The most inappropriate time to think of Clara Freeman’s boobs…

So, I ran across this story so randomly on my work computer. Don’t judge me. I absolutely love love LOVE this story beginning and I hope you all do too!

Clara Freeman

The most inappropriate time to think of Clara Freeman’s breasts was now. Here I was, falling to my death, and all I could think about was the unbelievable moment this morning, when she willingly lifted up her shirt and let me feel her tits.

Who knew that approximately eleven hours later I’d be falling off of the side of the Radisson? But that wasn’t in the forefront of my mind; ironically, neither was my pending, horribly painful death. All I could think of was Clara’s boobs. They fell into my palms perfectly, like they were meant to be there; put there by the boob gods themselves. Tits like hers had to come from some supernatural being. They were amazing; better than any set of grapefruits I felt previously. Her skin was soft, more warm and inviting than a fruit. She wanted me to and she let me do it. She enjoyed it. We enjoyed each other.

Unfortunately, in a few seconds my head would hit the concrete, probably splattering all over the sidewalk, making a messy crime scene for the Lubbock PD. They would probably rule it a suicide.

“Poor kid couldn’t take it anymore,” Detective Hardy would say, probably since I was in his office that morning with a black eye the size of Texas. Loads of people from my neighborhood would come to my funeral, none would cry, except my mother, of course. That’s got to be a law somewhere in a mother handbook: If your child dies before you, weep uncontrollably at his funeral.

The wind rushed past my face; my hair slapped against my skin. I could hear the orchestra of sirens below, tons of screams and maybe car horns below me. I could feel the air fill my lungs and soon this was all going to be over. I wasn’t scared, though, I was ready. I knew it would end sooner or later.

It’s just my luck I would die the day I lost my virginity to the most beautiful, most popular girl in Lubbock.

Everyone wanted Clara Freeman and me, Tad Hamilton, the tuba playing band geek, was the first to get my hands on her; such a very awesome way to end a life.

Clara most likely told all of her closest girlfriends about what happened between us, so hopefully I would be immortal. It would be on the front of the Tortise Times tomorrow ‘Band Geek Makes Sweet Love to Texas Princess, then Dies Tragically.’


I hope they get all the facts straight, though. I didn’t commit suicide. I was pushed off of this building. Blindfolded, beaten, and then pushed. I wish I could have saw who did it, I would haunt them forever.

But, sadly, this was the end; my death. I didn’t exactly have the best life, but at least I went down in a blaze of glory. Maybe this wasn’t death, just a way to start over. Maybe tomorrow I will wake up in my bed and all of this would be over. I would be alive and I could start from the beginning; the very beginning.

Necole S. Ryse

© 2012

9 thoughts on “The most inappropriate time to think of Clara Freeman’s boobs…

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