“So is there anything special you want to do for our six month anniversary?” I asked.

“What anniversary? We aren’t dating, loser,” Shiho replied.

“Charming as always. So you just always hang out with men regularly like this then?”

“Constantly.”

“And let them fuck you, again, pretty regularly?” I inquired.

“Of course. I have no sense of discernment,” she replied. Her eyes went from the top of my head down to my toes and back. “Obviously.”

“And you spend the night at their house, eating fried chicken, before watching a movie and sleeping over?”

“It’s hard to eat with so much incessant prattling, but yes, I try to. How else will I satisfy my fried chicken cravings?”

“You’re an awful liar,” I said, popping another nugget of karaage into my eagerly awaiting mouth. It was hard to believe we had been together for six months, despite Shiho’s affected denials. Six months since that fateful day she had left me a note that said, “I hereby consent to anything you do to me, so long as you don’t ask first.”

The terms had changed since then, of course. That sort of agreement could work for a few days as coworkers, but eventually you had to ask some questions that couldn’t simply shut down a possibility forever. Questions like, “Can I take you out to dinner tonight?” So the rules had changed to the more simple, “Take what you want.” A policy that I, as chivalrous and gentlemanly as I was, never, ever, ever took advantage of.

“Take what you want,” I quoted, as I snagged the piece of chicken out of Shiho’s hands moments before it reached her lips and stuffed it between my own. The sriracha mayonnaise was the perfect complement to the light and juicy yet perfectly crispy chicken.

She gasped in horror before punching my shoulder hard. “You ass! That’s not a food rule, it’s a sex rule! You can’t just take fried chicken!”

“Evidently I can,” I attempted to say through half-chewed poultry. My mumbles were fairly unintelligible, but since they didn’t make her chicken magically reappear, Shiho was dissatisfied regardless. I swallowed. “You know, some animals, like orangutans, steal food from potential partners to test their personality.”

“I think it reveals more about the thief’s personality than the poor, innocent victim’s,” she pouted, her eyes locked onto my plate. I picked the largest piece I had, dipped it in sauce, and placed it into her open mouth. She closed her lips and sucked my finger gently as I pulled it out, her tongue swirling around its tip, a moan escaping her. I squirmed in my seat. “You’re forgiven,” she informed me. “Don’t do it again.”

“I would never,” I replied aloud. “Until I feel like it again,” went unsaid, except inside my own head. We finished our meal without any further crises, before putting on a movie to watch in bed.

I held her in my arms, one of her smooth, long legs nestled between my own, my chest against her back, my cock gently pressing against her firm ass, tumescent enough to make itself known without being desperate for attention. “You’re a lot cuter when you’re being affectionate,” I told her, my fingers playing with her sleek, dark hair.

“Don’t get used to it. I’m just lulling you into a false sense of security,” she whispered, but she leaned into my hand as she did. My hand slid down the side of her face and cupped her cheek, caressing her softly. She practically purred. Sometimes I wondered why she insisted on keeping up the act, even when just the two of us were alone. Had someone hurt her? Did she put up walls to keep herself safe? Did she simply enjoy the affectation, playing the game? What if we got married, had kids, grew old together? Would she keep it up at the age of ninety in a nursing home, insisting to her caretaker that this was all a long con and she was very nearly ready to launch its final act?

Whatever her reasons, I played along. I couldn’t deny enjoying playing along with her. And if it was important to her, it was important to me. If she wanted to pretend, I’d let her. I held her close and finished the movie with her, my hand cupping her breast, feeling the steady pulse of her heart and the ripe firmness of her breast until it was time for bed.

A few hours later, I lay in the darkness, Shiho’s arm resting on my chest and her breasts against my arm as she slept nude next to me. Her choice of bedtime attire made it hard to fall asleep, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make. I wondered what exactly I should get her for our anniversary. Even if she denied its existence, I wanted to show her she was important to me. I mulled it over in my mind until sleep overcame me, ideas flitting about my mind like butterflies.

It was next week when the doorbell rang. I walked to the door and opened it. Shiho awaited me, looking as gorgeous as always in a crimson coat and a vibrant blue scarf. I gave her a peck on the lips, one eagerly returned. “Come in, beautiful.”

She handed me a bottle of lambic beer and took off her jacket and scarf. The charcoal sweater she wore beneath hugged her tits and hips as tightly as I soon hoped to, and her jeans were practically painted on. She could claim tonight wasn’t important to her, but she had certainly taken the time and effort to make an impression tonight. All I could say was, “Wow.”

She giggled and patted my chest. “Down, boy. Don’t jizz your pants just yet. The night’s just begun, and I intend to get some satisfaction.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promised her, embracing her tightly, inhaling her aroma from her hair, holding her warm chest against my own, just wanting to melt into her and merge. “Happy Anniversary.”

“Happy Saturday,” she replied.

“Do you want your gift before or after dinner?”

“A gift? For an ordinary Saturday? How very generous of you. But yes, I’ll take it now. I’ve got something for you, too, though.” She reached into her purse, took out a small, plastic container, opened it, and held it up to my nose. I inhaled a pleasant aroma, sweet and fruity. “Peach?” I asked.

She nodded. “Mhm. It’s part of your gift.”

“I thought we didn’t have anything to celebrate.”

“I knew you’d get me something. I didn’t want you to feel more like an idiot than usual when you didn’t get anything in return.”

I took the container from here. The label read, “Flavored Body Lotion.” “Oh, thanks.”

She took it back. “The lotion isn’t your gift. It’s your map.” She wrapped her arms around my neck and leaned in close. Her breasts pressed against my chest and her body rubbed against my crotch as she raised herself to bring her lips to my ears. “There’s a spot of this somewhere on my body. Find it and you’ll find the rest of your gift.” She giggled and pulled away, smirking down at my twitching cock. “My, my, easily excited, aren’t you? I hope you’ve got more stamina than that later tonight.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” My mind raced, wondering where she had hidden that patch of peach upon her body. The thought of her completely nude, tiny tub in hand, pondering where to flavor her flesh. Her full, ripe breasts? Her soft, inviting thighs? Or perhaps she had rubbed it into her smooth lips, just waiting for me to caress them with my tongue? My heart raced from merely imagining the possibilities. “Well, sounds like we can combine our gifts, then. I’ve got a massage ready for you.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh?”

“Mhm. I’ve been studying and everything. I know you’ve been wanting one lately, so I thought I’d take care of your needs for you.”

She hugged me tightly. “Oh, Danny! I don’t care what everyone else says, you’re not totally worthless!”

“Thank you for your overwhelming support. Are you ready now?”

“Yes!” she cheered. “Now!”

I chuckled. It felt so rare to see her let her guard down like this. Well, outside of sex. A wave of relief washed over me at the realization that I had chosen well. I led her to my room where I had already prepared for her arrival. I had turned off the lights, illuminating the room with a dozen candles, instead. A warmed up bottle of scented sweet almond oil stood on my bedside table. Clean towels awaited her on the rose petal-festooned bed. She gasped behind me as she walked into the room.

“Undress and lay down on the bed, please. I’ll be taking good care of you tonight.”

“I can’t wait.” She hurriedly took off her socks and struggled out of her pants, their tightness, once an asset, suddenly a obstacle between her and her massage. She finally managed to get them off her hips before kicking them aside. Next came her sweater, up and over her head. She moved towards the bed.

“Nuh uh. You have to be naked,” I told her.

“Naked?!”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before. Are you suddenly modest?”

“More like suddenly cautious,” she corrected. She reached behind her back and unhooked her red and black bra, letting the floral cups fall to the floor and exposing her divinely round and firm breasts, perfectly shaped, their pinkish, puffy tips just begging to be sucked. “You better not try any funny stuff, or I’m reporting you to the Better Business Bureau.”

“They’re a scam, and I would never try anything funny.”

She pulled her panties down and stepped out of them. Her pussy, perfectly smooth as always, emerged from the descending fabric, her lips plump and reddish. Memories of her delightful silkiness against my tongue came unbidden into me. “Lay down on the bed now. Face-up.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she did as I said, laying on the white towel. I poured some oil into my hands and began her massage, starting with her head. My fingers brushed through her hair, stroking her scalp, and a series of solicitous sighs and moans escaped her red, parted lips. My hands moved down her face, rubbing soft circles in her temples, stroking the sides of her nose and cheeks, massaging her jaw.

From her jaw, I went down her neck to her shoulders and collarbones, those gorgeous, perfect, stark collarbones that so proudly stuck out whenever she wore a low neckline or nothing at all, that I could barely tear my eyes away from. It wasn’t until her that I had discovered how wonderful such a simple curve of bone could be, but hers had made me into an admirer of their elegant grace. My thumbs pressed against their length while my fingers wrapped around her shoulders and squeezed her sore muscles.

Lower still my hands traveled, down her sternum, working on large circles around the boundaries of her breasts, yet staying comfortably professional. Her lips pursed. Her breathing grew deeper yet steady, as though she were trying to control herself. The circles slowly grew smaller. Soon the soft flesh of the edge of her breasts were under my fingers. The soft, pink mounds of her areolas stiffened and grew as her nipples hardened, poking proudly upwards like wild berries begging to be plucked and devoured. They began to graze against my palms with each pass, the barest touch of flesh against flesh.