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By the time I had gotten all the balloons and scout uniforms securely hidden away it was about two o'clock in the afternoon. I played with a couple of the 14 inch balloons in my room, rubbing them on myself and my private parts, and when sufficiently aroused, I pleasured myself. During this time I was contemplating what kind of fun ways I could enjoy not only the balloons but the bonanza of comfortable loose fitting shorts that I had been so fortunate to get. I was trying to think of ways I could introduce balloon busting play to my friends Dave and Mike without it being too obvious that I had other interests in the colorful rubber toys than just blowing them up and popping them. From their work with me at the carnival stand I was aware that they really enjoyed busting them, especially Dave, if given the opportunity.

However if i presented the opportunity I couldn't help but feel they would wonder where I was getting the seemingly limitless supply of balloons from and why I had so many to begin with. I wasn't able to come up with a resolution to this problem so I turned my attention to how I would handle their certain negative reaction to my sudden wearing short pants. Would I be able to convince them of the merits of wearing short pants themselves that I had gotten that I thought would fit them.

My friends family was not well to do and both their dad and mom worked during the day. Their mother had a job as a seamstress in a small blouse factory just down the street from their house and I knew she would be home after 3:30. I also knew she made some of the clothes that the boys wore and most of the dresses for their younger sister. I figured she would be very receptive to my providing the boys with two sets of scout summer uniforms each to use as play clothes. This would save wear and tear on their jeans that they would then have available for school in the fall. I timed my visit to the house to see the boys allowing time for her to walk the 500 feet or so from the factory.

The shortest distance was to cut across two small fields to their back yard. This route also provided the added advantage that it was less likely that any one else in our small community of perhaps 60 people would see me bare legged in my sexy scout outfit. I hadn't begun thinking as yet about how to address the questions and negative stares and comments I was sure I would receive; so my plan was to avoid public exposure for as long as possible. As a result of the shortcut through the fields I came up to their house through the back yard and went to the rear kitchen door. Actually 95% of the time this was they way we all entered and exited their house.

Their mom was in the kitchen and saw me coming up though the yard carrying the bag with the scout uniforms. She had the screen door opened as I came up the steps. As I entered the kitchen she looked me up and down and let out a long whistle. This took me by surprise because I thought she would be a little more tolerant of my out of age group fashion. Then she smiled and said, "Hay you look cool and sharp in your new uniform. You know I really miss not seeing my boys in shorts but they have just refused to wear them after they got to be older."

I replied, "Well now they have a chance because I've got uniforms here for them too,"

I showed her the contents of the bag. I briefly filled her in on how I had come to buy all the old style uniforms for ten cents on the dollar. She said that was great and said she would be happy give the uniforms to Dave and Mike so they would have cool comfortable clothes to wear for the summer. Then she added that if I didn't have any problem wearing shorts, her boys had better not have any either.

Dave and Mike were upstairs in their shared bedroom and she told me to take the uniforms up and tell them to put them on. Then she added, "If they give you any trouble about wearing 'sissy' boys pants tell them to come down here and I'll straighten them out. I think boys that aren't afraid to get their knees dirty are not at all sissies. There is nothing wrong with wearing pants that are cool and comfortable in the summer."

I gleefully headed up the stairs to their room. Things had worked out exactly as I had expected. With all three of us exposing our knobby knees to all the world they would be in no position to ridicule me about it and we would have solidarity in numbers relative to other kids we likely would come into contact with.

As I burst into their room they immediately stopped what they had been doing and just gaped at me. I was expecting cat calls, jeers, and whistles like their mother had given me. After a lengthy pause Dave asked, "What is with the Boy Scout uniform? Did you join the scouts or something without telling us?"

I replied, "No", and then related how I came by the uniforms.

Then their next question was, "Then why in the hell do you want to run around in those shorts like a little kid?"

I really wanted to tell them that it sexed me up, especially if I was around other boys my age wearing them. Also shorts are great to wear when playing with balloons because they permit all that nice additional rubber contact on the bare skin area of your legs. Reality prevailed, however, so I simply told them I just liked the coolness and freedom to bend and crouch that shorts provided without the legs binding as they often did with my jeans. Then they brought up the obvious physical dangers I would encounter as a sixteen year old going public in knee pants; the catcalls and other bigger boys that would want to beat up on a 'sissy' wearing shorts.

At this point they finally got around to asking me what was in the bag I had with me so I whipped out the scout uniforms I had for them. Dave said, "Who do you think you're kidding. No fuckin way."

Mikey chimed in, "Yah, no way in hell am I going to run around in little boys pants. I'm not going to look like a wimpy sissy like you do right now. You can just keep them."

Dave seemed more pragmatic as he continued, "What made you think I would want to go back to wearing shorts like I did when I was a little kid? If you want to run around looking like a queer fuck that's your business. Just leave me out of it. Now Mikey here is younger (he was fifteen) and he would look real good in knee pants," Dave smirked.

Mike shot back, "No way Dave. No damn way am I going to dress up like a baby."

Now was the time to make my case for wearing shorts, so I said, "Mike, babies wear diapers not shorts. Babies are also guys that haven't got guts enough to wear shorts because they are afraid they might get their pretty little baby legs skinned up. Hay look at me. I'm not afraid to wear 'em and let people see my bare legs (boy was that ever a lie) and a tough kid like you shouldn't be either. These uniforms will be great to wear when we go down into the bog to play and take our hikes in the woods. Look I even got you neckerchiefs and slides; the whole works. Hay millions of kids wear this stuff at summer camp and have a ball. (Most of them also wouldn't be caught dead wearing them any place else). At least try them on and see if I guessed right on your sizes. Nobody's going to see you up here anyway."

To my surprise Dave, who was a few months older than I, quickly undressed and donned the uniform I had given him, knee socks, garters, and all. Mike wasn't budging from his anti shorts position. Dave finished up by putting on his neckerchief and running the standard cheap metal slide up to his chin. This wasn't the usual way but he had never been in scouting. It gave him a kind of cowboy look.

Both Dave and Mike were fairly slender but were beginning to develop some pretty impressive muscles in their legs and arms. The hem of Dave's shorts came to a little bit below mid thigh on him while mine, because of my heavier build and relatively short legs, hung only about three inches above my knees. I looked him over and he looked good to me in his scout shorts. I mentally pictured his now bone white legs getting tanned, skinned, and bruised in the coming months along I'm sure with mine as well.

Just then Mike sensed some bad vibes and started heading toward the door. Dave lunged after him, grabbed the waist of his jeans and spun him around. Dave chirped, "Hey Mikey boy, how about letting us see what you got hidden in those pants in the way of legs?"

I though it was a bit of a silly question because they spent every night together in the same room; and I didn't think that either of them wore pajamas to sleep in. Come to think of it, I wondered what they did sleep in because running water was not an attribute of their house and it was a good 75 foot hike out to their john in the back yard.

Dave's action naturally resulted in a tussle between the two brothers. Dave quickly had Mike flat on his back on the floor and Mike was trying to jerk free by raising his legs thumping his feet on the floor like the wrestlers we would see on the TV Saturday nights. With all the bumping and yelling, in short order the boys mother was up the stairs and into the room to find out what the hell was going on. Mike screeched, "Dave wants me to put on those silly baby shorts Henery brought. He wants us to dress like little sissy boys like he is."

She made Dave let Mike go then sternly gave them both the word, "Now Henery was nice enough to bring you boys some good summer clothes to wear and by God you are both going to wear them. I know you think that shorts are only warn by sissies but a lot of soldiers when they fight wars in hot climates think nothing of wearing them. And you better not think that if you rip them up right away you will get out of wearing them either. You will find you will be nice and cool wearing short pants this summer. In fact I'm going to get some patterns and make other work and play shorts for you to wear as well, then you can use these uniforms when you go hiking and have your camp outs."

Dave and Mike were subdued at their mom's pronouncement. Then she told Mike in no uncertain terms to shuck his jeans and get the scout shorts on.

We watched Mike slowly disrobe and put on the uniform. I suspected that Dave had readily donned his uniform just to humor me for the moment. I was sure he didn't figure on having to wear shorts an every day all day thing for the entire summer.

Mike had about the same waist as his brother but was a few inches shorter. I had gotten them both one size smaller that the ones I was wearing so that they wouldn't out grow them too quickly. If they survived the summer, which was now my present concern, they would still readily fit in them the following year. Their mom then left and Mikey finished getting himself together. Because he was somewhat smaller than his brother the shorts being the same size were a little fuller in the legs and the hems hung about four inches above his knobby knees.

The three of us went down to the kitchen to stand review before their mom. She looked us over and said, "You three look just fine. If any other boys don't think so and they are your size or bigger just bust them one in the chops for me to teach them a lesson. If you can't handle them send them here and I'll straighten them out"

I chuckled to myself because their mom was a BIG women and I don't mean fat big. She wouldn't have any trouble picking up a good size man and tossing him out a window so she had nothing to worry about talking tough like that. As for me I still didn't know how I would face other kids as well as adults, and my father had made it clear that I would be getting many opportunities to do so in the future.

The boy's mom continued, "I need a couple of things for tonight's dinner and I want the three of you to go to the store for me right now. This will let you three show off your good looking legs in public right away."

I did not see this as a big deal. There were only about sixty inhabitants in the immediate cross roads area and most would still be away at work. Nonetheless I saw the red glow of embarrassment build in my friends faces and as we left the house I could also feel the hatred from Dave and especially Mike building as we briskly hiked the distance to the store.

Only the old lady that ran the store was in the place, which was about what I expected. She smiled when she saw us but didn't make any comment. We quickly bought the couple of items the boy's mom wanted. The boys actually ran the distance back to their house to minimize our visual exposure to the townsfolk. We dropped off the bag in the kitchen and the boys headed for the stairs up to the bedroom. However, their mom had other ideas. She yelled, "No you don't. It's still plenty light out and we won't be eating for another two hours yet. I want you three outside, and while you are there you can start toughening up your knees and getting your pretty legs in shape. When you are done come on in. I've got plenty of Iodine and Band-Aids to put on them."

No question in my mind parents have an ESP link to their kids and know just how to really jerk their chain.

We hadn't gotten more than twenty feet into the back yard when the boys jumped me and wrestled me to the ground. I immediately fought back with all my strength because I knew that this just wasn't another play tussle that we often did on the grass. The boys were angry because of the predicament I had put them in. I had fully expected resistance to wearing shorts on their part because I was sure they, unlike me, found no sexual stimulation in wearing or seeing others wearing them. I would discover later that this wasn't totally true but for right now they were intent on inflicting pain on my person.

We struggled for several minutes rolling about on the lush green June grass. I couldn't break free from the two of them even though I could handle either of them on a one on one. The uniforms as well as our legs and knees most especially, were beginning to show grass and dirt stains. I was glad they were not deliberately trying to rip the shorts so they wouldn't have to wear them. They concentrated their efforts on trying to rip the skin on my knees instead. I guess if I had a mom as stern as theirs I wouldn't want her to get cross at me either, and it was this fear I'm sure, that allowed the knee pants to survive our physical play.

After bruising me up pretty good I finally yelled, "Hold it. This isn't getting us anywhere."

The boys let up on their attack momentarily and it was all I needed to finally break loose. Dave gave me a disgusted look and said, "You really are one ass hole of a friend. Look at the trouble you got Mike and me into."

Knowing fully well what they were getting at I said, "What trouble. Just 'cause I got your mommy to make you chicken heads wear short pants. If my little buddies are afraid wearing shorts will get their pretty little legs scratched I'll take them back and give them to some other guys who are men enough not to give a damn what other kids think.'

"You see this." I pointed to the burn spot on my knee where dad's cigarette had burned away the flesh leaving a shallow crater about three eighths inch in diameter.

"Yes I saw it when you first came in our room," Dave said quizzically. "What happened? Was that your first boo boo?"

Mike laughed.

"No," I replied, "This is where dad made me prove I was man enough to wear these shorts. He wanted to insure that I could take getting my legs burned by a cigarette and skinned up before he would allow me to wear them."

This wasn't exactly they way it had been, but it sounded good anyway. I quickly related what had taken place, minus the balloon part naturally, and I was actually surprised that they seemed impressed.

"Look," I said, "I didn't know things were going to turn out this way with your mom and all. I just thought we could just wear the uniforms when we are by ourselves down in the woods or bog." I mentally added the thought that it would be a real turn on for me especially if we just happened to be popping off some of my many balloons at the time.

"Yah, well that's not the way it is," Mike stormed. "Mom is going to make us wear these sissy pants all summer long. What is my sister and the other guys going to think?"

Dave reasoned, "I don't care what Molly (their 10 year old sister) thinks. Mom will straighten her out in a hurry. It's the bigger other kids I'm worried about. Also when we help out with the haying the bales will rip the shit out of our legs."

Like me, with no automobile transportation, the only summer jobs available to the boys were helping out the local farmers in the immediate area when they baled their hay and wheat fields. After giving it a thought for a moment I said, "That shouldn't be too much of a problem. Most of the first cutting is in by now and by second cutting in the fall your legs will be nice and tanned and all toughened up."

My friends were not encouraged by my words even as I was visualizing how much better they would look in their shorts when their sturdy muscled legs bronzed to match the bare arms sticking out of their short sleeved scout shirts.

Mike growled, "I still think me and Dave should bust you up for what you did to us."

I said, "OK, if that's they way you want it. But we have been fighting for nearly ten minutes and so far none of us has so much as a bloody knee yet. You know what your mom said; she wants you to come in with skinned up knees. That's the only way we are going to toughen them up. Why don't we go over to the driveway and have it out. The gravel ought to do a number on our knees."

I soon wondered if I shouldn't have performed a sanity check on myself. The emotional and sexual high I was running since introducing my friends to short pants had blocked out the burning pain in my left knee from dad's cigarette burn four hours earlier. The realization of the obvious additional pain that having my tender knees ground purposefully into a cinder and gravel covered driveway just simply didn't register at the moment.

We went over to the drive and Dave tackled me from behind. I was able to protect my knees but gouged the palms of both hands as I fell forward. I immediately swung up into a kneeling position to get the weight off my hands and do a damage assessment. At this point Mike swooped in and grabbed my shoulders and pressed down with all his weight. Dave who still had a hold on my lower legs yanked me backwards dragging my knees about two feet over the sharp rough surface. The skin over my knee caps shredded like a balloon nailed by a 12 gage shotgun blast. The pain was every bit as bad as my burn; but now on both legs. I threw myself over to one side and managed to break loose from the two of them.

I was really mad; not like angry but like insane. Without realizing my own strength I grabbed Dave and lifted him off the ground, grabbed his two legs and folded his heels back to his ass cheeks, dropped him to the driveway and yanked him a foot or so. It happened so fast Mike didn't even have time to try to help his brother. Dave's face registered pain and I really enjoyed it. By this time Mike was on me and I gave him a solid shot to the chops with my elbow.

I became aware that my knee socks were soaked with the blood draining from the ripped flesh of my knees, and as I looked at Dave's rapidly reddening legs I suddenly realized I had hurt him pretty bad. I instinctively said, "Oh God Dave. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you like that."

Dave forced a bit of a smile as he said, "I'm sorry too. I didn't think your skin would get cut up that easily."

"Are we even then," I offered as I stuck my hand out to Dave.

"Yah I guess," he replied as we shook on it.

I knew the two of us had all the abuse we wanted. I just wanted to get home and cleaned up and put some kind of dressing on my knees so they would stop bleeding. Then Dave suddenly said, "Lets get Mike."

Poor Mikey mad a run for it but Dave collared him after about fifty feet and started dragging him back to the driveway. After seeing what I had done to Dave's knees I really wasn't interested in putting Mike through the same agony as we had undergone; but Dave insisted.

Mike quickly realized he would be branded 'chicken' if he didn't have skinned up knees to show his mom like the two of us. Also that if he cooperated he might not get so badly torn up. So as Dave dragged him over he stopped his resistance and allowed himself to be placed in a kneeling position on the gravel. I held him up as Dave pulled him along for a few inches by his ankles. That was more than sufficient. His skin wasn't nearly as badly ripped as Dave's and mine, but nice red blood was running down into the roll at the top of his knee socks.

We went back into the house and presented ourselves to their mom. She had a fit when she saw the condition of our legs. The sight of the blood I'm sure didn't bother her at all, because she routinely killed chickens and helped farmers with their butchering in exchange for some of the meat. It was the raw meat of our legs we had exposed and the potential cosmetic consequences that had her concerned. It took her about 45 minutes to get our wounds all cleaned out, what remained of our flesh reasonably back in position, and everything covered with clean compresses and bandages. The pain was so bad that we had become numb to it and the liberal doses of Iodine she applied to our wounds was hardly noticeable.

When she was done I thanked her and asked the boys flat out if we were still friends. They both said yes and Dave added, "I think you could even say we are even 'blood brothers'."

We all had a chuckle and I left for home. I went down the street past other houses, store and hotel rather than chance any weeds or grass touching my painfully throbbing legs.

Dad wasn't home yet when I arrived but my step mom grilled me on what had happened and looked my legs over to insure the dressings on my knees were adequate. She had to add, "You know this is what you can expect to have happen when a boy of your age runs around in short pants".

Dad came in a few minutes later, and after looking me over, said with a satisfied grin, "I hope you weren't a cry baby when you got your knees skinned."

I drove the fist of my left hand into the palm of my right with a smack to let him know I would have liked to have popped him one in the kisser for his wise ass comment. He gave me a wide grin as the pain from re-opening the rips in the palm of my hand radiated up my arm.   Revision Date 2/03.
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