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In the spring of 1941 the world was at war and the economy had been gearing up for the war effort for a good year or so. My father was actually getting paid with real money and this provided the wherewithal for the purchase of our Friday night play balloons by the box. It also provided dad the ability to fulfill one of his life long dreams; flying an airplane.

There was a small airport nearby and every other Saturday afternoon starting in February dad would go over to the field for his hour long flying lessons. Saturdays were of course my big outside play days because it got dark soon after school let out at night so I didn't go with him on a regular basis. After the first visit and the wowee gee of seeing all the planes up close and watching the unfamiliar activity wore off, standing around for an hour plus became boring. Occasionally something interesting would happen like the day when dad who was practicing landings came in a bit abruptly and knocked the tail wheel off his plane.

I guess it was about the third visit and Dad and the instructor were buzzing around somewhere out of sight range when I wandered around the side of the administration building to watch the activity around a hanger about 125 feet away. While I was watching a guy came out of a small lean-to office attached to the side of the building. He appeared to be carrying a smallish bright orange bag as he walked up to a tank near the corner of the hanger and attached it to something on the top of the tank. The next thing I knew, the orange bag quickly expanded into the largest balloon I had ever seen, which up to that time was probably about sixteen inches in diameter. I couldn't figure why the guy was trying to blow it up until it busted, because I naturally assumed since it was quickly far larger than any balloon I had ever seen, that it was going to go blamm any second. To my surprise it didn't and just kept getting bigger and bigger. Finally the guy removed it from the tank and tied the neck with some string he fished out of his pocket. The balloon must have been a good four feet in diameter and was still nice and round as though it still could get a lot bigger.

After tying it off the guy walked some distance behind the administration building where there was a small stand with a box on it about head height. He held up the balloon over his head and released it. The balloon quickly shot up into the air and started drifting down wind. The guy removed the box and started looking through some kind of instrument that he was using to track the balloon's flight. We both watched it for several minutes until the pin sized orange dot finally disappeared in the afternoon haze. After his lesson was over and he had landed I mentioned this surprising event to my father. The flight instructor who was walking back to the office with him said they did this three times every day as long as the ceiling was sufficiently high to track the balloons direction and speed. He then added that these observations were called in to the weather service.

On the way home dad clarified the definition of ceiling which I thought was just the top of a room over your head. I also asked him what happens to the released balloons and he said that they just kept going higher and higher all the while getting bigger and bigger until they finally burst. I thought, 'gee, what a waste'. I would love to see a balloon that big pop, provided I wasn't standing too close. Even better would be to actually be able to play with such a big balloon. When the guy was handling it, it appeared to be nice and bouncy. The next couple of times I made a point of going with dad for his lessons. I expectantly waited for the guy to blow up another balloon so I could watch, but dad was done a bit earlier and we apparently left before it was the scheduled time for the wind measurements.

Finally in early May they were having some trouble with one of the training planes and they were running late with the lessons. By the time Dad finished his lesson the guy had come out and blown up a balloon and released it. Dad found me while I was out behind the administration building watching the balloon soaring off into the clouds. I desperately had wanted to run out and ask the guy if he would give me a couple of his balloons, but I was a very timid lad. I had been told in no uncertain terms by my father and a couple of the staff at the airport that I wasn't allowed to walk away from the building because there were a lot of planes taxiing around. So when Dad walked up I put him on the spot and asked him to see if he could ask the guy for a couple of the big balloons that we could play with during our next Friday night balloon bust session.

It turned out to be no problem, although the guy charged for the two that dad got. Father was miffed because he figured the guy just pocketed the money. On the way home I fondled the sweet smelling and soft surprisingly thin rubber. The un-inflated bags must have been about ten inches in diameter with a much thicker neck that didn't have a rolled bead at the end like toy balloons I was used to had. I couldn't believe the rubber in the main part of the balloon wasn't much thicker than the balloons we had at home.

Since mom and dad generally went out Saturday nights we would not be playing with these super balloons until at least the following Friday night. When we got home I made a point of noting that dad put the balloons in the box with the others on the shelf in the hall closet. After the baby sitter arrived and they left for the evening I surreptitiously snatched one of them and took it to my room. I knew I would get a lot of enjoyment out of it without even having to blow it up after I was put to bed. In fact I couldn't wait for bed time. I took my bath like a good boy and hustled my sitter along with the bedtime story so I could start my real fun. It was vital that I finish up my nightly exercise and get the balloon hidden before I fell asleep or it and all the balloons would surely wind up being destroyed and I would be in serious trouble. I remembered what happened the previous time when mom found an un-inflated balloon in my bed after I had fallen asleep that I had been using to enhance my orgiastic stimulus. She had just grabbed it between her hands and stretched the balloon out as she dug her nails into the rubber. In short order her sharp nails punctured the rubber and the balloon ripped into torn lifeless rubber.

The balloon, of course, was 100% natural rubber and had been sitting out for some time because it had that wonderful sweet smell. As I lay in bed I rubbed it over my body feeling the soft rubber caressing my skin; unfortunately through the thin cotton of my PJ's. My jammies had a pee flap and I fished my hard little dick out of the slit and started rubbing it directly with the balloon. Oh oh oh. It felt so good. The next thing I knew I had an orgasm. This was the first time I had gone over the top simply by rubbing with my hand. Normally I lay face down and scrubbed my little dickey around on the inside of my pajamas.

After a few minutes I was trying to decide if I wanted to go again while lying on my stomach with my face pressed down on the luscious smelling rubber, which is what I had done in the past, or try the hand job again. I quickly decided on another hand job because I felt there was less chance that I would fall asleep lying on my back since I normally slept face down.

When I was done and had come down from my high I hid my new play toy away and crawled back into bed. I would have to find a way to get it back out to the hall closet before dad noticed it was missing. I was totally relaxed and sleep would come quickly. I couldn't believe how much sexual stimulation the large balloon had provided me. Ummm ummm, I was reliving my fun and that wonderful sweet rubber smell.

Oh oh. I sat up in bed suddenly realizing that I wasn't dreaming about the smell. It was on my hands, my jammies, and probably the bed sheets as well. Mom would certainly detect the odor and would have no trouble identifying the source. They would find the balloon missing and I would have a major explaining job to do.

Fortunately, realizing a year before that my unusual interest in rubber toys was unacceptable behavior, I had become adept at avoiding detection and covering my activities. My baby sitter was old and hard of hearing so I had no trouble getting up and going to the bathroom undetected. I removed my Pjs and thoroughly washed myself all over to get the rubber smell off my body, hands, and face. When I had the smell off of me I turned my attention to my jammies. The rubber smell was quite detectable down in the crotch area. I could easily stick them in the wash and put on another pair that looked nearly the same. Mom would never notice, but there was too much risk that she would spot the smell when she did the wash. It also wouldn't take care of the residual smell in my bed.

I put my jammies back on and proceeded to drink as much water as I could hold. When I finished drinking I got back in bed. At this point I was wide awake from anxiety. I lay there for a good hour or so then I did something that I hadn't done in nearly two years, only this time it wasn't an accident. When I had everything in the bed good and wet, including me, I turned on some fake tears and wandered into the living room where the sitter was reading her book. She gave me a disgusted look and said I was too old to be wetting the bed. I knew I would catch it from mom the next morning as well, but it was far better than chancing her finding out that I had been playing with balloons again in bed. This would have certainly resulted in the immediate destruction of all the remainder of my rubber playthings. The sitter got me cleaned up for the second time that night; then she put clean sheets on my bed.

Mom was mad the next morning because I had been wet bed free for nearly two years. Fortunately I remembered dad had remarked that the boiled ham and potatoes we had for dinner had been overly salty, so I blunted her chastisement by telling her when I went to bed I was real thirsty and had two glasses of water. My explanation seemed to satisfy her. Mom had gotten me up early and after breakfast, while they were both in their bedroom getting dressed, I was able to return my rubber play toy to the box in the hall closet.

I had to wait two weeks until we had another balloon play session because they had a social party the following Friday night at the church and dad had to go to play the piano. I really had trouble containing my anticipation regarding play with the large balloons not to mention trying to keep my hands off them. I didn't dare suggest we have a special balloon night just so I could see how much fun we could have with the two big balloons because we had just had one the weekend before and our schedule was about once monthly.

I think maybe Dad was interested in trying out the big balloons as well because the second Friday night after we had gotten them it had only been three weeks since our last play session. Dad brought out a handful of the twelve inch party balloons as well as the two large orange weather balloons from the airport. He laughingly handed me one of the large balloons and told me to start blowing. I put a good ten or twelve lung fulls into the balloon before the rubber even began to stretch. The balloon inflated very easily however, because of it's size and the relative thinness of the rubber. The short tubular neck was about an inch in diameter and the rubber was probably three times thicker than the body of the balloon itself. This made the neck stiff enough so that I could get a good seal with my lips. After several minutes of huffing and puffing I finally got totally winded. I had managed to get it to about 30 inches in diameter and I handed it to Dad to continue the inflation. He huffed and puffed away for a minute or so more and got it up to maybe 40 inches when he said he was winded and handed it back to me. I knew the rubber wasn't very tight and had a good deal of stretch left because the skin was still nice and soft.

I realized if it did burst at this size it wouldn't be too violent an explosion, but having this monster of a balloon that was beginning to get as big as I was tall right in front of my face did make me a tad nervous, so I told dad I thought we had it big enough. He agreed and as I held it he tied the neck shut with a short piece of twine he fetched from the kitchen.

Talk about a soft, squishy, bouncy balloon. The first thing I did was slam it down on the floor. It bounced off the floor, off the ceiling, up and down at least three times before the air friction slowed it's motion to the point where it just bobbed up down up down off the floor. It was still bouncing slightly after a half minute. I ran over and grabbed it in a tight embrace; it was really the only way I could pick it up aside from grabbing the neck because of its large size. Even at that I couldn't get my hands half way around it. Oh the luscious rubber smell in my face again as I pulled it toward my chest.

I ran over to dad with the balloon in front of me and plowed into him as he sat on his chair. Boooinggg. The balloon compressed about half it's diameter then rebounded bouncing me right back on my ass on the floor. This caused me to loose my grip and it shot out and up over my head. It bounced between the ceiling and floor a couple of times as it headed across our living room and waked into one of our floor lamps in a corner on it's last bounce up from the floor. This knocked the cloth lamp shade off, and by some miracle didn't take the large glass bowl shaped diffuser with it. I think the light bulb was the only thing that saved the day because you couldn't remove the diffuser if the bulb was installed. Fortunately for the both of us mom was still in the kitchen or that would have been the end of our big balloon play right then and there. As a minimum she would have insisted we put it aside until the next day and take it outside to play with it. I had little doubt my super balloon would have a very very short life expectancy out in our yard.

Dad didn't have to suggest that the balloon had to be kept under control at all times. This was great with me. The contact and feel of the soft rubber against my skin was getting me aroused in a hurry. I gingerly leaned forward on the balloon with my arms out stretched around it, putting more and more of my weight on it. The next thing I knew the balloon was supporting all of my weight. I kicked downward a bit with my toes to get my feet clear of the floor and as I did the balloon squished forward and I tumbled over the top of it bonking my head on the floor. I then tipped over and landed on my side. Dad roared with laughter. Seeing as one good laugh deserves another I continued to flop and roll around on my new toy. There was no problem with the balloon supporting my weight.

I spread my legs apart as I lay across it. The feel of the rubber squeezing up on the bare skin between my knees, as well as the pressure of the rubber pressing on my little rock hard dickey that was at full attention under my play shorts, was really getting to me. As my balloon contact play progressed I soon ignored my father sitting at the one end of the room who was engaged in inflating some of our smaller 'bustin' balloons. I had became engrossed in all out masturbation with the balloon. Thinking back, I can't believe my father didn't know what I was doing or what the balloon was doing to me.

After about five minutes of rolling about on my soft rubber ball and half heartedly attempting to conceal my balloon humping from dad, mom came into the room and had no doubt what I was up to. She didn't say anything to me but told dad in a stern voice she wanted to see him in the kitchen immediately. I had a sick feeling my super fun play was about to end so I really bored my little dickey into the soft rubber skin. Unfortunately it was too soft not to mention the fact that my shorts pretty much blunted the intended pressure. Dad returned to the living room before I could have an orgasm. Then he told me what I was afraid he was going to, "Get off that balloon immediately. Your mother doesn't want you to be rubbing yourself with it like you have been anymore. In fact we both think it would be best for you if we get rid of all these balloons right now."

At the thought of having to give up all my fun toys, I got a sudden sick feeling in my gut.Dad walked over to his chair then told me to bring the balloon over. As I walked toward him I said, "Do we have to bust it? Can't we just untie it and play with it some other time, outside maybe?"

"No, your mother want's these balloons destroyed here and now," he growled. "Rolling around on it and pressing it up against your body is getting you all worked up; and that's not a good thing for a boy your age."

He grabbed our balloon buster pin that we always had available when we were having balloon fun and handed it to me. "Let's see how your big balloon pops. You stick it nice and slow now so you can show me your not afraid of it busting," he grinned.

My heart wasn't in it but I had no choice. If I hadn't, dad would have finished off my lovely fun toy. I figured I might just as well have the enjoyment of popping it; not that I wanted it broken. I reluctantly picked up Mr. Buster and with the balloon on the floor in front of me up against my knees I ever so slowly pressed the super sharp point into the yielding rubber. In the reflected light from the floor lamp I could see a shallow dimple form as the rubber fought the point of the pin. It was a loosing battle. My big beautiful balloon didn't have any chance at all. It didn't take much pressure on the pin at all and suddenly the balloon went PLOOF and ripped from the neck up to the far end forming one huge sheet of orange rubber. My thoughts immediately focused on what chance, if any, I would have of getting my hands on at least some of that sweet smelling rubber after our nights activities were finished.

Dad picked up the other large balloon and grabbed the edges in each of his strong hands and stretched the balloon out between them. I could see he was digging his nails into the rubber trying to get it to rip. The double layer of rubber was putting up a good fight and appeared to be intact even after he had given it several quick stretches. I quickly yelled, "Dad, can't we blow this one up so we can at least watch it bust and hear it pop?" I wanted to maximize my sexual stimulation memories from the soon to be gone balloon.

He looked at the large rubber bag in his hands and said, "No. It takes too much time and effort to blow a balloon this big up. In any case your mother want's the balloon destroyed, not played with. You are getting yourself all worked up by squeezing and rubbing yourself down below on it."

As he handed me the limp rubber he added, "Here, It's your balloon. You should destroy it."

I really didn't know how to carry out his command. I gave the rubber a few pulls as he had but I couldn't stretch it very far. In any case I was an avid nail biter, which was a major sore point with Mom, so I didn't have anything to gouge the rubber with. I had never been faced with having to destroy an un-inflated balloon before. I had always disposed of already inflated balloons we had to get rid of at the end of our play sessions by deliberately bursting them. I would bust them either by squashing them under my foot or knees, sticking them with our Mr. Buster pin, or presenting them to Dad who would burn them with his cigarette. As I gave dad a quizzical look he reached in his pants pocket and pulled out his pocket knife. He opened the large blade and handed it to me as he said, "Give me the balloon and I'll stretch it out for you, then you can easily puncture it. That will finish it off and your mother won't have to worry about it making you all excited."

Fat chance. His words and what I knew was about to happen to my other big beautiful balloon quickly got me all hard again.

Dad stretched the balloon into a large narrow rectangle of orange rubber between his two hands as he had before. I slowly applied the point of the blade near the center pressing inward toward him. The rubber deflected away from me maybe an inch and a half or so. Suddenly the sharp point punctured clean through the balloon and the rubber snapped back flat again about half way up the blade. It must have taken quite a bit of effort to keep the balloon stretched out nearly two feet the way dad had it, but he obviously enjoyed how easily the knife did it's destructive work because he told me to keep stabbing the balloon until it ripped in half. My initial thrusts only caused the rubber to tear in the stretched direction, so I turned the knife to a vertical position after puncturing the now totally useless balloon about a dozen times. This time the rubber ripped up and down crossways and after a momentary delay tore in half; the two sections ripping apart and snapping sharply against dad's hands.

So much for my two big beautiful balloons. I wondered how were we going to get rid of the dozen and a half or so party balloons he also had brought out of the box, or even the whole rest of the box? Dad had already blown up about eight of them in anticipation of our usual balloon play. Little doubt in my mind what fate awaited them. I had a sick feeling they were all going to be ruthlessly destroyed and my balloon fun Friday nights were about to come to an end and be only a memory. I'm sure mother would have been happy to see us finish them off without inflating them or giving me additional opportunity to generate super yummy feelings in my crotch, right then and there. Apparently she hadn't demanded it, so Dad simply gathered up the dozen or so un-inflated balloons and put them back in the box with the rest of them and returned the box to the hall closet shelf. He said I had had enough balloon play for one night even though it had been less than 30 minutes with a good deal of that time spent blowing up my monster balloon. Dad mentioned that we could save them for my upcoming seventh birthday party.

There was still the matter of the regular balloons dad had blown up while I was enjoying myself with my 'monster' balloon. I grabbed a couple and started batting them around. In little time one of them sailed within Dad's arm's reach and he snagged it with one hand and drew it into his chest. He roughly clamped the helpless balloon with his other hand to his chest as he pressed his fingers into the yielding rubber skin. The balloon burst with a nice loud POP almost immediately. Dad was grinning from the momentary enjoyment he had gotten from busting it as well, probably, from my pained expression. However he then became quickly sober as he said, "Enough; no more balloon play tonight. Let's pop off these balloons right now and get this room cleaned up."

There was a balloon on the floor right in front of me and I squatted down and pressed my bare knees down on both sides. The balloon shrieked as the rubber was forced up between my legs. As I squashed down on it the neck of the balloon bulged to the limit but the balloon was a 'toughy' and it didn't burst. Ohhhh, the tight rubber felt good against the inside of my legs. Dad apparently sensed my enjoyment and sternly said, "No more busting balloons with your knees or sitting on them. I want you to get rid of these balloons right now. Either stick them with 'Mr. Buster' or I'll burn them with a cigarette for you."

I suddenly got a really sick feeling in my gut. Balloon Friday nights were forever over. Father pulled a cig out of the pack lying on the table next to his chair and quickly lit up. I knew dad's favorite way to bust balloons was by burning them with his cigarette so I began to slowly kick the balloons toward him. After a bit of doing I had the seven remaining balloons clustered at his feet. He obviously wanted them to all pop at one time.

"Well they are your balloons, son. Here, take my cigarette and you can burn them," Dad said in an offhand manner. Dad took a deep drag on his cigarette causing the tip to glow brightly, then he handed it to me. With a heavy heart I gingerly brought the searing heat into contact with the tightly stretched rubber of my toys. POP POP POW BANG. Brightly colored rubber sheets flew about the room; some even into dad's lap. In a matter of seconds my precious toys were forever destroyed.

Cleanup this balloon night was zip because there were only mostly large pieces of rubber; the remains of the two large weather balloons and the eight smaller balloons. Since none had been burst by being stretched until the rubber tore which almost always resulted in many smaller shreds of rubber, we wouldn't have to resort to the vacuum cleaner to get up every last scrap from our night's fun. I was always required to perform the cleanup and I generally put the torn rubber in a paper bag.

About a half a year before I had discovered that the reason I never could find any of the torn rubber the next day from our busted balloons that I wanted for my masturbation pleasure. It turned out that after they thought I was asleep Dad would take the bag with the busted balloons out to the incinerator in the back yard and burn it. I had only seen this from my bedroom window some seventy five feet away so I had never actually seen busted balloon rubber burn up close. I figured there was little doubt this would be the fate of the balloon remains from this night. Oh how I wished there were some way I could get my hands on the large sheet of rubber from the first airport balloon that I burst.

The play session had lasted less that half the normal time and I wasn't anywhere near as sweated up as I usually would have been. I figured there was nothing to lose so I asked dad what he did each month with the torn balloon rubber, even though I knew full well he was taking it out in the back yard and burning it. He smiled as he replied, "Why I take it out and burn it so it won't be lying around for you to worry about finding it to play with it."

I think dad more than suspected what kind of play I could have with a torn piece of thin brightly colored rubber from my broken toys. "Can I watch you burn this rubber?" I piped up. The feel of the soft rubber sheet as I fondled it between my fingers and rubbed it over my thighs and little 'dickey' really enhanced my sexual stimulation. Then there was the smell of the 100% natural rubber that I could breath in as I lay on my stomach scrunching my hips as I ground my tool into my 'jammies'.

Dad looked me over and scowled, "Why boy? You have seen me burn trash plenty of times."

"Yes," I replied, "But I have never seen rubber burn. These are my toys. Can't I watch you burn them up?"

I think he suspected this would be one last turn on for me and was about to say no when he reconsidered and told me to grab the bag and we headed out to the back yard. Mother took note of our departure and commented, "Good, the incinerator is the best place for your balloons. Playing with them just makes you get all silly (Mom's term for my little 'toidy' getting all big and hard and feeling really good)."

When we reached the incinerator Dad pulled the rubber out of the bag and hung the three large pieces from a length of a tree branch that he placed across the side walls of the incinerator. The two smaller double thick sections from the balloon that had torn in half from the knife stabs were on either side and the large sheet was hanging down in the center from it's neck. Dad pulled out his lighter and handed it to me as he said, "Go ahead, boy. Now you can see just how nice and easily rubber balloons burn."

I flicked the lighter to life without thinking that I shouldn't have known now to do it so readily. Dad scowled as he commented, "You have been playing with my lighters, haven't you?"

I ignored dad's question as I busied myself applying the flame to the lower edge of the center sheet which shriveled upwards as though it were alive and trying desperately to escape it's doom. I raised the lighter in pursuit and the lower edge of the rubber burst into smoky orange flame. The flame quickly raced up the vertical rubber sheet as large drops of burning rubber dripped into the lower section of the incinerator. It only took a few seconds and the entire sheet of luscious orange rubber was a bubbling black cauldron that formed where the melted burning latex had fallen. I then applied the flame to the other pieces of the ripped balloon. They burned just as easily and quickly. Then I lit off the bag containing the remains of the smaller balloons. The paper quickly burned away the the edges of the loosly piled torn rubber inside flamed up in a fitting funeral pyre.

After watching for a few minutes we turned to go back to the house. Dad made an offhand comment how easily and quickly balloons burned and what a quick and easy way it was to get rid of them. His words haunted me many times as I got older and discovered I was still very much in love with my little boy's toys.   Revised 10/01
Posted on 7/20/99
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