the less I liked about the physical contact involving his older friends that he was describing with great relish. As he related his tale what was making me really nervous was that Bob was getting great sexual pleasure and was getting himself really turned on again.

Since he was becoming seriously aroused again as he was talking, I told him flat out that I would not participate in any further oral or anal sex acts with him. If we were to remain friends he had better not force himself on me again. Bob gave me a pained look and asked me why I hadn't enjoyed the experience. I told him it was painful and it scared me. I was comfortable with a mutual hand job along with balloon rubbing and all, but that was as far as I was going to go, now or later. To my relief he apologized and agreed that if I just wanted to fool around like a little kid in the future that is what we would do and as far as he would go. I wasn't totally convinced this would be the case because I knew how hard it was to control myself when I got sexed up; and here was one big brute of a guy who could be unbelievably destructive and hurtful to me if his animal instincts got the better of him.

There were still nearly a dozen inflated balloons left and Bob grabbed one in his big paws and started squeezing it while twisting his hands. The complaining rubber was squeaking loudly as it slid in jerky steps across his palms. I just sat watching him wondering how long the balloon would take the punishment. My adrenaline level was still too high from his attack for the plight of the tortured balloon to get me aroused at this point. Bob grinned and said, "I love to do this to balloons. Ya never know how long they will last. I love to hear the sound knowing that at any moment there will be a bang and it will stop."

I replied, "Yah, I like to rub them myself until they bust," as I reached over and grabbed a fat green one.

I was just getting started on it when Bob's balloon popped. He made a lunging grab for a replacement but he must have pressed it down on something sharp in the grass because it immediately burst with a sharp poom sound. Since there were no other balloons within easy reach he had to get up on his hands and knees to crawl the six feet or so he needed to reach most of them. Bob batted four or five over to me and then took two more crouching steps to bring his arm within range of our remaining toys. This put his right knee directly over a nice fat white balloon. He looked at me and grinned as he slooooowly compressed the rubber bag under his knee cap. The balloon tried it's best to support his crushing weight but it was no contest as it exploded with a loud BANG in the grass. I found myself wishing it was late spring instead of early fall when the grass would be lush and green instead of becoming dry and brown as it now was. Had that been the case we could both return home this day with grass stained shorts and knees.

Bob grabbed a balloon in each hand and crawled toward me in an upright position just on his knees. I got up on my knees as well as we grabbed each other and squashed the balloons between us on our somewhat sweaty bare chests. The balloons squealed delightfully as they were scrubbed around on the expanse of bare skin. There were three balloons trapped between us when Bob released the two he was holding. He firmly grabbed my back giving me a balloon cushioned bear hug. The reality of the situation was the three balloons acting in concert could probably support 400 or more pounds compressive force, and even with all of Bob's brute strength pulling me towards him and the feeling that he was going to break my back, they withstood his crushing embrace.

Bob released me and as we separated we both grabbed for the now freed balloons. Two of them escaped for the moment but the third became the center of attraction for some good old balloon wrestling. Because of it's dampened rubber skin from being in contact with our sweaty chests, there was more than the usual rubber / skin friction and the balloon burst in a matter of a few seconds as we tried to wrest it away from each other. We finished off the others that were within easy reach in the same manner. The dry ones provided several long tortured squeaks before succumbing to our abuse.

We were down to just five balloons left when I noticed Bob had a half a hard on and I asked him if I should use them to get him excited so he could have another orgasm, since he had shot me off twice. Our body contact balloon play had me excited again for a third time and I realized I had this urge to get my hand around his massive stem. He said, "Sure, if you want to play with me. I enjoy it more the other way though."

I replied, "No thinks. It's this way or not at all, old buddy."

Bob stretched out on the grass in front of me and I started scrubbing the balloons, one in each hand on his chest as well as on his legs and crotch areas. His two tits immediately sprang to attention. His dick was another matter as it lay in a semi hard state trapped under his boxer shorts. I grabbed the waist band with my thumb and careful positioned it under his well endowed sack and began rubbing the one balloon directly on his tool. This seemed to get results.

"Rub harder until the balloon busts," Bob commanded.

I did his bidding, twisting the complaining rubber hard into his crotch until it popped. I transferred the chest balloon to my other hand and finished it off as well, grinding it into his eight inch plus penis pinned against his waist. He just wasn't making it. I was wondering, which was a possibility, if the popping balloons had stung him a sensitive spot.

I grabbed his stem and started massaging it with nice long strokes. Bob was cut, of course, and although he was rock hard the skin seemed to slide readily like a lubricated sleeve up and down over the end of his stem. He started moaning and clamped down on one of the remaining balloons that was within arm's reach on the far side. He started squeezing it harder ad harder in rhythm with my strokes when suddenly it and he both popped. Squirt, squirt. His milky white juice splashed in several puddles on his broad chest. I squeezed out most of the remainder and then wiped of his stem with my hand. This goo I then transferred to his knees. Then I carefully covered up his manhood with his boxer shorts to the extent possible. The face of his tool was still smiling at me from beneath the elastic waist band.

Bob took his time getting up. We then donned out Boy Scout uniforms and started policing up our play area. This took a good twenty minutes or so because we had popped quite a number of balloons in about a 1000 square foot area. When I would come here for my solo popping I would bust my whole lot in a very small area off to the side of the grass so that rubber recovery was greatly simplified. For the most part we just crawled on our hands and knees in a back and forth pattern over the area we had played in retrieving the larger pieces of torn rubber. Our movement through the grass also caused the smaller fragments to fall well down into the trampled grass, far out of sight. There were still two inflated balloons left from our play time and Bob allowed that he wanted to bust them on my knees. He brought them over and as I sat on the grass with my knees drawn up near my chest he squashed them down on my knee caps; pop pop.

When we had finished our gathering, because I hadn't thought to bring any matches to burn the rubber as I usually did, we lifted a large rock and stuffed the balloon remains underneath where they would be hopefully undetected until they rotted and returned to the earth from whence they had come.

We stood looking at each other. We both had modestly dirty knees from all our crawling around, but no signs of any blood. Bob made note of this fact and mentioned that he loved to see boys show up at camp wearing their scout shorts outside for the first time since the previous years camp. The result was they all had alabaster white legs with highly vulnerable skin covering their cute boyish knees. The counselors would make them crawl through an initiation ritual the first night and he loved to see how easy the year long protected skin on their knees ripped and bled. I laughed and told Bob I was past that point; I had been wearing shorts all summer and my knees were fairly toughened up. Bob gave me a toothy grin, "Shall we see, little buddy?"

There was a small dirt and gravel patch off to the side of the open grassy area where we were and I took Bob over. He immediately tackled me, pulled me to the ground, and started dragging my knees roughly across the dirt. Bob was so big and strong he had no problem manhandling me. He could readily pick me up and hold me over his head if he wanted to.

It didn't take long before I was oozing from the rips in my flesh over my knee caps. When he saw this he let up on me. It had all happened so quickly I was pissed; as much because my flesh had yielded so readily to this moderate abuse as to his sudden attack. As I got up I grabbed Bob and pushed him off balance and at the same time kicked his one leg out from under him. He went down hard on both of his knees. Bob grimaced at the sudden unexpected pain. As Bob jumped back up to his feet I looked at his knees. Bingo! Bright red stains on one knee.

Suddenly I wasn't sure if I should take off and try to out run him or what. Bob was annoyed. I realized a physical attack would surely wind up being more painful than his sexual attack earlier. However, before I could make my move he took note of his oozing knee. He burst out laughing, "Well little buddy, it looks like you bloodied me a lot easier than I did you. Here shake, and we will call it square."

Lifetime Lesson #15a- Don't shake hands with a gorilla with a bloody knee. Bob clamped down on my hand with his massive paw and squeezed for all he was worth. Through the pain I thought I could hear the bones in my right hand being crushed. Fortunately that wasn't the case. I was actually able to use my hand normally by the time we got back to the house.

Neither of us had a great deal of bleeding from our self inflicted knee wounds. We wiped the excess blood off with some large leaves that had begun to fall from the trees and the cuts and scrapes quickly clotted. With this taken care of we headed for home.

As we were hiking along I couldn't keep my mind off Bob's beautiful well muscled legs and how good he looked in the baggier scout shorts I had given him; even though they could have been another four or five inches longer in the leg. Since he had indicated that he liked seeing me wearing my shorts I was seriously tempted to ask him if he had any sexual interest in short pants as I did, but I thought better of it and decided I'd wait and see what developed when I would be visiting him in two weeks.
Revision Date 3/9/03.
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