In the fall of 1946 I had reached the ripe old age of eleven years and a few months and felt that my childhood was behind me and my grown up adult status was only at most a year or two away. Anyway, my father's half sister who was only about twice my age, decided to get hitched to a sailor guy just recently discharged from the navy. Since I was her favorite, and only nephew, she insisted that I should actively participate in her wedding as ring bearer. I wasn't enthused one bit with her idea, but my mom and dad felt having me in the lime light, if only for a moment, would help me overcome my shy and retiring demeanor. I had never attended a wedding before, but I had a pretty good idea that it would be a long drawn out, stuffy, dress up affair, based on at least what I had seen in the movies.

So Friday afternoon the family and I headed for my grandmothers in a distant city. We arrived in time for one of her sumptuous meals which everyone always enjoyed. Then I and the other nuptial players went to the church for rehearsal. My part didn't turn out to be any big deal and I actually felt confident that I could get through the ceremony without doing something embarrassing. Also I could see the production wouldn't take nearly as long as I had figured it would.

I knew that the wedding, at least, would require us all to be super dressed up. A few weeks prior my mom had made some cursory measurements of my anatomy and phoned them to my grandmother so I expected I would be given special clothes to wear.

Saturday morning everything was pandemonium with all the women running around like crazy and the men trying to stay out of their way. The shindig was scheduled for 2 PM but my mom had me out of bed by 9:30. I came down to the kitchen for breakfast but instead was handed a box with the suit I was to wear and ordered to go up to one of the bedrooms and put it on. I really hadn't given any thought about what I would be expected to wear, so as I trudged up the steps, I just assumed it would be a miniature version of the penguin suit my dad wore when he and mom went to what they called 'formal' events.

I went into the only bedroom that didn't already have someone already in the process of changing into their 'super duds' and dumped the contents of the box on the bed. I gasped in disbelief as my suit tumbled out. I knew exactly the kind it was because I had seen a nineteenth century painting of some poor kid dressed in a similar outfit when my school class had gone to an art museum. But there it was. Black knee socks, the dumbest looking pair of black short shorts, black suspenders to hold up the shorts, a white long sleeved shirt with frilly lace on the cuffs and a wide lace collar, and a black bow tie, which was the only item of the silly looking costume I would even consider wearing. Even the shiny black shoes with the long pointy toes looked like they belonged with a clown outfit. No question. I was staring at a genuine turn of the century Lord Fauntleroy outfit.

I did not have any fondness for short pants at this time and like all eleven year old boys I wouldn't be caught dead wearing them let alone the short tight fitting leg thing with the prominent exposed fly buttons my aunt expected me to wear. I grabbed the shorts and frilly shirt and tore down the stairs to tell my mother in no uncertain terms that there was no way in hell I was going to wear that silly outfit and they had better come up with something normal for me to put on or they could just count me out. When I caught up with her dad was also standing there so I showed them the garments and stated my case as forcefully as I dared without overstepping the disrespect line that would have gotten me a quick swat on the behind. I knew my mom liked to see me wearing shorts, but I doubted that either she or dad would want to see me totally disgraced by wearing this silly outfit in public.

Wrong. Mom ordered me to get it on and get back down stairs in the next five minutes or else. My anger flared and dad quickly indicated what the 'or else' would entail. I stormed back up to the bedroom and shucked my nice comfortable boy clothes and started dressing. I had actually seen kids in school wearing long pants with suspenders so I was able to dope out how to connect them up to the waist band of the shorts. I had worn knee socks in the winter when I was younger with the knickers that all boys wore in those days. With the knickers the elastic gathers below the knees would keep the socks up. The socks in my outfit were the same but there were elastic straps in the box that I decided were to serve the same function.

The shorts were really ridiculous. For an eleven year old I had heavy rather well muscled thighs and they just about completely filled the pant legs that extended at most about one third of the way down to my knees. When I clipped the suspenders on to the front of the waist band the crotch of the shorts pulled up into the crack of my ass. I found it damn uncomfortable just standing. When I bent over to put the shoes on the shorts scrunched one of my nougats and I let out a howl. Not only did I look ridiculous, I was uncomfortable as hell and wouldn't dare try to bend over again without first insuring that there was more 'ball room' in my pants. The shoes were too big and wouldn't stay on my feet so I grabbed them and stomped back downstairs to show the powers that be that I not only looked like an idiot but the stupid clothes were un-wearable.

My outfit got the response I expected when the others saw me. The gals thought I looked just too cute for words and the men smirked and tried to keep from busting out laughing. I caught up with dad and told him my woes. He was able to provide some crotch relief by lengthening the suspenders as far as they would go so hopefully my balls wouldn't get pinched any further. The shoes were made to stay on my feet with the help of some crumpled up newspaper stuffed in the toes. This did not make for comfortable walking, and I prayed that I wouldn't walk out of them or go ass over tin cups as I did my thing at the church. For awhile this thought totally blocked out the concern for the spectacle my outlandish attire was producing.

I didn't know what the damn rush was for, but we left the house by noon time and got to the church within fifteen minutes. My grandfather and two of the brides maids rode over to the church with us. Everyone was so anxious to get out of the car and hob knob with those that were already there that I had no trouble staying secluded in the car. Wouldn't it just be a super day if they all forgot about me and I could remain hidden and avoid all the embarrassment and humiliation that I knew was going to occur as soon as people spotted me in my ridiculous Fauntleroy suit. Alas it was not to be. After about a half hour my mother came out to the car and took me in tow.

As at the house all the women made a big fuss over how nice I looked and what a cute boy I was. The men just smiled and I could tell most of them were sympathetic to my plight. Fortunately I wasn't exposed to too many people before it was time to get to the anteroom where the other participants were gathered. I sat sullenly in the corner trying to stay out of everybody's way and sight. I thought the show would never get on the road, but finally my aunt and grandmother with the remaining brides maids showed up.

The ceremony went off without a hitch. Down the isle and the entire time I was up front I could feel that all eyes were riveted on my pristine white knees and my chalky white upper legs that were so starkly exposed between my jet black socks and shorts. To keep my composure I focused on the choir loft and the stained glass window that was behind it through the whole ceremony. I almost blew my trivial part because I was so intent on blocking out the presence of the crowd of people behind me.

I was really hoping that when the rice throwing was over we would have time to go back to the house so that I could put on some sane clothes, however my hopes dimmed as my aunt wanted me in several of the photos, both in the church as well as outside. To make matters worse, the photographer didn't seem to know what he wanted and took endless time having us pose then re-pose for each shot. Between times mother was showing me off to distant relatives I didn't know and other friends of the family. The worst encounters were with older women who were friends of my grandparents. I got the same gushy platitudes as from my aunts younger friends, but three of the ladies couldn't resist bending over and pinching the bare flesh I was exposing below the hem of my shorts while they were doing so. This added physical pain to add to the pain of my humiliation.

Finally the photographer finished with me and we piled in the car and drove over to the place where there would be eats for all the wedding guests. I guess this was to compensate them for the trouble of getting all dolled up in their finest outfits and blowing a beautiful Saturday afternoon for a fifteen minute show and the chance to look at the pretty boy in his oh so cute short pants outfit. This time I didn't have the option of remaining secluded in the car as my mother hustled me into the banquet hall as soon as we arrived.

Woweee. It was a huge rectangular room decorated in a bright red, white, and blue motif. An a lot of the decoration was in the form of balloons. Mother showed me where I would be sitting at the end of the long table that ran down the long side of the room. I quickly took my seat which spared my lower anatomy from the stares I felt that those who were milling about were giving me, and began to size up the balloon situation.

There were nineteen large round tables each with a small floral arrangement to which was attached with fine cotton string a cluster of eight Helium balloons. The long table I was sitting at had two larger flower baskets near each end with twelve Helium balloons attached  to each. In addition, hanging from the large chandelier in the center of the room was a cluster, I estimated, of three dozen balloons. Just above the balloons there were sixteen white and red or white and blue streamers radiating out to the walls of the room where the other ends were attached. At each of these wall attachments there was a cluster of six balloons tied to the wall. All the balloons were either red, white, or blue in color and about equal in quantify. I immediately began plotting how I was going to finally get my hands on some of my cherished rubber toys. I never did get a chance to have fun with the two carnival balloons I had gotten back in June.

I left my seat and walked over to the flowers at my end of the table and pulled the cluster of balloons down for a closer inspection. To my delight I discovered that the necks weren't knotted, but closed off by several tight wraps of the thin cotton string which was then tied. Judicious use of a pocket knife would cut the string loose without damaging the balloon necks and permit easy deflation for later use.

Taking stock of the rubber decorations I pretty much ruled out the large cluster in the center because it was up so high that it could only be reached if you used a ladder. I suspected the people at the tables would take the flower arrangements and the attached balloons home; so I wrote them off as well. The sixteen clusters on the walls were easily within my reach if I could get my dad or uncle to boost me up on their shoulders; so I figured I would be able to get quite a number from this source. I also figured I should have no trouble corralling the cluster of a dozen balloons at my end of the table as well. A couple of the groom's Navy buddies were seated at the opposite end of the table and I suspected that they would find a way of disposing of the balloons that were in front of them before the party was over. In the mid forties people were not aware that they were committing mass suicide by smoking, so at least 80% of the guests were puffing away. I had little doubt that many of the balloons were bound to get their kiss of death from lit cigarettes.

My uncle sat next to me at the table. He was in the Army Air Corps and was wearing his snazzy uniform. Several friends of the groom were also in their Navy uniforms as well. Uncle was never one to mince words and as he took his seat he gave my bare leg a stinging slap he told me what a wimpy sissy I looked like. I was about to complain that I had nothing to do with how silly I looked and I hated the outfit when he said that he would straighten out his sister that 'he men' don't wear little boy short pants outfits. He went on, glaring at me, "Boy, if you want to show off those strong good looking legs you've got then at least wear a Boy Scout uniform that makes you look like a man instead of a wimp."

Yah, I thought to myself, 'if you gotta wear shorts to be a Boy Scout, you can forget about my ever being one'.

I had gotten short changed out of breakfast and since it had to be at least 4 PM my tummy was beginning to complain in a big way. I asked my uncle what the holdup was with the eats and he said the caterers wanted to wait until my aunt and new hubby showed up before they started setting out any food.

Finally after an interminable wait they showed up and the waiters started distributing the salads. A couple of them were also pouring drinks from tall bottles into the shallow wide topped drinking glasses everyone had in front of them. In addition to being hungry I was also really thirsty. Finally one of them came along behind us filling each glass at our table as he went. However when he finished with my uncle's glass he started to walk away. Before I could even object to being missed my uncle sternly commanded, "FILL HIS GLASS."

Now my uncle wasn't much taller than me and probably didn't weigh more than 150 pounds soaking wet, but he was one of those people that instantly demanded attention the minute they walk in a room. The waiter was a big guy that could easily have picked him up and tossed him out a window, but at his command he quickly returned and filled my glass almost to overflowing. The stuff looked liked 7 Up but it didn't fizz the same way. I felt the glass and it was cold. Just what I needed; something cold and wet. When the waiters had filled all the glasses they had brought out additional full bottles of the stuff that they placed in a thing that looked like a floor ashtray except it had a large cylindrical top that I assumed was filled with ice to keep the drink cold.

My uncle informed me I was not to drink any of the stuff, however, until he had presented a toast to my aunt and her husband. Hah! I knew what that was because I had seen guys giving toasts in the movies. I plaintively asked him if he was going to give it yet today and he said he would just as soon as the minister finished giving the invocation. Finally a hush fell across the mob of people at the tables as the minister who was seated at the opposite end of our table got up. I then discovered that an invocation was simply a very, very, long grace. When he finally shut up and sat down my uncle got up and started blabbing away. I thought the toast was supposed to say complementary things about the recipients, but a lot didn't sound very complementary to me. However the audience seemed to think it was OK because they interrupted him several times with applause, whistles, and shouts directed mainly at the groom. While this was going on everyone had their glass in their hand and when he finally stopped yacking we all took a swig.

Hummm. The stuff in the glass had an interesting taste and was all bubbly like seltzer water I had been given a couple of times at adult parties. Most importantly it was wet and cold and before I realized that all the others had just taken one sip I had guzzled my glass down. They finally got around to placing water pitchers on our table and I was about to ask my uncle to pass it when he noted my glass was empty. He asked me if I wanted any more and I said, "Sure, it tastes yummy."

My uncle fetched the bottle that was nearest to us and refilled my glass and topped off his and his fiancée's as well.

By the time I had finished off my desert I had downed three glassfuls of the bubbly stuff that my uncle said was called champagne. I also realized that I had a major urge to go to the bathroom and with all the people in the room it had suddenly become quite hot causing me to sweat under the stupid bulky lace collar of my shirt. I asked my uncle where I could go to take a leak and he indicated the rest rooms were located down a hallway off the end of the room. The most direct route for me to take would have been to cut across the corner between several of the tables, however, because I wanted to call as little attention to my outlandish outfit as possible I decided to walk along the walls. When I got up I noticed I felt a really funny floating feeling. I actually had to grab the edge of the table to steady myself. Once I was stable I headed down along the wall that was behind our table.

As I made my way it became obvious that my plan was not working because everybody seemed to be staring at me and giggling as I made my way to the end of the room. When I got to the men's room it was empty, fortunately, because I was then faced with the problem of how to take a piss while wearing these ridiculous shorts. I had no problem getting the fly buttons undone but I then discovered that the bottom of the fly opening was up so high I couldn't get my dinkus out over it. If I had let fly at that point I would have sprayed the wall above the urinal. I finally had to disconnect the suspenders from the front of the shorts and pull the waist down to belly button level in order to get out a straight frontal shot. It was obvious the ass hole that designed these pants never intended to wear them or he planned for you to squat to take a piss.

I returned to the table by the same route and as I walked up my mom was giving uncle hell about something. When I sat down she sternly informed both of us that I wasn't to have any more of the bubbly stuff. I was still very thirsty so my uncle told me to wait a minute and he would get me some punch. Then he got up and made his way to the table that was located at the end of the room in front of the hallway I had just visited. I saw him grab several glasses and fill them from a huge bowl that was in the center of the table. using some kind of ladle. When he brought the filled glasses back he said, "Here, give this a try."

The short fat tumbler was filled with a milky white concoction that had some white limps floating around in it. The glass was freezing cold and I took a big slurp of the punch. It was super sweet and yummy. I maneuvered one of the lumps between my tongue and the roof of my mouth and squished it. Hot damn! No question; the lumps were vanilla ice cream. Coooool. Needless to say I guzzled down the rest of the milk shake like drink in nothing flat.

Since we were the first table to get our chow several of the other tables were just finishing up their deserts at this point. We then waited nearly another half hour until the waiters got all the tables cleared. Meanwhile a couple of the grooms buddies gave additional toasts to break up the monotony.

While we were waiting I suddenly realized how very sleepy I was. I was having a hell of a time keeping my eyes open. This would never do. I realized that the party was going to go on for several more hours and there was no way I could hope to get a hold of any balloons until it was over and people started to leave. The band was just getting set up to play for the dancing. During this time my uncle went and refilled our glasses with more punch.

The next thing on the agenda was for the bride and groom to open all the presents that people had brought. These were piled high on a table at the opposite end of the hall. Most of the people including my uncle and his girl moved down to the other end so they could see what was going on. After about forty five minutes of ooohs and aaahs I figured they might be finally running out of gifts, and because I was getting a potty urge again, I decided to make another dash for the men's room while most of the guests were distracted with the rip off. When I got up the floating feeling was even more pronounced and I sensed that I was having trouble keeping the things in the room that should have been horizontal, level. When I reached the rest room there was a guy already in there so I used a stall to get my self unencumbered from the stupid shorts so I could relieve myself.

As I left I thought I would save my uncle a trip so I stopped at the table at the entrance of the hallway, grabbed a glass, and sloshed in a ladle full of the punch. I moved back into the hall way where I quickly polished it off. I then refilled it before heading somewhat unsteadily back along the wall to my table.

Finally after endless dancing, including being forced to doe-se-doe with my aunt, grandmother, and mother, which was a near disaster because I was having so much trouble keeping my feet under me. In addition being out on the floor exposed me to more giggles.

Finally the party started winding down. The bride and groom, the minister, and two couples that had younger children had already left a couple of hours earlier. The balloons at the two tables where the kids had been sitting had been removed by their parents and taken with them when they left. At least those kids might get some enjoyment out of them; but it reinforced the fact that it wasn't likely that I would be able to get my hands on the bouquets at the other tables. The guy from the caterers, who was sort of running things, announced that the last dance was coming up and that each table was to look for a number on the bottom of the flower vase to determine who at each table had a matching chair number and then they would get to take the flower / balloon arrangements home. I knew I would have to react quickly as I fought off the drowsiness that had come over me since we had eaten. I suspected my parents were tired and would want to get out of there fairly quickly; so I would have precious little time to round up any balloons and get them deflated and in my cramped pockets.

The open area in front of our table was packed since three quarters of the people wanted to take advantage of this last time to dance. As the dance was finishing up I caught out of the corner of my eye a cluster of balloons being pulled down at the table in the corner located about thirty feet from where I was sitting. The one guy at the table had pulled them down and the two girls with him were giggling as they looked at the balloons at face level in front of them. Naturally I was all attention and the one girl that was facing me noticed my avid interest and flashed me a most wicked smile as she slowly picked up her cigarette and took a long drag on it. I knew what was going to happen next. The three others at the table and a few that saw what they were doing when they came back from the dance floor knew as well.

She removed the cig from her mouth and positioned it horizontally in her hand level with the lower balloons in the cluster. She then moved the guy's arm with her other hand ever so slightly so the balloons rocked over to the burning tip. The cluster was turned so a white one was first to get the searing heat of her cigarette. It burst with a respectable BANG as the other balloons recoiled from the suddenly expanding air. The girl was staring at me intently as she gently rotated the balloons to align a nice red one with her balloon busting weapon. Again they slowly swayed toward her hand until the tight red rubber skin received her cigarette's kiss of death. BANG. A large sheet of rubber flew over the table and fluttered to the floor.

The girl was grinning, she obviously enjoyed popping the balloons, and she seemed to be mouthing, "Hey boy. Do you enjoy seeing balloons bust as much as I do?"

Indeed I did. But for some reason not much was happening down below, which was just as well as there wasn't any too much room for expansion. She methodically destroyed the remaining six balloons in the same fashion. The entire episode must have lasted a good two minutes as she insured that I, and probably several of the others that were watching, savored each pop to the fullest.

Nothing revitalizes a party like the sound of balloons bursting. No sooner then she had finished I heard the staccato POP POP POP from far across the room as another balloon cluster was summarily dispatched. In this case though, it only took ten seconds or less to finish them off. Most certainly they went from a cigarette or a sharp object.

At this point a guy at the table next to the first one pulled down the bunch and presented them to his wife or girl friend. Unlike the other gal she looked a bit squeamish as far as popping them went. They had a brief conversation then he motioned me to come over to their table. Hot dog; pay dirt. I jumped up and scurried over. Like the other gal she was seated on the far side of the table and as I came up and stood there I expected her to lean over and hand the balloons to me; but she didn't.

As I stood there stupidly feeling I was being scrutinized as they took in my pretty white legs and ridiculously short shorts, the guy, who had had too much to drink, motioned to the girl and drawled, "Here; she thinks little boys like to play with and bust balloons, and she wants you to pop these for her."

I looked at her and immediately responded, "No, I would rather like to take them home and play with them there."

"Nah," the guy went on, "You are too old for balloons. All you are going to do with them at home is bust 'em anyway. Hell, what else are balloons good for? We want to see you pop them now."

I hesitated as I fished around in my head for some other argument that would save the pretty balloons floating in front of me. The guy was obviously surprised by my reluctance to immediately pop them as he added, "What's the matter. Is a big boy like you wearing little boy's pants afraid to bust them?"

"No, I'll bust them for you. How do you want me to do it?" I immediately shot back.

The other guy at the table quickly produced a pocket knife, opened the large blade, and handed it to me. As he did so, the girl thrust the balloons toward me. I held the knife so the point would hit the advancing balloons. POW POW POP. Three of them suddenly disappeared. Man, that guy's knife was really sharp. It barely had to touch the rubber to bust them. I swung my hand in a figure eight pattern and the knife point quickly found the remaining five balloons. The group at the table was pleased. The first guy bent over and gave the back of my leg a hard squeeze right below the hem of my shorts as he said, "There now. Didn't you enjoy doing that?"

Yah I thought, and I'll bet you enjoyed doing THAT too.

I squirmed away from him intending to check out other areas of the hall where sharp popping sounds indicated that life was ending for additional balloons. However, the party at the next table that consisted of two younger and two older couples wanted me to repeat my balloon busting performance for them as well. I still had the guy's knife in my hand and he told me to go and use it on their balloons. I went over and grabbed the balloon strings from the guys hand and proceeded to every so slowly press the point of the knife into each of them. Two of the girls, one younger and one older, did not like being around popping balloons because they both had pained expressions on their faces and had their hands clamped over their ears. I couldn't resist pushing the cluster towards them as I slowly and tantalizingly popped them off. The guy with the younger girl thought it was a hoot that it scared her; but the older fella about my dad's age, suddenly got really pissed and pushed me forcefully away from the older woman but not before I finished off the last balloon about a foot in front of her face.

Because I was afraid I would be pressed into more balloon popping if I stayed out on the floor amongst the tables, I handed the guy his knife back and beat a hasty retreat to the safety of my seat. If they had to get busted I wanted to watch others doing it like the first girl. I really enjoyed her performance.

At this point my uncle who had been observing my activity got up and jumped high enough to grab the streamer and balloon cluster on the wall just behind us. He pulled it down and with one of the balloons clamped tightly between his two hands he came over to me. I had turned sideways in my seat to see what he was doing so my legs were spread apart about ninety degrees. I thought he was going to hand me the balloon cluster but instead he suddenly jammed the balloon he was holding down on my bare knees. The rubber gave a short squeal as it squashed over my knee caps and tried to slide up between his grip. The crushed balloon quickly popped. Seated I had even more bare thigh exposed then when I was standing and a large chunk of rubber from the bursting balloon snapped my legs and made me wince. My uncle immediately took my surprised expression as a sign of gun shyness which was an inexcusable condition for his only nephew to be afflicted with. So before I could even object that I wanted to save them and take them home, he smashed the other five balloons in the bunch down on my bare legs as well. POW POW POW. They really burst loudly because they were still well inflated.

As my uncle turned to get another cluster from the wall I noticed the guy from the first table that had popped their balloons had pulled down the bunch from the corner. He yanked the streamer loose and let the balloons drop to the floor. Then he kicked them toward the balloon popping gal who was seated with her chair turned sideways to me so she could observe his balloon salvaging efforts. As the balloons skidded toward her she raised both her feet so they stuck out straight in front of her. When the balloons had slid to the spot where her feet had been resting she dropped them down on two of the balloons. The sharp pointy heels on her shoes gouged the rubber and the balloons went BANG BANG in rapid succession. She then used her left foot to maneuver the remaining four balloons under her right foot which she kept swinging down toward the floor from her knee. POP POP POP POP. In a few seconds that cluster of balloons had been reduced to chunks of torn rubber. She made a point of giving me her 'did you enjoy that boy, smile' once again.

I noticed a guy at another table had pulled down the balloons from the wall and I got up to see what their fate would be. As I positioned myself between the tables so I could see the balloons that were now on the floor I realized that they were slated for a plain old stomp. Two of the girls from the table were on their feet, more or less, as the guy pushed the balloon cluster toward them. The first girl raised her right foot higher than her knee and began to totter as she slammed it down on a hapless blue balloon. She was so off balance, however, that her shoe nearly missed the balloon altogether and it simply squirted away out to the side dragging the others with it. Fortunately one of the other guys was standing chose enough to her that he caught her before she went kaboom on her ass. The other girl giggled loudly at the first girls ineptitude.

The guy that had pulled the balloons down retrieved them, and bending over, positioned one of them next to the first girls foot. Supported by the second guy who was holding her from behind, she managed to get her foot up and over the balloon. She squashed the balloon under the toe of her shoe and I was surprised at how much it flattened before it let go with a super loud BANG. The guy holding the balloons presented her with two more to finish off. He pushed these further under her foot so the sharp point of her shoe heel essentially punctured the rubber. From where I was standing these balloons didn't seem to flatten much at all. The second girl got to pop the last three balloons. She used the edge of the table as a stabilizer and deftly jabbed the spike heel of her pump into them. POW POW POW.

I turned my attention next to a table near the center of the hall where the balloon cluster was being deftly destroyed by a gal that was standing and jabbing the balloons that were floating just above head height with her two index fingers. She had nice long nails and apparently hadn't had too much to drink because she was able to poke both sides of each balloon at the same time leaving no chance that any of the balloons could escape being pinched between her talons. Her nails must have really been sharp because there didn't appear to be any dimpling of the rubber before the balloons popped.

At this point most of the streamers and associated balloons had been pulled off the walls at my end of the hall. The streamers were draped down on the floor or across some of the tables. I was standing in the open dance area when my uncle walked over and gathered up the streamers. The streamers had a string running their length between the two glued strips of crape paper to keep them from sagging. He grabbed the seven streamers and gave then a good yank. Suddenly the big cluster of balloons and the remaining streamers ripped loose from the chandelier and bounced into the middle of the dance area right in front of me. I thought, 'way to go unc'.

The three dozen or so balloons in the cluster were all tied to one another with short lengths of the twine like that used to tie down the Helium balloons and I was hoping to tear individual balloons from the cluster so I could work on getting the string unwrapped from the necks. I bent over to pick up a nice fat red balloon and as I did so my uncle gave me a push. I didn't know what was wrong with me but my reflexes seemed to be in slow motion. If I hadn't landed on the pile of balloons I probably would have bashed my head on the floor. About a half dozen popped, BAWOOOOM, under my weight as I crashed down on them. Two of them under my knees, two under my butt and side, and two under my right arm. The one my head landed on didn't bust and prevented me from getting a dandy lump on the side of my noggin. As I struggled to get to my feet I squashed a few more and popped them. Being tied together the balloons couldn't scoot apart as I flailed around on top of them trying to get to my feet.

Just then one of the sailor friends of the groom grabbed my hands and lifted me to my feet. I was just about to step out of the balloon cluster when my uncle grabbed my ankles and pressed my feet back into my ass cheeks. The two men had me suspended from either side over the big cluster of balloons. My uncle, who had a vise like grip on my two ankles, then proceeded to jam my knees down into the balloons. POW POW POW. I struggled to get free to no avail. By this time the eight or nine navy friends of the groom and a couple of other younger guys had come over to enjoy the balloon popping. Soon there were just a few balloons left; a couple of them that had escaped out to the side. These were summarily flattened under the polished shoes of a couple of the sailors.

When the whole center cluster of balloons was busted my uncle let go of my feet and the other guy stood me up. I was pissed that all these good balloons had been destroyed so quickly, but the men obviously enjoyed the unusual balloon popping immensely and felt I was a right good lad to have such tough sturdy knees; so I didn't think it would have done any good to whine about wanting to have taken the balloons home to play with. I was just thankful that that with all the balloon popping excitement my little dickey was still just that.

I surveyed the hall and saw that the only Helium balloons left were the two clusters on our long table along with about eight of the wall balloon clusters that were still hanging with the streamers still attached. Not for long. With me in tow we headed for the one wall. The navy guys fanned out and in short order had pulled down the remaining balloons. A couple of the guys had cigarettes in their mouths and they applied them to the balloons they had grabbed. POW POW. In short order another dozen or so were reduced to chunks of torn rubber.

When I got over near the far wall three of the guys brought over the clusters that they had ripped down. At first I thought they were going to force my knees into them again because they had dropped them on the floor, but in an unusual moment of compassion, my uncle nixed that idea. Then one of the sailors tore off a balloon from the clump, placed it on a chair, and proceeded to sit on it. It made a mighty BOOM as his ass flattened it into the seat cushion. A couple of the others tried it as well. POOM POOM. They said they liked the feel of the balloon busting under their butts. Such fun. I wondered if any of them knew how much more fun it was to rub the balloons on their dicks and to breath in the sweet aroma of aged rubber. It didn't look like that would be the fate of any of the few balloons that still remained.

Naturally I was invited to butt squash several of them as well. There was little doubt they enjoyed seeing the tight rubber pressing firmly against the bare skin on the back of my legs and the necks squirting out between my knees. When seated the legs of the damn shorts pulled all of the way back to my hips so at least half of the balloon surface was poised to give the inside of my legs a good sting when they popped, which several of them did. This produced pink welts on the back of my legs, as I was told later when we got back to the house. All those watching  seemed to get great enjoyment out of seeing me get swatted by the flying rubber.

We were now down to just the twenty four Helium balloons in the two clusters on the main table. The men headed for the nearest one on the opposite end I had been sitting at and I headed for the other bunch. As I worked feverishly to pull the balloons loose from the flower basket they had pulled the other cluster down and two of them were scrubbing them between their hands causing them to squeal loudly. It was a loud annoying sound that several other people who had had too much to drink really didn't care to hear at that point and they came over to dispose of the source. Several of the balloons popped and a loud mouthed shoving match ensued. Suddenly one of the sailors was on the floor.

Right behind the long table was a single door marked Emergency Exit. This looked like an emergency to me so I gave the horizontal bar a good push and quickly exited out on to a dark grassy area that was next to the kitchen. It would have been a great place to untie the balloons because there wasn't anyone else around, but it was too dark and I didn't have a knife or anything to cut the strings loose.

I knew our car was parked around front near the end of the building and that, because the lock on the trunk didn't work reliably, there was a good chance I could get it open and I could just stuff my rubber treasure inside. I could then recover them later the next day after we had driven home from my grandparents.

I went around to the end of the building but our car wasn't there. I knew my parents would never leave without me so I continued on around to the main entrance. Our car was parked nearby and my heart sank. The trunk lid was open and I could see it was already jammed full of wedding gifts. There were even several still on the paving that obviously weren't going to fit in.

My dad spotted me first as I walked up with my precious balloon cluster in hand. Scowling at me he said, "Where do you think you are going with those balloons? There is not going to be any room for them in the car."

I could see dad was right. My grandmother was already in the back seat and my grandfather was standing there waiting for me to get in and sit between them.

My mother was still outside the car but before I could appeal to her she sternly informed me, "You know I do not want you to have any balloons because you get silly when you play with them. You are not going to bring those home."

My father and grandfather were talking to my uncle and another friend of the family. Finally they closed the trunk lid and carried the gifts that wouldn't fit over to another car. As dad returned he said, "Let go of those balloons and get in the car. It's time to go."

I was tired. I was annoyed. I was argumentative. "No dad," I blurted out. "I want to keep these balloons."

It turned out Dad was also tired and annoyed. He immediately gave me a crack across the mouth with the back of his hand as he grabbed the balloons, pulled them down, and stabbed at them with his cigarette. POP POP POP POP. In short order I was standing next to the car with a stinging fat lip and twelve strings with brightly colored tufts of rubber tied to the ends. "Now take your balloons and get in the car," Dad barked.

I tossed the useless string on the ground and got in the back seat next to my grandmother. When my grandfather got in and squeezed next to me he grabbed my knee really tightly and said, "You are too old a boy to be playing with balloons. You're almost a man now and balloons are for girls and young boys."

He must have been reading my mind because he quickly added, "And you are way too old to be wearing these silly little boy shorts as well."

I didn't agree with gramps first comment but I had no quarrel with his second observation.

When we got back to my grandparents house my mother forced me to drink several cups of horrible tasting coffee. The next morning when they got me up so we could leave to travel back to our house my head felt like it was going to explode. I had never had such head pain even when a branch snapped and I fell out of a tree and whacked the back of my head on the ground. This experience and later in the year seeing what too much alcohol did to my mother are the prime reasons why I have never been a drinker. I was nearly forty before I overcame the forced coffee drinking experience and acquired a taste for it.

The one memory I really brought away from that hectic day was the sight of the young women and the way she busted those balloons. I immediately put reliving that brief moment to good use nights when I had my fun. For the next couple of years I fantasized about the enjoyment I could have had if I only could have salvaged some of those beautiful balloons.  Revised 9/02
<Continue to Post War Era #3>

Sponsored by: Ashley's Sex Toys and Adult Video Store