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When Bob had stopped by to visit the last weekend of summer three weeks earlier we had had a major sexual encounter when we were down in the woods. This had left me somewhat cold because he was obviously driven by homosexual desires and had, I felt, forced himself on me. I enjoyed the thought of having a sex partner, especially one who liked to use balloons for sexual enhancement; but I wanted to know I could control the extent and type of mutual fun we would be having. Bob was physically larger and stronger then me and I was leery of his attacking me again as I waited for him to pick me up on a Saturday morning for an overnight sleep over at his house.

Bob had indicated that he was turned on by balloons and had amply demonstrated that fact when we were far down in the woods He had helped me pop off a number of my rubber toys in very sexually stimulating ways. He also had told me that he had a large supply of balloons for his own use including some large Navy target balloons that he said would inflate to over six feet in diameter and were really fun to hug and squeeze when they were partially inflated. The thought of the additional balloon busting fun we could have together prompted me to accept his invitation.

Since my family was home I had to be discrete in packing my balloon goodies I was contributing for the visit. I was naturally wearing my 'scoutfit'; knee socks, neckerchief, and all. In addition I planned to take half dozen pairs of my salvaged school gym shorts and a bag with about a half gross of my 12 inch political balloons along with a dozen or so of the large airship balloons I had in my collection. Bob's family was well to do and they had an in ground swimming pool and I suspected that the long tubular balloons might be super fun to straddle and ride in the water. I stuffed these items in my camping back pack along with the usual cooking and eating gear. I had told dad that Bob and I were going on an overnight camp out; not that we would probably be at his house popping off our balloons and each other for most of the time. Bob's parents and younger sister were away for the weekend and we would have his place to ourselves.

Bob showed up as scheduled wearing the old style scout uniform I had given him. As we drove back to town I emphasized that I wanted to have fun, but on my terms. Bob said he was agreeable and wouldn't do anything to me if I didn't want him to. He didn't want to loose me as a friend and I felt the same way. He mentioned he had a lot of balloons he wanted to get rid of because he was loosing interest in them and he was afraid of their discovery because he had so many. The ones his mother had found in the past he was able to explain as belonging to his younger sister who was apparently a real balloon bustress in her own right; but he had accumulated so many via mail order that this excuse wouldn't hold up any longer.

When we arrived at Bob's house we first stopped in the kitchen where he proceeded to pull two ice cold Bud's from the fridge. I had never had a beer except for a swig or two from a bottle my father was drinking on a couple of occasions after the divorce when he and I were in a bar getting something to eat when he didn't feel like cooking for the two of us. I told Bob I would prefer a Coke and he immediately reproved me saying, "It's time to start drinking a man's drink."

Then he ushered me down to the immense play room in the basement while he went off to gather up some of his playthings. I took a swig of the beer; it was ice cold and refreshing, but I didn't particularly care for the malty taste. Bob's father was very well to do and they had a large modern post WW2 colonial situated on probably about three acres at the edge of town. There was little doubt we could pop away to our hearts content probably in any room of the house without arousing any suspicion from the neighbors. The basement rec- room had to be at least 36 by 36 feet in size and had two support columns spaced down the center. Most of the lounge style furniture was along the side walls or grouped in front of the massive fireplace in the center of the one end. The off white tile floor would make the ripped rubber clean up a breeze.

Soon Bob came down the stairs with a large box. He started unpacking paper bags as well as cardboard boxes of balloons (in those days they didn't come in plastic bags like they do today). I was wondering how old they were and what shape they would be in because I had discovered balloons rot and deteriorate very quickly if they are not kept sealed from the atmosphere. I found this was especially true if I had balloons hidden out in our barn. I mentioned this to him and he indicated that was another reason he needed to get rid of them because they were going bad. I was glad I had brought some from my supply, because even though they were way overage, they exhibited no signs of oxidation cracking along the rubber folds, and they could be expected to put up a good fight before they busted.

"What kind do you want to start with?" Bob beamed.

I replied, "Let's start with the carnival size rounds first. Then we can work our way up to the other types and sizes."

Bob handed me a fistful of 12 inch rounds. We both grabbed a rubber toy as Bob asked, "How do you want to bust them?"

I suggested we blow them up to see how big they would get. This would answer the question regarding the condition of the balloons, at least in the box they had come from.

We both started blowing away. I wasn't in any rush because I didn't want to wind myself out early in the day when we obviously had so many balloons to dispose of. In any case Bob could easily out pop me because of his larger chest and lung capacity. When I got my blue balloon to rated size I held it up to the ceiling light to check for oxidation fracture lines that would signify that the balloon would pop soon and easily; but I didn't find any, so I continued my inflation. The balloon gave up during the eighteenth blow and was probably over fifteen inches in diameter. Bob's held out just as long and they both exploded with a resounding BOOM. I told Bob they were a really good quality balloon and didn't show any signs of deterioration. He replied that he had only gotten them about six months earlier. I then suggested we should take care of his oldest stock first and save the ones he had gotten more recently for another day.

Bob fished around in one of the bags he had removed from the box and came up with some large size paddle balloons. As he handed me one he warned me that they might go unpredictably at any time, and we both again started blowing away. I assumed they had begun to rot so I didn't bother to check, expecting the balloon would let go with each breath I pumped in. Puff puff puff. I finally had to stop for a breather. The balloon was definitely over twenty inches. Bob continued to blow away non-stop. I watched as the neck area started to swell signaling that the balloon was near it's limit. I was wondering how much more it would take when BOOM, it disintegrated into several large sheets of rubber that fluttered to the floor several feet away. Bob was wearing a shit eating grin as he said, "Your turn."

I put the neck to my lips and had to force in an additional six or seven puffs before my balloon joined its busted buddy on the floor. I remarked, "Those balloons didn't seem to be in too bad a condition either."

Bob held some from the bag up for a moment and replied, "I have had some from this bag bust almost right away."

"It's probably the ones on the top of the pile that are most exposed to air that have a problem," I offered. We each blew up several more of the paddle balloons and sure enough about one out of four of them went to balloon heaven well before they reached rated size. The others lasted until they were over two feet in diameter before they let go.

At this point we had been at it for a good thirty minutes and I was getting well winded. The balloon popping hadn't aroused me in the least, even when done by my buddy in his nice loose fitting shorts. I was becoming concerned that my fear of what Bob might want to do to me or have me do to him was preventing me from properly enjoying what should have been a very stimulating time for me. I noticed Bob showed no signs of sexual arousal either.

The two of us had turned about forty balloons into rubber confetti at which point I called a halt to our systematic inflate till burst balloon destruction to catch my breath. I realized with the number of balloons in his stockpile and our current disposal rate of about 100 pops per hour his supply would easily last us straight through the night and in to Sunday afternoon when it would be time for me to leave However our unemotional pop popping was giving me far more hyper-ventilation than sexual stimulation.

We sat for about ten minutes while Bob polished off his beer and I nursed mine while contemplating the mass of torn rubber strewn about on the floor in the center of the room. I suggested we ought to have some play time with our toys before we busted them because, as I told him frankly, my lungs just weren't up to the demands of non stop inflation. Bob grinned and said, "No problem. Let me get my balloon busting buddy, Electrolux, and we will let him do the work while we have the fun."

Sounded good to me. Bob rushed off to get his inflater friend from upstairs while I checked out his rubber stockpile. After looking them over I suspected these weren't all he had because I didn't find the large target balloons he had mentioned when he visited me several weeks earlier.

Bob quickly showed up with the Electrolux and we set to work on the contents of a large paper bag filled with twelve inch party balloons. I supervised our friend Electrolux while Bob tied them off. There was no question this bag of balloons was pretty well shot. About one out of six already had holes in them (in addition to the required one) and wouldn't inflate, bursting prematurely with a tired POOF sound. I didn't think any of them would stand full let alone over inflation so I was stopping while they were still fairly round at about ten or eleven inches. We must have spent a good hour or so in our effort and probably had close to two hundred survivors spread all over the floor. Our effort had reduced Bob's inventory by about one quarter of just this one bag full we were working on. Because of the deteriorated condition of the rubber, the balloons we had inflated were self popping at the rate of about one every three or four minutes.

I looked at the mass of brightly colored spheres littering the floor and questioned Bob if he was absolutely certain there was no chance his parents or a family friend would suddenly show up and catch us with a cellar full of noisy toys. This had happened on two occasions to me when I was having fun with my balloons in the cellar at home. Fortunately in both instances I hadn't popped any immediately prior to the family's sudden unexpected arrival home and I was able to get the balloons untied and deflated before anyone came down to see what I was doing. I was always, therefor, leery of having more than just a very few balloons inflated for any length of time when I was having fun at home. I tended to operate in a blow - enjoy - pop mode. Bob insured me he thought we would be safe and he wasn't about to chance another brutal beating from his dad or have his now rather extensive balloon collection ruthlessly destroyed as he had been forced to do earlier. (See Later Years Episode #13).

I asked Bob how he wanted to pop off our hour plus effort. Lying about on the floor as they were, a balloon stomp would be a logical choice and eliminate bending over to grab them; but Bob suggested we give them the cigarette treatment. I enjoyed busting balloons this way. The fact that you don't even have to actually touch the rubber, only bring the glowing tip close by. You never know exactly when the rubber will give up and rip asunder which for me adds to the thrill of the burst.

Bob produced two cigarettes and a lighter and we lit up. It was obvious Bob had done a bit of smoking because he was inhaling and enjoying his cigarette. I didn't care for cigarettes at all and hated the stink of the cigarette smoke so I just took a single drag to get the tip glowing and blew the smoke out of my mouth without much of it getting down into my lungs.

When I had my destructive torch properly lit I grabbed one of the balloons off the floor and held it up in front of me while bringing the glowing cigarette to within a half inch of the rubber skin. The balloon lasted about three seconds before it ruptured. Oh, I loved doing that. I finished off a second one the same way. Bob was puffing away on his cigarette and said, "OK. Now let's really bust 'em."

He immediately bent over and started wading through the balloons sweeping his cigarettes from side to side as he moved forward. If I was going to pop my share I had to follow suit. The rapid BANG BANG BANG BANGS as the balloons evaporated in front of us finally started getting my balls atwitter. Sheets of rubber were flying everywhere. Because the balloons were not over inflated they were just ripping into two or three large sheets of latex. It took at most forty five seconds to destroy over an hour's worth of our work. By the time our cigs kissed the last balloon I was definitely getting a bulge in my shorts. Bob continued to finish smoking his cigarette but I crushed mine out after I singed the last balloon.

Bob was all smiles and asked me if I enjoyed our balloon bust. I replied I sure had, very much so. Then he said, "You got a hard on yet?"

I replied, "Yes, how about you?"

Bob grinned again and said, "No, but if you let me play with you my rod will be good and stiff I can assure you."

Then he hurriedly added, "With balloons of course."

I could feel my stim rapidly draining off. I had little doubt that my friend was turned on more by me than the shorts I was wearing or the balloons we had just busted.

Bob rushed over to his inventory and fished out some more of the large paddle twenty four inchers. As he handed me several he said, "Blow them up good and tight to see if they bust. If they don't, let some of the air out until they go down to about a foot and a half in diameter. That will make them nice and squishy; perfect for rubbing and squeezing."

Between the two of us we inflated eight of them in this manner with three or four failing the initial over inflation and letting go in our faces with loud BOOMS.

After tying them off we gently booted our toys over to one of the sofas that was against the wall. I sat at the one end and Bob started scrubbing one of the soft balloons into my bare knees and then up in to my crotch area. He was kneeling with one knee on the floor and baggy leg of his scout shorts hung in an inviting loop below his up thrust other leg. Bob wearing shorts turned me on; his strong muscular legs and well formed knees were unquestionably adding to the sexual pleasure I was experiencing.

Because the balloons were still so large, they weren't overly effective in reaching and massaging my genital area, so he had me recline on my side. Now the whole stretched out front of me was available for balloon contact. I didn't take long for me to retrieve my hard. It was obvious my heightened sexual state was making things hard for Bob as well. He was enjoying my enjoyment.

I suddenly remembered the gym shorts I had brought along and realized the balloon rubbing would be much more sensual if we were both clad in thin cotton tee shirts and gym shorts rather than the Boy Scout uniforms we had on. It would also make it quicker and simpler to get our equipment exposed when that point arrived in our play. I mentioned this to Bob and he thought it was a splendid idea. We stripped off our scout shorts, shirts, and Bob his under pants. I was already wearing a pair of the gym shorts as under pants so I was all set to go.

Bob slipped on the extra large white gym pants I had brought with me. We laughed at the kids names that were on them; they had both graduated two years earlier. They would never guess that their gym shorts were going to be used for such a pleasurable workout. The gym shorts were extra large and hung nice and loose on Bob and the ample cut of the leg openings allowed plenty of freedom of motion for his heavily muscled thighs as well as his sexual equipment.

Bob seemed to be intent on getting me aroused and popped off first. I lay on my side on the sofa as I had before while he worked me over with one of the nice soft balloons. As I lay down I grabbed one of the balloons and was rubbing it between my hands and pressing the soft sweet smelling rubber against my cheek. He was kneeling on the floor and pressing in and downward as he twisted the latex sphere back and forth over my legs. The squeak of the rubber as it stretched and slid about over my bare legs was really getting me turned on big time. I told Bob to grind the balloon into my legs harder, really abuse the hell out of it like my dad did years earlier, and he did so. The thin soft rubber took the stress for about a minute until the balloon went POOM. He quickly grabbed another from the floor nearby and started working his way up to the ridge that extended from my crotch to the waist band of my gym shorts. The balloon didn't make nearly as much noise sliding around on my cotton shorts but the massage it was giving my dick more than made up for the reduction in auditory sensation.

A wet spot was forming around the front seam of my shorts and Bob asked if I was about ready. I moaned, "Yes I think so."

I was expecting him to free my cannon from it's confines and send me over the top with a few gentle strokes of his hand, but Bob continued to massage me with the balloon. Finally after thinking for a bit he gave me an apologetic look and asked, "Is it OK if I suck you off? I would really appreciate it."

The idea seemed gross to me as it had when we had been together before, but it had sure felt good at the time. It this point I didn't care what he did. I was about to explode my load. I half moaned, "Be my guest. Just don't expect me to do it to you."

He pulled down the waistband of my gym shorts. My fully erect dribbling tool was sticking right out toward him. He simply leaned forward and ran his lips tightly down over it. That did it. Wheeeee! As I shot my load into his mouth I dug my fingers into the balloon I was holding and popped it as the contractions of my thigh muscles aided in unloading my seed in a series of three or four good squirts. I expected Bob to spit it out on the floor but he swallowed hard and ingested my whole load. I really didn't care. I was totally floating on a euphoric cloud nine. As I slowly floated back down to reality I realized it was time to trade places. I wiped off the residue and replaced the shorts back over my collapsing organ.

Bob took my place on the sofa and I could see that his pants had developed a wet spot in the front as well, so I quickly went to work with one of the balloons on his legs. Before I knelt down I handed him a balloon to play with on his own as I had and he started squeezing and rubbing it. I worked on him for maybe five minutes and although his erection was intact, it was obvious he wasn't going anywhere. I blurted out, "Aren't the balloons doing it for you?"

He replied, "No. They feel good rubbing on my body and stem but I've gotta get more stimulated. Stand up and let me run my hands over your pretty legs and up into those shorts of yours. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."

He suddenly dug his nails into the balloon he was holding and it disappeared with a POOF.

I stood up and moved within arms reach and allowed him to massage my knees and thighs. He started fingering my sack and semi limp tool as well. I continued to rub him with the balloon in my hand. Feeling Bob's strong hand squeezing the muscles and rubbing the skin of my legs soon had me fully turned on. Then Bob said curtly, "Enough balloon. Grab my dick and finish me off."

I tossed the balloon aside, pulled down the waist of his gym pants, and started stroking away. His fully inflated stem was a good double the size of mine and I was suddenly struck with the odd thought; would something that size be painful for a girl, and if not, would a stem as puny as mine get any real contact at all. As I was musing on this hopefully future vital anatomical point I felt a warm wetness starting to dribble down my leg. Bob's initial load caught me on my leg right below the hem of my shorts. I didn't mind it there at all. I just couldn't conceive of it being in my mouth.

Bob's manipulation of my genitals had me hard again but I really wasn't ready to go for a second round at this point. My maximum previous output was four orgasms in a single day and it was now only about lunch time and I had been with Bob perhaps two hours or so. I would be alone with Bob for an additional 28 hours and I wanted to ration my sexual stimulation because after an orgasm I found I would have very little interest in either silly rubber toys or abbreviated pants for that matter.

They had a powder room in the cellar and Bob and I used the sink to wash up. He asked me if I was enjoying my visit so far and I said, "You better believe it."

Then I said, "Did it go OK with you?"

Bob replied, "You don't know how sexy you make me feel seeing you wearing those loose legged short pants. Just thinking about what you have up those inviting pants legs of yours really turns me on."

Then he added, "Do you want to wear these gym shorts for the rest of the afternoon?"

I responded, "Would you like that?"

"Yes, very much, although you look a bit weird in scout knee socks and white gym shorts," he replied.

I laughed and pulled my stockings down to a crumpled heap around the ankles of each leg above my Keds. "There, I said, "That should make me look a bit more reasonable. What do you have planned next?"

Actually I had come prepared with several fun things I was dying to try but was afraid to even suggest to my local buddies Dave and Mike, even after they had become aware that I was sexually stimulated by balloon play during our overnight camp out about six weeks earlier. One of these was to duplicate the intense arousal I had gotten when my father and I were out in the barn and he and I had disposed of a dozen or more pairs of under sized gym shorts I had salvaged by ripping them off each other. The soft sound of the seams bursting and the thin cotton ripping signifying the destruction of one of my short pants fetishes had really turned me on just as having a balloon burst and rip asunder.

At this point Bob suggested we take a break from our fun and games and grab some lunch. We went up to the kitchen and made ourselves some sandwiches. Bob proceeded to grab another Bud out of the refrigerator for each of us but I declined and he fished out a Pepsi for me. I asked him if his dad wouldn't notice a reduction in his beer stock when he got back from his trip because, although it was a huge refrigerator, I couldn't imagine that there were more than a dozen or so bottles inside, and we had already swiped three. Bob said that I worried too much. He would make a point of replacing any we took from the stockpile in the garage. Apparently his dad was a big beer drinker because he bought in six case lots.

"Anyway, Bob quipped, "Dad knows I drink a beer now and then and it is OK as long as I don't over do it."

"What about whisky and stuff?" I queried.

"Well that's a different story," he mused, "They do keep track of that so I have to be very discrete in how much I take. I don't care for it that much so I don't drink any of their booze that often."

That was a comforting thought because I didn't relish the idea of Bob getting himself bombed and loosing any inhibitions about rough house sex play with me.

I toyed with the idea of mentioning how close I had come to having dad destroy all my balloons and shorts the week before. It would soon become obvious to my friends that no longer owned any long pants to wear and I would have to come up with some plausible explanation. Since Bob was into a balloon fetish he would surely be the safest of all the guys I knew to offer an explanation to. However I didn't think he realized yet that shorts in general and Boy Scout uniforms in particular were a turn on for me. I didn't know how to avoid revealing this sordid fact about myself if I brought the topic up, so I didn't mention anything about the pants burning the previous week end.

After we finished lunch we spent about ten minutes on their screened in porch when Bob asked, "Ready to bust some more? We only have another two thousand or so to get rid of."

I really hated to see the pretty rubber toys just inflated and popped to get rid of them, although it sure beats watching them go up in flames; but I was game seeing as they were his balloons and not mine. I though this might be a good time so I casually asked, "I thought you said that you had some really big war surplus balloons that were really fun to play with?"

"Yes I do," Bob replied, "But I was saving them for tonight. I don't want to get rid of them just yet because I enjoy humping and flopping on them on my bed. I can't get any more and they were pretty expensive so I only was able to buy four dozen at the time, and I have had nearly a dozen bust on me so far."

We trooped down into the rec room and put our balloon busting buddy, Electrolux, to work again. We continued inflating balloons from the partially rotted bag. I noticed that since we were about a third of the way into the bag there seemed to be somewhat fewer balloons that were completely unusable or that wouldn't make an effort to stretch to at least rated size. We were, however, still only getting about a seventy five per-cent yield because I was blowing them up a bit tighter than we had during our first round. This time we kept blowing until we had probably a good three gross or more inflated before Bob called a halt because his fingers were getting sore from tying knots in the balloon necks. I told him, although burning them with our cigarettes was fun, I wanted to get a bit more enjoyment out of them before we finished them off. The inflated balloons formed for the most part a single layer that occupied about a third of the available rec room floor space.

Actually I had never been around so many balloons at one time in my life and I wanted to really savor the moment. Bob looked idly down at our toys strewn about on the floor and slowly lowered his sneaker cased size 13 hoof down on one . The rubber squeaked in protest as it tried to stretch and slide out from under the soft rubber sole. It had no chance at all, and exploded with a thunderous BANG into hundreds of small rubber scraps.

I started kicking the balloons, sending them bounding off the walls and ceiling. This was exciting but not very effective as far as busting them. Fortunately they didn't have anything very breakable in the rec room because the flying balloons were ricocheting off of the floor lamps and furniture. Bob joined in and we soon found that the pop rate went way up if we kicked high over the balloons causing them to scrub forward along the floor rather than catching them with the toes of our sneakers underneath which just sent them flying forward and upward. Although painful it was fun when we both went after the same balloon and caught it between our feet as we kicked at it. PHOOM. This soon resulted in bruised shins and skinned knees. Bob didn't seem to mind and I wasn't about to be the first to back off because my bare legs were getting kicked and bruised.

It required a good fifteen minutes of furious racing around and kicking to annihilate the 400 plus balloons. During which time we both slid on the rubber strewn floor several times and landed on our asses. On a few occasions our falls were cushioned by balloons that exploded under us as we landed.

By the time we finished I was exhausted and we had both worked up a good sweat. I quick look at Bob's and my legs showed that rubber wasn't the only thing that had gotten torn. Bright red trickles of blood were dribbling down our legs; oozing from several locations where our kicks on each others legs had torn the skin. I felt I beat Bob on this because I only had one to his three. They had a good supply of Band-Aids in the cellar wash room, probably because it was next to their extensive work shop, and we soon had everything cleaned up and our leaks under control.

We went up to the kitchen for another beer and Pepsi and again retired to the screened in porch to cool down. Because of the sheer physical exertion of our balloon busting, I didn't even think about the sexual aspects of all those lovely rubber toys being destroyed. Bob didn't seem to be turned on in the least by our balloon fun either. I was seriously thinking about asking him for any balloons that were left by the time I went home if he just wanted to get rid of them. There was no question we were just destroying not really enjoying them. I knew I could have a lot more fun popping them in a slower more sensual relaxed fashion at home; but I also knew that I really enjoyed seeing my friend in balloon popping action racing around in his abbreviated white cotton gym shorts.

I had to come up with some balloon fun that involved more rubber / skin contact. I also noted that our brief period of skin to skin contact was pretty sexy too. When Bob was feeling up my legs and had his hand up inside my shorts it did feel whooeeee and I definitely wanted us to have some more of that kind of activity. I also didn't mind reciprocating in like manner; and working over Bob's pretty well muscled legs certainly added to my sexual arousal.

We started off our third pop period by blowing up more balloons from the partially rotted bag with the help of our friend Electrolux. He was blowing and I was tying because his fingers were getting sore after tying off the nearly 600 balloons we had already annihilated. I could see that we were headed toward finishing off the entire bag if we just continued on with one more mass pop off because there were only about one third of the original number left. This would mean we would have turned about a third of his stockpile into torn rubber sheets. After we had about three dozen inflated I told him to stop; we had enough to play with for the moment.

"How do you want to bust these?" Bob grinned. Remember they are just going bad and we have loads more to get rid of."

"Lets have some balloon wrestling," I offered.

I took the balloon I was tying off and walked over and smooshed it in Bob's face. His natural instinct was to fight it off and he tried to grab it away from me. I thought to myself, balloon wrestling is sure easy to learn. The shrieks of the tortured rubber as it was pulled out from between our hands sent shivers into my sexual regions. Actually the balloons were not fairing too well because the aged and oxidized rubber was not super strong and produced more than the normal friction in our hands, so the balloons gave up fairly easily with sharp POOF POOF sounds. It took us maybe seven or eight minutes to bust them all. I checked to see if the skin contact and sound was doing anything for Bob like it was doing for me and I noticed he was beginning to 'tent up' in the front. Unfortunately at this point we had finished off our inflated balloon supply so as we prepared to blow up some more I asked him if playing with balloons this way was getting him aroused at all. He gave me a sheepish look and said, "Yah, I like the skin contact with the rubber; but I would like skin contact with your hide much better. Just thinking about your balls and hard dick hiding under the thin white cotton of your shorts turns me on."

This seemed like the perfect time to suggest some fun for me by busting the shorts we were wearing as a change of pace from our rubber ripping destruction. I moved over toward him within arm's reach and said, "Why don't you rip these shorts off me. Then you won't have to guess what I have hiding underneath."

Bob grinned from ear to ear. "You don't care if I rip them off you? Man, that's what I have wanted to do since I first set eyes on them."

I thrust my hips in his direction and leaned backward  to counteract the sharp tug on my thighs that was coming. Bob grabbed the loose hem of the left leg and gave it a good heard jerk. The half inch wide hem ripped at the outer seam and the thin well washed cotton tore cleanly up to the waist band with a sudden soft rrrrrip sound. There was a slight delay as he continued his pull on the leg of my shorts as the waist band stretched to its limit at which point the fabric ripped where the waist band was sown on all the way around to the front seam. Bob released the loose flap of cotton and grabbed on to the hem of the right leg and just a easily ripped open the right side of my pants. As this flap dropped away, my now freed stem stood out at attention.

"Well hello there," Bob commented as he finished his destructive handiwork and gazed at my unassuming manhood. "Did my ripping your shorts off you get you all excited, little buddy? Your knee pants really turn you on, don't they? Lets you show off those nice looking legs you've got and gives you opportunity to skin up your pretty knees. Is that what you like so much about them that you will let yourself get beat up because you want to wear them even at school? Hell, you should have spent the summer working with me up at the scout camp. All we were allowed to wear was the scout shorts and knee socks along with a neckerchief that seems to turn you on so much."

I asked Bob if he enjoyed short pants the same way I did and he said really liked to see guys wear shorts because it made them look sexy. The thought that their manhood was just a short reach up a full cut short pant leg he found exciting; but the short pants themselves didn't do anything for him. I had a notion to ask him how he made it through the summer at scout camp with all the bare kneed boys running around day after day but I thought it best to hold off because he had my 'family jewels' in the grasp of his hand and I didn't want him to take my question the wrong way.

I was beginning to get gooey again and our conversation along with his playing with me was going to quickly send me over the top. However, I didn't want to be sexually fagged out prematurely when we had so much time left for additional stimulating things to do. I mentioned this to him and suggested that I wanted to hold off until we had time for more fun things; but I would take care of him if he wanted me to. I really wanted to ditch the torn rag that was hanging from my waist and replace it with another pair of the gym shorts I had brought along, however Bob wanted me to take care of him while I was still in my semi-nude state.

He led me over to the sofa and then lay on his side as he indicated he just wanted me to give him a hand job while he massaged my thighs and genitals. He said he didn't need any of our rubber play toys. I pulled down his gym shorts which were pretty damp in the front by this time and started stroking his stem. He was enjoying it immensely but it was a bit awkward from the semi standing position I was in to properly manipulate his tool. It became obvious that, although he was near climax, Bob wasn't going to make it with what we were doing to each other. I was afraid he was going to ask me to do more; and he did.

"Please be a good buddy and give me a blow job as a minimum," he pleaded. "When I cum just spit the goo out."

I replied, "I'll compromise with you. Let me slip one of these large soft paddle balloons over your stem to catch your juice and let me put on another pair of gym shorts so I don't feel like I'm running around naked and I will suck you off, if that's what you want. OK?"

Bob pushed me away and jumped up off the sofa and bounded up the cellar stairs. I figured he knew precisely where his parents kept their rubber protective gear, and I was right. Within thirty seconds he was back with a neatly rolled prophylactic squeezed together in it's paper sleeve. He flopped back on the sofa again and yanked his shorts down. I was amazed that after such a burst of physical effort his organ was still pretty well inflated.

I unrolled the thin white rubber sheath on his sticky tool and started stroking him while he felt my leg and ballroom again. He began moaning and after a few minutes he gave my leg one last squeeze and just said, "Do it."

I bent over and as I did it, he thrust his hips forward and practically rammed his tool, it felt, halfway down my throat. I instinctively pulled back and he grabbed the back of my head by my hair and held it in place while he thrust in and out. I clamped down on the rubber sheath with my lips as hard as I could to give him maximum friction. I wanted this over as fast as possible.

Bob didn't go over the top, he shot over the top. With an unbelievable groan of ecstasy he blasted his load into the thin rubber receptacle on his penis. Good I thought. Now get your sweat smelling dick out of my face; but that was not to be just yet. He had my head firmly locked in front of his groin area and it wasn't going anywhere until he floated down which seemed to me like five minutes; but was probably closer to a minute or so. Finally Bob released my head and rolled to an upright sitting position as he whispered, "Man, you sure know how to do it."

Bob sat on the sofa for an additional couple of minutes as he floated back down from his 'high'. At this point his dick had collapsed sufficiently so the wrinkled loose rubber sleeve could be easily removed. As he left to clean up I told him to rinse out the condom and we would use it later since he seemed to like shooting off this way.

While Bob was cleaning up I inflated another of the large paddle balloons to about a sixteen inch diameter and had it clamped between my knees as I sat on one of the chairs near the sofa. I was pulling the rubber on the top of the balloon toward me which caused it to twist against the inside of my legs creating loud squeaking sounds from the tortured rubber skin.

He was gone a while and I assumed that he relieved some other bodily build up. In the meantime I just kept rubbing the soft green balloon, my favorite color, between my legs. Finally Bob emerged from the powder room and quickly strode over to where I was sitting. As he reached me he said, "Hey little buddy. I just got to put this poor balloon out of it's misery."

With that he reached over and pinched the rubber skin with his fingernails and the balloon disappeared with a relatively quiet POP. The stimulation from rubbing the balloon on my legs had me half aroused and his sudden spontaneous destruction of my pretty toy pumped me up. It was a replay after ten years of what dad would often do when we were playing with balloons on a Friday night before the war and it got me just as excited. Bob, noting my condition, grabbed my stem and started massaging it through my gym shorts.

"Ready to go again, little buddy?" Bob offered.

"Yah, why not," I shot back.

I got out of the chair and moved over to the sofa and stretched out on it as I had before.
There weren't any more inflated balloons available; we had finished them all off. Bob noted this and walked over to the balloon supply and grabbed a couple more of the paddle balloons and handed them to me. "Here are some rubber toys for you to play with while you are having fun," Bob beamed. "Start blowing while I work on you and we can see if you or the balloon pops first."

Bob pulled down the waist of my shorts, grabbed my tool and started stroking away as I began to blow up one of the twenty four inch balloons. As the balloon got larger I was concerned that the apprehension from it's impending destruction would inhibit my ability to have an orgasm. However I soon took the mental attitude that I wanted the big yellow rubber bag floating in front of my face to bust more than anything in the world. I had it just about to the limit when Bob, without missing a beat, switched to his oral massage.

Oheeeeeee. As I thrust hard into his mouth I forced a big lung full of air into the balloon and it suddenly disappeared with a resounding BOOM. Although he was aware of what I was doing with the balloon it still surprised him when it let go and he bit my stem. The brief sharp pain, however, did nothing to hinder my orgiastic release as I drained myself. Technically the balloon won; popping about a second before I did.

It was now about four in the afternoon and I already felt like a well spent puppy. As I came down for the second time I was half wishing we could clean up our mess and call it a day. I had never had so much balloon popping and sexual stimulation at one time in my life and I really would have liked to have had several more similar weekends lined up rather than the balloon popping marathon that I was currently engaged in. I mentioned this to Bob and he said, "You are right. What we need is a change of pace. What say we cool off in the pool. We can take some of our toys with us if you like."

Super. I was hoping he would suggest a balloon swim. I had played with balloons in water to a limited extent down in the bog on my solo balloon play forays but my enjoyment was frustrated by the shallow available water which really wasn't deep enough to swim in. Definitely not deep enough to ride a balloon in the water.

I was still concerned about the rubber mess littering the rec room floor. It was covered with the remains of at least seven gross of 12 inch party balloons and at least three dozen or so of the larger 24 inch paddles. Bob agreed and quickly rounded up a large push broom, dust pan, and brush, along with a large waste can. He quickly consolidated the rubber scraps and I scooped them with the brush onto the dust pan and into the waste container. The can was about 16 inches in diameter and the loose rubber filled it to almost a12 inch depth. I figured if we got rid of Bob's entire stock we would more than have the can full. Picturing this much latex burning and bubbling away sent shivers through my organ.

As we headed upstairs, Bob grabbed an assortment of balloons from his stockpile on the table, and I went over to the bag I had brought and fished out the 560 airships I had intelligently thought to bring. I showed them to Bob and he said, "Whoaeeee, they ought to be fun to ride."

As we headed out the patio door to the pool I asked him if there was any problem playing with balloons in the water; would it clog up the pumps or anything. He said we had to make a point of recovering all the large pieces of torn rubber that could easily be seen as soon as a balloon broke so they wouldn't be spotted by other pool users; but he doubted that this would be a problem because it was now late September and there were few others in the family likely to use the pool this time of the year. Smaller pieces and all debris would eventually get collected in the pool filter, and since cleaning the filter was one of Bob's household chores there was little risk if we couldn't round up everything.

We stripped off our tee shirts, knee socks, and sneakers and started blowing up the airship and some of the round party balloons. I had little doubt that Bob was planning for a skinny dip session but I felt very uncomfortable being outdoors in the buff so I retained the white gym shorts I was wearing as under pants. Bob, mindful of my feelings, slipped the white gym shorts I had given him back on as well. As it turned out we both got what we wanted because the thin white shorts became nearly transparent the moment they got wet.

The pool was fortunately surrounded by shrubbery walls that prevented prying eyes from seeing the pool area directly. We would have to be careful that we didn't let any of our toys get above shoulder height, however. It would not have been good to pop them out of the water either as the sound would easily carry to the neighbors . We made a point of not over inflating the balloons for this reason. Also this would give them some reasonable strength when we played with them in the water. As we tied them off we tossed them in the water so the light afternoon breeze wouldn't catch any of them and send them sailing over our optical barrier.

When we had a couple dozen inflated, Bob jumped feet first into the pool straddling one of the airship balloons that was near the edge. I spied another of them properly positioned and within range and followed suit. As I hit the water the comments 'now September' and 'few pool users' hit home. The water was freezing cold. I landed near the middle of the long balloon I had targeted straddling it with my legs to either side. The ends whipped up and hit me in the chest and upper back as my ass and crotch rammed the rubber tube deep into the water. I was amazed that my heavy landing didn't rip the balloon in half. It's buoyancy quickly absorbed the momentum of my leap as it shot me back toward  the water surface. Because the balloon wasn't positioned directly under my rear end as it forced it's way to the surface it dumped me on my side and gave me a sudden dunking as it quickly raised my legs that were still clamped around it.

Bob faired better, and as he bobbed to the surface he was able to use his legs and arms to keep himself upright on his rubber flotation device. I finally managed to get astride my balloon by pushing the one end down between my legs and humping myself along it until I got my ass positioned near the center. My balloon was capable of floating me with the water surface about six inches above my waist line which made it relatively heard to stay balanced on the balloon and still paddle oneself about. As we rode about for a few minutes on or makeshift pool toys my numbness gave way to the enjoyable feel of the tightly stretched rubber coming up from between my legs and pressing against my cock.

Bob floated up beside me and said, "Having fun yet?"

Then he reached over and used his fingernails on the end of the balloon sticking up behind me. It made a sort of a funny popping sound as the rubber split down it's length to the point where I had it constricted between my legs under the water. With the rear half suddenly deflated, the buoyancy of the front section shot it upward out of the water like a submarine launched rocket.

With my flotation gear suddenly gone I quickly dropped to a standing position in water that was up to my shoulders. I took a few strides to shallower water and recovered the soggy latex. It turned out only the rear half of the balloon had ripped open. The neck end half was still intact and could still be re-inflated. I tied off the torn end and blew it up, and although it was less than half it's former length, it still provided about the same lift because nearly the same volume of air was trapped under the water. I was able to re-mount my truncated balloon and because the ends were not sticking up I encountered less drag and was fairly quickly able to catch up to Bob who had moved to the deep end of the pool. Unfortunately I was a nail biter and I did not have a convenient way to bust the balloon he was riding on. I grabbed the end sticking out behind him and tried tearing the rubber but this resulted in dumping him off the balloon and giving him a dunking which was probably even better. As he came up he lunged at me and I went over and we both were treading water as out toys shot up in the air away from us.

Bob managed to corral his balloon first and he suggested we should both get on it and ride tandem. With four hands pushing it into the water getting astride it was a good deal easier. I was still amazed that the balloon took the squeezing and stretching abuse without busting. As before, being in front, the end of the balloon beyond where I was sitting pressed tightly up against my not so little dickey. Bob's crotch was pressed against my ass cheeks and I had little doubt what was causing the pressure I felt in the small of my back. After getting settled we paddled around the pool for a minute or so. It was much easier to maintain balance on the balloon because with the two of us on it we rode deeper in the water making us less top heavy.

Suddenly Bob reached around my waist and jammed his right hand between the balloon and my nearly inflated cock. His suddenness took me by surprise and I was about to object when I realized the way he was squeezing my tool through the gym pants felt really good. I think he was expecting a negative reaction as he hesitatingly remarked, "Are you OK?"

"Fine," I shot back. "Are you enjoying our little balloon ride?"

"Oh yah, very much," was his reply.

He massaged me for another minute then added, "This damn balloon is getting in the way."

Not for long. Bob gave the end pressing against the front of me his finger nail treatment and the balloon disappeared from beneath us. We were surrounded by a big burp of bubbles as the escaping air shot to the surface. Suddenly we were standing in about four and a half feet of water. The remains of the balloon was floating about three feet down in the water like a small flattened eel.

I recovered the rubber and saw that the balloon had ripped down it's entire length and the neck and far end were still attached. No small rubber fragments to be concerned about. Without even giving it any thought I automatically flattened out the long rectangular rubber sheet and tied it around my head as a headband. Bob thought I looked silly so I quipped, "Don't knock it if you haven't tried it. At least it keeps the hair out of my face."

That made sense to Bob as he swam over to the last remaining airship balloon. He grabbed it and busted it before I could even object Then he rounded up the long rubber strip and also donned a headband.

The only inflated balloons left in the pool were about two dozen of the 12 inch party variety. We had inflated them to about ten inches so they would have some chance of survival when we forced them under the water. Trying to mount and ride the round balloons was nearly impossible and in short order we had busted them all from repeatedly trying to force them deep enough into the water to get them under or asses. The long tubular balloons were definitely more suited for balloon riding; but I didn't want to sacrifice any more of my limited supply in this manner.

After we had popped all the balloons in the pool there were still several dozen uninflated round balloons we had brought out with us. Bob noted that the sun was beginning to set and the fact that the round balloons burst into several rather small scraps of rubber would make it hard to insure that we didn't leave any residual rubber in the pool from our play time. My growing numbness from the cold water had me in total agreement that we make one final pool check and head for the house. We could finish off the unused balloons later.

After our swim 'n bust we went in to the house, stripped off the wet gym shorts we were wearing as swim trunks, and toweled off in the basement bathroom that was next to the door that led out to their pool. I'm sure Bob appreciated seeing me in the buff even though I felt his main area of interest in me was so poorly developed. Nonetheless he didn't take his eyes off me and I became alarmed that he would want the two of us to remain undressed for some more one on one skin contact.

For my part I felt uncomfortable being in such close proximity to my bare assed friend. I didn't have this sort of feeling with my father or much younger step brother because I was used to seeing them naked; but I think the realization of how easily Bob could dominate me might have had something to do with it. Whenever I was in the showers with other guys at school I made a point of avoiding staring at any of them. I didn't want them to think I was a Homo. Nudity turns me off; but the reality is I surely did like seeing the better built stockier short legged boys romping around in their baggy gym shorts.

I really wasn't into male bodies per se; but there was little doubt Bob had a great body. He was physically strong in all of his limbs; however he wasn't grossly bulged out like the body builders I had seen pictures of in magazines. Frankly I found him much more attractive in the old style class "A" summer scout uniform I had given him than watching him standing in front of me toweling off.

We finished drying ourselves off and as though reading my mind Bob said, "I've got some scout uniform shorts from summer camp that older guys were throwing away because they didn't want to chance having to wear them when they got home. Let me get them and you can see if you want them."

Fortunately I had brought several pair of the white gym shorts for us to have fun with so I handed him a pair as he headed upstairs. I donned a dry pair myself and hung the wet one I had been wearing in the pool over the shower curtain rod as I awaited Bob's return.

It took him a couple of minutes until he shot down the stairs to the rec room with a large cardboard box in hand. Obviously any shorts he would have picked up at camp would be the new more modest style and have the longer less fully cut legs. He unloaded his box and laid out five shorts and two short sleeve shirts with all the appropriate patches attached, neither or course from our troop in town. In addition he had a good two dozen pair of the new nylon knee stockings and a big handful of brightly colored neckerchiefs, mostly the camp's, commemoratives, or those with troop logo's. These last two items held my most interest because my knee socks experienced a short life expectancy when I raced around down in the woods. Also I only had one neckerchief to wear with my scoutfits because my Dad thought they looked silly when I wore them, so I was afraid to press him about buying any additional. Bob mentioned he thought I would like the neckerchiefs and knee socks because he felt I had a thing for wearing them. He was very observant. I told him I thought they made boys / men look more macho sexy.

I donned a pair of the shorts, a shirt, and the socks. The shorts were a size larger than I required so the legs were fairly loose; but with the added two inches of length I could see they would not be as comfortable to pull up the hem and piss out the leg as was my habit. The legs were tapered which was not the case with the WW2 vintage scout shorts Dad had bought me. I mentioned to Bob that his shorts would be a lot more comfortable if the legs were about six inches shorter.

We didn't have a sewing machine at home and my previous experience at hand hemming cut-off jeans showed it was very tedious and time consuming. Still I couldn't just see Bob put a match to them so I said I would take his whole stash.

To my surprise Bob offered to shorten the legs for me He did suggest that I leave two pair untouched to wear to the scout meetings as they were the same as the other boys had to wear. He grabbed three of the shorts from the box and we headed upstairs to the sewing room. In short order his sharp scissors sliced through the legs converting the modest scout shorts into short shorts. It was obvious he had experience in using the sowing machine previously because he had the bobbin installed and the machine threaded lickety split.

He handed me the first pair he had hemmed off and I exchanged them for the long scout shorts I was wearing. Bob had cut off the legs at a point that allowed the hemmed leg bottoms to reach below the bottoms of the side pockets. It was a great compromise. The abbreviated shorts were sufficiently long so that I could still wear gym shorts as underpants without them showing and short enough that they had plenty of leg clearance for full freedom of movement.

Nice, very nice. They would most certainly get plenty of wear around the house provided my Dad didn't object to the additional leg exposure. Bob looked me over and gave me a long wolf whistle after which he commented, "Love those legs."

Upon completing the third pair and closing up the sewing machine, he put one of them on as well. Since Bob had fairly long legs to begin with the abbreviated pants made him look like he was wearing OD gym shorts. I still preferred seeing him in the full cut old style shorts I had given him which at least came about half way down his legs.  Rev. Date 3/03.
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