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Some historical background regarding my fetish interests as well as an introspective look at fetish objects in general and my sexual interest in toy rubber balloons and shorts pants in particular. <Ret. to About Index>
ABOUT ME:- <My Fetish Background> Some general background information.
ABOUT ME:- <My Balloon Fetish> This section covers the history and development of my balloon fetish from it's inception until the present time. With added unintended help from my father my need for these sexual objects as adjuncts to my sexual play was locked in for life.
ABOUT ME:- <My
Short Pants Fetish> This section
covers the history and development of my short pants fetish from it's inception
at 14 years of age until the present time.
ABOUT
ME:- My Fetish Background
Of all the Chronicles, the Early Years episodes are the most factual. My early discovery of self stimulation and orgasms came about as described in Early Years:- <Shopping For A Fetish>, and was brought about, I think, by unfortunate circumstances rather than at least at that time conscious awareness of any home life conflicts. The fact that as I five year old I had to sleep out of doors during our summer stays at my grandfather's house sharing a bunk bed with my dad was a case of convenience because there were no other beds. In any case I insisted if he could take the chilly nights by gum I certainly could. My parents could not have foreseen that I would accidentally discover pleasurable feelings as the result of repetitive body motions I used to get myself and the sheets warmed up. Once my self pleasuring was established (and it only took a night or two sleeping under the cold sheets outside to lock this in), finding some situation or activity to fantasize about, while so engaged, that had given me arousal during waking hours became necessary.
It had been made clear to me on several occasions, I suspect primarily because of tight financial constraints in our family, that my toys were objects to be played with and never deliberately broken. Breaking one of my toys, unless shown to be clearly the result of accident or wear out, had been subject to discipline in the past. What effect this had on my secret enjoyment of seeing things break or otherwise being destroyed I don't know. I do know the edict caused me to always be most careful while playing with toys that were mine. I also knew during this time that I could become at least physically stimulated by breaking things such as throwing bottles on rocks or other such minor acts of destruction. On occasion I would even try to get my friends to break or destroy toys that they didn't particularly want any longer. As a result I found it even more enjoyable to watch toys being broken and destroyed by others rather than if I were doing it myself.
With this background then it was a small step for me to connect toys being broken or destroyed that I valued and the pleasurable surges that flowed over me after vigorously rubbing my 'toidy' in my 'jammies' on the cold sheets of the bed. It is for this reason that later on when my fetish stashes were discovered, the mere thought that they could be confiscated and so easily destroyed would send me into orgasmic spasms that in some cases lasted as long as two weeks. Any mandatory unwilling form of fetish destruction always generated extreme levels of sexual stimulation in me far greater than I could achieve from destroying the fetishes myself or even in situations when I was indulging in fetish play with a partner.
Toys in those days before plastics were far sturdier than what is available today. Aside from burning or physically smashing metal toys, there were relatively few that lent themselves to 'wear and tear' or even accidental breakage. My first choice for a breakable toy was my drums which in those days had tough paper heads that would burst open if struck hard enough and I suspect many a parent wished this would happen to a drum they had gotten their kid. Unfortunately, because of the consequences I knew I would receive had I actually torn the drum head on one of them, I had no safe avenue to actually view or experience the stimulation of busting drum heads. As a result I quickly became frustrated.
Around this time my father bought
several Hi-Flyer kites that we took out to the park to sail. The kites
would invariably became trapped in trees or drug along the ground causing
them to become ripped. When they became unflyable we would bring them home
where they were subsequently consigned to the incinerator in our back yard.
At last I finally had witnessed actual destruction of some toys of mine
and I now had mentally stimulating images to work with. The kites becoming
ripped then taking them home and watching them burn sufficed as my sexual
stimulus aid for the next few months.
ABOUT
ME:- My Balloon Fetish
This section covers the history and development of my balloon fetish from it's inception until the present time. With added unintended help from my father my need for these sexual objects as adjuncts to my sexual play was locked in for life.
From this point on, however, it isn't clear to me how much of my balloon fetish was the result of happenstance or poor judgment on the part of my parents. As with most balloon fetishists, in my younger years I was very much afraid of sudden loud sounds; fireworks, car backfires, tire blowouts (you need to be over 60 to remember these) etc. As a result, balloons were on my list of to be avoided toys. I even made a point of insisting that there were to be no balloons for my fifth birthday party for this reason. Therefor I never gave balloons a thought as far as possible destruction objects for my secret nightly play sessions, even though balloons are the most easily broken toy that exists.
This all changed, however, when at a friends birthday party a few months later, I was loath to take home two of the balloons the host proffered and father decided that it was high time for me to overcome my fear of sudden loud noises and dislike of toy balloons in particular. My father's intentions were certainly admirable, and under normal circumstances would have achieved their goal with no secondary negative side effects. However father was not aware of my masturbatory practices at this time and certainly would have had no inkling of the toy destruction thoughts I entertained nightly as I reached orgasm.
My father's introduction of our Friday balloon play nights could not have more firmly established rubber balloons as my life time fetish. The fact was that for the first time in my life I was actually encouraged, nay required, to break a toy. Dad went so far as to put a super sharp point on a large hat pin that we called "Mr. Buster" that I was required to press into the stretched rubber skin of my balloons during our first few balloon play sessions. To me the resulting sudden POP as the point punctured the balloon and seeing the torn rubber sheets flying epitomized totality of the toy's destruction. The sudden pop also mirrored that sudden heavenly release I was getting nightly after a few minutes of scrubbing my little dickey in my PJ's.
That first balloon night I don't recall actually getting any sort of erection during the forty five minutes or so it took my Father to inflate and me to bust the dozen balloons he had brought home. By the end of my play session that first night I had no fear whatever of popping balloons with a pin. I also suddenly realized I had found the ultimate 'bustable' toy on which to focus my destructive fantasies. That very night while I scrubbed my 'toidy' my mind re-ran the fun time I had just experienced popping the dozen balloons. This added to my stimulation and allowed me to also experience a super wonderful POP in my jammies.
I have to think that at this point poor judgment on the part of my father came into play. Not that it would have mattered. I was already irrevocably locked into my masturbation and balloon fetish and I really hadn't gotten into any heavy body contact balloon play that first night. I am quite certain dad was not a balloon fetishist, but there was no question he really enjoyed popping balloons himself as well as watching me bust them. Dad especially liked the effect the glowing tip of his Lucky Strike cigarettes had on balloons. He also especially liked it when I tortured balloons by squeezing and rubbing them between my arms and body or especially when I would kneel on them or crush them between my bare legs. He especially encouraged this type of body contact balloon play. One of his favorite performances was when I sat on balloons and the neck would bulge out forward under the back of my legs past the hem of my short pants. The screech of tortured rubber followed eventually by the inevitable POP I recall seemed to please him a great deal.
During this time I can't fathom that he didn't realize that this type of balloon play pleased me the most as well; and not just physically. Feeling the rubber scrubbing on my bare legs and down in my crotch region would generate a near constant hard on, and when he would squash balloons down on my knees until they popped it really revved me up. As I recall there were only one or two nights of balloon play when I wasn't wearing shorts. My mother liked to see boys, and me in particular, wearing shorts so I spent the bulk of my waking hours bare kneed. Even in cold weather when I would come home from school wearing knickers and long socks I would be required to change into shorts for play; especially if I would be in the house for the rest of the evening because it was too dark to play outside. I did wear confining Jockey style underwear and after the first few minutes of play, usually even before all the balloons we were going to use for the evening were inflated, I would usually have to discretely position my also inflated tool to a comfortable upwardly mobile pointing position. I guess the resulting bulge wasn't that evident to my father even during times when I would be standing right in front of him because of the looseness of my play shorts,.
My mother didn't care to be around balloons that were being popped so she was generally not in the living room during our balloon pop nights. However after about five or six sessions she somehow became aware that I was getting sexually as well as physically stimulated. Discovering I was playing with inflated left over balloons in my bed room when I was supposed to be getting to sleep was also a contributing factor I'm sure. From that time on she dictated that no inflated balloons were permitted to lie around the house; so all our subsequent balloon play sessions required that every balloon we had inflated had to be POPPED by the appointed time for my Friday night bath. This final destructive surge after nearly an hour of balloon busting play often took the form of my presenting any surviving balloons to Dad's lit cigarette. POP POP they would go as the glowing tip seared through the thin rubber.
Thank goodness I wasn't leaking any boy fluid at this time. Knowing that the balloons had to be destroyed as opposed to having them burst as the result of my rough house play really put extra zing in my thing. This was most frustrating because immediately following the rubber clean up was my bath; so I had no chance to follow up on the stimulation surge I got until I was tucked into my Beddy bye nearly an hour later after a hot relaxing bath.
I think now that parental logic would have dictated that upon discovering my sexual stimulation associated with our Friday night balloon play, any remaining balloons in the house would have been placed in the incinerator out in the back yard and burned as was the case with the remains of the broken balloons from our play session. I would have thought they would allow no further contact with balloons on my part which would not have been difficult to enforce because balloons were quickly becoming unavailable due to the second world war. The requirement that the broken balloons had to be burned occurred after Mother found several of the larger sweet smelling sheets of torn rubber I had salvaged the next day out of the trash can in the kitchen in my bed. I had been using the sweet rubber odor to enhance my bed time exercise.
Although such a scenario would have been unbelievably stimulating for me at that time, but extremely frustrating for me long term, it would not have diminished my sexual attraction to rubber balloons. I think Father understood this, or for whatever other reason, our balloon play nights didn't stop for almost another year until my seventh birthday. We would be moving about a month afterward and Mom decided this would be a good time to end my balloon popping fun. She mandated and Father agreed that all remaining balloons we still had were to be used for my birthday party or otherwise just be destroyed.
When my party was over I was forced to burst the two dozen balloons we had hung for decorations. I elected to use dad's lit cigarette, and as he carried me on his shoulders from corner to corner and I applied the burning tip to the helpless balloons, there was no way he couldn't feel my hard stem pressing against the back of his neck. When we finished cleaning up and took the debris out to the incinerator to burn, I discovered ten unused balloons still in the box. Because I was not fully 'cleansed' of my balloon popping fear, I was not prepared to inflate one of them until it burst which was the goal father had set for me all along. Had I been able to do so I would have been given the remaining nine balloons to play with (probably blow to pop for dad's pleasure). Instead I got to see them go up in flames with the rest of the trash and burst balloons.
The lack of balloon availability for the next 5 years or so was a really dry time in my fetish history. Remembrances and fantasies from the balloon play sessions with Dad were the only things that I had to get me through this period. It wasn't until I came up with the idea of selling novelties along with lots of balloons at the local association carnival five years later that large round balloons like I had played with during my early years again became available to me. By the time of my father's discovery of my balloon stash when I was fifteen I had accumulated about eighty of them in addition to well over a hundred penny airship tubular balloons that I was able to buy at the local general store. Father's suggestion at that time that I toss all my balloons in our furnace generated probably the most intense sexual stimulation I have ever experienced. He correctly discerned this fact and, I suspect as a result, didn't press me to consign my rubber toys to the flames.
Once I discovered my sexual interest in short pants I engaged in strictly bare knee balloon play. My solo balloon play at this time had two venues; in the cellar Friday and Saturday nights when my parents went in to the social club in town or deep down in the woods about two miles from the house where I was well isolated (I hoped) from other beings. I engage in both of these areas of balloon play even to this day, but my out of doors activity aside from the barn I have out back, is very limited due to lack of really sufficient isolation in the area where I live. Having someone spot and old geezer dressed like a Boy Scout wandering about in the woods playing with toy balloons would create a nasty situation to try to explain to my family and friends.
Since this discovery of my balloon stash had officially 'outed' me again, (because Dad already was aware of my sexual affinity for balloons since mother brought it to his attention when I was about six years old) he apparently gave up as a lost cause trying to wean me from my sexual attraction to them. I think this was due in large part to the fact that he felt he was responsible for my misplaced sexual attraction.
For the following several months he apparently decided against addressing the issue, never mentioning anything about my balloons or hindering my fetish interest in this area. Several months later he was in an unusually foul mood and when I came home he destroyed a handful of balloons I had won at the local fireman's carnival and then ripped the Boy Scout shorts I was wearing.
To my disbelief just about a week later, he allowed me to totally indulge myself in both balloons as well as shorts. It was a super hot day and we were on our way into the city to pick up carnival supplies from the wholesalers. A sudden turn of events that netted me a near lifetime supply of Boy Scout shorts emboldened me later as we left the department store to ask and reluctantly receive his OK to ask about the availability of surplus balloons while we were at the carnival supply wholesalers. Suddenly I was on my way home with more balloons than I could have ever dreamed of.
The hot trip home was something else again and was the first of several unbelievably stimulating interactions I had with my father during the next two years. Fortunately by this time I had mastered my fear of balloon busting and had no trouble inflating them until they burst. I was wearing the scout uniform I had tried on at the store and as we neared home Dad decided to make a sudden side trip to the community dump. There I was forced to demonstrate this form of balloon busting prowess, which pleased Dad no end. I was also pressed into a highly interactive balloon play and short pants session, similar to those years before in our living room, during which time my father verified my abnormal sexual stimulation level first hand. I still can't believe that all my newly acquired fetishes didn't go up in smoke right then and there.
I suspect he figured permitting me to indulge in a total balloon overload situation would diminish my sexual attraction for the rubber toys and he was to some extent right. Suddenly I now had thousands of balloons with the possibility of getting more that I could pop and bust any which way to my heart's content; which I did. Busting balloons soon became more of a chore than a sexual stimulation. Of course Dad didn't initially realize that my friends would become aware of my balloon thing and were on occasion helping me break them in some really sexually stimulating situations.
From this time until I left home to go to college my balloon thing was a constant source of frustration for my father. This was mainly because he felt responsible for my sexual anomaly; which was only partly true. On the one hand he wanted to destroy every balloon and pair of shorts I had. On the other he knew he could not deter my balloon fetish no matter how severely he punished me or confiscated and destroyed all the balloons he could find. In fact he was aware, had he done so, that his actions would have generated a far greater sexual stimulus in me than I actually could get from popping the balloons off or destroying them myself, or even during times when I enlisted the aid of my buddies. He understood that my fetish was permanently locked in by my immature sexuality. It was undoubtedly this fact that was really his chief concern.
Of slightly lesser worry was that my step mother or more importantly my younger step brother would stumble across some of my vast supply and become aware of my unusual balloon interests. Needless to say discovery of my fetish interest in toy balloons by our friends or neighbors was unthinkable.
As a result the next two years or so were marked by several balloon encounters with my Father that were the most sexually stimulating of my life. Although I went through several threats to my fetishes as dad wrestled with his conflicting thoughts there was only one occasion when he forced me to destroy a portion of my balloon supply. This was the result of his frustration because I had obtained another several thousand balloons from the wholesalers on the sly, and worse, in the presence of a fellow schoolmate.
Father had been hoping my accelerated balloon popping during the previous year, if continued, would dispose of my initial balloon supply at least by the time he felt I had to become a man and head off on my own to college. There I'm sure he was hoping I would discover more normal sexual interests. However my new supply of several thousand balloons killed that idea. They were more than able to replace the balloons he made me destroy several times over. My only real loss was the irreplaceable war surplus target balloons that my friend Bob had given me and the few remaining 560 airships I still had at the time.
It was during this period I experienced both homo and heterosexual relationships which are detailed in the latter half of the Later Years Chronicles. Because of my fear of real 'body contact' sexual sports (due I think largely to my immature sexuality level), the enjoyment I got from the few instances of balloon / shorts play with my boy friends and the number of sexual encounters I had with Linda essentially involved shorts wearing balloon popping play with minimal hands on sexual activity. I did discover that I got much greater sexual enjoyment during times when I played with a partner who was wearing shorts while we played with balloons together, even during the many instances when there was no actual individual or shared sex acts involved.
From the time I went off to college until I became preoccupied with dating my present Mrs. my balloon play remained the same as it was back in my post war era. Because of my heightened fear of discovery I felt forced to push further and further back in the mountains away from civilization, often going on over night hikes to reach really isolated spots. These bare kneed forays my father would call 'communing with nature'. He was well aware I was enjoying the feel of the environment against my bare legs along with the sounds and sights of my balloons bursting and that I was finishing up my trecks with JO sessions. I carried a sizable selection from my balloon stash under the rear seat of my car so I always had a supply should I come across an isolated area and felt the urge to pop a few along with myself as well.
My involvement with the Boy Scouts as a leader added an additional dimension to my balloon experience. The boys were older, in the 15 to 17 year range, and by pure luck were not opposed to wearing shorts or having them became the standard attire for the troop. Even better the boys really enjoyed busting balloons, especially around a campfire. Most were also comfortable blowing them up until they would burst, and bust off contests occurred almost every outing as well as during a couple of meetings in our warehouse headquarters.
These sessions were unbelievably stimulating for me but also frustrating because they were all of course strictly look but don't touch situations. I never allowed myself to get involved with any from of sexual contact with the boys, even had they initiated it, and I refrained from even having any direct balloon contact with them. While I encouraged the boys to rub and bust balloons on each other (after they had discovered this themselves) I never let myself get involved in potentially stimulating acts with any of them. I always slept in my own tent and made a point to never be in a situation where I was alone with any one boy.
Being older and more mature, did they suspect their bare knee leader that seemed to really enjoy wearing shorts, knee socks and neckerchiefs, and who always seemed to have a vast supply of toy balloons available for busting was some sort of deviate? I can't fathom that they didn't. Thinking back I can't believe I was as foolish as I was to expose myself to such a great extent. But during the several years of my involvement with the scouts I fortunately was never questioned in any depth about my unusual interests, either by the boys or other adult leaders.
I was up front with my wife before
we were married so she was aware of my balloon fetish interests. She also
made it clear that she didn't really like to be around inflated balloons.
Although over the years she did make an effort on many occasions to indulge
me in balloon play, the fact that she was uncomfortable with it resulted
in her never displayed any spontaneity during our balloon play sessions.
She always wanted to know what I wanted her to do to the balloons next.
This resulted in the added stimulation I could have otherwise received
being greatly diminished. As a result I have not had a balloon popping
partner for the last twenty years or so.
ABOUT
ME:- My Short Pants Fetish
This section covers the history and development of my short pants fetish from it's inception at 14 years of age until the present time.
My infatuation with short pants burst suddenly upon my sexual scene one Sunday afternoon at a small local amusement park when I spied the good looking boy with well muscled legs about my age riding the carrousel. I was instantly aroused and sexually attracted to him because of the baggy white shorts he was wearing. Boys our age did not willingly wear short pants of any type in public and here this kid was baring a good looking leg and knee for all the world to see. I really admired his guts. I just couldn't keep my eyes off his legs and the shorts he was wearing, the full cut leg of his shorts flapping in the breeze, as he swung into view again and again. Prior to seeing him astride his black charger I had never been attracted to or had any sexual inclinations toward other individuals; but the immediate stirrings in my lower quarters let me know I was experiencing a new direction in my sexuality.
When I got home from the park I immediately decided I had to have that boy's sexy bare knee look. I also knew that this sudden sexual interest had better be kept from my father like I thought at the time my balloon interests were. Additionally having my play buddies think I enjoyed romping around in little boys play pants didn't strike me as a smart move either, even though I suddenly now secretly longed to see what their knees and legs would look like sticking out of nice baggy shorts. I would have been willing to expose my new found desire for bare legs if I thought there was any chance they would reciprocate and not just use the opportunity to ridicule my lack of apparent masculinity.
A few years later I discovered my father would not have been at all opposed to buying me summer shorts had I expressed an interest in them at this time and I would have further agreed that I would be willing to wear short pants in public. It would have made things a lot less sticky for me the following spring at the end of the school year when he discovered I had brought home nearly six dozen pairs of used gym shorts from school that the other boys had thrown out. The fact that I had tried to hide my gym shorts stash from the family suddenly brought my interest in them to his attention and he naturally had to wonder what I found so attractive in PE pants that he knew I wouldn't want anyone to se me wearing.
After this embarrassing discovery, my father dictated that I was required to wear the gym shorts at all times in and around the house. One big problem I had with this is that the names of other schoolmates, mostly in the higher grades, were prominently displayed on the front of the left legs. Fortunately the short as well as ample leg openings the shorts provided produced more leg and crotch exposure than my Father felt was appropriate for a fourteen year old boy to expose to public view, so I was relieved from the total embarrassment of having to wear them when I was away from the house, at least initially. From that point on I suspected that Dad had to know my interest in short pants extended beyond the fact that they are cool and comfortable to wear in warm weather and that they were connected to my unusual interest in toy balloons.
Of course the two friends I ran around with quickly discovered that I was spending my time around the house clad in fellow classmates used gym shorts. To say the least they were quite intrigued with my attire and when they were over to the house often engaged in wrestling matches, amusing themselves by seeing how dirty, skinned up, and bloodied they could get my legs. This activity also gave them opportunities on several occasions to try to rip the thin cotton shorts off me. Even though I had snatched at least two dozen smaller sized shorts that would be the right size to fit them (I didn't have time when I grabbed them to sort out just larger sizes just for me), they weren't about to let me suck them in to exposing their legs in public. I discovered later when I got several dozen pairs of cheepie scout shorts along with a few pair of smaller sized ones specifically for them to wear, had I had told their mother about the gym shorts I had for them that they could have worn for the summer, they would have been sporting dirty skinned up knees like mine right from the start. As it turned out they hadn't tossed the two pairs of gym shorts the school had supplied each of them as had most of the boys, but had taken them home and were using them nights to sleep in.
During this time I spent a good deal of my summers alone way down in the woods romping in a couple of home made cutoffs along with the gym shorts while I played with balloons. I would put on my shorts and then pull long pants on over top. I would ditch my 'longies' as soon as I reached the shelter of the woods and would spend the rest of the time feeling the cool freedom the shorts provided while playing with and occasionally busting some balloons. After a couple of hours of this, following an orgiastic release, I would trek home at eventide, retrieve my long pants and slip them on, and then show up for dinner.
As far as achieving anything near the bare knee look I really desired I was out in left field until my uncle visited one day and saw me wearing the salvaged school gym shorts. After an afternoon of derogatory remarks and some physical interaction that got my knees more than dirty he graciously had my grandmother send me his old scout uniform that he still had at home. The shorts were close to my ideal, far better than the ones I had made by cropping off the legs of a couple of my old 'longies', which aside from the school gym shorts which were plenty loose, baggy, and comfortable, but far too revealingly short, were the best I could muster up to that time. In addition I now had actual knee socks, matching shirt, and a neckerchief to go with my new baggy shorts.
In addition to the bare knee look I also had an intense desire to generate repeats of my initial sexual experience in the park, at least from a visual standpoint, in the seclusion of my room while taking care of my sexual stresses. This resulted in a frantic search for pictures of boys near my age, or even men, wearing shorts. My first real success came when I found pictures in a National Geographic from the early forties showing British Tommies fighting Rommel in North Africa. The British wore long baggy khaki shorts along with knee socks. I immediately fell in love with that 'El Alamein' look.
Those British uniforms from the North Africa campaign I still think represent the ultimate in he-man short pants outfits. I could easily in my mind transport myself back the ten years, longing to feel my grimy knees digging into the hot sands of the Sahara. I would even further indulge; picturing a Jerry bullet zipping through the hem of my shorts and gouging out some flesh from my thigh, causing sticky blood to run down the outside of my knee into the roll of my dirty knee socks directly beneath. Ah the foolishness of youth fueled by unrecognized 'flaggalistic' desires.
My other major source of pictures was from the Boys Life magazine, which although not the official scout magazine at the time, occasionally featured pictures of boys my age sporting about summer camp in their shorts, knee socks, and flashy neckerchiefs. And it was really occasionally even in the summer issues, because in those days boys older than 6 wouldn't be caught dead wearing shorts, so there were few really decent close up shots of boys showing off their knees.
I also came across a few pictures of boys modeling shorts from our Sears or Montgomery Ward catalogs during these years. However, because short pants sales to older boys were so low, they rarely wasted page space showing pictures of boys my age showing off shorts. If there were any pictures they were often of toddlers or boys up to five year old shown in shorts. Their smooth un-muscular legs didn't do a thing for me.
My short pants picture portfolio lasted until I was about 17 when dad discovered the pictures in the back of my desk drawer during a balloon stash seek and destroy search. I was immediately commanded to take them behind our barn, disperse them on the ground, and apply a lit match. That finished off my 'boys in shorts' picture gallery in a matter of seconds. I never bothered to generate another collection even after I left home and was on my own. Nowadays via the internet there are thousands of pictures of boys wearing all manner of short pants readily available to the short pants connoisseur. Ah well; I was just 45 years too soon.
The major turning point for both my balloon and shorts fetishes occurred the night my father, in a foul mood, destroyed the balloons I had won at a local carnival as well as the scout shorts that my friend Bob had talked me into wearing that my uncle had given me. Later Dad felt guilty about his un-called for actions. I also now think that he realized how much his wanton destruction of my fetishes had sexually stimulated me which I am sure was just the opposite of his intent. He had previously discerned that destroying my balloons generated a far greater level of sexual stimulation in me than if I were to destroy them myself, so I think he quickly realized his tactical error and didn't press me to hand over my balloon stash or stockpile of gym shorts for destruction.
He was well aware of my sexual attraction to balloons and he realized there wasn't much he could do about it at this point in my life. I also think he knew I had an un-natural love of wearing short pants which he correctly figured was tied into my balloon play, but he must have also suspected I liked seeing other boys wearing shorts as well. At this time any dad's thought of a son having homosexual tendencies was unthinkable. As a result I suspect he felt he had to do something to get me into a more normal sexuality channel; at least in regard to my short pants attraction to other boys or wearing shorts in general. Dad figured if he would force me to wear shorts in public it would reduce their sexual appeal, both because of the stigma I would experience as well as the fact that I wouldn't be sneaking around wearing them in private just for my JO sessions.
This resulted in the first major breakthrough regarding my shorts and balloon fetishes which occurred about a week later during our trip into the city to pick up supplies for the local association carnival. Dad knew that destroying and forbidding my wearing shorts would have just added fuel to my already flaming shorts fetish fire, which is why I'm sure my gym shorts had been spared the week before, so he opted for a risky peer pressure route.
During our trip to the city when he suggested replacing the old pair of scout shorts he had destroyed I affirmed I was willing to wear camp shorts for the summer if he were to buy some for me. When we got to the department store we discovered that they were more than happy to unload a massive pile of obsolete scout uniforms (the same '30s style as my uncle's) for pennies on the dollar. I was soon inundated with a near lifetime supply of scout shorts that I suddenly discovered on the way home I would be required to wear EVERYWHERE, possibly year round and even to my horror 11th grade high school. Buying me the dozens of pairs of shorts was the same plan he used when he allowed me to buy thousands of the junk balloons an hour or two later at the novelty wholesalers. Fetish availability overload. The difference was, however, in this case I would be required to expose my short pants love or more precisely my alabaster thin skinned legs for all the world to see, whereas my balloon 'thing' was to be kept strictly hidden.
Although displaying myself in shorts, and a Boy Scout uniform in particular, generated considerable verbal and occasionally painful personnel abuse during the summer vacations as well as the remaining two high school years, the taunts, jeers, and physical assaults from other boys as well as adults didn't materialize to the extent we had both anticipated. Also the fact that I was no longer obliged to sneak around in isolation to wear shorts also removed a lot of the sexual stimulation I had been experiencing during previous shorts wearing sessions. Wearing shorts no longer made me feel near as sexy as it had, just cooler and more comfortable . So like overloading me with toy balloon availability his plan was successful in this regard.
Another factor in Dad's plan I soon realized was my certain realization that at the end of summer it would be back to school at which point I would likely become the target of severe physical beatings at the hands of my peers as soon as I was forced to show off my bare knees at school. My fear of this more than justified the painful boxing lessons Father initiated and the endless excruciatingly fatiguing workouts I forced myself to endure. Unquestionably both of these activities had a lasting positive effect on my physical well being; even up to the present time. The boxing lessons and weight training also gave me a good deal of self confidence which I sorely lacked before. In addition, my newly developed combative skills along with the sizable increase in my physical capabilities drastically reduced the number of boys that I felt would consider taking me on in bare knuckle duels.
The second major breakthrough in my shorts fetish occurred at this same time when I was able to get my two buddies to don some of the scout uniforms I had gotten them. Initially they were far from willing to even consider wearing them, but their mother's insistence swayed them over. They were given the choice; either put the shorts and knee socks on I had given them or she would cut the legs off the blue jeans they were currently wearing. The family was not well off so the boys didn't have an extensive selection of wearable long pants that they could afford to sacrifice. As a result It was a no brainer for them to don the scout uniforms and save their blue jeans from being suddenly truncated into, horrors, little boys pants.
Both the boys were fairly slim so the scout shorts only came about half way down their thighs, but the ample leg openings provided plenty of movement freedom for their legs and a lot of interesting viewing for me. They vented their initial displeasure on me for giving them the little boy pants outfits that they suddenly were forced to wear within an hour after they had put them on by beating up on me which resulting in all of us getting our knees christened in blood.
It wasn't too long before they accepted the cool freedom of the scout shorts and I think sorta liked seeing each other and me in shorts as well. The boys and I did later have some mutual low key (hands on only) sexual sessions but they primarily involved balloon foreplay. On several occasions after we got ourselves excited from balloon contact followed by a good deal of grab ass, we each would sit in a circle and take care of our own needs, seeing who could produce juice the fastest or shoot it the farthest. On a couple of occasions we actually got really excited and stroked each other off. How much our shorts wearing added to the boy's stimulation I don't know, but any balloon play aside, just seeing my buddies in shorts would get me sufficiently excited. There was no question the scout shorts facilitated this type of activity especially since we were always wearing the loose salvaged gym pants as undershorts.
Their mother had been more than happy to get them to also accept over a dozen medium sized gym shorts I had available for them specifically for this function as opposed to the 'boxers' they usually wore with long pants. Generally we would actually ditch our scout shorts once things got hot and heavy and finish up our play clad in just the gym shorts.
Their mother was all for her boys wearing shorts because they eliminated the endless ripped knees that often occurred to the long pants they had been wearing to play in. To this end she made each of us several pairs of heavy blue denim shorts that were longer and baggier in the legs than even the scout shorts. Because these were a lot tougher than the two pair of scout shorts I had given each of them, they spent most of their time wearing these longer shorts. I also think they also felt more comfortable wearing them because they didn't look so 'leggy'. They reserved wearing their scout shorts as well as knee socks, shirts, and neckerchiefs to specific hikes and overnight camp outs where they were less likely to be seen, ugh, looking like Boy Scouts. As a result their uniforms survived for a good two years.
I wore shorts around the house all the time even during winter months, and to my surprise the boys on occasion would wear their denim shorts out doors while the snow was on the ground as well. I think they genuinely enjoyed frolicking about in the snow as well as the sting of hard thrown snowballs smashing off their bare knees. Generally this just left pink marks which made each of us proud. Burst or ripped skin would surely have resulted had we not all spent the summer toughening up the hide on our legs with me.
For nearly two years, especially during the summer school vacations, we spent a good deal of time together and watching the boys showing off their hard muscled legs and well formed knees gave me daily excitement. Although I wanted it, there was relatively little in the way of sexual contact. The fear of the "H" label was the primary reason for our lack of up leg 'feelies' and other forms of body contact that nice loose fitting shorts tend to promote and that often could normally lead to mutual stimulation. I would have welcomed this type of activity because I would have been the physically dominant member, unlike the few sessions I had with my friend Bob where his intimidating advances for oral and body contact sex turned me off. During this time I did generate a number of sexual fantasies I entertained during my nightly 'releases' that involved the boys wearing shorts while we played with balloons. As I would reach climax I would mentally have us finishing up with mutual stimulation. Some of these mind scenes can be found in the <Fantasies> section.
The shorts and balloon interaction sessions I had with my high school's star athlete, Bob, were really unexpected. The night he insisted I wear my uncle's scout uniform to the carnival in town and agreed to don his scout shorts outfit to keep me company I had no idea he was attracted to me, especially when I was wearing shorts. Unbelievably, because he had a thing for balloons himself, he quickly discerned during our outing that I also had an unusual interest in balloons as well. This led to our sharing our balloon fetish interests and set up several shorts wearing balloon play sessions between us down in the woods.
I always insisted that these pop offs end in hands on only mutual JO sessions. This didn't satisfy Bob too well after our first encounter because he was more inclined to getting into heavier body contact which frankly I wanted no parts of. It didn't take me long to realize that it was me that turned him on, not the scout shorts we were wearing or even the extensive balloon busting foreplay. Blowing and popping balloons did get him excited, although I suspect it was me blowing, rubbing them on my legs, and then busting them that generated his greatest level of excitement.
The fact that he had an extensive balloon stash of his own confirmed in my mind that he was at least a balloon fetishist, and like me, had used them as a sexual crutch in his earlier years. It soon became evident that he had moved on from his rubber toys to serious male male interaction. My forced commitment to short pants whetted his desires and made me an ideal candidate for his unwelcome some times strong arm advances. So alas, even though I enjoyed 'playing with him', I had to say thanks but no thanks.
As the start of the school year approached I don't think father ever thought I would actually wear my scout shorts and knee socks to the first day of school my junior year. Then again he hadn't bought me a new set of long pants to wear to school for the year either. His threat of forcing me to wear the scout shorts to school had driven my exhausting summer physical training program, and by the time the first day of school arrived I had invested so much blood and sweat into beating myself (and getting beaten) into shape that I decided that, taunts and ridicule be dammed, I was prepared to call his bluff. I wasn't about to waste all that pain and effort without putting myself to the test.
Being a former member of the school board, (he had to vacate when we moved out into the country) Dad personally knew most of the teachers and school administrators. Many had already seen me during the summer or were otherwise aware that I had eschewed long pants (I don't think they were aware that it wasn't entirely my choice) and may actually have expected to see me show up looking like a boy attending his first day in kindergarten (actually I didn't see any boys show up for kindergarten, which was in the next building just down the street, wearing shorts). My homeroom and first day male teachers didn't seem too upset at my bare legs, but a couple of the old maids I had for English and Social Studies thought I looked undignified and were all for tossing me out of their classrooms.
What I couldn't imagine is that the school administration didn't expect me to be the butt of ridicule and that confrontations were sure to erupt. When they did, especially after the engineered sparring match in gym class that got the gym instructor in hot water, I was officially informed that long pants were required apparel for boys that attended our combined junior / senior high school (7 thru 12 grades) until further notice. This officially got me off the hook with Dad regarding my wearing shorts to school for the remainder of my high school years.
After graduating from high school I spent the summer working on a construction crew. Two college boys and I were temporary employees just for the summer, as I would be attending college in the fall as well. The last half of June was hot as hell and after two weeks I got an OK to wear shorts from the foreman. However he wouldn't guarantee the safety of my bare skinned legs. One of the college guys was a big bruiser and was on his college football squad; same school as I was planning to attend. Together we decided to give shorts a try. We got lots of hoots and whistles the first day but nothing physical at all. After a week there were about a dozen really macho construction workers also bronzing up their legs along with us.
There was absolutely no short pants wearing by males during the four years I was at college unless you were engaged in a sport that generally involved wearing shorts. They were not worn outside of boys dorms and were only seen on playing fields or the tennis courts. Students, girls or boys, that showed up in shorts would most likely be tossed out of class by the professors. During the school year I would wear plain cotton gym shorts to sleep in or whenever I was lounging around the dorm. They were the ones Dad had bought several years earlier when we picked up the boxing gear and the weight set at the sporting goods store sale. I had I wild variety of colors such as yellow, orange, and maroon still left.
This was the extent of my bare knee exposure during the college school year, with the exception of my senior year when I had a car available. I would spend Saturday or Sunday afternoons tromping around in the woods wearing my scout shorts and popping balloons as I had during my teen years. I used my old longies over shorts technique to hide my bareness for the trek from the dorm to the parking lot which was on the other side of campus.
The other three summers between my college years I had a job doing general maintenance work on a toll bridge. It was hot dirty outdoor work and I had no trouble getting the permanent employees to accept my bare knees on the job. Since I was living at home I wore shorts continually around the house. On weekends I would put on my 'scoutfit' hop in the car with a big bag of balloons and buzz off to the mountains nearby, often to the places where dad and I or Linda had had our fun. My father was well aware of what sort of solo enjoyment I was into and never made any further comment about my distorted sexual leanings. He did mention on several occasions that he hoped I was disposing of most of my balloon stockpile so that little brother, who was now old enough for the boy scouts, didn't stumble across any mounds of brightly colored rubber that had obviously been hidden.
My step brother had by this time grown into a rather skinny lanky kid. He would never really look good in shorts, even as an adult. After he reached about seven years of age, like most boys, he objected to wearing shorts and my step mother didn't buy him any more. When he was eleven years old I decided I really wanted to see what he looked like in shorts so I bought him a pair of fairly long baggy blue camp shorts. I don't know what my step mom thought about this, she knew I was really into shorts and I suspect she probably knew in what ways, but she never said anything and allowed him to wear them off and on during that summer.
I was able to get him to wear the shorts a couple of times a week. Basically it was a case if he wanted me to take him anywhere or play with him he had to show me his knees. Some of this play involved getting in the car and going up to the dump with my old Daisy Red Rider BB gun. He liked to shoot at bottles and other breakables. I had no trouble introducing him to my inflatable rubber breakables. Seeing him in shorts popping balloons was very rewarding to say the least. It more than made up for the fact that his balloon busting enjoyment was really putting a dent in my supply. I never made any attempt to touch him but I did encourage him to enjoy himself. I don't think he ever got stimulated in any way from our activity. I do know that to this day he will not wear shorts so I may have pushed a little much in this regard.
After I graduated from college I had a full time job and lived in a rented furnished apartment. My gym shorts were the garb of the day as long as I was in the house. Week nights, weather permitting, I would take long walks around the town wearing either my scout shorts or some khaki class 'A' military shorts that had become available on the market in the late '50s. I was also able to get khaki long socks to go with them. The shorts were somewhat longer and didn't have quite as baggy a leg but they weren't too bad. After I got several pair I began to phase out the scout shorts for all but my mountain hiking simply to reduce their wear out rate. At this point I only had a little over a dozen pair of unworn scout shorts that would fit me left in stock. Also wearing the army shorts eliminated the possibility of some scouter questioning me regarding my wearing scout shorts since I was not involved in the scouting program at the time.
I lived close enough to home to be able to come home two out of three weekends. I would spend almost all the time I was at home around the house usually in the army shorts. A lot of this time was spent up in the mountains hiking and popping balloons and often involved overnight treks. For these hikes I would opt for the scout shorts. My father always referred to my wanderings as 'communing with nature'. That was his euphemism for my going off to the boondocks, getting my knees dirty, busting balloons, and finally juicing myself silly.
As mentioned in my balloon background section I became involved in the early '60s with the Boy Scouts as a leader. It was a newly formed troop with most of the boys in the 15 to 17 year old range. To my amazement they were not at all opposed to wearing the scout short pants uniform. We had no trouble getting the summer uniform to be the standard for the troop.
Most of the boys had not been in scouting previously so they went out and bought new uniforms that were sized with the inevitable expansion of the wearers in mind. The scout shorts during this period were in my mind just plain ridiculous; essentially the same cut as the long pants with the legs cut off. They were designed for modesty in mind with fairly long rather confining legs. However, because most of the boys bought their shorts oversize, many of them were pissable, i.e. they could hike up the hem, grab their stem, and take a leak out the leg without having to resort to using the fly. Most of the boys were fairly leggy but the larger sized shorts didn't look too bad on them, usually hanging 3 to 4 inches above their knees with a full enough leg that they provided some degree of hem hang when the wearers would sit on logs around the camp fires. These happened most often toward evening and at night, unfortunately, reducing my view of their good looking legs and knees that otherwise might have been interesting to see.
Although I had a pair of the new style shorts to use if I had to appear at adult scouting functions, I always wore the old style baggier shorts from the late '30's to the weekly meetings and on all our troop outdoor activity trips. The boys and I wore the short pants scout uniform to our weekly meetings year around. On several occasions during the winter, snow frolicking with the inevitable snow ball fights would put a strain on our first aid kit.
One of the activities the scouts enjoyed was horseback riding. We would go to a nearby hack stable and rent horses. Courtesy of Linda I did have a more than passing knowledge of horsemanship (I knew how lousy I was) and these outings renewed my horsey interests. Shortly afterward I invested in a really sharp mare that I maintained at a boarding stable. It was here that I met the true love of my life and we have lived in matrimonial bliss for nearly 34 years.
I don't think the Mrs. understands anything about my shorts fetish but I'm sure she wonders why any man needs to have a wardrobe of nearly 200 pairs of shorts; especially since two thirds of them have 'shrunk' and won't fit around my tummy anymore. Also not too many wives have husbands in their '60s that like dressing up like a Boy Scout, neckerchief and all, and then go parading around the local neighborhood.
I still sleep in gym shorts and wear shorts around the property year round. I also wear my 'scoutfits' for my twilight and longer week end jaunts. Loose thin baggy shorts from my collection are a must for my occasional balloon play. This constitutes my short pants fetish involvement today. Posted on 7/01