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My day had started out full of potential and in my wildest dreams I hadn't expected things to work out as they did. In a matter of two hours or less I had gone from a near zero fetish inventory to nearly three dozen pairs of sexy baggy scout shorts in graduated sizes and more than 3500 balloons to satisfy my balloon busting urges. My body was one mass of tingling nerves and I was fighting to keep things under control in my shorts. Fortunately dad wasn't in a talkative mood because I don't think I could have concentrated on any topic well enough to hold an intelligent conversation. All I could think about was getting home so I could examine my newly acquired treasures and hopefully before my balls exploded in my pants.

We were about halfway home and I was trying to concentrate on the passing scenery with little luck. In my mind I was contemplating over and over again how much fun I would have with the mountain of balloons I had suddenly acquired; not to mention all those super shorts I would be spending the summer romping around in. Without realizing what I was doing, my right hand had found it's way into the pocket where I had put the sample balloon from the store and I was fingering the soft rubber as I contemplated how much larger it might inflate on the second go around. I must have been doing this for 10 to 15 minutes, when without being conscious of what I was doing, I had the balloon out of the pocket of my shorts and had started to blow it up. I panicked as I suddenly realized what I was doing. I knew dad wasn't thrilled that his 16 year old son had a thing for balloons and that by sheerest luck had just been able to buy 30 gross or more of them. I also realized he would be even less thrilled that I was playing with one of them in a cram packed car on a hot muggy day.

Just letting the air out at this point and putting it away would only let him know I couldn't keep my hands off of a balloon long enough for us to get home, so I quickly finished the inflation bringing it to a nice tear drop shape; I wasn't about to chance having it pop. I held the balloon in front of me out over the dash while trying to look 'scientific' as I examined it for a few seconds. Finally the only thing I could think of to say was, "These really blow up nice and big and really look like good tough balloons. They ought to have a dandy loud pop."

I was about to release the neck and let it deflate slowly when I sensed an 'ESP Interrupt' from my father (you know those unspoken communications between two people that know each other well). I slowly let the balloon drift over toward the steering wheel. At the same time dad swung his hand holding the cigarette he was smoking toward the balloon. It was like slow motion. The burning tip 'kissed' the tightly stretched green rubber---BOOM. The noise was defining. I jumped, even though I knew the 'pop' was coming. Fortunately the front windows of the car were down or the sound would have hurt our ears. After a few moments dad said nonchalantly "Your balloon didn't seem any too tough to me; I thought it busted pretty easy. Had a good loud bang though."

I made some comment that you couldn't expect a rubber balloon to survive getting burned.

"Yes indeed," he commented, "Rubber balloons burn real easy. I think maybe I should give you a demonstration sometime."

Suddenly I got a sick feeling deep down inside. Dad had already suggested when he had found my balloon stash only a few months before  that I should consign every last one of my balloons to our furnace. The suddenness of what had happened and Dad's comments made me edgy on top of being super psyched.

I couldn't wait until I would get home, unload the carnival supplies at the association building, unload my "treasures" at the house, and say good bye to dad;. I knew he was planning to go into work for the rest of the day so I would be free to examine my treasure. The aching in my crotch was becoming unbearable and for that reason alone I couldn't wait for the trip home to end.

We were still about 2 miles from home when dad suddenly turned off the road at the intersection with a road leading to the township dump. The dump was in an isolated area for obvious olfactory reasons and was used by the local residents for their trash and garbage disposal since there was no commercial collection as we have today. The raging sexual inferno I was experiencing couldn't have cooled faster if I had been doused with a bucket of ice water.

Did dad know the extent of my love for balloons and short pants? He certainly knew that years earlier when we would have our Friday night balloon play that I would become sexually stimulated. Was he planning a sadistic ritual where he could watch me suffer as my newly acquired fetishes were to be destroyed? I was terrified of what might be the answer but I had to ask the obvious question. "Hay dad, why are we going to the dump?"

As I awaited his answer my heart began to pound. I could visualize my new found treasures going up in a huge black smelly cloud of smoke. After what seemed an eternity he replied "I want to see just what you are planning to do with all these damn balloons you bought. I also want to show you what will happen to them and all those boy scout shorts if you start getting 'silly' with them."

When we got to the dump, he drove way back to the far end behind a stand of trees. People didn't dump in this section anymore and if anyone did happen to show up they would unload much nearer the entrance. We would be undisturbed. Dad parked the car and commanded, "Get a big handful of balloons and a pair of those scout shorts from the trunk."

I said angrily, "Look, there isn't any need to destroy a perfectly good pair of shorts. I know they are just made of cotton and will burn real easy. Remember I burned that pair you ripped just last weekend."

He thought it over for a moment and replied, "Oh all right. Just bring the balloons then. And yes, you can bring the pair of jeans you wore this morning. We can burn them because you won't be needing them."

Without considering the ramifications of his last comment my only thought was that my shorts seemed safe for the moment. I grabbed a large handful of the 12" balloons from the opened box behind the car seat and stuffed them in the pockets of my shorts. Then I fished the pair of nearly new Levi jeans I had started the morning with from the bag the salesman had given me to put my clothes in.

We walked about 50 feet from the car to the edge of the woods bordering the dump when he turned and said in a sarcastic tone, "All right, show me how my big boy who likes to wear knee pants so much plans to play with his toy rubber balloons?"

I didn't have a clue what he was looking for. I was also wondering what he had discerned regarding my wearing shorts. It was a sure bet I didn't want him to see me start jacking off while blowing up a balloon; but man that is just what my ball room was screaming for.

I grabbed a balloon out of my pocket and started blowing it up while I tried to think of some sort of balloon interaction that wouldn't reveal my real love for the rubber toys and the sexy feeling of baggy shorts. I figured he still thought I was afraid to blow up balloons until they popped, which I had been up until about 2 years earlier. Back when I was seven I had disappointed him when I didn't take him up on his offer to spare the last few balloons from our balloon play if I was willing to blow one of them up until it burst. I figured if I could now demonstrate my balloon busting confidence it would be at least a good positive start.

I stood in front of him and puffed away with my legs firmly planted and my left hand on my waist. I soon had the balloon well pear shaped, I figured about two puffs to pop, when dad said, "Hay, that balloon is going to bust."

I removed the balloon from my lips, examined my father through the tightly stretched translucent rubber, and confidently said, "Isn't that what you said balloons are for? I told you they were good for my lung exercises and I was just going to bust them."

I thought I detected a smile on dad's face as I forced in the destructive additional air. Suddenly BANG! It sounded like a rifle shot; the sound echoing out into the surrounding woods. The bulk of the shredded balloon lay on the ground about 5 feet away in a clump like a small pile of spaghetti. Good tough rubber I thought. I grinned as I looked up at dad. He had that proud parent look. Great, my initial performance seamed to have met with dad's approval. It looked like I passed his first test.

"Hey," he commented, "That was all right. I see that you have finally conquered your fear of balloons. Do you enjoy breaking them like that?"

You bet, I thought. Especially since I finally have a decent supply and I am not going to be forced to make my balloons last. "Sure," I replied. "It's my favorite method. Gives my lungs a good workout. Do you want to bust off a few with me?"

I pulled some of the balloons from my pocket and handed a yellow one to dad. "Bet I can bust one faster than you," I challenged.

My father kept himself in good shape but I figured I had an edge because of his two pack a day cigarette habit and the fact that I had blown up hundreds of balloons in the past 5 years since they became available after the war. Just to give myself some additional advantage I took a red which normally won't blow up as big as the yellows. With each of us having a balloon firmly in hand I said "GO," and we both started blowing frantically.

Dad was really into it; the yellow balloon quickly obscuring his rapidly reddening face. In short order we both had our rubber toys inflated with distended necks. My balloon exploded about one breath full before his ruptured, filling the air with flying wet shards of rubber. We both grinned at each other.

"Want to try it again?" I asked as I handed him a fist full of balloons from my pocket.

We finished off two more in a near dead heat; BANG BANG. Finally dad breathlessly said, "That's enough for now. Now I want to see how my big boy really plans to play with them."

I knew what he really wanted was to see if balloon play as we had done when I was much younger would get me sexually stimulated. The answer was, of course, hell yes. Fortunately up to this point I was still so nervous that I wasn't even beginning to have an erection although I was feeling some dampness.

Since I suspected he wanted a little one on one balloon play I blew another balloon to about three quarters full, then tied it off. I started to whack my dad in the chest with it as I had done at a much younger age when dad and I would have balloon play in our living room. He instinctively grabbed at the balloon and tried to grab it away from me. The rubber squealed with delight as the balloon was squeezed and pulled out of shape between our hands as we tried to pull the toy away from each other. After about 30 seconds the tortured rubber yielded to the stress and the balloon went POOF. I quickly inflated another balloon and we resumed our play. Suddenly the balloon squirted out of both our grips and started to bound away bouncing on the ground. Dad took a quick couple of steps and trapped the wayward balloon under his shoe. I was surprised it didn't break immediately because the ground was covered with gravel, bits of broken glass, and other debris. I thought he was going to pick it up but instead, without pressing down on it any further, he twisted his foot grinding the balloon's skin into the rough surface. The balloon died quickly.

Then Dad reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lit up. I tied off the balloon I was blowing up and propelled it toward him. He held the cigarette so it would intercept the balloon's trajectory, and the balloon oblivious of it's impending doom, touched the burning tip. BANG, more torn rubber.

There was a big rock near where we were standing and for some reason (ESP again) I put my foot up on it causing my knee to jut out at hip level. Dad had rested his cigarette on the other end of the rock while he blew up and tied off another balloon. He took a step towards me and with a twisting motion pressed the balloon into my bare knee. The rubber squeaked in protest as I braced myself to prevent getting pushed over backward. I could clearly see my knee through the translucent rubber skin as the pressure from his hand forced it down over my knee cap. Finally the abuse was too much and the balloon popped.

In any other situation this kind of balloon play would have induced me to have a massive hard on. But because I was still very much concerned about the possible fate of my toys and not totally aware of dad's motives I was still relatively limp. Dad's hand which had been pressing toward my knee with considerable force, moved forward when the balloon burst and I suddenly felt him grab me in the crotch. Phew! Thank heavens I was so uptight about the situation all he felt was soft tissue. If I had the boner I was sporting before we turned into the dump I'm sure it would have been bye bye balloons right then and there. I was suddenly angered by Dad's checking me out in such a direct way, but I felt I had passed this portion of his balloon test. Thankfully because of my fear I hadn't been turned on by our balloon play and was in control of my stim.

After his quick feel dad removed his hand aa I took my foot off the rock and faced him. He looked me over from head to toe and to my surprise changed the subject, "You know boy, you are going to get the shit kicked out of you when other boys see those pretty legs of yours sticking out of those shorts. You had better get yourself in real good physical shape this summer and get those knees toughened up or your going to be getting them bloodied up real good. Do you think you have the guts and are tough enough to wear shorts? I'm telling you now I didn't buy all these little boy pants for you to just have them laying around in a drawer. As a matter of fact you will be wearing these shorts all the time; not just around the house or lawn mowing, or while you are running around down in the woods. This includes when you are out in public and with your buddies. In fact your school has no dress code (he would know because he served on the school board until we moved out to the country) that would prohibit your wearing these shorts to high school either so you really ought to wow the girls this fall."

Dad's words hit me in the gut as though he had thrown a punch. Oh oh, I thought. What did I commit to back at the department store. After thinking about what I might be getting myself into I didn't no what to say. If I appeared anything less than enthusiastic my shorts would be short lived. The only thought that came to mind was, "I think I can handle it. I expect to come home with bloody knees from time to time."

"Good," he shot back, "I expect to see you sporting some dirty well skinned knees this summer."

I knew that wouldn't be any problem. As soon as my two buddies got a gander at my new get up they were sure to try to beat up on me again as they had when they saw me wearing my gym shorts two years earlier. I was hoping with all the uniforms in different sizes we had bought their might be some smaller shorts I thought would fit each of them. I was hoping I could count on their mom mom insisting that they wear them. I figured if Dave and Mike had their knees out it would eliminate any attacks or ridicule on their part.

Dad continued to gaze at my bare legs which seemed to hold his interest. To aid his scrutiny, I put my foot back up on the rock. This caused the full cut leg of the scout shorts to droop down invitingly below my upper thigh. As I did so he picked up the cigarette he had laid on the rock in his right hand and stepped towards me. Suddenly he gripped my knee as he abruptly announced "What I need to know here and now is whether you are a little boy that likes to wear shorts because that's what little boys get to wear or whether you have become a man fearlessly willing to show off his strong manly legs."

Although my heart was not in my words I figured I had better give him the answer he wanted to hear, "I told you I am man enough to handle it."

"Well then let's see how much of a man you are then, boy," Dad responded. "Let's see if you can handle a little pain like a man."

I instinctively knew what was coming as I tried to do an instant mental nerve block. In a quick sweeping motion Dad reached over and pressed the burning tip of the cigarette slowly into my knee cap. The searing pain was unbelievable. I tried to avoid flinching and screaming as I audibly sucked in my breath. I could still see the end of the cigarette glowing as the first whiff of burning flesh hit my nostrils. Dad was making sure the cigarette burned in good and deep. Finally he removed his instrument of torture with the comment, "You did good son. I'll tell you what. Let's see those jeans you were wearing earlier this morning".

Dad had already indicated what he wanted my jeans for and as I picked them up from the ground where I had dropped them I zipped up the fly and buttoned the waist.
I was hoping we were going to hang them up from the waist and I knew from burning shorts in this manner that they would burn much more spectacularly with the fly and waist closed up. As I held up the sacrifice, my best pair of blue jeans, Dad handed me his lighter.

"Since you will be wearing shorts for the next couple of years you won't be needing long pants for some time, so you might as well start off by getting rid of this pair," he said sarcastically.

I hung my nearly new pair of Levi's from the waist in a dead nearby tree so the legs hung loosely straight down. As I was hanging up my jeans Dad had blown up another balloon to about 8" diameter. He came over and stuck the balloon in the seat of the pants causing the hip area to fill out as though they were being worn. As I contemplated their eminent fiery destruction my balls became itchy with excitement. However at the same time a chill swept over me as I thought about the horror of attending high school in short pants. Could he really be serious?

I applied the flame of Dad's lighter to the hem of each of the legs and watched with growing arousal as the hungry flames devoured the heavy denim. They had gotten about 4" up each leg when the super heated air trapped in the jeans finished off the balloon dad had stuck in the top. It died with a tired "poof". The pants sagged together at the waist as the flames roared up through the legs. Meanwhile Dad had blown up another balloon as we watched. As the flames roared skyward he released it causing it to jet forward into the inferno where it died on contact. Following his lead I blew up a balloon but when I released it it veered off to the side and didn't get close enough to the flames to pop it. I ran over and retrieved the balloon with the intent of trying to fly it into the inferno again, but as I passed the burning pants, on an impulse, I tossed the limp latex bag over the burning waistband. It instantly shriveled from the intense heat and quickly began to burn. Drops of burning rubber dribbled down the flaming cotton and dripped on the ground. I had unwittingly given father the opportunity to comment, "See how nice and easy balloons burn. That's what I think you really should do with all the balloons you got today as well as the ones you have hidden at home. Since you say you are a man the only balloons you should be thinking about are the thin white ones you slip on your dick. You do know what they are used for, don't you? I would be happy to buy you some if it would give you more normal sexual desires."

I would have loved to take him up on his offer, but i suspected it was an either or deal. Since puberty the mess associated with orgasm had been a problem because my normal process was face down as I scrubbed my tool on the bed. I almost always wore thin gym shorts to jack off in and to prevent wetting the bed sheets I had to get my hand quickly down in my shorts under the end of my stem to catch my juice. I had swiped a few condoms in the past from dad's shirt drawer and they solved the mess problem admirably. In addition the thin rubber sheath, well lubbed with my pre cum, heightened my sexual pleasure. The rubbers were reusable a dozen or more times until the rubber finally fatigued and they would suddenly burst, usually at climax, inevitably resulting in me juicing my shorts.

Father was watching me intently so I knew he was expecting a response to his suggestion from me. All I could do was be a bit dishonest as I replied, "Dad I really do like blowing up and busting balloons and not in the way you think. They make great targets for my air gun. They are fun to play with and break. Come on. Even you like to bust them with your cigarettes. I have plenty of time for serious sexual stuff later. At least you don't have to worry about me getting any girls in trouble."

Dad remarked, "Yes that is a good thing, but I wish that you were more inclined along those lines. You can keep your silly balloons for now but if your mom or brother ever find any of them or if I ever hear tell of anyone seeing you jacking off while playing with them, they are gone. Do you understand."

"Yes dad," I replied curtly. "I understand fully."

The pants were quickly consumed and when they burned down to some black ash on the gravel Dad said "Come on, let's go. I've got to get to work".

Then he added, "When we get home, you can gather up all the rest of your long pants and this Saturday we can bring them up here and put a match to them off as well. Also, if I find out you are using these shorts or your gym shorts for sex play or homosexual acts I will destroy them and punish you more severely than you have ever been in your life."

His comments regarding my long pants really filled me with apprehension as I thought ahead to school the following fall. I knew that he was aware of all the gym shorts that I had hidden away and I was afraid he was becoming aware of a;; the sexually stimulating things I might be using them for.

We drove the two miles to the association building in silence. My knee burned like it was still on fire. I had to make a concerted effort not to try to ease my discomfort by messaging it with my hand. Fortunately we were able to quickly unloaded all the carnival supplies. Then we headed to our house an additional half mile away. I unloaded my treasures from the floor behind the front seat as well as the trunk and placed them in a big pile along side the driveway. I was hoping dad was going to immediately take off for work but he announced instead that he was going to fix himself some lunch first.

As we each ate a sandwich all I could think about was checking out the 14" balloons that I hadn't even seen yet. What kind were they? How big would they get? Was the rubber any good? We ate lunch in silence. As he was getting ready to leave he told me "I want you to put your balloons somewhere where there is no chance your stepbrother or stepmother will ever find them. If he does, or I ever catch you involving him in your balloon play, I will gladly destroy them and paddle your ass raw. Put all the shorts you are not going to wear up in the attic where he is not likely to find them. Also you had better put some ointment on your knee".

I suddenly realized that it still burned like crazy. I was so sexually stimulated thinking about the fun times ahead that the severe pain had been blocked out of my mind. Finally after an interminable length of time dad left and I was finally home alone.

I rushed out to the boxes still stacked by the driveway and quickly ripped open the top of the box with the 14 inchers inside. I stuffed my hand into the mass of soft rubber and pulled out a yellow beauty. I quickly blew it up and was somewhat disappointed to find it was an opaque rather than a clear like the twelve inch balloons, but the smell said natural rubber so I wasn't disappointed. I inflated the balloon to what I felt was near the burst point. The balloon must have reached at least sixteen inches in diameter. I just couldn't hold my sexual drive any longer. I let some of the air out of the balloon and tied it off so I could undo it later. I took the balloon into the detached summer kitchen off the end of the driveway, unbuttoned the fly of my shorts, and started pumping my stick while rubbing the balloon with my other hand as I pressed it against the side of my face. I envisioned all the fun I would have with the thousands of balloons in the boxes. My thoughts were quickly interrupted however, as I exploded all over the balloon and the summer kitchen floor. Oh wow what relief.

I carried all the boxes of shorts and balloons into the house. I sorted out the uniforms that would fit me and my two friends, and carried the rest up to the attic as instructed. I pulled out about four hundred of the eleven inch and about one hundred of the fourteen inch and put them in separate bags  for using stock. Then I took them upstairs, hiding them away in the back of my upper dresser drawer where they would be out of reach of my little stepbrother. The rest of my balloon bonanza I placed in large grocery bags that I sealed in air tight 5 gallon steel containers. I buried the containers in the loose soil under the front porch. With my new found fetishes secured I raced upstairs and blasted off again in my bedroom. By day's end I had set a new record for orgasms.  Revision Date 2/03.
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