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Bye Bye Balloons #6:- Balloon Baby- B= 90 S= 10 [37KB]
Mother said I was too old to be playing with
balloons, so she disposed of the inflated ones in my room. I teased her
by keeping inflated balloons in my room one time too often. This culminated
in the most humiliating balloon bust play of my life.
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& S Index>
I was fourteen at the time and had discovered the pleasures of rubbing and pressing toy rubber balloons against my bare skin. The sweet aroma of aged rubber also became an added sexual stimulant. To this end, over the past year, I had maintained several inflated balloons in my room that I used for balloon play. When they would inevitably break from rough handling I would replace them from a small stockpile I kept in the back of my bureau drawer.
Tuesdays were cleaning days and mom would spend the day straightening up, dusting, and running the vacuum. I always tried to keep my room tidy because I really didn't want mom to do too much straightening up, not only because of what she might find, but that tossing some of my cherished possessions might seem easier than finding a place to stash them.
One Tuesday when I got home from school I discovered my delightfully sweet smelling balloons were no where in sight. I immediately assumed that my mother had popped my balloons because she was tired of dusting around them, so I set out to locate the rubber remains that I might still find sexually stimulating. I was getting an erection just thinking of how she might have finished them off.
Mom always emptied my trash can so I figured she would just toss the busted balloons in with the rest of the paper and haul the can downstairs and put the trash from my room in with the rest of the stuff bound for our incinerator. She was still working upstairs so I figured I could quick run down to the utility room to check the trash container. I had just turned from putting a book I had taken to school back on my shelf when by chance I glanced into the emptied trash can and spotted the brightly colored rubber sheeting I was seeking.
When I bent over to retrieve the rubber I saw a note underneath. Mom had scrawled, "You are too old to be playing with balloons. I don't want to see any more of them around here. If I find any I will be happy to get rid of them for you like I did these. L Mom."
Mother must have sensed that I had found the remains because she appeared in my doorway as I finished reading her note. She smilingly said, "You don't have any need for that smelly old rubber either so you can take it down and put it in with the rest of the trash that I want you to burn as soon as you change clothes."
As she turned to go I couldn't resist asking, "How did you bust them? Did they pop easily?"
Mom laughed as she replied, "Hon, all balloons are easy to bust. Your old tired balloons didn't put up any fight at all. I just dug my nails in a little and POOM they just ripped apart. Hey, why the interest? Did you want to watch me bust them?"
Yes mam; would I ever have liked to watch mom pop them. After all they were my toys and I should have at least seen them getting broken. Popping is what balloons are made for. Popping balloons always got me excited. Watching someone else bust balloons would get me even more excited.
When I finished changing I took the balloon remains downstairs and dumped it in with the rest after pocketing a couple of the more aromatic sheets of rubber for later use. After I loaded the incinerator I used the rest of the busted balloons to quick start the fire since balloon rubber ignites and flames so easily.
A few months earlier a Dollar Outlet store opened in town and I discovered they carried quarter pound bags of manufacturer's reject balloons. Up to this point I had diverted funds from my meager allowance to buy eight bags which I had securely hidden in the cellar, because I knew if mom thought I had wasted eight bucks on balloons that a kid my age shouldn't have had any interest in I would be in serious trouble with dad as well as her.
Because I now had a readily available supply of rubber toys, the following Saturday I decided to test mom by blowing up another half a dozen balloons and hanging them in my room. She normally didn't come into my room except to clean, so I figured she wouldn't know about them until the following Tuesday.
Tuesday I couldn't wait to get home from school to find out what mom had done to them. As usual I entered the house through the utility room and kitchen, and after giving her a quick peck on the cheek I rushed up to check out my certain loss. As anticipated my balloons were no longer there. This time, however, I couldn't find the torn rubber anywhere in my room. Rats! No sexy love note from mom either. I changed and went back down to the kitchen.
"Notice anything missing?" mom asked cheerily.
"Yes. How did you pop them this time?" I grinned.
Mom gave me a sadistic smile as she said, "I didn't yet. Why don't we go in the living room and I will show you what I do to your little boy's toys."
My balloons were lined up on the sofa as we entered. Mom scooped up the end one with both hands and started squeezing and rubbing it. The rubber skin shrieked and I suddenly realized I was going to get a hard on standing right there in front of mom. She was watching me intently as she tortured the rubber toy. She could sense my discomfort and she was getting pleasure from it. I hoped she couldn't also see the bulge that had suddenly formed in my jeans. Finally, after about a half minute of her abuse, the balloon just burst. The sudden sharp POP caused me to jump a bit but didn't seem to bother mother at all.
The next balloon mom grabbed with one hand and as squeezed her fingers and thumb into the rubber skin to pick it up it went POOM as her fingers jabbed into the rubber. Mom laughed and said, "See how easy your silly balloons break."
The third balloon survived being picked up one handed and she squashed it against the palm of her other hand. Again she started scrubbing the tight rubber as she gleefully tortured the poor rubber toy. "Do you like to hear your balloons squeal. I do, because I know that any second it's going to bust and there will be one less balloon for you to play with around this house," mother laughingly exclaimed. Sure enough, a moment later, BANG and pieces of torn rubber flew from between her hands.
By this time I had a raging hard on. I was standing about five feet in front of mom. I didn't dare turn sideways or she would immediately spot the unusual lump in the heavy denim of my jeans.
As she picked up the fourth balloon she motioned me to come over to her. I stood my ground not wanting any closer scrutiny of my excited state, but she was insistent as she scolded, "What's the matter. Are you afraid to be close to a balloon that's going to pop?"
Filled with the dread of discovery I reluctantly walked over as the blood rushed from my stem. When I reached her she suddenly pressed the balloon with one hand into my crotch while she grabbed my one ass cheek with the other to keep from pushing me away. She forcefully scrubbed the balloon against my genitals as she sarcastically smirked, "Does this make my little boy feel good?"
Hell yes mom but not under these circumstances, I thought. My dick had other ideas, however, and in the fifteen seconds of rubbing before the balloon died with a BANG, my stem was rock hard. With the balloon suddenly gone mom's hand shot forward and she grabbed my cock and gave it a quick squeeze with her fingers.
"Oh, I see you are really enjoying this, now aren't you," mother exclaimed. "I think maybe you have had enough excitement for today, don't you?" Excitement no. Embarrassment yes. All as I wanted to do at that point was get away from mom and run up to the isolation of my room. The remaining two balloons she methodically pressed against her waist as she dug in her nails and pulled the rubber on the far side until the balloons ripped apart.
Mother scowled as she commanded, "There, now that's what's going to happen to any more of your children's toys I find around here." Then she paused to let her words sink in before she added what I was most afraid of, "Since you seem to have enjoyed what I did to your silly balloons, if I find any more around the house or suspect that you are sneaking around here playing with them when we are not at home, you are going to have a serious problem with your father and me; understand? Now go up to your room. I want you to think about your silly behavior when you are around balloons. If you have more unused balloons in your room you should bring them down here right now and we will get rid of them so they won't make you feel silly."
Man. Mom must have known how sexed up she had me. I was damn near on the verge of shooting my load right in front of her. When I got to my room I barely had time to get my jeans and under pants down before I unloaded into my cupped hands. Thinking about what I had seen mom do to the balloons kept me psyched for the next couple of weeks as I replayed every squeal and pop over and over in my mind. It also created an uncontrollable desire in me to witness a repeat performance.
I should have known better, but a day shy of three weeks after mom's pop off I retrieved a bag of the bargain balloons from the cellar and blew two of the large ones up along with another half a dozen from my old stock. It was all I could do to limit myself to inflating and tying off just eight of my pretty rubber toys. I didn't blow them real tight because I wanted them to last a while when she tortured them. My reasoning was, the more mom had to pop surely the more enjoyment I would get from the scene. The two bargain balloons were several inches larger then my old ones and I had to be somewhat ingenious to locate places to stick all of them as I didn't want them to just be lying around loose on the floor.
The next day I couldn't wait for school to end. I rushed home and into the house. Mother was outside weeding so I had no reservations about going out of my way to my room through the living room. Rats, my balloons were no where in sight. Damn I thought. I'll bet she just popped them because she probably knew how excited watching her bust them had gotten me a few weeks earlier. I raced up to my room only to discover that my rubber toys were still where I had left them except for one of the two larger ones that had apparently self destructed.
As I entered the room and my gaze fell on my bed I suddenly stopped
in my tracks. I walked over and there, lying on the neatly made up bed
was a pair of white gym shorts along with a white tee shirt and another
note. The sexual rush I had experienced since heading home from school
suddenly evaporated as from several feet from the bed I could see emblazoned
on the garments in big, black, block letters, BALLOON BABY.
I could see mom had used a stencil to apply the humiliating but true
words on the left leg of the shorts and in far larger letters across the
front of the shirt. As I examined the tee shirt I noted she had also applied
the large stencil to the rear as well.
With a sinking feeling I knew that some where at some time mom would expect me to wear this new gym outfit. God, I was embarrassed enough to have to show off my silky white legs during gym class at school. I was a big boy and the last thing I wanted to do was show off my knobby knees in front of dad and mom. What if they forced me to wear this outfit outside and the other guys saw me. Then I really felt sick. Just having my friends see me outside in shorts would subject me to instant ridicule. Being labeled a "balloon baby" in addition to seeing me in these shorts would be a fate worse then death.
Both the shorts and shirt appeared to be awfully big and my suspicions were confirmed when I checked the size labels. They were both extra large and my school gym outfit was medium and large respectively. Oh geeze. Did mom plan to have me wear these damn silly clothes until I graduated from high school and left home?
Next I turned my attention to mom's note. She was to the point. "Because you seem to like your children's toys more than obeying me you will dress like a little boy. Then you won't look so silly when you play with them. Put on your gym sneakers, socks and your new gym outfit here on the bed and bring your balloons, including the ones in your bureau drawer, down stairs right now.
P. S. I don't want you to wear your supporter or underpants under the shorts."
I was dead. Mom wanted me to play with and bust my balloons while she watched. There was no way she wouldn't see me "tent up" in the front when they started popping.
For the first time I could ever remember I wasn't in any rush to change into play clothes. I couldn't bear the thought of my uncontrolled dick sticking straight out forming a tent in the front of the gym shorts so I disobeyed and pulled the ultra baggy gym shorts on over the Jockey underpants I had worn to school.
I found it was ridiculous to try to corral the seven balloons at one time so I made two trips to the living room and piled them on the sofa. When the transport was completed I opened the kitchen door, and standing off to the side so no one could see me from outside, called out to mom so she would know I was ready for her inspection and what ever else she had planned. I expected her to come in right away so we could conclude my balloon humiliation before dad got home from work, but instead she called out, "Come on out here Hon and let me see how cute you look in your new cool comfortable shorts."
There was no way in hell I was going to go outside and risk being seen by a neighbor, or worse another kid, so I politely declined her request. Mom stopped her weeding and stormed over to the kitchen stoop. She glared at me and snapped, "When I asked you to come outside and show me how you look dressed like a little boy I expected you to obey me. Now you can go and get a couple of the balloons you have blown up and bring them out here with you to play with. And you will do it NOW!"
I momentarily considered if this was the time for my first major parental confrontation, but I couldn't recall when I had seen mom so steamed. I know she added something about having my dad take care of me if I didn't comply. My gut was in cramps as I decided that acquiescence was my best course of action. I fetched two of the smallest balloons and went outside to where she was working.
Mom looked me over for several seconds then smiled and said, "Damn son. You do have nice looking legs and you really do look good in shorts. I'm going to get you some nice play shorts to wear this summer when you are not playing with your silly balloons. However, from now on whenever you feel like playing with balloons you will wear these shorts, understand?"
Oh lordy. I was praying mom was joking. I could visualize the boys busting the skin on my knees as soon as they saw me just as easily as they would bust the balloons I had if they got a hold of them. Mom was grinning as she continued, "Why don't you bat your balloons up in the air like you used to when you were little. You used to like to do that; running yourself silly chasing after them until they all popped in the grass.'
Mom's voice took on a more ominous tone as she added, "Or do you play with them in a different way now that you are older?" Man, I sure did, and I think mom had a pretty good idea of some of the things I used my balloons for.
There wasn't much of a breeze so I didn't have to run around too much to keep the two balloons aloft. One of them drifted over toward her and she swung it with the hand trowel she was holding. There was probably some dirt on it because the balloon went BANG right in mid air as she struck it. Mom laughed as I rounded up the other balloon and maneuvered it into position for a quick shot in her direction. Another back hand swat, a BANG, and the second balloon was reduced to ripped rubber. Phew! At least the damn balloons were out of the picture for the moment and if any one saw me now they would only catch me in these silly short pants.
I was hoping her inspection of my abbreviated outfit was over and she would let me retreat to the safety of the house, but she insisted I help with the weeding. I did have to admit the unaccustomed warm sun on my legs and the total freedom the loose fitting shorts provided wasn't all that bad.
I argued, but to no avail. The balloons in the living room and my bare knees were still exposed when dad got home. Other than remarking that he thought I looked good in short pants nothing was said about the balloons and the labeling on my outfit. We ate supper in relative silence. As I helped mom clear the table, dad went into the living room to read the paper.
I could sense I was about to experience a major lifetime disaster as I politely asked mom if I could go to my room to work on my homework. She said, "No, I think your father want's to have a few words with you." I'll bet, I thought.
Oh shit. Here it comes. I felt like a condemned criminal as mother escorted me into the living room and positioned me a few feet in front of my father. I stood there fidgeting as she sat in one of the lounge chairs and dad kept thumbing through the last several sheets of his newspaper. I knew reading it wasn't what was on his mind. Finally he carefully folded the paper and looked up at me. Oh well, I thought; here it comes.
Father started off with, "Well, what do you have to say for yourself, boy? Your mother told you to stop playing with your toy balloons and get rid of them; but you disobeyed her. Why? Dad paused as he gave me time to concoct a plausible response. I stared at the floor and mumbled that I didn't know.
Dad continued, "We think you find playing with and breaking balloons sexually stimulating. Is this true? I could feel the red building in my cheeks and I knew that I was involuntarily providing his answer.
"Uh, yes I like to pop them," I stammered; groping for any words that might save my ass and bring a quick end to dad's embarrassing inquisition. "I think they are pretty to look at and they brighten up my room."
Dad stared at me in disbelief. I suddenly realized that was hardly the pronouncement a dad wanted to hear from a fourteen year old son. I might just as well have said that I like to dress like a girl and play with dolls. (Thank goodness I never had any desires of this nature).
Father immediately got to the crux of the matter as he intoned, "Your mother and I feel the reason you like balloons so much at your age is because you rub yourself and play with them when you masturbate. We are not concerned about your relieving your sexual desires; it's not unusual for a boy your age to play with himself. But it is not normal to use balloons to help you do this. Your unnatural love of rubber toys will cause you a lot of psychological problems later; do you understand? Now your mother and I want to see how you play with your toys." I just stood there in front of dad, my gaze fixed on the floor.
Mother broke the silence by asking, "Did you bring down the rest of the balloons from your bureau drawer?
"Yes," I replied as I walked over to the shelf where I had laid the bag and the several older loose balloons. As I was taking them over to her dad asked in a gruff tone if he could see them. I tossed them on the table next to him.
Dad picked up one of the loose ones and I could feel my dick starting to come to life. He had the balloon pinched between his thumb and fore finger of each hand as he stretched the balloon out to the limit several times. The last time he had it stretched he just let the one end go and it shot back into his other hand with a sharp snap sound. Then dad tossed me the balloon and turned his attention to the bargain balloons in the bag.
I had only made a small opening in the top because I just wanted to remove the two large balloons that I had blown up the night before. Dad stuck his fingers in the hole and quickly ripped the entire top of the bag open. He dumped the assorted balloons on the table with the others. I just stood watching while trying to keep my slowly rising stem from creating an obvious bulge.
As this was going on, mom had gotten out of her chair. My attention was riveted on dad as he pawed through the pile of brightly colored rubber. He quickly separated out the four or five large balloons I left in the bag as well as the half dozen or so smaller ones. The remaining dozen and a half or so were standard twelve inch party size.
"Well don't just stand there," dad barked. "Lets see how my little boy blows up and busts his pretty balloons, shall we?"
I started blowing up the balloon, concentrating on the expanding rubber in front of my face and my father sitting in his chair as he examined the balloons beyond. Then through the thin semi-transparent rubber I saw mom move in to position next to dad. I suddenly stopped blowing, removed the balloon from my lips, and just gaped at her. She was holding our camcorder aimed at me and the red light was on. No way! She wouldn't.
I quickly spun around and released the balloon that went buzzing up to the ceiling then down again, bouncing off the back of my head to the floor. It spun around once then tried to rocket up the leg of my shorts. The damn balloon was attacking me as though it knew I didn't want to be seen with it. Finally with it's air propellant exhausted the limp rubber bag plopped at my feet. I sensed mom was tracking its every move. I also suddenly realized that not only had the balloon flight been recorded, but the humiliating BALLOON BABY logo as well, because she had also plastered it on the back of my tee shirt.
Dad commanded me to turn around, pick up the balloon, and blow it up. I reluctantly did as he ordered. Mom had the camcorder rolling and focused on the ever expanding balloon in front of my face. I had it about to the limit; a good two inches bigger than the first time, when I took it out of my mouth and held it vertically out in front of me so they could see the light bulb shape formed by the fully stretched neck. Dad smiled and mom beamed in anticipation as I pushed in two more breaths before it popped with a thunderous BANG, sending a shower of rubber fragments raining down on the carpet
Next dad handed me several more balloons to blow up. The camcorder rolled again, capturing every blow of the inflation. These I was told to tie off when they were fully inflated. I had about sixteen blown up and was getting winded when mom called a halt She hadn't bothered to record the last dozen or so, because as she noted, if you have seen one balloon being blown up you have seen them all.
Then dad got out of his chair and mom handed him the camcorder and she began to instruct me on exactly what she wanted me to do with the inflated balloons. She sounded just like a movie director. Suddenly the enormity of my humiliation situation sunk in. I was going to be the star of a balloon busting home video. What was wrenching my gut was who would get to see it.
Scene #1:- Balloon Stomp
I was instructed to spread out four of the balloons in the center of
the room and then to walk over to each one and slowly flatten it under
my gym sneaker. Father moved in for close ups as I methodically destroyed
each of them. I could see he was making sure to get a good shot of my sexy
shorts and legs as he panned down from my waist to the floor at each location.
The rug was clean and the balloons put up a good fight as the soft rubber
sole of my sneaker sunk into the balloons causing a high pitched squeaking
sound just before each of them popped.
Scene #2:- Knee Squash
The same set up as scene #1 except two similar sized balloons were
positioned next to each other. I was to squat down and lean forward, pressing
each knee into one of the balloons. I was surprised how far my knees sunk
into the yielding rubber before the balloons busted. My bare legs also
received a good sting from one of them. Again every nuance of the balloon's
demise was forever captured.
Scene #3:- Squat Squash
Holding the balloons by the neck behind me by reaching between my legs
I was to squat down slowly allowing the balloon to flatten between the
backs of my calves and my ass cheeks. The greatly distended necks pushed
out between my knees before they burst with a loud POP. The rest of the
balloons I had just inflated were finished off this way. Dad recorded the
various pops from the rear, sides, and front vantage points. Several of
the balloons stung my legs when they popped and I know my parents realized
this, adding to their pleasure, but not to mine. The feel of the rubber
pressing against my balls and cock was stimulating to say the least and
I was fully inflated even though none of the balloons were.
At this point mom called me to come over. Oh no. The last thing I needed was a close up inspection. My Jockey shorts were not doing a very good job of restraining my dick and certainly a quick feel would verify my sexual status instantly. Mom wasn't taking no for an answer, so before dad got involved I presented my self in front of her.
"Turn around and face the camera," mom barked. I slowly turned as she signaled dad to start recording. Suddenly from behind she grabbed the waist band of the gym shorts and yanked the pants down to my knees.
"I told you not to wear anything under these shorts," mom bellowed. "Now you can show us what you have hiding in here." I tried to break away but in an instant she had my underpants pulled down as well. My cock sprang out at a jaunty angle like a wall mounted flag pole and saluted the camera.
I quickly tried to pull my shorts back up but mom restrained me, saying, "The faster you get those underpants off the sooner you won't be embarrassed." Man I hopped out of the shorts and under pants with one leap. I flipped the Jockey's off the gym shorts and had my exposure covered in one continuous motion. Once started the entire maneuver took probably less than two seconds.
Dad ordered me to blow up the rest of the balloons while mom the director came up with additional scenes. This only involved about ten balloons, making seventeen altogether with the ones I had brought down from my room, that I would have to bust for them before I could escape from the humiliation I was being put through. What made me really angry was that I really enjoyed the balloon busting I was doing.
Scene #4:- Pin Pop
Here I simply had to bat the balloons up to the ceiling and position
a sharp pin under them as they fell back toward the floor. POW POW POP.
When viewed later the balloons seemed to explode in mid air as if by magic
because the resolution of the recorder didn't show the pin I was holding.
This scene finished off all but the balloons I had brought down from my
room.
Scene #5:- Sit Pop
Because the remaining balloons were all piled on the sofa it was natural
for mom to suggest I just flop my ass on them to bust them. This posed
two problems. First, dad had trouble figuring out how to position the camcorder
so he could get a good shot of the flattened balloon under my can. Second,
except for two of them that's all the balloons did. The soft sofa cushions
deflected and cradled the balloons creating enough contact area to more
than support my weight even when I tried bouncing on them. My bounces were
absorbed by the springs in the sofa. Dad suggested we move the venue to
the dining room and I sat on them using the hard wooden chairs. Again most
of the balloons were able to support my weight and I had to bounce on them
to bust them. Dad was able to get much better shots of the balloons popping
as well.
Finally all the balloons had been reduced to torn rubber and my ordeal was over. I figured they must have a good ten minutes of me in my "balloon baby" short shorts popping balloons. I headed for the kitchen to get the dust pan and broom to clean up the mess when dad bellowed, "Where do you think your going. We have most of the tape to go yet on your balloon popping techniques."
I stormed back into the living room and indicated all the torn rubber as I said, "All the balloons are busted. What the hell more do you want to do to embarrass me?"
"Watch your mouth, son," dad bellowed. He was really pissed. "Now go get the rest of your balloons, now." I hesitated, wondering if he was just fishing, or did he know about the other seven bags I had squirreled away in the cellar.
I had never lied to dad before and I had a feeling if I were caught in a lie on this point the consequences would be most severe so I reluctantly headed for the cellar. When I returned and dropped the seven bags on the table. Dad scowled and said, "So this is what you spend my hard earned money on. Feeding your damn balloon fetish. I think it is time you got a job instead of an allowance." Dad ripped one of the bags open, dumped out the contents and told me to start blowing.
Mom and pop watched in silence as I spent the next half hour or so blowing up all the balloons in the bag except for the four large ones. I was so winded and light headed when I was finished I knew there was no way in hell I would be able to blow up all the balloons in the other six bags.
Scene #6:- Flop and Roll
The thirty plus balloons were clustered single layer near the center
of the room. I was to flop on them and roll about squashing them under
my ass, back, and legs. After the initial belly flop on the balloons that
took out six of them with a mighty BARRROOM the rolling wasn't effective
because most of them were too large and they squirted away as I tried to
roll on them. I had to do sort of a push up and lay on them with all my
weight, raising my knees off the floor to get them to pop. Mother liked
this approach and insisted that I have a balloon positioned under my crotch
area for the first of the busts. I was required to corral sufficient balloons
to stuff under me for subsequent flops and she directed me to use hip motion
to roll my genitals around over the balloon trapped under my crotch area.
At this point I figured I might just as well enjoy myself since everything about my sexuality had been exposed, literally. I really started humping the balloons. Dad was walking around me catching my wiggling action from all angles. After a minute or so mom decided I was actually enjoying myself so she came over and planted one foot on my ass and pressed down. The added weight was more than the balloon under my crotch could take and it burst with a muffled POOM under me.
I was required to quickly finish off the remaining balloons by sitting on them or flattening them under my knees.
Scene #7:- Blow to Bust
Mom handed me one of the large balloons and dad dutifully captured the scene as I inflated it until it burst with a loud BANG in my face. I had to repeat the performance with the remaining three large balloons. They all got over sixteen inches before they popped, and by the time I had finished off the last one I was on the verge of hyper-ventilating.
Mom asked, "Have you had enough balloon play for awhile. We still have all these other balloons to deal with, you know."
"Mom," I gasped. "I am totally winded. I don't want to blow up another damn balloon."
Mom smiled as she said, "Yes but you will tomorrow. You will want to play with them and make yourself silly with them again and again and again, now won't you?"
I knew mom was right on the money. Popping the balloons even with the utter embarrassment of the scene being recorded had me in a state of unbelievable sexual frenzy. There was no way, even if I couldn't get my hands on another balloon, that what I had just done wouldn't provide ample sexual stimulation for years to come. Rather than deny the obvious I answered her, "Yes mom. I'm sorry but I am afraid that is true."
Father scowled and demanded to know what it would take to get me to forgo the pleasures I found in my rubber toys. I indicated I didn't know. Then he suggested some painful punishment on my posterior. He indicated my nice thin gym shorts would insure I got the maximum effect from his belt. I had little doubt on that point. Fortunately mother intervened before I was subject to major physical pain.
Since I was unable to continue blowing up balloons and busting them for the benefit of their sadistic video, mom suggested we move the final scene to my parents bedroom. I gathered the remaining six bags of balloons and we trudged upstairs.
Scene #8:- Through the Singer
This would be straightforward and require little effort on my part. Mom opened up her Singer sewing machine. It wasn't threaded and she lifted the foot the normally presses the cloth down on the feed dogs. I was instructed to flatten the bags of balloons and repeatedly run them through the machine as the needle repeatedly stabbed through the rubber toys. It was sickening watching the flying needle puncturing holes in all my good balloons; turning them into useless trash. The camera rolled as I fed each bag through several times, insuring zero chance that any balloon could escape being so wantonly destroyed.
By the time I finished running the balloons through the sewing machine I was pretty damp in the front of my gym shorts. Nonetheless I was commanded to take the balloons out to the incinerator and apply a match to them. Again my every move was recorded including my march out to the back of the yard. Dad positioned the camera to get a good shot of my destroyed toys going up in black sooty smoke. Only after the balloons had been reduced to boiling, bubbling, black tar, did he shut off the camera.
All that I could think about was getting back into the house before any one spotted me in my abbreviated outfit. Dad had other ideas, however. He made me crawl on my knees around on the grass fro several minutes, whereupon he panned in for a close-up of my dirty grass stained knees. Then he made me roll around and dirty up my nice white shorts and tee shirt. Finally after a good fifteen minutes of humiliating exposure I was dismissed and allowed to return to my room.
I had to admit. Mom's seem to know all the answers. She was right on the money. My BALLOON BABY gym shorts were ideal for my balloon play sessions that resumed the following week after I scrounged up a dollar to buy another bag of bargain balloons. They got a lot of use before I finished school, left home, and had to reluctantly put them to the torch. 3/17/00 Post on 3/20/00