Demolished by an Eight Year Old Girl

Posted by Pete O'Byachick

A semi-true story

(A little color has been added for the purpose of artistic license, but the basic event actually occurred, I am ashamed to admit.)

My ex-girlfriend and I were hosting a birthday party for her niece in my backyard. The little girl had just turned eight years old, and she had a bunch of screaming little girl friends over. It was anarchy in my backyard--kids running everywhere. Along with these little kids were several of their moms--about six or seven mothers in all, I would say. And let me tell you, some of these moms were HOT!

Anyway, I was the ONLY guy there. Now, at first, I have to admit, this rather sucked. After all, being the only guy there carries with it certain duties, namely, I was in charge of the barbecue. I had no choice in this matter. So, I cooked, and grumbled about it, until I happened to notice that some of these same moms were admiring my physique; I used to lift weights and was in pretty darned good shape and as I was wearing a tank top, my big arms were now the focus of attention for these amorous neighborhood moms. Let me tell you I felt like such a stud at the time. Suddenly, it was GREAT to be the only guy in that backyard!

So I stayed at my post--at the barbecue--and loved every minute of it. Until, that is, I suddenly heard a commotion behind me. When I turned around to see what it was, I saw my girlfriend's little niece running hurriedly towards me. Close behind the little birthday girl was my girlfriend, in hot pursuit and with a decidedly angry look about her face. Evidently, the little girl had done something wrong--something sufficient to anger my girlfriend, at any rate--and my girlfriend was going to let her know. (I never did find out what she did).

Now, as the little girl got closer to me, I heard my girlfriend growl out "Grab her!" This I did, grabbing the poor girl by the arm as she went by, halting her progress immediately. I grabbed the girl perfunctorily, without even looking at her. The reason for this was simple, my ex-girlfriend had 36D boobs (just one of the non-fiction aspects to this account) and even now, as my girlfriend stopped running towards me and slowed to a determined walk, those beautiful 36Ds were still bouncing around inside her shirt obscenely. (I used to love to watch my ex-girlfriend run, or come down a flight of stairs, or do ANYTHING that required much movement, because when the rest of her torso slowed down to a more normalized pace, it always took about two or three more steps for her boobs to catch up with her and likewise slow down. Wow, do I ever miss those things!)

But getting back to the main story, I wish that I had been paying closer attention to events closer to me, rather than to my ex-girlfriends breasts, because, the next thing I knew, without any warning or explanation, I suddenly found myself on my knees on the ground. I had no idea what had happened at first. But after a couple seconds, when the initial fleeting shock had subsided, I grasped the fact that I was not only on my knees on the ground, but that I was also clutching my groin. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the little eight year old birthday girl running away, laughing hysterically. That confirmed it; I had been kicked in the balls by an eight year old girl--and in front of all these hot moms, no less! In fact, subsequent events were to show that I had not only been kicked in the balls by an eight year old girl, but that I, a strapping adult man, had been DEMOLISHED by this eight year old girl.

I remember it being very difficult to breathe, of course, and I am quite sure that I had on my face that universal stupefying look which all men must succumb to in the immediate moments after having their sensitive spot smacked, and right in front of my face, across the yard, were these mothers--whom had previously been checking me out and showing physical interest in me, well, now they were covering their mouths in order to keep from laughing at me. At least a couple of them were; I heard another mom say "Ohhhhh!" as though she were half shocked, and half expressing empathy for me.

So there I was, on my knees, but I didn't stay there long, despite my mental pleas to myself to "get up, get up!", I soon found myself sunk to my knees and elbows. After that, my mind was racing from humiliation. I kept telling myself "get up, get up! Don't let yourself be this embarrassed in front of all these hot moms! Don't sink down any lower--if you get up now and try to play it off, you can still salvage something of your manhood. Don't let a little girl do this to you. Not in front of all these grown women who were just checking you out only moments ago!"

But it was no use, of course. I soon rolled over onto my side, still clutching my stricken balls, in a kind of fetal position. I swear, it did not feel like I had had my balls kicked, it felt like I had been kicked in the stomach by a mule! It was appalling--and utterly humbling--to come face to face (or ball to foot) with the fact that a little girl could kick this hard (or was it just that my balls are, in fact, that absurdly vulnerable?)

I must have been on the ground, gasping for air, groaning, for a few minutes. I really can't say, of course, a guy kind of loses track of time when he has more pressing immediate concerns to think about, such as just having your balls walloped. But the worst and most humiliating part was even yet to come.

While I was lying there, rolling around, I heard the sliding glass door open and close. Evidently, one of the moms had been inside and, returning outside again and realizing that she had missed out on something, she asked of me laying on the ground "What happened to him?"

Then, one of the other moms answered her, "He pissed little Sandi off, and she kicked him in the balls." She answered this while struggling not to laugh, of course.

To which, the first mom said, with utmost stoicism, "Well, it's a good thing he didn't piss one of US off, or we'd have REALLY dropped his dick in the dirt."

This started the real chorus of laughter, naturally. The hot moms did not even try to hide their snickers any more, and they let fly, howling with amusement at my expense. Then suddenly, one of the amused moms broke into a story about "the time she got a guy really good in the balls"--she said that I reminded her of that. And you know what? After that several other of the moms, one by one, started recalling stories about "the time they got a guy right where it counts". My goodness, it seemed like each one of these moms had a story to tell. And, lying there still, I was forced to listen to them. One of the moms in particular, as I could not look up but could recognize voices, told more than one story. She, more than even the rest, seemed to relish the accounts of having "taught an ex-boyfriend a lesson". I wished that I could have looked up at that point, to see which one it was, because I wanted to see which face it came from, in order to make a mental note to myself to never, ever piss this lady off! I kept thinking "Oh, man. I wish I knew which mom that was, so I can remember to be extra nice to her. I would not want to get into it with her! My goodness, if a LITTLE GIRL could do this to me, imagine how a GROWN WOMAN could devastate me!" The implications were staggering, and thoroughly humbling. They remain so to this day.

After about five minutes (I am guessing) I was able to try to get up, but it was so pathetic--I could not even stand on my own still, and my ex-girlfriend had to help me. Thus, with one arm around her shoulder, and the other hand still clutching my poor throbbing balls, she gently guided me into the house. My pitiful and gingerly gait, aided by my ex-girlfriend, begat yet another round of laughter from the women.

Upon entering the house, my ex-girlfriend brought me into the living room and plopped me down on the couch. I sat there with my legs apart, rubbing my poor balls, undoubtedly with a far-off look of complete bewildered lingering pain on my face. My girlfriend stood there for a moment, seeing if I would come around and be able to at least hold a conversation with her, but I could not, the only thing I could focus on still was the bowling ball throbbing feeling in my stomach.

Finally, she simply and summarily turned around and walked out again, leaving me there alone. She went out the sliding glass door to the backyard again, and as soon as I heard it close, I heard yet another round of uproarious laughter. It was the result of something my ex-girlfriend had said, though I could not make it out. But, knowing my ex-girlfriend and her heartless ways, I can pretty much fill in the blanks now, she was probably asked by one of the moms how I was doing, and she probably bent herself over and forced a painful grimace onto her face, in imitative jest of me (she was always imitating me for one reason or another), and this no doubt sparked the laughter yet again. Yes, I can totally see my ex-girlfriend doing that.

So, I sat there, never to again go in that backyard that night. Someone else will have to "man" the barbecue, I thought, because I had been utterly humiliated in front of all those women, and would not again show my face in front of them. No way. Not a chance.

How humiliating that was! In the space of a few seconds, I went from being an object of desire to these attractive women, to being a big joke, and all because of these balls. I think now how unfair it is that a man's weak spot has to be located so low to the ground that, not only can a grown woman--who doesn't have to carry around this weakness at all--easily ruin my day, but also an eight year old woman. Moreover, not only are a man's balls within easy kicking or hitting distance for a child, but how many other daily obstacles do we men have to constantly be on the lookout for, simply because our balls are located in such an appalling accessible place?

One example that comes to mind immediately, and which any guy can attest to, is when a neighbor’s dog--or your own--sticks his snout into the crotch in investigation. Now, when an inquisitive canine does this to a woman, the most it can ever be is an annoyment; but we men also not only have to be concerned with whether or not the dog bites (heaven forbid), but also how hard the damned dog plants his snout in there. There is also the whipping of a dog's tail, too. We men must watch out for such things! Women know nothing of this. They don't know what it is like to have to be vigilant all the time, on the lookout for everyday moving objects for fear of them colliding into our package. How pathetic we men must be, to those who have seen what can be done to us with but the slightest of hits.

I stopped working out after that day. I figured, what's the point? My ex-girlfriend and I dated for another couple years after that, but I SWEAR she never quite showed me the same amount of respect that she had before the day of my humbling in the eyes of her and her friends. In fact, a couple of times after that day, when we had gotten into an argument, she threatened me--in teasing fashion--to hit me in the balls. Once, she even made with her hand like she was going to slap straight up into them. All she did was tap them, but she got her point across, and whatever I was saying at the time, I shut up about it immediately.

I swear, before that day, I rather liked being a guy. Not anymore…