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My 7th birthday in early June was rapidly approaching and mom was busying herself with the preparations. Parties were generally fairly elaborate even among the less well to do families, with the parents trying to put on a good show for their kids young friends. Generally parties had a to have a theme and she had used a circus for my 6th birthday. Since I was into balloons by this time and had several Friday night pop-offs under my belt, we did have a limited number of balloons as decorations and as favors for my guests. Prior to then I never let her have any balloons for my parties, even as decorations, because of my fear and dislike for being around them.

For my seventh birthday party, because I had pretty much conquered my fear of the rubber toys and because all of the fun physically and sexually I derived from my balloon play with dad, I wanted this year to be a balloon party extravaganza. I couldn't wait to dive into a large pile of balloons with boys my age. I found that I would get just as much stimulation watching other kids playing with and busting balloons as if I were playing with them myself. Dad was all for it because his balloon desensitizing on me had been fairly successful and it would make him proud to have me show off my new balloon busting skills in front of my friends. Also by this time mother knew full well that balloon play would get me sexually aroused and she just wanted to get rid of all my remaining balloons as soon as possible. Mother and I decided on a carnival theme with lots of balloon decorations and of course several balloon popping games.

The parties were always planned for the back yard with contingency indoor plans in the event of rain. Most all kids birthday parties were held on Saturday afternoons while school was in session, irrespective of actual birth date, because night time parties complicated getting the guests there and interfered with bedtime schedules. As luck would have it the day of my party was rain and drizzle all day, so we had to go with the indoor plan. This would assuredly restrict how rambunctious the games could get. I was afraid this would in turn curtail the balloon busting fun I could have. The balloon dart toss game was definitely out because mom wasn't about to have the real darts dad had bought sticking in our furniture or the walls. The plan had been to insert pictures of the prize the guest would get to take home in the target balloons and each kid would get to pop one of them by hitting them with the dart. Instead we would let them each select a balloon at random from a pile and then pop it with my special balloon buster pin as I had done at a friends party a year earlier.

We had a good six dozen of the 12 inch round balloons left to work with and mom's plan was to insure that there would be none remaining after the party. We needed balloons for the balloon breaking games plus a minimum of one each per guest for them to take home; with the rest available for decorating. Twenty four balloons were thus used and hung in groups of three in the corners of the ceiling in our living and dining rooms. Crape paper streamers crisscrossed the room also from the ceiling corners. Fortunately dad was home because, after blowing up about four dozen to a nice round size, I was thoroughly winded. Dad took over and blew up the 24 balloons we used for the decorations extra large and then attached them along with the crape paper up to the corners of the ceiling.

One of the scheduled games was balloon stomp where a small balloon is tethered to each contestant's ankle with a short piece of string and you try to bust the other fellow's balloon while protecting your own. Since we only had the large balloons available I just blew them up to about 6 inches in diameter. Dad tied the short lengths of string on to each so they would be ready to go. Because we had so many balloons available dad suggested we supply a balloon for each leg which should technically double the time until only one kid, the winner, still had an un-popped balloon. The other balloon game was a team balloon race where each kid would grab a balloon from the pile in the living room, stick it between his knees, and try to get it over to the far end of the room where there were two dining room chairs. The kids were supposed to place their balloon on the chair and pop the balloon by sitting on it. The contestants would then run back and tag the next player in their team who would grab another balloon and repeat the sequence.

My party was scheduled for 2 PM and we were all ready to go by noon time. The next two hours seemed like two days. Finally my friends, all boys about my age naturally, started to arrive in their clean school shorts and shirts which was the standard warm weather dress for boys under about 14 years old.

I acknowledged the guests as they showed up and stacked the birthday loot they had brought me on the coffee table that had been moved back in a corner to get it out of the way. Kids were properly disciplined in those days and mom had no trouble keeping them all seated and quiet until everyone arrived. It was only about 15 minutes from the time the first kid arrived to the last. During this time as we were sitting around talking I took note of each of my guests as to whether they seemed at ease or apprehensive regarding the large number of inflated rubber toys that were in evidence everywhere. Since I had attended several other parties with many of them I had a pretty good idea which one of them couldn't wait to get their hands on a balloon and bust it; which ones had no problem with popping balloons but had no real interest in them; and the few that were still terrified of balloons popping unexpectedly anywhere near them.

Finally we were ready to start and mom explained about the prizes they would each get that were on pieces of paper in the balloons in the 'prize' pile. Each boy could root through the pile and select a balloon of his choice then bring it to the center of the room and pop it. I showed the gang the super sharp balloon buster pin dad had made that they were to use.

The boys made their selection in order starting from the kid nearest the pile. He was one of those I had pegged as timid and he gingerly grabbed the balloon on top and brought it to the center of the room, handling it as though he was transporting a live grenade that he was sure was about to explode any second. As I handed him the buster pin he held his balloon as far in front of him as he could reach. He then closed his eyes and gave the balloon a quick jab next to the neck. Now none of the balloons I had inflated were blown to more than round size, so the pop was not overly loud or violent. The rubber ripped cleanly from the neck where he had punctured it to the far end and a large heart shaped sheet of rubber fluttered to the floor a few feet in front of him. Some of the balloon buster crowd giggle and I genuinely felt sorry for the boy because I knew exactly how frightened he was about popping balloons. In a way his being first was a blessing to the others who were also afraid of balloons because it forced them to be brave and not show their fear lest they would also be disgraced.

The next two kids had no problem and actually rooted around in the balloon pile to make their selections. With total disdain they applied the pin to their balloons in a professional manner, holding it near their body and slowly pressing the point into the side opposite their other hand. The forth boy eschewed the pin, however, and elected to step on his balloon. I was surprised how much more stretch was left in the rubber. As he slowly squashed it his shoe almost completely sank into the flattened balloon before the balloon burst with a thunderous BANG sending numerous slivers of rubber flying out to either side. This set the stage for the remaining 12 guests who elected to reveal their balloon's contents by means other than using the pin. Most of them stepped on their balloons with about half of these applying their weight ever so slowly as they reviled in the rapt attention of their peers as the rubber was brought to the point of rupture. The other half were 'stompers' that just dropped their balloon on the floor and slammed their foot down on it. However, three who I had placed among the balloon buster crowd used my favorite method; they knelt on their balloon pressing their bare knees deep into the soft rubber. By the time the last guest had revealed his party prize I was pretty well aroused.

Following the balloon prize pop off we held the balloon relay race. Mother managed to get the boys divided into two teams. The starting line was at the one end of the living room where we had a sufficient number of balloons that I had blown up available. At the far end we had two youth size chairs that they were to use when they sat on their balloons to break them. Fortunately dad and I had checked this game out when we had our last balloon play night a few weeks earlier. When I had tried sitting on one of my balloons even with the lower child's seat there was no way kids my size could properly get their ass on a 12 inch balloon resting on the seat of the chair. I had tried it several times and even jumping up and backwards I still knocked the chair over and landed flat on my back on top of it. Dad wanted to scratch the sit and pop altogether until I went and got our large library size Webster's dictionary that I placed in front of the chair. This raised my feet about seven inches. By standing on it I was able to flop my butt squarely on the balloon which stretched out under my buns and up between my legs. Umm umm, felt good. I had to sit down suddenly and hard to get it to burst which it did with a resounding BANG. For the party, since we had to have two chairs, one for each team, mom had gotten two wooden melon boxes from the grocery that the kids could use to stand on. Even the shortest boy would be able to sit straight down on their balloon so as to not knock the chair over.

Mom handed the first boy on each of the teams their balloons and then yelled, "go." They both clamped the balloons between their knees and started to awkwardly try to walk to the chairs. Smaller balloons were really needed for this game, and even though they were not fully inflated, neither of the boys was able to get more than halfway across the room without the balloons squirting out from between their legs. When this happened they had to retrieve their balloon and were required to go back to the starting line.

After a couple of attempts amid uproarious laughter from their team mates, one of the boys came up with the proper methodology for the game, and proceeded to hop like a kangaroo across the room while keeping the balloon tightly clamped between his knees. When the other boy so how successful his approach was he immediately followed suit. It turned out he was a much better hopper because, in spite of his later start, he got to his chair first. He quickly jumped up on the box, positioned the balloon on the chair, spun around and with a mighty hop came down, feet off the box, with his whole weight on the hapless balloon. The kid wasn't very heavy, but when he landed on the balloon it squirted out and around his ass because I hadn't really blown the balloons quite up to rated size. The balloon didn't pop, and the energy stored in the compressed air and tightly stretched rubber caused him to rebound off the chair as though he was on a trampoline. Since he hadn't been positioned squarely on the balloon he bounced off the chair to the side and landed with a thud on his hip and one arm. As soon as it was free from under his behind, the balloon shot off the chair seat and ricocheted around the room. The kids howled while mom rushed over to see if the hapless youth had any broken bones. With a great deal of effort, I'm sure, he refrained from crying. I retrieved his balloon and handed it to the next kid on his team.

Meanwhile the first boy on the other team had made it to his chair. He wasn't about to repeat the performance of the first boy, so with his feet firmly planted on the box he gingerly sat down on his balloon. It of course didn't break; so he started to bounce on it higher and higher. He looked like he was enjoying it. I wondered if his little dickey was getting big like I knew mine would have and already was. While he was enjoying himself his team mates were screaming for him bust it because this was a race and the second kid from the other team had already reached his chair as well. Finally the tired rubber had had enough the balloon let go with a mighty BANG as he landed with a jolt on the hard chair seat. The other boy was heavier and he managed to pop his balloon on the first sit. They both ran back and tagged their team mates and the next group started out across the room. They both had to repeatedly bounce on the balloons to get them to pop, but by the time the boy from team one got his to break, the forth member of the other team was nearly to his chair.

Because they were falling behind, when the forth member of team number one got to the chair and sat on his balloon, he apparently pinched the rubber straining out from between his legs because the balloon suddenly burst without any bouncing effort. Naturally this didn't go unnoticed and kids from team number two cried foul. At this point Mom was becoming alarmed at the injury liability aspects of the game and suddenly announced, "All you have to do is sit on the balloon and break it. It doesn't matter how you pop them."

Mother was anxious to get the game over with and preferably without chancing any further possible injury. Needless to say the rest of the balloons popped almost immediately because the participants augmented the stress in the rubber from their weight with their fingernails.

After a brief rest period during which we removed the chairs and boxes I got out the balloons for the balloon stomp game. Mom and a couple of the boys who could tie knots proceeded to attach a partially inflated 12 inch balloon to each of our ankles. When we were all decked out in our brightly colored rubber anklets, mother gave the signal and we all went after each others balloons; stomping and kicking to try to pop them off. Again we were faced with a case of wrong size balloons and wrong inflation. The balloons were so soft and squishy that in many cases you could flatten a major portion of a balloon right down on the rug with your shoe and it wouldn't bust. Several actually popped because the kid would pull his leg away while his balloon was stepped on and the string would rip the necks off them. The squealing of tortured rubber under the boy's shoes was matched by the shrieks and yells of the kids. Occasional poof poofs signaled the death of someone's balloon. Supposedly they were to retire from the game when a contestants both balloons were broken, but everyone was having so much fun stomping away the rule was unenforceable. It was an ideal time to give a less friendly classmate a good kick in the shin. By the time we had them all popped, several of the boys had skinned knees and legs and along with cutting off the balloon tether strings mom had to apply some mercurochrome and bandages to their banged up legs.

Everyone was sweaty after the balloon stomp, so I opened my presents giving us all a chance to cool down. Dad was back with the ice cream so we had the formal cake and ice cream bit. Mother passed out a loot bag for each guest that matched the prize that had been hidden in the balloon they popped when they arrived. Each bag also contained a finger operated spinning sparkle color wheel, as well as one of the party balloons.

While we were at the table and finished eating they were all playing with the toys in their loot bags. It wasn't long before some of them started blowing up their balloons. As we moved away from the table a couple of them let their inflated balloons go and they zoomed around the living room. Suddenly the room fell quiet as our attention turned to one of the bigger boys, Carl, who had a well over inflated balloon pressed to his lips. He had let his fly around the room several times so this was the third or forth time he had inflated it. It was huge. It was a pale red because the rubber was stretched so thin, and I could clearly see his face through the tight rubber skin. He had a wicked smile on his face as he held the balloon up for all to see. We were all suitably impressed, and the timid boys shuffled off toward the sides of the room. It only took a few moments for the chant to start- bust it, bust it, bust it. Without any hesitation he put it to his lips and forced in about two more breaths. The balloon exploded with a giant BANG and pieces of red rubber flew in all directions. How I wished I had the guts to do that. I saw my dad looking at me and I knew he had the same thought.

Three of the timid boys gave Carl their balloons to blow up and burst in the same way. Like me, they liked to see balloons getting broken even though it frightened the hell out of them. They probably would have just thrown the balloons away when they got home anyway. This way they got the enjoyment of seeing them burst without having to be directly involved. These balloons didn't get nearly as big because they had not been inflated before; but they all popped with a super loud bang.

Two of the other boys also joined in and blew their balloons up until they burst as well. At this point mother, who didn't really like hearing loud popping balloons came in from the kitchen and said that was enough; that they were supposed to take the balloons home to play with. This essentially wrapped up the party. As they were leaving a couple of the balloon buster crowd, noticing the tightly inflated balloons hanging from the ceiling, wished me fun in busting them.

Mother commanded dad and I to clean up and when we were done she would run the vacuum. The living room rug was littered with ripped sheets of rubber. Dad produced a paper bag and had me gather up all the broken balloons. He pulled down the streamers and other party decorations and stuffed them into another larger bag. Like a dummy, I didn't think to stuff any of the larger rubber sheets into my shorts pocket for later olfactory use. All that remained were the 24 balloons still attached to the ceiling.

Looking at the hanging balloons dad said, "OK, it looks like it's time to get rid of these."

I immediately said, "Please dad, can't we save them to play with tonight?"

Mother overheard me and said emphatically, "No, there has been more than enough balloon play around here for one day."

She gave dad a dirty look and continued, "In any case I don't want you to play with any more balloons until you stop being silly with them." I want those balloons destroyed right now and taken out and burned along with the rest of the trash."

Dad looked at me and said, "You heard your mom."

I pleaded with him to countermand her order because I knew he enjoyed our balloon play as well, but he snapped back, "If you don't want to bust them than I will be glad to get rid of them for you."

"No, I'll do it," I replied.

Dad took a moment to light up a cigarette before hoisting me to his shoulders. Then he walked us over to the first corner and in a moment the lovely rubber bags that were beginning to smell so sweet were within arms reach. I started to reach for them to pull them down when He took his hand off my right knee and handed me his cigarette with the comment, "Why don't you bust them like adults do. Here, use my cigarette to burn them. That will finish them off in short order. Your rubber balloons really burn easily"

I hated to see them go but I had no choice. I lightly brushed the burning tip against the first balloon. It instantly exploded with a loud BANG as the cigarette seared through the tightly stretched rubber. Dad had blown up these balloons and they were still tightly inflated. I quickly finished off the other two in the group as I gingerly kissed their rubber skin. Dad commented, "Wow! They sure bust with a good loud pop. I think balloons pop louder when they are burned with a cigarette, don't you?"

We walked to each corner of the room where I applied the searing heat of the cigarette to the beautiful rubber toys. BANG BANG BANG. In less than two minutes they were all reduced to torn sheets of rubber which I added to the other broken balloons I had cleaned up. By this time my little dickey was as hard as a rock. There was no way dad couldn't have felt my inflated stem pressing against the back of his neck while I was sitting on his shoulders.

Following mother's orders we took the trash from the party out to the incinerator in the rear of our yard. One of the items was the box that had contained the balloons we had been using. As I was helping Dad pile in all the paper and other trash I thought to take a look inside. My stem jumped for joy as I saw that there were nearly ten unused balloons still in the box. I snatched them from the box as I stuffed it into the incinerator and jammed them into the pocket of my shorts.

Dad put a match to the paper trash. I always enjoyed seeing things destroyed by burning, and watching the flames racing through the thin wrapping paper from my presents along with the crape paper decorations did nothing to relieve the pressure in my shorts. I then asked dad what we were going to do with the big bag filled with nearly a half gross of busted balloons. He replied, "It's fun to watch rubber burn; the way it melts, sparks, bubbles, and boils. When the paper is done burning we will put a match to the rubber in the bag here along with the balloons I saw you put in your pocket. I'm sorry, but your mother and I don't think that it is good for you to have any more balloons to play with until you get older and interested in other things. (I didn't know then he was referring to girls). So they will have to be destroyed as well."

Dad held out his hand as I reluctantly transferred what I thought would be the last balloons I would see for a long time to his waiting fingers. While intently watching me he began to finger a dark green balloon and soon was stretching it between his two hands. I could see his fingernails digging into the soft pliable rubber and I wondered how long it would be before they punctured the rubber bladder and the balloon was destroyed.

Suddenly Dad said, "But I'll make you a deal. Blow up one of those balloons until it bursts like your friend did at the party and I will let you keep them."

I instinctively reached for the balloon he had been torturing. Because it had been pre stretched it began inflating easily. I soon had it up to my normal maximum inflation cut off point. More than anything in the world I wanted the hunk of tightly inflated green rubber floating in front of my face to rip asunder, not just to vindicate myself but to insure a bit more balloon play during the coming weeks. Alas I was still too afraid of an over inflated balloon bursting right in my face to force in the necessary additional air to finish it off. The tear drop beauty dangled from my fingers for several seconds. "Sorry Dad, I just can't do it," I managed to mumble.

Dad was visibly disappointed as he knocked the balloon out of my hand. It lazily zoomed about the yard with a burrupt sound as the air jetted out the neck. Then he had me go fetch the soft limp bag from the grass about ten feet away, then it and the other perfectly good unused balloons went in the bag with the broken ones. Dad lit a match and applied the flame to the bottom of the rubber filled bag. The paper in the front half of the bag quickly burned away exposing the brightly colored pile of rubber inside which was shriveling as it tried to escape the searing heat. The flames soon reached the unbroken balloons on top and I watched sadly as the ends quickly burned out of the unbroken rubber bags. Dad was right. Rubber does have a unique exciting way of burning, and to this day I find watching balloons burning sexually stimulating. Revised on 12/10/01
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