Not-So-Little Nadine

by Pete Upbyachik

Little Nadine, the 13-year-old early bloomer, could boast of only the second-biggest boobs in the county upon graduating from junior high school, but the other girl was a wee bit on the heavy side. But even besides that, the bottom line was that both little girls could boast of and, at times be embarrassed by, boobs roughly the size of small cannonballs, so it's all good.

Not really much of a tomboy, attending an all-girl school for a number of years, having no brothers, and coming from a single mom home as she did--and having only one male cousin besides all that--Nadine lead a relatively sheltered life away from boys, and knowledge about boys. Basic anatomical differences between boys and girls Nadine had only been cursorily aware of and no more. For example, she knew that boys had "thingies” while a girl's "thingies” were tucked up inside. But that was about all the naive young girl had ever heard.

One day, two weeks after graduating from junior high school, Nadine witnessed something that really freaked her out and would dramatically alter the way she would view boys and girls, men and women, as she would continue to develop. She saw a fight between a boy and girl, both of whom she had gone to school with--Tommy W. and Carol C.

Carol was the supreme tomboy in the neighborhood, routinely in trouble, consistently being sent up to the principal's office at school. Tommy was widely acknowledged to be the toughest kid in school, the most athletic, most popular, the one the girls all had a crush on, etc., etc.

Nadine had witnessed what started the fight between the two 13-year-olds. Basically, Carol had started it, for whatever reason--probably it was Carol's twisted way of showing that she too liked Tommy--why not, everybody else did (everybody Tommy hadn't already beat up, that is). She kept continually calling Tommy a "fire brain.” This was because Tommy had bright red hair. Nadine was appalled at Carol's foolishness--surely Carol wouldn't want to get her ass kicked by a boy, much less Tommy W.! It all went down in front of Miller's Pool Hall uptown.

Tommy showed great restraint at first, trying to ignore the mouthy little Carol, who was so apparently jealous for his attention even he saw through it. He tried at last to walk away down the sidewalk, but Carol kept on, until Tommy finally turned on her and full on slapped her, whereupon Carol had the stupidity and the temerity to slap him right back. After that, the fight was on.

As expected, Tommy proceeded to pretty much kick Carol's ass all over the sidewalk for the next thirty seconds or so... until a funny thing happened. Carol was flat on her butt, with Tommy standing over her, about to put his shoe so far up her fanny it would end the fight for good, when suddenly Nadine saw that it was Carol's shoe that moved next, and quickly at that, flying up a couple of feet or so, hitting Tommy right between his legs.

It wasn't a very hard blow really, but you wouldn't be able to tell that at all from Tommy's reaction. Tommy's face went totally blank, except for his bulging eyes, as he grabbed himself between the legs. A second later, his knees buckled out from under him as he fell on the ground, he lay all curled up on his side like a frightened caterpillar. Deep, pitiful exhalations came out of him, but he never stirred. He never seemed to move from that rolled-up caterpillar ball he'd gone into. Carol got up. Tommy didn't. As a matter of fact, Tommy laid there for about five whole minutes before he could even try to get up, saying nothing, only moaning occasionally about the stricken status of his poor "balls.” From her vantage point on the corner, Nadine recognized, albeit vaguely, that by the word "balls” the boy was referring to part of those "thingies” that boys have that girls don't. But she had no idea why Tommy was on the ground holding himself down there, holding and rubbing away at his thingies, no idea why he should have been so devastated by a not-so-devastating kick.

Nadine stood there watching, wondering. As Carol walked by, after having stood over Tommy for a few seconds of triumphant taunting, teasing him over the pathetic weakness of his balls--she kept saying something about the pathetic weakness of boys the world over, really--Nadine grabbed Carol by the arm as she passed. Carol, evidently thinking that a stark, raving miracle had just taken place--that Tommy was somehow back on his feet--whirled around quickly as if to resume the fighting, just in time to see Nadine falling on her butt, clutching at her boob.

"Oh shit--sorry,” Carol quickly said, realizing what happened: that her elbow had smacked squarely into the nipple center of one of Nadine's exceedingly oversized juvenile boobs. Nadine sat there, rubbing her boob and taking strained breaths, in too much pain to look up at Carol and acknowledge the apology. Ten seconds later, however, still rubbing her boob, Nadine was up on her feet.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to hit you in the boob, Nadine,” said Carol. Then, jokingly, she added, "Not like you could miss 'em or anything anyway.”

"That's okay,” Nadine answered, though her throbbing breast was saying something else entirely. "Carol, what'd you just do to Tommy over there? How'd you beat him up so fast?”

"Kicked him in the balls, whatcha think I did?” answered Carol, very much surprised by the question.

"Yeah, I know. But why... why doesn't he just get up? Why's he still laying over there? Why don't he get up and chase you down and stuff? What'd you do to him?”

"What?” asked a now thoroughly astonished Carol. "You're kidding, right?”

"No. Kidding about what?” Nadine naively continued.

"Holy crap, you really don't know, do you?”

"Know about what?”

"About how weak boys are when they get hit in the balls,” Carol finally exasperatingly explained.

'Nadine, jiminy fricking Christmas already, you kick a boy in the balls, it ruins his whole day for like five whole hours or something. And it makes 'em cry and fall down and everything. You mean you really didn't know that?”

"It does?”

"Yeah, stupid! It makes him cry like you wouldn't believe when you kick 'em there. It goes all up into their stomach or something--the pain keeps all getting worse and worse up into their stomach and stuff. That's what I heard. That's why, if you ever hit a boy there, you can beat him in any fight, every time. Geez Louise, I can't believe you don't know that, Nadine.”

"Sorry--learn something new everyday,” Nadine answered abstractedly. Her mind was already a million miles away. She was mystified by what she had just seen. There was something in this new revelation that intrigued her greatly and she didn't know why. Like a drug addict's genetic predisposition towards addictive behavior, Nadine was experiencing a sudden excitement race through her. She could feel the spike of adrenaline coursing through her blood, shooting through the big blue veins in her bulging boobs. Her saggy boobs were harder now--now this was new!

"Geez Nadine, you'd better hide those things. You might poke somebody's eye out or something.” Carol was referring to Nadine's suddenly jutting, bullet-like nipples. Nadine looked down; brushing away some hair, but it seemed more to her like she was fanning herself off. Only now did Nadine come to the realization that she had been breathing more rapidly than normal. It was Carol's ongoing description of a glaring weak spot on boys' bodies--that's what was doing this to her--how Nadine wanted Carol to just keep on talking! Nadine's next question was designed to do just that.

"And so, like, do all boys have this weakness?”

"Geez Louise, Nadine. What planet did you just now come from,” Carol impatiently concluded, finally walking away.

Nadine stayed, watching Tommy roll around on the ground in anguish. She was fascinated, enthralled. Her big, pendulous boobs stayed relatively hard, and her nipples stayed hard as mini-rockets, so long as she stared at Tommy. It was fully six and one-half more minutes after Carol left before Tommy could even make an attempt at getting up.

Nadine was hooked. It was obvious this was a fetish long latent within her. She could literally make herself high--an elative and purely feminine Power Trip high--thinking about or watching a male get hurt in the balls. From then on, for little Nadine, it was open season on males, or more accurately, open season on their balls.

Later that summer, on three separate occasions in broad daylight, Nadine deliberately picked fights with neighborhood boys whom she happened to have caught staring at her boobs. In truth, neighborhood boys staring at Nadine's amazing young rack was nothing terribly new, and she had liked even liked and encouraged and invited it before, but she so wanted to test the validity of what Carol had said to her about the weakness of a boy's balls that she would've used any excuse to do her own "experimenting.” Her boobs just happened to come in handy for this purpose now too, the purpose of drawing boys over to her. She was soon quite the ambush predator, and neighborhood kids, boys and girls alike, stopped calling her "Jugs” and "Cow Boobs.” They had two new nicknames for Nadine now: "Nads,” short for gonads, and the even more ubiquitous "Football"--to emphasize the number of times her foot had come into contact with the neighborhood boys' balls.

Some time later, Nadine's cousin was in town, visiting.

It was, in truth, only the third or fourth time she'd ever met her cousin David, the last time being about four years ago--just prior to Nadine's staggering breast development. David was older, 16 years to Nadine's 13. All Nadine remembered of him was that he was a selfish little bully--a real jerk of a cousin.

Their first few moments together were for the BB Ages.

Nadine was lounging around in cut-off jeans and bare feet in a living room chair with one foot over the arm rest and the other straight out in front of her, long sand-colored hair sprawled over and around the more than ample mounds of nippled, nubile female fat underneath a light blue blouse with puffy, short, girly sleeves. David had just come into the living room.

David was becoming a rather well built young man, as Nadine could readily see. His arms and chest were quite pronounced now through a plain white T-shirt that he was wearing. Nadine reflected that, probably, her cousin had, of late, taken up weight lifting. A moment later and Nadine was reflecting how this latest revelation about David could make the whole thing that much sweeter for her. To exert power over a boy of David's size! A boy built like this! Nadine's boobs grew steadily harder. The jutting nips, the quickened pulse, the heightened sensitivity of her skin.

Right off the bat, David couldn't take his eyes of his cousin's suddenly amazing rack. “Wow, she didn't have that before!” he thought. Right off the bat, Nadine wanted to see her cousin sprawled flat from a hit in the balls--she wanted to feel that not-so-little rush of adrenalized power that she got whenever she could have power over boys. She decided to go right on the verbal attack, baiting him, confronting him about his not-so-furtive staring at her chest; perhaps she could rile him up or something--anything for an excuse to tag her cousin where it counts.

"You'd better stop staring at my boobs or your balls are going to be soooo sorry, jerk-off. I'm your cousin, for crying out loud.”

"I wasn't staring!” said David defensively, and not very convincingly.

"You better not or, even though you are my cousin, I'll hit you in the balls so hard, you'll still be feeling it next week when you leave,” taunted an increasingly confident little Nadine.

"What the hell? You don't talk to me like that!” said an increasingly angry cousin David.

Nadine stayed the course, biding her time, and raised the ante. "You heard me, dipshit. If ever you got hit in the balls, you'd fall down and wouldn't get up for a long-ass time, pervert. On account of you're a boy, and boys have balls, and balls are so weak.”

David was apoplectic. "What the f#$%?!”

"That's right. You're helpless to nature, weak boy. Balls are so weak it's disgusting. Just like in the movies, whenever there's a fight between a guy and a girl, if the girl ever just kicks the guy in the balls one time, then the fight's over right there and the girl wins.”

"Don't be so sure, bitch.”

"Nope. I am sure. You're just a boy and boys are weak.”

"Shut the hell up,” an increasingly confused David heard himself saying. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about. Those movies are fake. No chick could ever beat up a guy. You're dreaming. Look, if it makes you feel better, go ahead and believe that crap. But this is the real world, cuz, not Hollywood. So just shut the hell up and you won't get yourself hurt, okay?”

"Oh yeah, weak boy?” Nadine continued goading, "Ever even been hit down there, David?”

David blushed. He fumbled at an answer for a moment. He was suddenly growing a bit flustered by the boldness of his younger cousin. "Uh... yeah, sure I have. Got hit by a football there once.”

"Aaaaaand?” Nadine asked, languidly twirling locks of sandy hair around a finger, looking up at David, right up into his eyes. She was purposefully dragging out the word, and if that wasn't humiliating enough to the older boy, she was uttering it in this little cutesy baby talk voice. It was the same confounding baby talk voice Nadine used on several fallen neighborhood boys in the past, a voice delicious, surely designed to mock and to provoke a further and (if all went well) furious reaction out of David.

It worked.

"Sure it hurt. So what? What about it?” David yelled, stepping in closer, leaning over Nadine's chair menacingly now, practically spewing the words right down at her.

"But it didn't hurt that bad to where I couldn't get up or talk or kick somebody’s ass if I'd've wanted to. That's ridiculous! And any girl ever tries that shit on me I'll--”

Poor David...

David had been wearing some light, loose-fitting jogging or other exercise shorts, but it probably wouldn't have much mattered what the hell he was wearing. He was doomed from the start. Nadine's foot seemed to act on its own - instinctive, a superb, perhaps even primal feminine reflex reaction. Her eyes never left his, but her right foot came up swiftly, a deft motion not having to travel more than a few ridiculous inches.

The colossal collision, as David's pole-axed pain receptors in his brain were soon telling him it had been, was simply, and in reality, no collision at all; just a mild and brief introductory meeting, a tap really, between the knuckly-hard top of Nadine's feminine foot and the hanging, perfectly vulnerable underbelly of David's manly Everything. In terms of monumental collisions, it was nothing: It was but two carnival carousel bumper cars, briefly coming into contact with each other and then gently bouncing away in opposite directions. And still Nadine's eyes never left David's. She was smiling up at him the whole time, a smile so wide, even infectious--a smile that forged its way up into ever so cute dimples, into happy and flashing, long-lashed, upside-down flitting moon crescents for eyes.

Upon David's face was something else entirely.

In later years, when Nadine would go on to college and major in literature, she would begin a diary of her past ballbustings (which would continue with increasing frequency!), always careful to record the humorous anecdotes surrounding each of them. Of this particular moment in time, she would write how David's facial expression suddenly turned "from one of supreme chauvinist cocksureness to a dull roar of amazement. He suddenly sported this utterly stupefied look, which arose from deep within his bowels (so I gathered). In an instant, and with the barest minimum of effort, I had rendered poor David helpless and even terribly frightened over what had just happened to him (and obviously was still happening to him!).

“Little bitty Nadine had gone and bopped her older cousin a good one right where he lives,” she would write. "And now he just sat there, hunched over, hands hopelessly clutching at his crotch, his body having been held up and spared from an embarrassing involuntary floor-kissing only by the fortuitous fact that his butt had already been hovering over the back of the couch before my treacherous little act of ball-bopping. And only that couch now supported his entire weight--albeit barely, for he was teetering atop the corner of it, all his vitality quite visibly sapped away in less than one second. The boy looked as though he'd been completely hollowed out by that little flick of my foot, and he was gasping for air like a gutted fish.”

“It was flipping hilarious what I could do to a male with a little foot flick and I had a front row seat for the entire thing. Except for the lifeless, doomed facial expression, the rest of David's body seemed to have all of a sudden tensed up and recoiled in on itself, a snail to salt. I'd just kicked my poor cousin where he lives, the poor bullying bastard, and his mind was desperately pleading for some clarity as to why the sudden onrush of so much exaggerated pain. Those poor, poor eyes of his were just begging, hoping, longing for an end to the feeling of nausea filling up and radiating off the walls of his tight 6-pack ab muscles (so I've since been told). I had just made a flipping train wreck out of a strapping young 16-year-old boy with but a flick of my foot--and I but a girl of 13. How cool! Oh, David was a goner all right; you could read it all over his face--especially in those sinking-Titanics for eyes. It had been wholesale slaughter at the very first and most moderate of blows, this little boy vs. girl struggle for supremacy, in our own living room even. What a crack up! God, was he ever embarrassed later on!”

“To make a long story short, I just love kicking guys in the balls. I love the reactions I get. I love how embarrassed they get--like they're ashamed at the weakness Nature stuck them with--as though it's their fault or something! What pitiful creatures men are. Ever since I saw Carol C. nail and drop hapless Tommy, I've been hooked on hitting guys below the belt. But that time with David--now that was precious.”

The rest of the massacre of David's balls and ego went like this:

"Awwww, do they hurt? Poor wittle boy...” cooed Nadine in her trademark mocking baby talk.

At long last, David snapped out of the fog he was in. His face was beet red. "That didn't hurt so bad,” he lied.

Little Nadine, still lounging in her chair, threw her head back onto the armrest behind her, sandy hair hanging down halfway to the floor, exposing her pale bobbing throat to the confused boy in utter reverie, her boobs jiggled as she giggled. "You're such an idiot,” she laughed.

"What?” David asked. "What's so funny?” He was wholly confused now. It was as though Nadine knew something he didn't.

"Uh, where were you just now, Dave?” Nadine teased. "You were really out of it, dude.”

"Huh?”

"I said, ‘where'd you go for the last ten seconds?’” Nadine continued to press. "Cat get your tongue or something? You went all blank; you couldn't even talk! Face it, you're weak, Dave. Just like all boys are down there. Weak, weak, weak. I doubt if you ever did get hit down there by a football. You'd be crying your eyes out if that ever really happened. You were lying about that too, weren't you, Dave?”

David was really on the defensive now. He began to feel more and more inferior to his younger female cousin--and more intimidated--with every word they exchanged. But he couldn't just stop and walk away now. He had to try to save some face, at least.

"No! I really did get hit there once. A coupla years ago.” David paused and tried to hide a slight and very telltale groan, or at least an unusually heavy sigh. His exhalation was still deep and strained from the leftover feeling of a bowling ball full of pain racking up his abdomen. He forced himself to continue in a voice hoarse and weak. "And it didn't even hurt. Only a little. Just like now. That only hurt a little when you did that.”

Nadine giggled again, and then, in a mocking voice she deliberately made sound even more cartoonishly hoarse and weak than David's, she wheezed, "Then why are you still holding onto your balls, big guy?”

David looked down and then up again sheepishly. Up until this very moment, he had not even realized that he was still instinctively clutching onto his crotch. His next words as much as admitted that Nadine's little foot had, after all, hurt him pretty badly.

"Well, of course it's gonna hurt--you about kicked me as hard as you fricking could. And I sure wasn't expecting you to do that indoors in your own living room, you bitch! Next time give me some kind of a warning at least, dammit! What'd you expect?”

Nadine's boobs seemed to positively inflate; her shoulders jerked and what emanated underneath her blouse was a fleeting wave of obscene mammary undulation as her hands came up hastily to cover over her mouth. David could see that she was trying desperately not to laugh. Even for a few seconds Nadine simply couldn't keep it back however, and a slight snickering sound inevitably came out.

"What? What's so funny?” David finally demanded of her, sobbing.

"You're such a dumb-ass. Hello! Earth to David! Earth calling David. Is anybody home?” Nadine proclaimed sarcastically. "I kicked you with my right foot, you dumbass. And not even halfway as hard as I could, believe me. What wimps you boys are! Wimps, wimps, wimps--all because of your balls!”

David was grasping for any excuse now. Hoping to God that anatomical reality was not everything his gloating little girl cousin made it out to be; that maybe she had just gotten in a really lucky shot on him, thus he played his last card. "Yeah, but it was still your right foot. So maybe you did it too hard accidentally or something. If it had been your left foot, I could probably stand up to it, no problem. You little bitch, I ought to beat the crap out of you for using your right foot like that, you know? Don't ever pull that crap on me again, you hear?”

Nadine's laughter now erupted, throwing her head back again, hair dangling down the side of the chair, boobs frolicking about in her blouse like the heads of two midgets wrestling each other under a blanket. "I'm left-footed! I'm left-footed, you idiot!” she howled exultantly. "Just imagine--just imagine if that'd been my left foot. Holy crap--” Nadine's laughter was outrageous and she struggled to breath in between hilarity attacks.

"Shut up,” David insisted. "Shut up, that's not funny.” He could think of nothing better to say; he was too humiliated, too embarrassed, too dejected.

Nadine's laughter kept on and on and on. "Sorry. I'm sorry. It's just so funny how weak you boys are and how you're so embarrassed to admit it!” she said and then gave herself over to more raucous giggling yet.

David's balls had been wounded; his pride had been shattered. He continued holding his balls that, most humiliating of all, still continued to ring with pain, like the slight vibration of bells long after they've been struck. And just now, another belated and slightly more severe ringing wave of nausea welled up from David's balls inside to his aching belly, a little package of pain addressed to David and to David only still just arriving now, as though having been mailed there third class by Nadine.

David finally conceded defeat to his younger girl cousin and, sinking slowly down from the couch onto his knees, on the carpet in front of a wide-eyed, open-mouthed, erect-nippled Nadine, David sobbed and pleaded, "Oh please make it stop.”

"Awww, I can't, sweetie,” cooed Nadine, subtly stroking her own thigh. "Poor baby, I feel so bad. I'm so sorry... “

But she wasn't. Not by a long shot, she wasn't.