Get a bunch of drunken teenage boys together: logic, sensitivity and good taste tend to vanish into the wind. Beth was a friend of ours, we had known her all our lives. We should have shown some respect.
However, we were teenage boys.
We were drunk.
It was after midnight and we were knocking back cider at the old playground It was basically a farewell party to Beth’s enormous rack.
The poor girl was suffering with massive back pains and had been since she was fourteen. We all knew this, we had witnessed her distress. And her doctor had recommended the operation. But God did that girl have amazing breasts.
‘It’s crying shame,’ Paul declared, with a sad shake of his head.
‘A sin,’ agreed James.
‘A crime,’ Jordan pronounced vociferously.
‘It should be made a crime,’ I chipped in to numerous grunts of agreement.
‘Damn, I’ll miss them,’ said Ethan, her on again/off again boyfriend. We offered him our sympathy, along with our secret envy. He was the only one of us to have gotten to know them intimately.
The rest of us had only dreamed and fantasized.
Come tomorrow, our dreams would be a little smaller.