No, Steve is too much of a jerk

But even I refused to hang around after Steve started honking Corrine’s tits in front of me. She laughed at his goofy horseplay, but I saw the snide look on Steve’s face each time he groped her, and I knew he was just doing it to taunt me. It was as if he was saying yeah, that’s right, these puppies are all mine.

I walked away wondering how in the hell Corrine could date a guy like that. I hated to admit it, but I lost a lot of respect for my friend.

Things turned frustrating for all of us. Corrine was an essential part of our group, and things just were not the same without her. For a few days, Steve and Corrine were all any of us could talk about, but then it just became too depressing a topic. Corrine’s absence became the proverbial elephant in the room.

Ironically, with the turn in mood came a turn in the weather, and the scorching spring heat wave gave way to a freak non-stop torrential downpour that blew in from South America. It seemed appropriate to me, having lost one of my best friends to some jackass in a muscle shirt. For almost my entire senior year, I had hung out with Corrine non-stop. I’d considered her my good friend before I even knew any of the other girls. Her sudden departure from my life was unbearable; it nagged me constantly, the social equivalent of a phantom limb.

I started making an extra effort to meet with Corrine between classes, when Steve would not be around. She appreciated the effort, and I became her one link to the others. It wasn’t much, I guess, but it was better than no Corrine at all.

One rainy day, Corrine came up to me after the final bell and asked if I could help her study for an economics test. It was a simple request, one that she had made countless times during our friendship, and one that I was always more than willing to fulfill. But there was something about the way she asked me, an unmistakable tremor in her voice, that gave me pause. Still, she was my friend, and she was asking for help.

It was raining pretty miserably, and neither of us had access to our cars that day, so Corrine and I ran all the way to her house. Male that I am, I couldn’t help but admire the way my companion’s tee shirt soaked all the way through, nor the way her enormous breasts bounced as she ran. The dark material wasn’t exactly transparent, but it clung to her shape like paint.

Halfway there, the merciless rain became merciless hail, and with a combination of screams and laughter we both doubled our speed until we were safely inside Corrine’s home.

Once our laughter died out, Corrine excused herself to take a quick shower, and suggested I do the same in her family’s spare bathroom. The warm water felt great, but just as I was about to switch it off I heard the bathroom door slide open. Through the beveled glass, I could just barely make out the blurry blond image of Corrine striding into the room, dressed in a bath towel. I reflexively covered up my crotch, shouting out:

“What are you doing?!”