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Description.Ret. to Bye Bye B & S Index

Bob showed up about 15 minutes after his call, and because my little stepbrother was home, I ushered him up to my room. He showed up in the new style scout uniform he had been wearing at camp during the summer. We planned to go for a hike later in the afternoon, and it was appropriate attire for a hot day. As usual I was wearing one of the dozens of pairs of old style scout shorts in various sizes that dad had bought me the previous June. As we sat on the bed he eyed up my shorts which were the same style that I had been wearing three months earlier when we had gone to the carnival, except that they weren't nearly as faded. He asked me about them and I filled him in on the details on my trip to the city and my good fortune to get a major supply of them. I then gave him a couple of pairs of shorts and shirts in his size from my stash in the attic.

As he was putting on the shorts I had given him, he thought to ask me what I had done with all the balloons I had won at the penny pitch stand back in June. His query took me by surprise. My initial thought was not to tell him what had actually happened because my dad and his were good friends. But then I thought, heck, why not, and I described the sudden demise of my dozen balloons; victim of dad's cigarette. I also told him how he had ripped the well worn pair of shorts off me and that's why dad had later gone out and bought me more.

Bob shifted around a bit on the bed as he digested my narrative. I began to get nervous that my extreme sexual arousal that night had been too evident in my telling. Finally Bob looked squarely at me and said, "Did having your dad bust those balloons and rip your shorts give you a hard on?" I just gaped at him. Did he suspect something and was hoping I might reveal my intense sexual attraction to the articles so ruthlessly destroyed. My only safe response was to look incredulous and respond, "Why would you ask such a thing?" He looked down at the bed for the longest time then turned to me and asked me that if he told me something about himself, would I hold it in the strictest confidence. Feeling my cock beginning to rise, I promised Scout's honor to never reveal our conversation to anyone.

Bob began, "The reason I asked was because my dad did a similar thing to me several years ago when I was thirteen. I have always liked balloons since I was a little kid. I liked to squeeze and rub them, bounce them around, you know, until finally they would break. We always had them for my and my younger sisters parties. Occasionally my mom or one of my aunts would buy me some as well. My aunt noticed as I got older that I really enjoyed popping them. She especially liked to see me blow them up until they burst, which I started doing when I was around eight. Anyway, for my thirteenth birthday she gave me two gross boxes of big round party balloons. Dad wasn't too thrilled with the gift and thought I should destroy them or give them to my younger sister, because as he said, "Balloons are for girls". As it turned out auntie gave her two boxes of the same kind of balloons for her next birthday as well.

I don't know about you, but I have been playing with myself, you know rubbing my dick, since I was about nine. I would experiment with holding various things in my hand as I stroked it. One day I used a old soft balloon. It felt so good rubbing it down in my crotch. Using balloons like this soon became my favorite way of jacking off. Anyway, a couple of months after my thirteenth birthday, I was up in my room relieving myself when my mother suddenly barged in and caught me balloon in hand just as I shot a load all over it. She was furious; called me a sexual pervert and made me give her all of the balloons I had. She also let me know that my dad would straighten me out when he got home. Man did he ever.

I was so embarrassed I stayed in my room until he showed up. It didn't take long before he came storming up the stairs and into my room with my two nearly full boxes of balloons in hand. He waved the boxes in front of my face while he read me the riot act. You know, jerking off will make you nutsy etc.

When he had calmed down a bit he gave me the old father / son sex talk. After fifteen minutes of telling me most everything I already knew he informed me the balloons were to be destroyed and I would be punished with a whipping. He had never given me an actual whipping before, only a few swats with his hand on my behind. This time was going to be the real thing because he made me strip off my jeans and undershorts and put on a pair of our thin cotton gym shorts from school. We went downstairs, balloons in hand, and stopped by the den where dad grabbed the narrow blade stiletto from the knife collection you know he has. He then took me out to the far end of our yard behind the grape arbor.

Dad placed the two boxes of balloons on the grass and proceeded to flatten them down by repeatedly stepping on them. He made me get down on my hands and knees, handed me the knife, and told me to start stabbing it all the way through the two stacked balloon boxes. I pressed down on the boxes with my left hand to keep the balloons compressed and pushed the knife straight down through all that rubber. It was sickening how easily the knife punctured through the two boxes of balloons. I visualized how many balloons I was puncturing and destroying with each jab of the knife. Feeling the sharp knife tear through all that beautiful rubber got me aroused just as though I were sticking it into inflated balloons. Dad made me keep doing it even out at the far corners until the boxes started to fall apart. The chance of any balloon surviving without the knife blade ripping through it was nil. What a waste.

I was so caught up in destroying my balloons I didn't even realize I had gotten a real hard on. You know I have a pretty big one and it's impossible to hide it in a loose pair of gym shorts; especially with no supporter. Dad saw my 'boner' and really hit the roof. He made me bend over a saw horse that was nearby while he removed the belt from his pants. Then he swung and let me have it. Man I never felt such pain; and I don't ever want to again. He must have whacked me a dozen times until I finally fell on the ground. The pain was so bad I got sick and I guess this scared him. I could barely walk, but he managed to get me up and back to the house. Now, even though it was so painful at the time, every time I think back on that day I tend to get a hard on."

So I had noticed. While he was relating the story his right hand had dropped down to his crotch where he was fingering a large bulge in his scout shorts.

Bob's narrative had not only turned him on but me as well. If it weren't for the fact that he had sexually stimulated himself with his own story I would never have believed that he wasn't trying to force me into revealing my unusual love for balloons. Having a trusted friend, the schools ace athlete, and general all American boy, admit to being sexually stimulated by simple rubber toys was an unbelievable revelation even to me.

He was staring at me with a pained look on his face that mirrored his concern that he shouldn't have so rashly exposed such private information. I smiled at him and said, "Yes when dad destroyed my balloons and ripped my shorts I sure did get a dandy hard on. Seeing things that sex me up destroyed always gives me a boner. In fact I never have been so sexed up in my life as I was that night." His relief was instantly displayed as he gave me a wide grin. I then proceeded to relate my balloon history to him and we shared stories and experiences. During this entire time we were both sitting on my bed with uncomfortable erections in our shorts, and I for one, felt a growing dampness.