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It had been two years since our last family get together at the small local amusement park. It was there that I had seen the good looking boy about my age wearing white shorts as he was riding the carrousel astride a coal black charger. Seeing his strong muscular legs and the flapping of the full cut legs of the shorts he had guts enough to wear in such a public place as he spun around and around was a real turn on for me. It re-kindled my earlier childhood enjoyment that wearing abbreviated pants had provided; especially when I would be playing with my balloons.

It had just been a few weeks since dad and I had returned the carnival supplies to the wholesalers in the nearby city. On our way home we had stopped by a major sporting goods store that was in the process of re-locating and had all their stock at half price or less. As a result we not only picked up over two hundred pounds of Healthways weights and, ugh, boxing gear to facilitate dad's brutal punishment of my bare kneed body, but also a number of cheepie gym shorts along with two oversize pair of white tennis shorts. These my father intended his little boy wear on dress up occasions such as Sunday mornings and ugh, family outings.

The white shorts were stuffed in my bureau drawer under the gym shorts and hadn't been touched since the day we brought them home and I modeled them for the family. I know that either dad had second thoughts as to what people would think of him to have his sixteen year old son show up in church in crisp white shorts or whether he might have mentioned his plan to our straight laced fuddy duddy pastor who I'm sure would have been aghast at the thought of a child of either sex over six years of age showing up with bare knees. In any case nothing further had been said in regard to his dictate that I was to wear short pants at all times even in public settings as long as I was living at home and the sexy white shorts remained hidden from public view. This resulted in a few hours each week on Sunday mornings I was properly attired for a lad of my age in long pants.

The family reunion was on a Sunday and we had to hustle when we got back from church to round up all the eats and other paraphernalia that our large family picnic at the amusement park entailed. On our previous outing at the same park two years earlier I had just worn the clothes I had on for church. As we rushed into the house to gather up everything we needed to take, there was no mention by dad that I was to change to my youthful white knee pants outfit. This surprised me since my step mom had little brother (he was five at the time) change from his "longies" to play shorts.

Since I could never be sure when dad would be testing me, I decided I would be pro-active on this occasion and wear the tennis shorts to the park. This would eliminate an opportunity for him to chastise me for being chicken to show off my legs in public and then demand that I wear them anyway. If on the other hand he had actually forgotten his demeaning requirement I would demonstrate I was committed to wearing shorts in public in spite of verbal flack I would certainly be getting from our relatives as well as other strangers. In any case since the boy two years earlier, even though he was younger, had enough nerve to show off his strong muscular legs, then I figured that I had better have at least as much guts to wear shorts so as well.

When I came down from my room and presented myself to the family I was surprised when Dad commented, "Hey, so you're really going to wear your cute little boy pants today. Good. I'm glad to see you're not ashamed to show off your good looking legs."

The sarcastic sound of his words ticked me off and I was about to blast him with the fact that it was his idea that I wear shorts in public. I had only wanted to wear them around the house to work and play in. Then my stepmother interjected that it was going to be a hot humid day and I was really dressed intelligently like she had my little brother.

It was a little over an hour drive to the park. During this time I mulled over possible strategies to deal with smart aleck comments from other family members we hadn't seen in two years. I also faced the likelihood that I would be confronted by other boys and girls my age or older who would probably welcome any opportunity to do more to me than just make nasty remarks concerning my attire. For the first case I would have to grin and bear it or risk dire consequences when we returned home at day's end. In the case of confrontations with other peers I was hoping the presence of the crowds at the park would forestall having to deal with any actual physical confrontations.

The thirty or so relatives that showed up were older and had adult children, many of whom weren't there, so aside from Little Brother the only other children were two sisters that were a couple of years older than he, a boy who was maybe four, and an infant in a stroller. As I had expected my abbreviated outfit caught everyone's attention, but to my surprise I was not hit with a barrage of innuendoes assaulting my masculinity or maturity from the men. As usual the women thought I looked cool and cute, and as the torrid day wore on I think most of the family acknowledged that, dress code norms for teenagers aside, I was wearing the most intelligent attire in the grown up group.

After endless rounds of bla bla blahs while waiting for everyone to show up we finally got to stuff ourselves with all the provisions that we had brought. For all the women this was the moment of truth. They had to bring enough of their specialty goodies to ensure there was plenty for everyone who wanted some while at the same time hoping that their offerings would be accepted by other family members, and hopefully when everyone had gorged themselves, there would be none left. The ultimate disgrace after everyone had finished eating was for one of the women to have to claim a bowl that was still mostly full. Fortunately my step mom was a good cook and her offerings were well accepted. This meant that dad and I didn't have to bust our guts shoveling in food we had lugged from home that mom made as some of the other family groups were forced to do.

After lunch I was so over stuffed all I wanted to do was find a cool spot in the shade and take a snooze. Although he had packed away a good load, Little Brother however, was hot to trot to check out the attractions and rides in the park. Father had made it clear that since he was now five and I was a mature teen that this year the task would fall to me. To this end he gave me a princely sum of five bucks to blow on him plus an additional three for my use. This was an unexpected bonus because I was supposed to use my allowance money to pay for rides, eats, or other items I might buy for myself.

As we headed out it seemed that the park wasn't as crowded as it had been two years earlier. Except for the poor excuse for a roller coaster that had maybe a thirty foot initial drop, there didn't appear to be lines of people waiting to get on any of the other rides. GREAT! Little Brother and I made a beeline for the marry-go-round. I couldn't wait to re-create the scene I had found so sexually stimulating two years before. Now fate had brought me back to the very spot clothed in pristine white shorts just as he had been.

I quickly spotted the flared nostril black charger located on the outside of the platform that had most certainly carried hundreds of thousands of brave lads, including the one who had fearlessly worn white shorts, into untold mythical battles. I was aghast to discover, however, that he had undergone a metamorphosis either due to a badly needed paint job or intentionally. In any case my mighty steed had gone from coal black to piebald. As we came up he was being ridden by a man in his early thirties who it turned out had two children with him. I was hoping he would get off at the next stop so I might have a chance to be the heroic steeds next rider. Little Brother said he liked the merry-go-round so I bought enough tickets to get us each five rides on it or any of the other amusements. I was hoping he was now big and strong enough that he could hang onto his own horse so I wouldn't be forced to ride standing next to him just to make sure he didn't fall off on his noggin.

Finally the current ride came to an end and I was in luck. The guy and his two kids got off and since we could mount the rotating platform at any point I had positioned myself so the steed I secretly desired to mount stopped right in front of me. I had no trouble commandeering my choice and hoisting Little Brother on a somewhat smaller stylized pony that was next in toward the center. Once I got him aboard LB was somewhat leery about falling off since his rather short stocky legs didn't afford much grip on the well worn wooden saddle and his feet dangled several inches above the English stirrups that appeared to be quite functional if his legs had been longer.

With Little Brother secured (I hoped) I mounted the charger which was one of the larger horses on the ride at probably around fourteen hands. Figuring to emulate my heroes of the Saturday western flicks I eschewed use of the stirrup and just heaved myself up into the rather deep medieval style saddle. As I swung my right leg over the cantle I quickly realized I had made a grievous error as I wound up seriously abusing some of my private parts. I settled into the worn worm saddle and the bare flesh of my legs pressed against my horses wooden flanks. The sensuous feeling I had hoped to experience was temporarily obliterated by the throbbing pain from my banged nuts. I was hoping no one noticed my boo boo as I quickly instituted major pain control while trying to display a look of total confidence. I was acutely aware that my bare knees had commanded the attention of many that were standing nearby as well as the other riders and I was sure several must have noted my less than professional mount.

Fortunately the college age girl running the ride hadn't noticed my gaffe. As she came around to collect tickets from the riders she paused to tell me she liked to see older guys that weren't afraid to show off their legs at places other than swimming pools. Then Little Brother had to go and blurt out, "Yah, he doesn't like to wear long pants at all. He wears shorts all the time."

My face suddenly felt like someone had thrown boiling water right on my cheeks. Little Brother was pleased with the response he had elicited. The girl, sensitive to my embarrassment, quickly turned to my brother and said, "Well he looks good in shorts. At least he doesn't have skinny legs like most older boys. It looks like your going to have nice strong legs like your brothers too."

As she said that she gave Little Brothers calf a squeeze then moved on. When she had finished collecting the tickets she got the ride started. Phew, made it through the first direct encounter.

It wasn't a very large merry-go-round and the speed of rotation required leaning inward as well as active use of the outboard stirrup along with a secure leg grip in order to remain seated without resorting to the shameful aid of grabbing on to the pole as many were doing. I quickly saw little brother was having difficulty keeping his hind end planted in his saddle. He had a death grip on the pole which eliminated any chance of him flying outward and landing up against my horse, but he was in danger of his body being twisted toward me and winding up hanging by his hands between our two mounts. Fortunately I was able to lean over far enough to grab him by his waist and push his rump back into position as his prancing steed came down and mine went up. After doing this several times I finally got him to pull himself away from me with his left leg so that his ass was positioned askew toward the near side of his horse. This seemed to solve his problem and most of the terror left his eyes.

I spent the rest of the ride eyeing up the bystanders, mostly parents with kids on the merry-go-round, to see if any seemed to be enamored by my unusual display of male skin hugging the off flank of my prancing steed. The saddle pressed the seat of my shorts and the perhaps five inch inseam legs well up into my crotch. This pulled the hems of my shorts well up my thighs giving me additional exposure over what I would have had if I was just seated on a chair. I could feel the loose folds of white cotton legs flapping in the breeze against them. But darn I was disappointed. There didn't appear to be any boys of impressionable age eyeing me up.

Because the rides weren't crowded the operators were in no rush to stop and re-load customers so the first ride lasted what must have been a good five minutes. The normally unused muscles I was employing to maintain a grip on the horse were already beginning to complain by the time our first ride ended. As I feared, after nearly being unseated, little brother wasn't immediately interested in any further horsey rides so we got off and headed for the Tilt-A Whirl.

Most of the amusement park's rides went round and round and I soon discovered that round and round after eat and eat produced a nauseating feeling in my gut. Turned out Little Brother's stomach seemed impervious to the gyrations our bodies had undergone on several of the rides that I frankly had thought would scare the shit out of him, so I finally had to call a halt and we sat on a bench so my insides could catch up with my outsides. Aside from disapproving stares from some adults and snickers and giggles from teens and adolescents our forty five minutes or so of barf inducing motion did not trigger any stressful encounters.

I noted that several Amish boys about my age were forced to endure the same ridicule as I. In addition the stares, pointed fingers, and giggles, they had to be dying from the heat in their black long pants and jacket outfits with black broad brimmed hats to boot. Thinking about this ticked me off because their dress was an involuntary religious requirement. In my case I was wearing shorts because I wanted to wear shorts. Later, however, when I went over to commensurate with two of them they flat out called me a sissy and queer which really boiled my blood. One of their dads came over and prevented me from getting involved in something that would have really gotten me busted up.

Near where we were sitting was a building housing a novelty concession that was selling all sorts of gee-gaws as well as balloons, both Helium and on a stick. Since my only sexual arousal of the day had been marred by my inept horsemanship I told Little Brother I would get him a balloon to play with. Five year olds fully understand that when balloons touch things, especially out of doors, they go BANG. However it is inherently impossible for them not to do so, therefore I was confident Little Brother would provide me some sexual stimulation within a matter of minutes. The little sucker was ahead of me, however, insisting that I buy him two stick balloons because he cried, "One of them will probably get busted right away."

I would have preferred a less public spot but he ran with his delicate toys back to the bench we had been sitting on. To make things really embarrassing he insisted he could only enjoy swinging one of them around at a time so he stuck me with holding the other one. I immediately tried to find a way to secure the balloon stick into the slats of the bench so I could distance myself from such an obvious child's toy. As I was doing this I wondered if he realized how much sillier he made me look in my shorts holding the damn balloon he had insisted on handing me. I decided I had better not underestimate my step brother's mental cunning on occasions when he wanted to insure I got 'mine'.

My efforts to stow the balloon were patently unsuccessful as the slightest breeze caused it to fall out and head for sure destruction on the gravel covered ground, so I just clamped the end of the stick on the bench seat with my hand allowing the balloon to dangle over the end away from me.

Needless to say in a matter of moments a gaggle of giggling girls spotted the two of us, each with our balloon in hand. They soon rushed over to behold firsthand such an unusual sight. Their mirth and interest in us was most certainly not due to little brother bouncing a nice fat red balloon off his pretty white knees that were sticking out of his navy blue shorts. A fat slob of a girl that was wearing either painted on or shrink fit pink short shorts that caused her tummy and leg flab to explode in a nicely rounded fillet at the legs and waist of her pants spearheaded the verbal assault.

I smiled at her insinuations then told the girls with as much sarcasm as i could muster, "Yes indeed, I love to play with balloons. Always have. Always will. And I love to wear shorts too. It makes me feel like a little boy which is what I always want to be."

I figured truth is stranger than fiction and I hoped the other broads and passers by were well aware the girls were just jerking my string. My verbal agreement with their assessment of my maturity plus the fact that I managed to keep from getting hot and flustered completely blunted their attack and after a few more snide remarks and lots of additional laughter they moved on.

I told little brother to hurry up and bust the red balloon he was playing with or otherwise take the pretty dark blue one I was holding off my hands. He gave me a sadistic grin and said, "I know you like to crack balloons. (That was the term he used in place of more grammatically correct 'burst' when a rubber balloon's life ended). You crack that one and I'll crack this one."

A sudden chill came over me as I replied, "No, I bought these for you to play with and you're not supposed to just pop them. They're too expensive here at the park just to bust."

Damn did he know something, suspect something, had he overheard something, or was his comment just simply an observation of my occasional 'public' balloon play. I hoped like hell the latter was the case.

I made a move to leave the bench and seek more isolated safety at the picnic pavilions, but he insisted as far as he was concerned we were far from done having fun. He held his balloon lower and instead of rapping it on his knobby knees he began to give it good kicks with the toes of his sneakers. This upped the abuse the tight red rubber was sustaining, and I knew if he had any ground in dirt on the toe of either of his sneakers he would soon be holding a stick with red rubber remains hanging from the end. The balloon appeared to be the same as the cheepie ones I had sold at the carnival (and also had a couple thousand or so hidden away at home), so I was certain that he would soon need his back-up balloon.

It's got to be somebody's law that you always wind up with an indestructible balloon when you want to get rid of it. After several minutes of vigorous leg work along with attracting the attention of several other people who wanted to witness first hand the demise of Little Brother's balloon, it was still bobbing in response to his kicks, fat, dumb, and tightly stretched on the end of its bamboo stick. I suggested that he hold the balloon lower and swing his legs forcefully together squashing it from either side. If it didn't puncture he might from the inertia of his legs slamming together apply enough pressure to pop it. Still no go. Finally little brother twisted his feet inward and clamped the balloon somewhat between the soles of his sneakers. Then he slammed both feet with the balloon captured between them down on the gravel in front of the bench. BANG-GO! Success at last. Two large sheets of red rubber flew off to either side leaving the rest of his toy dangled from the end of the stick.

Several of the onlookers applauded and little brother looked pleased that his balloon busting efforts had been appreciated. I lost no time in shoving the blue balloon into his hands as I grabbed the useless stick he was holding and got up to retrieve the debris. I picked up the torn rubber and carried it and the stick over to a large trash receptacle about fifty feet away. As I turned to head back to the bench a man accosted me and remarked that he was waiting to see how I would bust my balloon. I gave him my best disgusting, dirty look, saying nothing; hoping that would hold him. After a moment's pause he asked me right out if I didn't like to break balloons. I told him, "Sure they are fun to break but I bought the balloons for little brother to bust."

As I pushed past him he reached out and firmly grabbed the outside of my thigh as he added, "You do like dressing like a little boy though. I love your shorts and your nice strong legs."

I immediately experienced a zoom zoom feeling in my dick. As I walked back to the bench I had little doubt he would have been overjoyed to take me to an isolated area and fondle my semi stiff tool I had hidden under my shorts.

As I sat down little brother had his second balloon clamped down on his knees. He began rubbing the tips of his fingers over the tight blue latex. The squeal of tortured rubber again attracted the attention of scores of nearby patrons. The smart alike squirt was deliberately calling attention to us as if my uncommon attire wasn't attracting enough stares and finger pointing laughs. I told him to knock it off and get up; we were going back to the picnic grove. Naturally he objected and whined, and with my agreement that we would go on more rides he agreed to stop torturing his balloon and not continue creating a nasty scene. My stomach was still going round and round, but his willingness to compromise and forestall my arrest on 'brother abuse' made his request for additional rides my clear course of action.

It turned out that this didn't mean he wasn't done making it painfully clear I had committed a strategic blunder in buying him the balloons to begin with. The park had three "kiddy" rides intended to accommodate kids up to about twelve years of age. Little brother wanted rides on all of them which was fine and dandy with me because with the heat of the day my tummy still felt queasy . I figured I could just stand off to the side and hopefully attract less attention than if I were on a ride or standing in line to get on one. However that wouldn't have given him any 'jollies'; so he insisted I had to stand there and guarantee the safety of his rubber toy while he was standing in line waiting to get on as well as while he was on the rides. He again had set me up for a flushed face. Nothing like a sixteen year old boy wearing pretty white shorts with a nice fat blue balloon in hand to convey a sense of manliness. I quickly realized it would look better for me if I stood right there at each of the rides along with the other parents rather than back away from the crowd alone where I would really come across as a childish nerd.

Since the group I was standing with had seen me with little brother, knew he was on the rides and I was chaperoning him, I didn't get any direct flack the half hour or so he was soloing on the kiddy rides. Several did mention what a nice lad I was to be willing to devote time to see that my younger sibling had fun. When he was finally 'rode out' I handed him his balloon and told him he had to carry it. I figured we could head back to the pavilion where most of the rest of the family members would be for some R and R. Fat chance. He was ready again for the roller coaster and the few other adult rides they had available.

I suggested that carrying his balloon on some of the rides might result in it's untimely destruction and we should take it back to the family for safe keeping. His suspicious little mind, however, figured I was just plotting an opportunity to dump him off, so he again threatened a ruckus. Once more we were able to compromise. If he would get rid of the balloon I would take him on more rides. I would also buy him some more balloons when it was time to leave for home that he could put up in his room. Little Brother looked longingly at his pretty blue toy, held it on the ground, then slowly planted his right foot on it. We were on an asphalt walk which wasn't all that smooth and I was amazed at how much the balloon flattened before it busted with a loud BANG. Once again we suddenly became the center of attention.

I couldn't get little brother to chance the merry-go-round again unless I would stand with him and hold him on the horse. Since having my bare legs splayed over the ornately carved wood was the only motivation I had to even consider going on the tamest ride that could accommodate adults we passed it up for the other available rides.

Along with all this additional vomit inducing motion I had to tank him up with cotton candy, ice cream waffles, and a soft drink. It was a steamy hot day and the last two items I enjoyed myself. By this time we had been away from the rest of the family for more than three hours and the fact LB was getting an urgent call of nature message prompted him to agree we should check in with the family and visit the rest rooms located in the picnic area.

As we arrived I saw that our parents and several other adults were engrossed in a noisy game of 5&10 cent (poker). After fending off repeated requests to scarf up some of the mountains of food that still remained, Little Brother and I wandered off to explore the wooded area beyond the picnic grove and the creek that formed the border of the park. Recently sitting on the leather and wooden seats of the rides coupled with the heat and humidity of the day had caused the seat of my under shorts as well as the tennis shorts themselves to get damp. I had not considered this during our foray when I reposed on some nice lush grass or a couple of fallen logs. Life experience note: white pants don't stay that way very long out of doors when one sits on the grass, especially if they are damp.

Later after we returned to base camp I just assumed that the more than normal glances I was getting were the result of my exposed leg flesh. No one mentioned the youthful 'play' stains that adorned the seat and legs of my shorts, so later as it was approaching time to depart, I didn't have total misgivings about heading back into the main area of the park were the rides were located for another shot or two at riding my stalwart merry-go-round steed. The sun was lowering in the sky and a bit of a breeze had made venturing forth a bit more tolerable, so mom and dad decided they would check out the rest of the park and other attractions and they took little brother with them. I was on my own.

I made a bee line for the carrousel and noted that the end of the afternoon heat had brought more people into the park or out from under the shelter of the picnic pavilions because now there were lines waiting to get on all the rides, including the merry-go-round. Worse, you could only have one ride. They made everyone clear the platform before they let any new riders enter the area immediately around the rides. This would make it highly unlikely that I would get to ride my war horse. I also began to feel uneasy because the crowds were made up of fewer adults with children and far more teens and college age kids.

Since I already had ride tickets I didn't have to stand in the ticket line. As I walked up to the carrousel I tried to estimate the number of riders that each ride could accommodate. Then using that estimate I tried to calculate when I should get into the waiting line to insure being at or near the beginning of the next batch of riders that would get on. There were more than a full load customers already standing in line and if I miscalculated I would be at the end of the pack and would undoubtedly get to sit on one of the royal bench seats, or worse, one of the little ponies that were reserved for the five and under crowd that didn't even prance up and down . My long bare legs dangling on either side would really wow the troops not to mention what the juvenile sized rock hard wooden saddle would do to my family jewels.

It turned out they didn't try to completely fill all the available seating and those that couldn't find appropriate mounts were allowed to return to the head of the line for the next go around. As a result my plotting was to no avail and I found myself near the center of the group I would be riding with. Since my selection stopped almost directly in front of the waiting queue my steed was quickly snatched up by a gangling hayseed in his early twenties who got his jollies as he watched his girl friend's attempts to mount on her own the horse immediately in front. I was still a number of riders back in the chute at this point and I despaired of getting a good horse to ride. However for some dumb reason most of the people moved straight ahead, mounted the platform, then made their way through the already occupied horses and mostly just grabbed the next available steed.

When I saw this, once through the gate, I double timed it around to the far side and hopped on just in time to secure the last good sized horse on the outside of the platform. This time I used the stirrup as I mounted from the off side to secure my selection as there was a guy in his twenties only a few strides away coming up between the file of horses with his eye on the same steed. As a result I was in such a rush to get aboard I damned near committed the ultimate horsemanship gaffe. I was about to stick my right foot in the stirrup. Fortunately I realized my blunder and quickly corrected my logistical error, allowing me to settle into the saddle facing in the direction of travel.

My hasty mount garnered me a nasty look as he realized he and the babe he had with him weren't going to get outside horses. They were forced to settle for two in the center file, one behind the other. With a nasty look he heaved himself on the mount next to mine. No question the guy was a jock because he just used the pole and with the strength of his arms was able to swing his whole body up and over the rump of his horse. His right leg was outstretched to clear his horse and as he swung it down and forward on the far side of his horse he made a point of giving my left leg along the upper side of my knee a real good grazing kick with his military boot. We both knew it wasn't accidental. His annoyance at my grabbing the horse he wanted and the urge jocks often have to bloody up the legs of wimps that wear short pants was just more than he could resist. His mocking apology caught the attention of his girl causing her to twist around to look at me. I glared at him and then looked down to assess the damage to my hide.

Since I had no knowledge of horsemanship my toes and knees were jutting out so the side of his boot scraped across from the left side to the front of my knee. Because of all the accidental and intentional abuse this section of my flesh had endured since my shorts wearing regimen began a month or so before, the skin had become really thick and tough, and except for a half inch wide scrape mark from the sole of his boot, there was no sign of blood oozing. I smiled and looked up at the guy and said, "No damage."

I could see he was disappointed in not having drawn any blood.

Since there was no major sign of injury his girl friend didn't have a clue as to what had happened except that it had to have had something to do with my shorts because she saw we both were looking at my left leg. After looking me over real good she smiled and chirped, "My you do look nice and cool in those pretty white shorts. Nice looking legs too. I'll bet you get all the girls excited when they see you in your cute little boy outfit."

It was on the tip of my tongue to reply "Do I turn you on, my dear?" when I realized that would cause me to be the victim of mayhem on the merry-go-round. So I reconsidered my thoughts and smiled as I replied, "I really wouldn't know."

This prompted the guy to ask me how my legs had gotten so tanned and toughened up. This gave me a perfect time to give the wise ass a real zinger in front of his girl friend, but deciding there were advantages to leaving the park free from pain, I just told him that I wore shorts all the time and made a point of roughing up my legs specifically so they would be able to take environmental abuse. This apparently impressed the girl because she immediately blurted out that she liked guys with tanned tough skinned legs. She chided him for not wanting to show off his legs. Her suggestion didn't set well with the guy because I had now become an embarrassing annoyance to him. The rest of the short ride I analyzed my options to get safely back to the picnic area.

Since we all had to get off to allow the next batch of riders their turn, before the ride came to a complete stop I dismounted and hopped off and made a bee line for the exit gate. It did give me a pretty good head start but there was a fairly tight crowd of people in the exit area milling around trying to decide which ride line they wanted to stand in. By the time I made my way through them the guy with his girl in tow managed to catch up to me. I smiled at my unwelcome company. He then offered to introduce me to some of his friends. I had little doubt his motive was to provide them with some abusive entertainment at my expense. This would undoubtedly lead to my knees eventually getting bloodied up. It also became apparent they had both recently imbibed liquid refreshments other than soft drinks. In all honesty I was at the borderline panic point. My self confidence and bravado which had been under attack since I left the safety of the picnic grove had completely vanished and I was left with a sick feeling of doom in my gut.

Fortunately, just like in the movies, my rescue arrived in the form of my dad and little brother along with several of the other relatives who were heading toward the midway from the grove. I indicated this fact to my unwelcome companions. Instead of taking their leave as I hoped, however, they just stood there as I waited for the family to reach us.

As dad walked up the girl surmised who he was and gushed, "My your son looks handsome in his cute white shorts. I gotta get Joe here to show off his pretty legs too; if he isn't 'frady cat' to."

With that comment she gave Joe a booze induced giggle and good solid punch on the side of his upper left arm. Joe was not the least pleased with her innuendo or physical abuse. Then to top things off little brother piped up, "Yah, he doesn't like to wear long pants. He wears shorts all the time."

This sudden family revelation caught the girl completely by surprise and she just gaped at me open mouthed. Joe who had been giving her a steely 'If looks could kill' stare then immediately turned to me and commented in a disdainful tone for her benefit, "Yah, some kids never like to grow up."

O Gheeze. I could see the needle on dad's pressure gage swinging wildly into the red zone. I strongly suspect the brunt of dad's anger wasn't directed at Joe who had unwittingly stated what dad knew was the case, but at me for putting dad in this embarrassing situation. I also knew that it being such a hot day dad had quenched his thirst numerous times at the beer keg other family members had brought for our reunion and he probably totally in control.

Joe noticed dad's surge of adrenaline as well, and although he was bigger and huskier, this was still an era when youth respected their elders. To avoid the looming confrontation addressing me Joe added, "Then that explains why your legs are so nice and tanned and thick skinned. I guess you aren't afraid of getting them skinned up or teased by other guys about wearing short pants; which I bet are a lot more comfortable on a hot day like today."

"Yes I'm sure they are cooler and more comfortable than long pants which is why I chose to wear shorts today," I firmly replied.

I felt my comment would clarify that it was my choice and not dad's requirement that I was wearing shorts. I was hoping this would end the conversation, and Joe and his girl would be off. Unfortunately dad's ire at me was not to be so easily sated as he calmly addressed Joe, "My boy can take care of himself but he has a lot of growing up to do. Why don't just the two of you go off by yourselves for a bit and you can check out first hand how tough his pretty legs are and maybe gain him some manly maturity."

Dad was out for blood. Mine. It had to be the booze talking.

I think Joe would have enjoyed carrying out dad's suggestion, but after his girl friend's comment that I wasn't afraid to show off my legs and he might be, he realized that bloodying me up wouldn't likely gain him any points with her. He looked me over one last time and said, "Yes he looks like he can more than take care of himself. I don't think you have to worry about his manhood."

With that he turned, grabbed his girl, and hurried away.

With that threat out of the way I turned my pent up annoyance toward Dad as I angrily snapped, "If my wearing these shorts embarrasses you so much why did you let me wear them today?

Dad knew his pressure gage needle was still in the red zone. In addition several other family members had witnessed the brief encounter and they moved in to prevent what was about to become a father / son brouhaha. So he took his time in responding. Measuring his words he said, "Yes, to some degree. You know only younger boys wear shorts in places like this even in hot weather, so shorts do make you look immature for your age when you wear them. On the other hand I'm proud that you aren't afraid to show off your legs in public in spite of what other kids and adults might say or do. This is why I didn't object and won't object if you want to wear shorts anywhere except at church."

Oh how I wished he had added "and school". I just knew he was planning to follow through on his implied threat that I would be wearing shorts to eleventh grade high school. Then addressing the thoughts of the other family members he added, "I think my boy looks good in short pants. Character not clothes make the man."

To emphasize his verbalized support of me dad clamped his right arm over my shoulders as he led me with brother in tow back toward the midway.

One thing dad had little tolerance for was standing in lines; for anything. Since the park had become more crowded with the late teens and early twenties group who were all interested in the amusements and rides, there was a waiting line at all the park attractions. After about fifteen minutes of looking over all that they had to offer, we and most of the other family members headed back to the pavilion where mom was still engaged in playing cards. Little Brother, however, was not daunted in the lest by the crowds and was soon clamoring for me to take him back to where the action was taking place. I wasn't the least bit interested. The events that had just transpired scared me more than I had ever been since the 'You will wear shorts all the time' issue had come up at the dump the day we had brought all the scout shorts and balloons home. Old blood and guts dad was sure I was up to the challenge however, and made it clear in front of the others that I would be happy to take little brother for a few last rides during the hour or so until we would be heading home.

I set out with trepidation, brother in hand. I was hoping having him along in his cute blue shorts would insulate me from any further direct confrontations; but I did get a lot of looks and whispered disparaging comments along with several insults to my manhood that were broadcast to the general audience. We managed to get on five rides in the hour we had been allotted and I eagerly awaited the sprint back to the safety of the family.

We had made it back to the picnic pavilion when little brother suddenly remembered I had promised him replacement balloons for the ones he had popped earlier. We were standing with dad a bit away from where mom and the others were cleaning up and packing the picnic gear we had brought. Dad pointedly told me to run back and get little brother some balloons. Now Little Brother wasn't about to miss one last opportunity to give me a zinger so he immediately let dad know that he was too tired to go back with me to the novelty stand and I could just go get them myself. The little weasel!

I was aware Dad wouldn't be receptive to a recital of the ramifications my white shorts and bare legs along with carrying toy balloons would likely have on me physically. I glared at dad and said sternly, "You do want the balloons and me busted before we leave here right?"

Dad knew where I was coming from as he grinned and said, "What's the matter? Having second thoughts about wearing shorts and showing off your sexy legs?"

"Yes, dammit. I don't like getting the shit kicked out of me any more than you would. You bet I'm scared," I emphatically replied.  "In any case even if I was wearing long pants I would look like a geek with a handful of balloons."

Dad suddenly flashed a broad smile as he said, "Good. I want a son that's mature, not suicidal." Then he commanded Little Brother to go with me to pick them out if he wanted any balloons.

We made our way back to the novelty stand that was manned by a slim wimpy looking freckle faced boy about twenty years old. He didn't have any other customers at the moment as we walked up. I could see his attention was focused on my sturdy legs and pretty white shorts. He had a couple of somewhat tired looking Helium and stick balloons inflated that I think were there when we had bought the two stick balloons earlier in the afternoon. Of course, in addition to balloons the stand was loaded with all kinds of crapola of the sort that I would sell at my carnival stand.

Since this would be little brother's last chance to pick up trinkets and they all looked so inviting he went into decision overload. Most souvenirs and novelties would just wind up cluttering up a shelf in his room and eventually get tossed out; but he realized that balloons he had initially wanted had a very short life span, so souvenirs of a more durable sort caught his attention.

I still had plenty of dad's money left to cover expenses and I suspected he might be hesitant to ask for something other than balloons, since that was what he insisted he had to have, so I told him to pick something else out and we would get a couple of balloons as well. I noticed the attendant seemed to perk up when I mentioned balloons. While little brother was pouring over the hundreds of options that were within our one dollar price range the guy asked him what kind of balloons he wanted and what colors. This time little brother elected to go with Helium balloons. I immediately told him in that case I would securely tie them to his wrist or he could just forget about getting them. He put up a squawk and I made it clear it was tie on Helium, stick balloons, or no balloons. He elected to go with the Helium.

Little brother's color selection, yellow and blue, were already available and floating near the ceiling of the stand. Since they were using the same 'cheepie' balloons for Helium as well as tied to sticks they had already lost probably twenty per cent of their gas and would be down on the bedroom floor by morning. To my surprise the attendant grabbed two fresh balloons. The gas flow from the Helium tank was controlled by a standard rotary needle valve and the regulator must have been set to fifty pounds because the first balloon erupted from his hand with a loud Brrrruuuupt sound. It jumped from limp to nearly fully inflated in about a second. The guy was looking at us and as he gave the valve another twist . The neck suddenly expanded forcing his fingers apart a moment before the balloon ruptured with a defining BANG. The suddenness caused little brother and me to jump. The attendant broke into a wide grin as he said, "Oops, a little too much."

Hmm, yes indeed. This kid was getting me excited.

I offered, "Busting them doesn't help the profits any."

As he attached the second balloon he winked at us and replied, "Nah, we make enough extra to cover our accidental pops."

I figured this kid liked balloons so I said, "Yah they are fun to pop that way. Gives you the most bang for the buck."

I could tell my comment really got his interest in me revved up. He managed to get the two balloons we wanted inflated a bit more than I wanted to see them and tied off with the strings. When he brought them over I told little brother to stick out his left arm so the guy could tie them on while I fished out the money.

The attendant wasn't in any hurry with the tying and after weighing the risk factors he looked at me and suddenly blurted out, "Do you like to bust balloons too?"

"Sure," I replied.

I was enthralled that I had stumbled across another boy that apparently had a thing for balloons. I would have to be careful in my comments in that there were two sharp ears standing next to me as I continued, "That's all their good for. I love to squeeze and rub them until they pop, and also blow them up until they burst."

My 'dickey' was springing to life and I would bet a dollar to a doughnut his was as well. The 'knowing' expression on his face told me he had 'been there, done that'.

Finally after a pause he smiled and said, "Yes, selling balloons makes this job interesting. Not too many people buy them though. But then when I work to closing, like tonight, I get to take care of the samples."

He gestured toward the tired inflated balloons.

"Do you take them home to have fun with them? How do you get them out of here without someone asking what a big kid like you is doing with them," I queried.

His face quickly changed from tan to red as he mumbled, "I have ways."

As I was about to pay for our stuff he said, "Hey, have you seen these? They call them punch balls."

The guy went over a grabbed what appeared to be a large balloon with a short string already attached. He connected it to the air supply line and inflated it to a good sixteen inches. As he walked toward us it looked like he rolled the neck up and stuck it inside the neck opening. Then holding the end of what turned out to be a long rubber band he made a fist and banged the balloon off it causing the balloon to fly outward several feet before the rubber band restrained it and sent it hurtling back for another strike. Needless to say little brother was sold on sight and had to have one. Fortunately our finances permitted the purchase because I was most interested in checking out what I could readily discern would be a real fun toy.

As I paid for our stuff I wished there were some was some way I could be alone with the guy so we could discuss really important matters. He obviously was of the same mind because he asked me where we were from, and when I told him it was obvious we would never meet again.

The other half of the building containing the novelty stand was occupied by the ice cream waffle concession and all the while was were negotiation our purchases our olfactory organs were teased by the aroma of freshly made waffles. Little brother wanted one and my tank gage immediately registered 'me too'. A quick check showed I had the wherewithal so we trucked over and stood in line for our treats.

The two waffles that made up the top and bottom of the sandwich had a five eighth inch slab of well frozen vanilla ice cream between them. Because the stand was running at maximum output the waffles were still quite warm as they were slapped on either side of the ice cream slab and handed out to the waiting customers. If you were a fast eater that could open your mouth nice and wide (because the stack thickness was nearly two inches), no problem. Otherwise dribble slop; with melted ice cream running down your hands, wrists, arms etc. I knew this would surely be the case with little brother. Oh well; his mother could clean him up.

When I handed him his waffle sandwich it quickly became clear that he couldn't manage to eat quickly and hold the punch balloon. In short order he had the rubber band side well smeared with melted ice cream, so I took it off his hands as we made our way back to the folks at the picnic grove. Several groups of kids and adults gave me the eye so I figured since they had already decided I was a 'pansy' I wouldn't disappoint them. I batted the punch balloon several times as we walked along for their enjoyment.

By the time we got back to the grove Little Brother had finished his waffle sandwich and he was very sticky as he presented his 'trophies' to mom. She wasn't pleased with his condition and since the rest of them were ready to leave all the napkins or other potential cleaning elements had been packed in the trunk of the car. I reluctantly offered the bandanna I always carried in the pocket of my shorts to attend to any skinned up knees for his clean up.

Little Brother and I clamored into the back seat of out '41 Pontiac two door coupe. As dad was getting in, one of the Helium balloons escaped out the open car doorway. Little brother saw it but too late. He jerked down on the string to bring it back inside as father closed the door causing it to be caught between the top of the door and the door frame. POW! The unexpected loud pop caused us all to jump. Dad was not pleased and made it clear that the other balloon and punch balloon had better be stowed where they wouldn't interfere with his driving or else he would take care of them then and there. As we waited to get out of the park he lit up a cigarette providing a ready means to carry out his threat.

Little Brother was tired and seemed oblivious to the danger his toys were in because he kept letting the Helium balloon float up at bounce along the ceiling of the car which sloped upward toward the front windshield. Father told him to immediately get the balloon down out of his sight behind the seat. Since little brother didn't seem to respond I grabbed the string at the neck and pulled the balloon to safety in my lap. He complained as I explained what was about to happen to it.

I thought we were under control for the ride home but little brother decided to give the punch balloon a go. There was little leg room in what was essentially a two passenger car, so although his butt was all the way back in the seat with his sturdy bare legs sticking straight out, there wasn't much room for the punch ball to travel forward. This forced him to hit it upward. Since he was seated behind dad it was only a matter of moments before the balloon was bouncing between his fist and the back of dad's head. I saw father deftly turn his cigarette end for end in his right hand and swing his arm to the rear. I could see the next trip upward would be the punch balloon's last. I snagged it just in time before it could contact dad's waiting 'buster'.

When we got home we were all tired and Little Brother got a quick clean up and was sent to bed. I sponged off and went to my room for my usual nightly R and R as I relived the stimulating scenes of the day. I had just finished cleaning up the sticky mess I had made and was planning to get up to take a pee when I herd a sharp bang from the direction of Little Brother's room.

You had to go through our parents bed room to get to his room. Father and mom were both in bed and for certain the bang was a lot louder in their room than mine. Dad was annoyed although I'm sure he knew the over inflated Helium balloon had simply self distructed. As I came upon the scene he was about to preemptively pop the punch balloon so there would be no more sleep interruptions. I told him I would take it downstairs and put it in the cellar where he wouldn't be likely to hear it if it did burst. Surprisingly he let me take it away instead of finishing it off with his nails.

Since the next morning was Monday, little brother was dropped off at his grandmothers for the day; and when he returned home that night he had completely forgotten about the punch balloon. Because it was late July the only visits to the cellar were by me to have fun with my rubber toys and mom once a week when she did the laundry. I checked on the balloon every day and by the end of the week it had developed a nice aroma. Little brother had forgotten about it completely; unfortunately father hadn't and asked the following Saturday what had happened to it. Luckily I hadn't done anything with it (like deflate it and add it to my rubber treasure throve which I had planned to do that very night) so I was able to produce it on demand.

Because the rubber was thicker than a normal balloon the punch ball hadn't lost any air; but it had softened up somewhat. Little Brother wasn't interested in it when I brought it upstairs so dad batted it around for a few minutes before he asked him if he wanted it any more. LB said no as he raced out the door after his mom. Dad gave me a steely look and said, "I'll just bet you would like to have it though, wouldn't you?"

Dad then held it up to his nose and took a deep breath as he said, "Smells good and rubbery. I bet you like the smell of your silly balloons too, don't you?"

Then he started to scrub the dirty semi sticky latex between his hands. The heavy walled balloon roared in protest sending shivers through me and into my rapidly expanding penis. He was watching me intently as he finally said, "Am I getting you all excited, boy?"

I glared at him and said, "Yes dad. You know damn well this kind of thing with balloons gets me excited."

"Well then I guess I had better get rid of it then for you. We sure don't want you messing yourself in your cute scout shorts do we?"

I could feel the red building in my cheeks.

Dad continued, "Why don't you go up to your room and take care of your problem while I take care of this silly toy. I know watching me or somebody else bust balloons really gets you all excited which sort of defeats the purpose of getting rid of your damn balloons to begin with. Don't be asking me later what I did with it either. I don't want to be feeding your sickness."

Considering his willingness to feed my fetish interests in the past I hoped this didn't signal a re-evaluation of his tolerance for all the toys and shorts he had just recently allowed me to acquire.

Father stopped rubbing the punch balloon and motioned me in the direction of the stairs. I really wanted to see how he was going to bust it so I just stood there looking at the somewhat dirty rubber toy. Dad turned to walk away as he said, "That was an order, boy, not a suggestion." I reluctantly headed for the stairway and went up to my room.

My dick was nice and hard from the stimulating encounter with my father and I lost no time in dropping the scout shorts I was wearing and pulling down the waist band of the gym shorts I had on underneath. As I whacked off I was visualizing the last moments of little brother's sweet smelling toy and straining to hear the telltale pop that would signify it's demise. I quickly reached an orgasm and squirted into the palm of my right hand. I was about to head for the bathroom to clean myself up when I heard the door on our car in the driveway close. I moved to the window to see dad start the car, back out, and drive away. Because of my elevated position I couldn't tell if he had the punch balloon with him or not. I couldn't fathom that he would go to that much trouble to get in the car and drive off just to dispose of a silly balloon just so that I could never find any traces. I figured he pried the neck out and allowed it to deflate or perhaps he popped it down in the cellar and I just didn't hear it burst.

Since mom and Little Brother were still outside, which was another reason I didn't think he had the punch ball with him, I figured he had popped it in the house. At my first opportunity I ransacked the trash, garbage pail, and every other place I figured he might have used to dispose of the remains. No luck.

Dad was back in a matter of fifteen minutes which was the usual length of time to drive to the service station out on the main road to pick up cigarettes and back. When he saw me after he came back he told me he had taken care of my 'sexual stimulus'. Then he asked me if I had taken care of my "sexual stimulation' problem as well. Since he had already indicated he wasn't going to fill me in on the last moments of the punch balloon I didn't bother to ask. Several years later when I was in college (and still in to balloons) I did ask him how he finished it off; but even then he didn't reveal what he had done with it and I don't know even to this day.     Revision Date 2/03.

<Continue to Later Years #10>

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