Please Visit Our Sponsor

Two weeks following my birthday party, a kid named Harry who was in my second grade class and I had known since kindergarten, invited me to his birthday bash. I had invited him to mine and the following Monday at school had made a point of telling me how much fun he had had especially with my balloon games. He was one of the kids at my party that I had grouped with the fearless balloon poppers. The following Friday when he gave me the official written invite from his mother he indicated that he was planning to have plenty of balloons to play with along with several balloon breaking games. I could hardly wait for the next week to pass because I was still psyched up from my own balloon popping party. I had found most frustrating the fact that mother had made me destroy all the remaining balloons that dad and I had been playing with, not even giving me a chance to snag some luscious smelling sheets of torn latex from the popped balloons, as she insisted that every bit of the ripped rubber had to be burned .

The day of Harry's party was mild and sunny so it was held outdoors in their yard. As I walked up to his house I could feel the excitement building in my lower regions especially when I spotted the enormous balloons that were hung from a clothesline stretched between two trees. As I entered the back yard I noticed that there were dozens of 12 inch balloons tied in clusters to the rear porch posts as well. I had made a point of arriving early so I could size things up and perhaps have a little time alone with Harry. There was no one at the moment in the back yard so, carrying my obligatory birthday present, I went to the back door to find out where the guests were to put their presents. I doubt if my mom would have gone for it, but if I had been able to buy balloons (they no longer had any at the toy store or the 5 & 10) they would have been a gift I knew Harry would have really gotten a bang out of.

Harry's mom spotted me coming across the yard and I heard her yell for Harry to come and greet me at the door. He was decked out in crisp white shirt, shorts, and knee socks that looked brand new, and I wondered what condition they would be in two hours hence. Harry ushered me into their living room where his mom was having him corral the guests. Two other kids who had been at my party were already there along with three of Harry's cousins, two boys and a girl, as well as his older sister and brother. As it turned out, Harry had, I suspect at his mother's insistance, also invited a couple of girls from our 2nd grade class.

The group was busily engaged in excited chatter. I couldn't help but break into the conversations and ask Harry where his parents had found balloons to buy; especially the huge, they must have been two footers, that were hanging in the back yard. I had a wild hope that if someone still had some for sale I could somehow convince my dad to buy some more for additional Friday night balloon play sessions. Harry indicated that they had been bought several months earlier before they became unavailable. I was dying to ask Harry if his dad played balloon popping games with him like mine did, and if so, did his little dick get big like mine. With everyone vying for birthday boy's attention I had no opportunity which was probably just as well. Even if I had gotten the chance, however, I probably wouldn't have mentioned my erections out of embarrassment.

When the last guest arrived we piled out into the yard for birthday fun and games. Harry's aunt and dad provided crowd control allowing his mom to handle the food end of things. Harry was good on his word. Every game planned for his party involved busting balloons. I noted that none of the boys at my party that were timid about balloon popping were invited. I began to feel a twinge of uneasiness because there were still some forms of balloon breaking that I feared; most especially inflation to burst. This form of balloon busting was usually reserved for older kids, like his brother, sister, and two of the cousins, so I thought I was safe. Wrong.

The first game on the agenda was good old balloon stomp. Unlike my fiasco, smaller 8 or 9 inch balloons were used, inflated to a bit less than rated size. Harry did me one better. He had the pre-inflated balloons tied in pairs to the ankle tether string so that each of us started out with four balloons around our feet. This made running, let alone walking, difficult without stepping on your own balloons and busting them let alone the other guys. The freshly mowed lawn was also much more hostile to the rubber toys than the rug in our living room had been. The upshot was that it took less than two minutes of feverish running about on everyone's part to annihilate nearly the half gross of balloons that had taken 10 minutes or more for his dad and aunt to tie around our ankles. It was a blast, however, and the near continuous squeals of rubber being scrubbed under shoe soles along with the near continuous pop, pop, pop, and feeling the helpless rubber being flattened under my shoe, got me off to a good arousal right from the start.

Next up was the balloon hop where we were divided into two teams that had to transport balloons trapped between each player's knees from the starting point to the finish line whereupon they were to pop it by sitting on it. When they had completed this simple task, which was a lot harder to accomplish for light weight children our age, they were to run back and tag the next person on their team. Again Harry had corrected the problem we had experienced at my party. The balloons were smaller and fully inflated so they would not support as much weight as the larger heavier twelve inch balloons I has used. The course was longer, maybe 40 feet, and the grass made it harder to hop than our rug did. Even though we all had bare knees to grip the balloons, many had to go back and start over when the balloon escaped from between their legs. Except when it was my turn to race I focused my attention on the two balloon sitting chairs at the end of the course. I loved to see the balloons flatten out under the kids asses, especially the girls. For some reason the girls seemed to flop on their balloons with their legs spread apart causing the rubber to squirt up between their legs before the balloon burst. Boys kept their legs together and the balloon stretched out more to the sides. Except for Harry's older sister, none of the girls balloons broke when they initially sat on them. The girls all had to bounce or twist their butts on them before they would break. This was the case also with some of the smaller boys. I didn't take any chances. It was supposed to be a race, and I wasn't about to penalize my team by not popping my balloon immediately, so I made a point of actually jumping backward so as to flop my ass on it good and hard. I also made a point of positioning it well to the rear of the chair seat so there would be no chance of it stinging the back of my bare legs.

An action game, balloon swat, was next on the agenda. For this one we each tied one of the 8 inch balloons to our waist so that it stuck out behind us. We were then each given a tightly rolled up newspaper that we were to use to swat the other fellows balloon with the intent of popping it. The last person with a surviving balloon would be the winner. At the signal we all started running around whacking each others asses trying to pop the balloons. It wasn't all that easy. Although the balloons were fairly well inflated they tended to squirt out to the side when they were whacked with the paper bats. You had to hit them really hard square on to get them to break. This was very difficult because the target was naturally twisting and turning to avoid destruction of his balloon.

After a couple of minutes I discovered that it was easier to bust them by holding the rolled up paper like a knife and jamming the end into the opponent's balloon This allowed me to apply sufficient force directly on the balloons to pop them, not just the momentary swat you could get out of the rolled up newspaper bats. I had busted about three other players balloons when I got a good slap on the rear and I felt my balloon pop and was called out of the game. When it reached the point where there were only three players, it became almost impossible for any of them to get behind their opponents to get a good shot at their balloon, so to speed things up we were all allowed to run back in, paper bats swinging, to finish the game. The three players were overwhelmed, and It only took a few seconds from that point to finish off the balloons bobbing above their asses to end the game.

Our final scheduled balloon game was my worst fear; balloon busting. They had us line up in a row, handed us each a 12 inch balloon, and at the signal we were to blow them up until they burst. Harry's youngest cousin and one of the girls from our class had excused themselves from the contest. For a boy to admit that he was afraid to blow up a toy balloon until it would burst would mean the ultimate disgrace, so I had to participate. When the signal was given I started blowing away, but my heart definitely was not in my work. I had failed only weeks before to perform a command burst for my father. Most of the other kids were really puffing away doing their best to turn their brightly colored toys into rubber confetti.

As you'd expect, Harry's older brother who was about 14, finished his off first. It let go with a loud BANG. Even though I expected it because I was keeping an eye on his balloon through the translucent rubber of mine, it caused me to jump and my balloon almost squirted out of my hand. About half of us stopped blowing, after all, Harry's brother was already the winner. At that point Harry yelled out, "No, no, everyone keep blowing. Lets see who takes the longest to bust theirs." I was dead. What to do. I put the balloon to my lips again as the distended balloons in the faces of those that had continued blowing started bursting one by one. The balloon of one of my classmates was the next to go followed by Harry's and then his sisters. She was a tom boy and the smile on her face indicated she was pleased with her balloon destruction. I thought at the time she would look better wearing shorts rather than the sun dress she was sporting.

We were soon down to those of us who had stopped blowing when Harry's brothers balloon had popped. Since I had never busted a balloon this way I had no idea how much more it would take, but I knew I couldn't take any more. I just knew it was going to explode right in front of my face and scare me to death, so I pinched it off and pulled it away from my face. At that point the fates stepped in and as I held the balloon in front of me it burst by itself. It happened so suddenly I didn't even have time to jump. Phew, off the hook. Two of the boys who belied their terror on their faces toughed it out, and with eyes tightly closed finished off their balloons. Four of the others, like me, didn't have the guts to finish theirs off. Two of them released their balloons which went zooming about the yard. One, while holding the neck closed, put it on the ground and just stepped on it. The forth kid just let the air out and went running off crying in utter humiliation to a corner of the yard. The other three were immediately teased, especially by the girl from our class who had no trouble popping her balloon off.

I had been around balloons before that were purposefully inflated by others until they burst, and although this always excited me, having my own fear so narly discovered prevented me from enjoying the moment.

Apparently Harry had planned on multiple balloon busting contests with the winner of each dropping out for the next, because he immediately said, "OK, who's ready to go again." I was terrified. I would surely be next to have my balloon fear exposed. Harry's dad, however, sized up the situation and suggested to Harry that he should just hand out the balloons and let each of us play with them any way we wanted. What I really wanted was to take them home for my bedtime fun and games, and I was able to pocket three of them at this point.

We finally got around to the eats; cake, candles, the whole bit. When the formalities were over and we were getting ready to leave Harry's dad told us all to pitch in and help finish off the balloons that were used for decorations. He pulled down the bunches that were tied to the porch then pulled off the dozen or so large balloons that were tied to the clothesline. I would have loved to have had one or more of the large balloons to take home, but Harry's dad just dropped them on the grass.

Several dozen of the smaller balloons as well as the big ones were lying about on the grass as we swooped down on the hapless balloons. The boys as well as the girls quickly kicked and stomped the pretty toys into a lot of torn rubber that was strewn over their back yard. During this activity I was able to discretely pocket the torn remains of two of the large balloons.

As we left, there were 12 inch balloon on stick handouts for each guest. They had been kept in the house out of harms way. They had apparently been inflated for some time because they were beginning to exhibit that sweet rubber smell natural rubber balloons have when they have been inflated for a while. As I headed home I wasn't about to chance having my mother intercept and destroy my loot, so I pulled the balloons off the sticks which I threw away, and picketed the soft sweet smelling pre-stretched rubber bags and stuck them in along with the three unused and two large burst balloons.

When I arrived home I got the usual debriefing from mom. Although I told her we had played balloon games I naturally didn't tell her I had brought home five balloons and a couple of pieces of torn rubber from the party.

The next day, as I was changing into my play clothes after church, mom came into my room and asked me point blank what I had done with the balloons I got at the party the day before. She had obviously gotten this information from Harry's mom at church. I told her I didn't want them to get broken so I had deflated them. She said, "Let me see them."

Unfortunately I had hidden the three unused balloons in the same place so I was forced to hand over all five. She continued as we walked toward the kitchen, "I told you I do not want you to play with balloons anymore. You are making yourself silly and it's not good for your health (she and dad had discovered I tended to have erections when I was around balloons). I'll fix these so you won't have to worry about them anymore."

By this time we were in the kitchen. She picked up one of the used balloons in her left hand and blew some air in it, just enough to fill the bladder without really stretching the rubber. It was about three inches in diameter. She picked up the cigarette she had been smoking from the ash tray on the kitchen counter in her right hand, took a drag making the tip glow, then pressed it against the balloon. There was a small puff of gray smoke as the burning cigarette seared through the thin rubber skin allowing the entrapped air to escape. The balloon drooped limply from her fingers. As she repeated this procedure with the other four balloons my stem expanded to full attention under my play shorts. Watching my mother so ingloriously destroying my favorite toys really aroused me sexually. At the same time, however, I was heartbroken.

"There," she replied, "That should fix them so you won't have to get excited about having fun with them."

Then she added, "And I better not catch you taking this smelly rubber out of the garbage can either."

My grandfather had died, and a week later we moved to his house in another state. I had hidden the sheets of torn rubber from the large balloons in some coloring books which were unfortunately thrown out during the move. This left me with nothing but memories to sustain my sexual drive until after the end of the second world war.   Revised on 8/01

Sponsored by: Ashley's Sex Toys and Adult Video Store