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I was really upset at the close of the carnival on Saturday night when my father had helpfully carried the more than 1/2 gross of 560 airship balloons back into the storeroom before I had a chance to buy them. After the incident at the dump I didn't want him thinking son / balloon in one thought, so asking him outright if I could buy some of them was out of the question. I thought they were goners because they would be returned to the novelty suppliers with the rest of the left over merchandise during the next week. I never went with dad on the return trip because it wasn't fun like selecting the prizes when we went to pick them up. However as luck would have it he was tied up with work and wasn't going until the following week.

A week Sunday from the close of the carnival he noticed an advertisement from the large sporting goods store in the city. They were having a massive clearance sale on all their stock because they were moving from their center city location to a larger new store in a place called a mall. Father, who made a point of keeping himself in shape with nightly calisthenics, mentioned offhand "They have barbell sets on sale. I think you better start some serious weight training to get some muscles on you before school starts. I am also going to get us boxing gloves and give you some lessons so you have some chance of defending yourself when the kids at school start beating up on you when they see those pretty legs you've got. (Dad had been in the boxing club at college). You can come along Wednesday and give me a hand when I take the carnival supplies back."

I sudden chill came over me; was he serious about forcing me to wear the dozens of scout shorts he had just gotten me to school? Even if I could shut up their smart ass mouths I still would be the laughing stock of the whole town and no matter how much I could muscle up I would never be able to take on some of the big farm boys who were in the six foot 200 pound range. I couldn't imagine he would deliberately humiliate me in such a manner just because I had a thing for wearing short pants and busting balloons. (I'm fairly sure he didn't know that wearing shorts was a turn on for me at this point). My other concern in going with him was the realization that I would be walking around bare kneed in a store that was bound to be crowded with 'jocks' because of the massive sale they were running. I didn't relish having to contend with the stares and snickers my bare legs would be sure to generate. But I agreed to go because I made a commitment (more than I had anticipated) to wear shorts at all times no matter what the situation plus I really didn't think his request for my participation was optional.

Early Wednesday morning we went down to the association building to pick up the left over carnival prizes. As far as the left over balloons was concerned this was going to be it; now or never. We were checking the remaining quantities of prizes and consolidating smaller boxes containing the left over prizes into larger boxes that the stuffed animals had been in. Finally we got to the box of 560 airship balloons. It was still more than half full. I was instantly aroused by the fun I knew I could have with them so I took a deep breath and said "Those balloons would be great to inflate and shoot up into the air like a rocket. Would you mind if I bought the rest of the box for cost."

My heart was pounding as he slowly turned from looking at the balloons, and with a disgusted look at me said, "Do you really need more rubber toys to play with?"

I indicated again how much fun these balloons would be as rockets. Finally Dad said "All right, if you insist. We'll count them and you can give me the money when we get back."

We soon got to the box of left over round helium balloons. It was nearly full. I didn't have any more money for balloons and in any case they were a rather hideous mottled color and the rubber had a high synthetic content. Also they had a distinct chemical smell to them. He stuck the box of balloons in front of me expecting I would want them as well, but I fooled him and said no.

There were two boxes of the penny pitch stand balloons left. These were solid color natural rubber and appeared to be the same manufacturer as the thousands of advertising balloons I had bought a week earlier. One box was a full gross, the second from the penny pitch stand only had about a dozen balloons left. Dad opened the nearly empty box first, and noting the few balloons grabbed them out of the box and handed them to me saying "Add these to your rubber toy collection."

I was squatting on the floor and shifted my weight around to allow for the expansion that was occurring in my shorts. Dad tossed the empty box in the corner. Actually I was more interested in the box at that point than the few balloons it contained. I had noticed while tending the carnival stand that the manufactured had thoughtfully supplied suggestions on how to efficiently destroy the contents of the box on the under side of the lid (balloon busting games). I was always interested in new ways to "sacrifice" my rubber fetishes.

Dad grabbed the full box next, and noting that it was unopened, was about to put it in with the rest of the returned merchandise when he suddenly said "I suppose you want to add these to your collection."

I indicated I didn't have any more money. Then he surprised me by saying "All right, I'll buy them for you. This will make us more than square for your balloons I busted the other week."

We were done at this point and I was afraid to stand up for fear my now totally stiff staff would produce an obvious bulge in the front of my shorts. Fortunately I was able to pick up one of the larger boxes to conceal my embarrassment. The pressure of the load I was carrying against my stem did nothing to help me regain control. I still had a half hard on by the time we set out for the city.

To my great relief the trip down was free from any mention of balloons or my preference for wearing shorts. We went to the novelty supply house first and unloaded the carnival supplies that we were returning. The owner recognized me immediately as soon as I walked in the door and he wasted no time in asking me how my scout troop enjoyed all the balloons he had practically given me. Unfortunately for me he was very interested, it seemed, in the details of every pop. I think he might have had a thing for balloons as well because he relished every word of BS that I gave him describing balloon breaking games. Father couldn't help but over hear our conversation and started giving me dirty looks.

Finally we got all the stuff we had brought back hauled into the store and counted. After about five minutes of feverish activity on his Monroe hand operated mechanical calculator he arrived at a the figure for our refund and made out a check and gave it to dad. Then we were off to the sporting goods store down town.

Even though it was midday on a Wednesday the down town area was crowded with shoppers and we had to park a good block away from the store. I was wondering how we were going to lug a heavy set of barbells that distance. We paused as we entered to look in the show windows that were packed with all kinds of sporting goods merchandise, all tagged with sale prices or % off labels. There was a male mannequin sporting a tennis outfit and I stared at the nice full cut pristine white shorts that it was wearing. They looked just like the shorts the kid had been wearing as he rode the merry-go-round at the park three years earlier. Seeing his beautiful youthful muscular legs as he sat astride his horse had really turned me on and instantly ignited my shorts fetish. Dad followed my gaze and commented, "I'm going to buy you a couple pair of those white shorts while we are here so you will have something nice to wear for dress up occasions."

I think he must have enjoyed the pain that I am sure showed on my face.

I also noticed hanging from a shelf in the window they had cotton gym shorts they were unloading at three pair for a dollar. I suggested to dad that we should also buy some of them as well to wear when we were working out because I didn't want to wear out and stink up my scout shorts for this activity. Dad said, "What on earth did you do with all the gym shorts you scavenged from school a couple of years ago?"

Oh oh, I was sure I had pushed my sexual passion along these lines too far. But then dad didn't really know the make up and extent of my scrounged gym shorts inventory so I replied, "I think most of them are probably too small for me and certainly for you.

This wasn't at all true; there were probably at least 4 dozen pair that would easily fit him stashed up in our attic.

I continued, "Besides they have kids names on them as well as the school logo and you wouldn't want to be running around in them now would you? Besides these are cheap enough. We can afford to buy a few."

Dad agreed to think about getting some along with the rest of the stuff we had come for, and we went in.

The store was crowded and as I had anticipated my shorts pants scout uniform quickly drew unusual attention. It took us a while to locate the barbell equipment and even longer to find a clerk to wait on us. I spent the time checking out the tennis and cheepie gym shorts which I found were made of thin cotton sheeting in at least eight bright colors. There were boxes and boxes of them, one color to a box, in sizes ranging from small to extra large. As I looked at the shorts I realized they would be great to wear as sleep shorts and to lounge around the house in. I had done this with the gym shorts from school that had my name on them but I was very self conscious when I was wearing the salvaged gym shorts with the other kids names on them or what my little step brother and my stepmother would think. I had been wearing the other boys gym shorts as under pants, for sleeping, and always when I was engaged in my nightly masturbation activity.

By this time dad had found a sales clerk who wrote up the 210 pound barbell set. Fortunately, as it turned out, we could pick them up at a loading dock in the rear of the store. I least I would make it home without a hernia. The clerk, who had been sizing me up, then directed us to the area where they had the boxing gear. Dad proceeded to pick out out two pair of boxing gloves and naturally had to tell the guy why he was buying them. I turned away to hide my embarrassment as the clerk piped up, "Gee, with his strong looking build he shouldn't have any problem. At least your boy isn't afraid to show off his good looking legs like mine is. My son is only ten and I can't get him into short pants no way."

Dad replied, "Yes he is not afraid to get his legs a little skinned up and dirty. So he decided he preferred cool comfortable shorts to long pants; so that's all he wears any more."

I thought to myself, I hope dad doesn't mean for ever more. Along with the gloves he also got two teeth protectors to, as he put it, prevent him from knocking my pearly whites out. I could see this might be a problem if you got pasted in the kisser with bare knuckles but I couldn't see why they would be needed with the big fat boxing gloves. Man would I soon find out.

While we were in the area the clerk strongly suggested dad buy a striking bag that would allow me / us to develop our punching timing. Dad really didn't want to spend the additional money and I was beginning to fear that he would buy it at the expense of getting the gym shorts. I very much wanted the white tennis shorts just to add to my burgeoning collection; but I did not look forward to having to wear them as dress up in public. At this point the clerk offered to knock an additional couple of bucks off the price seeing as how we were buying quite a bit of stuff and the store was really trying to unload as much merchandise as they could, so we added the striking bag to our loot.

It turned out there was no question about the tennis shorts. Dad had set his mind that nice baggy white mid thigh length shorts was just what his sixteen year old son should be wearing to church and social events. I tried not to even think about the embarrassment and humiliation I would have to endure, so I mentally pushed all my negative thoughts out of my mind. I determined I would cross that social bridge when I had to. The clerk didn't have any way to measure me so dad just held the shorts up around my waist and guessed at the size. He said he wanted them plenty big because I wouldn't be wearing them that often and he didn't want me to grow out of them too soon. Thank God he didn't force me to try them on and model them for the onlookers pleasure.

I then reminded dad about the gym shorts, mentioning that they would also be great to sleep in as well as for our workouts. Since dad also slept in his Jockey's he allowed that it sounded like a good idea and that I should go over and grab an assortment of colors in sizes that would fit the both of us. I gleefully made my way to the counter with all the boxes and selected two dozen pair of large for me and a dozen pair of extra large for dad in several assorted colors. Included in my size I grabbed a few yellow and orange. I would regret later that I hadn't substituted more dark green and navy blues. When I brought them over I was surprised dad didn't freak out at the quantity I had grabbed. I told him it was a one time buy; they normally sold for $.79 each, and he went along with it.

The clerk tallied our bill and dad paid cash. (No credit cards back then and stores rarely took personal checks). We walked to the car carrying only the shorts we had bought. The barbell set and the boxing gear the clerk moved to the shipping dock. It took us a bit to find the service alley and get to the loading platform where our friendly clerk was waiting. Fortunately the barbell set came in several boxes. I knew the long bar would have to be separate but I had just assumed the remaining 200 pounds or so of iron would be in one back breaking carton. After some minor huffing and puffing on my part we were loaded up and headed on our way home.

I wasn't sexually aroused as we left the store as I had been three weeks earlier when we had traveled the same route knowing that I had more than three dozen boy scout shorts and several thousand balloons in the car with me. I made a point of not thinking at all about the gym shorts we had bought and the enjoyment I most certainly would derive from wearing them. Instead I concentrated on the tennis shorts and how could I avoid wearing them in public; especially at dress up occasions. I knew that five year olds were still pressed into white knee pants for special dress up, usually against their will, by doting mothers who wanted to show their little darlings off. The thought of my being 'demoted' to such a five year old class was more than I could comprehend.

On the trip home father proceeded to outline our new physical fitness regimen. For the summer and fall months we would work out with the barbell set in the barn. There was also a suite of calisthenics that I would be following daily, except Sunday. He emphasized that it was for my own good to have a strong healthy body, which I couldn't argue with, and it would be worth all the effort and sweat that he wanted me to put into it. Little did I guess how much that effort and sweat would be.

I asked him about the boxing lessons and he indicated that it would not only benefit my confidence to know that I could take care of myself in an ugly situation but it was good exercise and would greatly improve my reflexes. I had to admit I was very timid and introverted and I had long wished I could be more assertive in dealing with others, so I mentally bought into the boxing aspect of my new phys-ed regimen.

Dad still hadn't addressed the major topic on my mind; wearing the white tennis shorts. Finally I just had to broach the subject and I said, "Dad, are you really going to make me wear white tennis shorts to church, in town, and other places when we go out as a family?"

He gave me a wide grin as he replied, "Yes son. You made a commitment that you wanted to wear shorts instead of long pants when we stopped at the dump. I know that you are embarrassed wearing them in public places but frankly I think you look damn good in shorts and I am proud that you are willing to take the physical and emotional abuse from many of your friends. I know that your friend Bob doesn't seem to mind wearing shorts; his dad tells me he wears shorts as often as long pants and he isn't afraid to wear them in public either."

Not a convincing argument, I thought. My friend Bob, at over six foot and 220 pounds, was in condition to go on a pro wrestling tour and didn't have to give a rats rump what anyone thought about his attire. Dad continued, "That reminds me. You didn't round up all your long pants so we could take them up to the dump and burn them. Remember that was part of our deal."

No I surely didn't remember. I did remember, though, the flames racing up the legs of the Levys I had been wearing that day and watching how easily the tough cotton pants burned. It had surely added to my sexual stimulation. I remembered he had mentioned it and I was hoping at the time he was just kidding. If I had to attend high school wearing scout shorts or the white tennis shorts we had just bought, I would just shrivel up and die. In any case the school bullies would finish me off the first day when I showed up for school.
Revision Date 2/03.
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