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After my three years in college,
I moved to London, and shared a house with three other gay guys.
I got up to a bit of balloon mischief there, but once again all in secret.
Actually it was quite scary, not having anybody to acount to,
and having to make all my decisions myself. Although the freedom was great
(don't we all want to be able to do just what we want to!),
it was actually very scary and interesting.I had a few months without a job,
and found out what it was like to be poor for the first time!
At least London had some gay life. A few gay pubs, mostly drag acts
(the Black Cap, the Vauxhall Tavern, and such like)
which didn't really appeal to me, but a few other places such as the
Colherne. There were two "alternative", non commercial venues that
I went to a lot, the Brixton Gay Centre (that dates it,
for those in the know), and the Icebreakers weekly disco,
held in the Prince Albert. (Icebreakers was a counselling service for young people,
set up by volunteers; there was a great need for this, and nothing existed.
Back to the balloons.I suppose, that with all these
diversions, and the fact that I now found it easy to meet gay men,
and was really enjoying sex, balloons took a back seat for a while.
It's some years after that I remember having fun with the loons again.
I was still living in the same house, and although the three of us had our own rooms,
I was very concious of the noise that a balloon would make if it burst.
I remember blowing up a solitary 'loon, and not tying the neck,
so I could deflate it again, without worry.
This limited what I could do with it,
as I had to hold on to the neck with my thumb and finger
(I don't know why I didn't close it off with a peg or the like)
But, having the balloon, inflated, in front of me certainly gave me a hard-on!
I enjoyed the sight, sound, and smell of the balloon.
I was in raptures, stroking it against my skin,
hitting myself on the face, on the cock and balls,
squeezing it as hard as I dared against me, watching it get squashed out of shape.
But after I'd finished playing, I let the balloon down,
as I didn't want to risk it bursting.
I also couldn't contemplate any of the guys I brought home finding
a balloon and me having to explain it.
Of course, with what I know nowadays, I daresay one or more of
them would have taken to it!
I had a brainwave.
Well, it seemed like a brainwave at the time
(a bit feeble, looking back on it!)
If I tossed the inflated balloon out of the window,
the wind would whisk it away, and I wouldn't have to worry about it being found.
I could only do this at night of course! So now I could tie the neck of the balloon,
and this opened up a whole new repertoire of balloon fun.
I didn't have to hold on to it, so I could trap it inside my T shirt, or underwear,
feeling it squashing hard against me. I could sit on it (hoping
it wouldn't burst). I could hold it aginst my cock whilst I was wanking off,
I could hold it between my legs, and see it get squashed.
But best of all, I could keep it in bed all night
and keep feeling it whenever I turned over. I nearly came unstuck once though;
it was a very calm night, and the balloon I had thrown out of the window that evening,
was still nestling quite happy in the garden the next morning!
After a while, I met another guy,
and it got serious, and we started living together. Although things seemed
to run smoothly at first, before long, they turned nasty,
so I'll not describe that any more. He certainly wouldn't have understood
something unusual like a fetish for balloons. So, I had to make do with brushing up
against bunches of balloons in ther street and at parties.
I always managed to have balloons (as many as I dared) at birthdays and Xmas,
but that was all that happened. And then, of course, we split up.
Very painful at the time, but looking back on it, I wondered how I
ever got on with him in the first place.
The rose tinted spectacles must have been working overtime!
Quite some while after that
I met another scrumptious young man. And yes, some fifteen years later,
we are still very much together. I must have got it right this time.
(I alway remember that chance meeting that Sunday lunchtime at the Colherne).
We had so much fun, our sexual desires just clicked together.
For many years, I didn't play with balloons at all.
I had everything I could want and more.
But, one day, the sight of a balloon (and it hit me on the face)
gave me an instant hard-on and I knew I wanted them again.
The next Xmas I had so many balloons.
I don't think my beloved suspected a thing.
But I got him to play games with them, throwing them at each other,
hitting each other with them and so on. I'm sure he didn't guess.
Funny how I always used to engineer this when we were in our underwear, or
completely naked! The best incident of all,
was when I laid down on the sofa (nude),
disturbing the pile of balloons that was on there, and he
tried his hardest to completely cover me up with the loons.
That was incredible. If only he knew!
New Year's Eve that year
we went to a bar called the Anvil, which was notorious for a lot of action
(sometimes heavy action hopefully) and they had big bunches of balloons around the walls.
I couldn't ask for more; well I could ask for another guy to play with them with me,
but there wasn't much hope of that. But I just kept hiding my head inside the
bunches of balloons. I could see nothing but balloons, feel nothing except balloons -
it was heaven. And on the dot of midnight, a group of hunky skinheads decide to burst
them all around me. I had such a stiffy. I had such a good time.
If you are enjoying this personal history, let me know!
On to History Chapter 6. Back to Ferdie's home page.
