Although dad and I had moved to a relatively rural area, they did have a sort of social hall that was owned by the local civic association. For the most part that building was host to the weekly Thursday night 5 and 10 cent poker games that several of the men from immediate area enjoyed. Soon after moving to the area dad had joined and become active in what little the association actually did. In order to provide some income for building maintenance, the association like all other civic organizations and fire companies in the area, would run a yearly carnival at some time during warm weather. The association's carnival was held Thursday through Saturday nights the third week of June every year. This was the week after the end of school; the weekend after the fireman's carnival in town.

The first year we were involved I was thirteen and Dad had me working each of the nights in the baseball pitch stand where players would try to knock over three heavy wooden milk bottles. The stand needed several ball retrievers because it was a popular attraction and there were players during most of the evening. As at the fireman's carnivals I had attended previous years they had the floating saucer penny pitch, and as was generally the case at most carnivals they were giving away 12 inch balloons tied to thin bamboo sticks to those skillful enough to get their penny to stay in one of the dishes.

The first night I just looked longingly at the bright rubber toys hanging from the electrical wires that were strung between the two eight foot high corner posts of the nearly fourteen foot square stand. Because I was tied up working the baseball pitch stand I wouldn't have a lot of time trying to win balloons as I had when I invested three dollars in the two Mickey Mouse balloons the previous year. I doubted that my father would care to see me so engaged in such activity either, so I knew I would have to be as discrete as possible. I though maybe I could just buy a couple from the guys manning the stand if they had any left over when the carnival closed at eleven that night. Alas, although they had perhaps a dozen left at closing, they gave them to younger kids that were still there with their dads who were helping to clean up. Asking for a couple was out of the question; I even thought they might wonder a bit if I even offered to buy some of them. Not too many thirteen year old boys want to be seen running around with a handful of balloons.

Friday night wasn't any different, in fact there were nearly half again as many carnival patrons as we had had Thursday night, so the baseball pitch stand was really busy. As had happened on Thursday night the few remaining balloons when they shut down the penny pitch stand were given out to some of the younger kids who were the sons of the men working at the carnival.

Saturday night was a repeat of Friday, we were really busy. However about ten thirty things started slowing down and I asked dad if I could knock off and go and play some of the games before the carnival closed and he said, "Sure."

I wandered around for a few minutes and tried my hand at some of the games and realized my carnival game skills hadn't improved one bit over the last few years. I waited until the penny pitch stand had no customers for a few minutes and then I wandered over and got 25 pennies from one of the men, both of whom knew my dad and who I was. I tried my best to get a single penny to stay in one of the saucers, but to no avail. Meantime, the second man gathered up the uninflated balloons and sticks along with the balloon pump and was carrying them into the association building. After I tossed the last penny, the man that had given me the change said, "What color do you want. We have got to get rid of these balloons anyway and it doesn't look like we will have too many more customers tonight."

I asked him if I could buy another one for my little step brother and he handed me a second balloon but wouldn't take any more money for it. I really had trouble resisting saying that in that case I would like to take them all.

I was hoping dad hadn't spotted me at the penny pitch stand or the fact that I was holding two nice fat emerald green balloons. I was actually hoping I could sneak off to the side of the lit area into the shadows. Then I could quickly deflate the balloons and stuff them in my pocket. I would just toss the sticks. However as I turned around to leave the stand my father was standing right there. He gruffly said, "What do you plan to do with those balloons?"

I really wanted to say, well daddy, I actually want to squeeze them, smell them, and rub their smooth rubber skins over my bare body and penis while I masturbate; but I didn't think that would go over too well, so I just told him I thought my little step brother might like them. Dad responded, "Hmm, that's very thoughtful of you, but I really not buying it. You know he is too young to have balloons, so they are yours."

Then he added, "And I don't want to catch you getting silly playing with them either."

Of course I wanted to get silly. What else would an over sexed thirteen year old boy want with a thin inflated rubber bag.

I took the balloons home and hung them over the mirror on the top of my bureau. I could easily see them as I pleasured myself every morning after dad and my step mom left for work. Within a week the sweet honeysuckle smell of the rubber was noticeable in my room. After three weeks the balloons had gotten nice and soft and were about 75% of their original size. Because I kept my bedroom door closed the pungent smell of aged rubber was quite noticeable as soon as you entered. Finally this prompted my step mom at dinner one night to suggest that I get rid of the smelly balloons. I made some lame excuse that I liked them for decorations, they brightened up my room. Then dad strongly suggested that the only real use for balloons was to bust them and that I should find something else to decorate my room that didn't have any odor. My father's suggestion immediately caused my dick to rise to the occasion.

Later that night when I had gone up to my room and was getting ready for bed I figured my balloons were not going to survive much longer. I took the balloons down from the mirror and was smelling the aged rubber while massaging my stem through my Jockey underpants. Then I herd my father coming up the stairs so I quickly stopped my fun and quickly re hung the balloons over the top of the mirror. Good thing, because when he got to the top of the stairs I herd him heading for my room. Dad knocked and came in and said, "I just want to check to see that you get rid of your smelly balloons."

I was sitting on my bed trying to hide the erection from my stimulation a moment before. He walked over to my bureau and removed the balloons and handed them to me. He then stepped back and with a wicked grin said, "Pull the balloons off the sticks then lets see my big boy blow up his pretty smelly balloons until they bust. It shouldn't take too much blowing to finish them off; the rubber is beginning to rot which is why they smell so bad."

I knew right then and there I was a thirteen year old chicken that was still afraid of toy balloons. I started rubbing them making them squeal when Dad interrupted and said, "Stop. Let me show you how normal boys take care of a few tired balloons."

I figured he was going to light up a cigarette as he had in years gone by when we had balloons left over that we were playing with that mother wanted destroyed. However instead he grabbed one of the balloons from me and pulled the neck off the balloon stick. The balloon didn't deflate because the neck rubber was all stuck together so he had to hold the balloon under his arm while he used his fingernails to pull apart the neck. The balloon deflated slowly into a large limp rubber bag that was probably five times larger than when the balloon was new.

Dad put the balloon to his lips and started blowing. His first full breath of air didn't even begin to stretch the thin distended rubber. Several subsequent puffs soon had the balloon to it's previous size; but dad just kept on blowing. I was trying to keep my stem under control which still hadn't fully collapsed from my semi hand job a minute earlier. I didn't really expect the aged rubber to have much strength or stretch left. To my surprise, however, the balloon just kept getting bigger. It was about fourteen inches in diameter and just beginning to pear shape when the balloon finally ruptured and hundreds of shreds of rubber flew all over the one end of my room. The pop wasn't nearly as loud as I expected because the soft rubber hadn't allowed much pressure to build up; but it still made me jump.

Dad then told me to do the same thing to the balloon I was holding, but even the humiliation I was feeling didn't prevent me from the thrusting the balloon into his hands as I said, "No, you go and pop it."

Dad tried to hide his disgust as he quickly dug his fingers into the soft rubber skin and actually tore the poor balloon apart. It died with a rather soft POOF as two large sheets of green rubber fluttered to the floor in front of him. Then he ordered me to go downstairs and get the dustpan and brush and clean up the balloon remains. I could see my father still enjoyed destroying my balloons; but as he left the room I could sense he was really annoyed at me.

During the spring the following year I had a major inspiration. I had always noticed that most parents, like me, were not overly skillful at winning prizes at carnival games, with the result that they had to either disappoint their kids or invest an inordinate amount of money in order to obtain prizes that their kid might want. I proposed to the head of the civic association that they should have a stand that just sells all the prizes that are available at the game stands at a reasonable profit fixed cost to parents that couldn't win them otherwise. In most cases they would first try their luck at the game stands anyway so I didn't think it would cut into the amount of money the carnival would make.

The head of the association thought it was a great idea because he had been in the same bind as a parent himself. I also suggested the stand could sell Helium balloons as well. Helium balloons were too expensive to give away for prizes at most of the stands, and since most parents preferred them because of the safety issue with young kids running around with sticks in their hands, they were sure to be a good seller.

I had to clear the novelty stand idea with my father first, naturally. I thought it pretty likely that he would discern why I had a sudden urge to get into the carnival novelty retail business. I half expected him to say no. To my surprise he thought it was a good idea for the reasons I had proposed to the head of the association.

The only catch was that I would have to build and provide the stand which would have to be of special construction in any case so as to provide shelves and hooks to display the novelties and balloons we would be selling. Naturally my rationale for all this effort was that I would get to operate the stand, giving me the opportunity to buy balloons without any one else's knowledge. Fortunately designing and building things was always my forte, so by June I had a custom designed nicely painted carnival novelty stand constructed and ready to go.

The weekend before the carnival was scheduled, Dad who certainly must have guessed my reason for building and wanting to run the stand, suggested that since I might want to sell some items other than the regular prizes such as the Helium balloons I had suggested, that I should accompany him on his trip to the neighboring city. This was about and hour and a half drive away. I could help him select and haul the supplies needed for the carnival. I didn't realize that he was even involved in getting the supplies, but it turned out because of the nature of his job, he could take off a morning during the week when the novelty supply house where the civic association could buy carnival supplies at wholesale cost was open to pick up the merchandise. He would also make a return trip when the carnival was over to return the left over items for credit that weren't sold or given away as prizes.

The trip to the city I thought took for ever. I couldn't wait to see what a carnival supply store looked like with all the stuff that they give away at carnivals, and of course the balloons, which would be my main point of interest. We finally arrived at the store that was more like a warehouse. The place was located several blocks from the main business district in a more seedy section of the city. The showroom wasn't nearly as large as I had expected because the outfit was a carnival and decorating supply wholesaler and they only displayed a single sample of each of the thousands of different novelties that were stocked. I had envisioned seeing hundreds of boxes of balloons sitting on shelves waiting for someone to blow them up and bust them; but I could see there actually weren't any in the showroom at all. What they did have was a large bulletin board that had the different sizes and styles listed and their prices per gross, except for the small three and four inch balloons that were used for dart throw games which were priced per ten gross box. A balloon dart game was one game the association didn't have at their carnival that I noticed most of the other carnivals in the area featured.

I began to have an erection just looking at all the sizes and styles of balloons they had available. I was amazed at the prices that were easily less than half what they would cost in a retail store. Damn, so near but so far out of reach. I had brought all the money I had saved up from my school allowance with me, close to nine dollars, just in the event by some miracle my father would let me buy a box. I realized to even hint at such a thing would confirm his suspicions that he had a teenager that had a sexual attraction for inflatable rubber toys.

It took a good hour and a half to select the dozens of different prizes that were needed. The cost of the prizes given away at any game stand was critical because there was a lot of difference in the average amount of money spent by the players to record a win. I asked dad how the cost limits were established and he said that the association kept track of the cost of prizes given away at each of the game stands and the amount of money taken in and they wanted to keep the ratio between 1 / 2.5 and 1 / 4. This was not good news for me, but none the less, important information. It meant that I would have to buy most of the balloons I was planning to siphon off from my stand at the normal selling price. I was hoping to get by with just the wholesale price the association was paying, which really wouldn't have been stealing, because they would only have gone back to the dealers for credit anyway. But Dad being a high school math teacher in his former occupation would have quickly spotted the reduced profitability from my stand.

We finally got to the balloon selection. Normally all they would get was four gross of twelve inch round cheepie balloons and reed balloon sticks to go with them for the penny pitch stand. I was hoping to get two gross to sell at my stand. They looked like the same balloons that I had in my room that had such a heavenly fragrance. Dad wasn't thinking along those lines. He wanted me to only have the Helium balloons to sell. I finally talked him into getting me some of the cheepie balloons to sell at my stand; but he wouldn't budge on the four gross quantity indicating that there was nearly a half a box that hadn't been given away the previous year that had been returned for credit, and that should be enough for me to sell. (But not enough for me to buy any real quantity).

Next we turned our attention to helium balloons. The store clerk showed us some hideous colored mottled balloons which appeared to be essentially white balloons re dipped in a vat of all the left over color latex swirled together. He said because they were double dipped the rubber was thicker and they were also made with a mix of synthetic rubber. Both of these factors would reduce the Helium leakage through the balloon skin. Unfortunately it made for a balloon that smelled like chemicals; and although nearly half again as big uninflated, they only blew up to about twelve inches in diameter. They were also nearly fifty per-cent more expensive than the standard helium balloon they had listed on the selection chart and more than twice the cost of the penny pitch balloons we already selected. I didn't want to get them but father, swayed by the clerk, prevailed and we took two gross. I wondered if he thought if I didn't like them with their chemical smell I wouldn't be tempted to grab as many.

We had super weather for the three nights the carnival ran, which was great for the civic association, but not good for me getting my hands on a large number of the balloons I was selling. By the start of Saturday night they had so few left of the 'cheepie' balloons that they wouldn't let me have any more to sell at my stand. In fact they ran out of balloons about nine o'clock and started to give out some other cheap prizes that were left over from another game stand. For all my effort, he first year I ran my stand, I only wound up with a few dozen of the stick balloons; most of which had been pre inflated, having been unsold from Thursday and Friday nights. I also managed to get my hands on about three dozen of the ugly Helium jobs.

Since I didn't have to run around nearly as much as when I worked at the baseball throw I was in a position to observe the demise of several dozen of the stick balloons plus two helium balloons that escaped to balloon heaven because the parents wouldn't let me tie the balloon strings to the kids wrists. The stick balloons popping was usually the result of really small children dropping their balloons on the grass stubble of the field we were held the carnival or from swinging them wildly about which would also bring their tender rubber skins into contact with the stiff cut dry grass. Pop, pop, pop. About half the kids would cry; most of the rest just looked surprised. A couple of the older ones, I'm sure, enjoyed the act of braking their toys.

Sunday following the carnival Dad and I were on one of our monthly hikes in the mountains nearby when he casually asked why I hadn't brought home any of the helium balloons from the stand. I was surprised and concerned by his question so I said, "Why would I bring home helium balloons. It only leaks out and they go flat in just a day or so."

"Well," he said with a big smile, "I thought if you had grabbed some of them we could take them out in the yard and let them go. Then I could watch you could pop them off with your BB gun."

I didn't know for sure what he was fishing for so I replied, "I didn't feel like wasting my money on something that wouldn't last."

I was hoping he would get off the subject of balloons, but he didn't. Getting directly to the point Dad asked, "Are you telling me that you didn't take any balloons to have fun with at all?"

I replied rather sarcastically, "Yes, the boys and I (my friends Dave and Mike) bought a few that I figure we will pop off with our BB guns in the next week or so. Why, do you want me to let you know so you can watch?"

I hadn't missed the nuance in his use of the phrase 'have fun with' in place of the usual term regarding toys; 'play with'. Fortunately for me he dropped the subject at that point.

The next day I blew up two of the helium balloons several times to try to get them bigger and softer, then tied them on two of the balloon sticks and hung them over the mirror as I had done the year before. I was not opposed to a re-play of the raging sexual high I had gotten when dad had come in my room and blew up the two balloons until they burst. The synthetic rubber balloons had little oxidizing odor, however, so there was no complaints from my step mom, and at the start of school two and a half months later they were still nearly 80% of their original size.

They lasted another two months until one weekend my friend Dave was up in my room with me, and noticing that the balloons had lost some air, asked if he could re inflate them. I was certain that after nearly five months this would cause the balloons to burst. I really suspected that was Dave's intent because I had seen him blow up a couple of the ones he had bought until they popped. I told him to go right ahead; I was tired of looking at them anyway.

As he pulled the first balloon off it's stick I prepared to let him, I was hoping, unknowingly turn me on. I sat on my bed as I had when my father had finished off my other balloons the same way, watching the swirled multicolored latex stretch ever tighter as Dave forced in lung fulls of air. The balloon reached it's normal size when it suddenly went BANG. It wasn't nearly as over stretched as the natural rubber ones had been. Dave said through a silly grin, "Sorry, I thought it would get bigger."

I said, "No problem. Why don't you bust the other one. It's pretty well shot as well."

Dave was all for it, and had the second balloon off it's stick and reduced to shredded rubber in less than thirty seconds.

When Dad and I went to get the supplies for the carnival the following year I had no trouble convincing him we needed to get additional boxes of the stick balloons. The two gross of Helium balloons was more than sufficient, because even with me buying three dozen of them we still had nearly a half a gross left over. I really didn't want to waste my money on them if I could get the nice brightly colored natural rubber cheepie balloons. The mottled helium balloons were all right; a lot more fun than the small tubular penny balloons that I could get at the general store; but they didn't have the smell and the squeakiness of the natural rubber. They also tended to pop unexpectedly when not apparently over stressed. Since I was still inherently afraid of balloons deep down, this sudden explosive characteristic took the edge off my enjoyment when I was playing with them.

The second year for my direct sales novelty stand was not as good as the first. It was humid and drizzly Thursday night and we were rained out completely on Friday night. Saturday night we had a good crowd but overall the total attendance was down nearly 50%. This resulted in plenty of balloon inventory for me to buy; but again I was concerned if the stand sold too many balloons relative to the smaller crowd in attendance my father might correctly assume that the boys who helped me run the stand and I were the major balloon customers. Nonetheless I couldn't pass up the chance to buy nearly six dozen of the brightly colored stick balloons. On Saturday night as we we closing I suddenly realized I had better take the balloon sticks as well even though I had no use for them or it would have been a dead give away that I had just pocketed the six dozen balloons. I was able to sneak the balloon sticks away from the immediate carnival area and hid them under some brush off to the side where they could just slowly rot away.

Unlike the previous year when my carnival balloon inventory was all but exhausted by April, by the end of May I still had several dozen of the cheap balloons and nearly a dozen of the mottled balloons left. Since I was sure I would be able to get more in June when dad and I would make our yearly trek to the novelty store I had pretty much made up my mind I would use these balloons to overcome my balloon busting fear once and for all.  Rev.. Date 4/03
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