For dinner Guy and Fumiko prepared a ham bone stew, simmered slow, spiced to perfection. The guests, their new neighbors the Reverend Planer and his wife, enthused about the dish. “It’s like pure heaven,” they gushed. “You’ll have to give us the recipe,” Beth Planer requested over a dessert of ice cream topped with plump strawberries and a warm chocolate sauce. “And the wine,” Reverend Planer added. “Magnificent. I don’t know when I’ve last had—”

Guy interrupted. “I have a couple of bottles for you. We bought two cases last month.”

“That’s so kind of you,” the Reverend said, “but I couldn’t—”

“Of course you can. I insist,” said Guy. “A ‘new to the neighborhood’ gesture.”

“Can I help with the dishes?” Mrs. Planer offered.

Guy shook his head. “Fumiko will clean up. Let’s just relax in the library.” He led his guests from the dining room while Fumiko cleared the table.

“How did you and your wife meet?” Mrs. Planer asked, once they were seated.

“Oh, it’s too long a story for right now,” Guy told them. “Suffice it to say, though, that it was love at first sight.”

“That’s so sweet,” Mrs. Planer said. “The Reverend and I—”

Just then Fumiko entered the library. She was naked. Guy gave her a stern look.

She bit her lower lip, then said, “We’re out of toilet paper again.”

“Oh, Fumiko.” Guy sighed with some exasperation. “Again? I swear, I don’t know what you do with the stuff.”

“Maybe we should be go—” Reverend Planer started.

“Maybe you can help,” Guy broke in. “At least offer a cogent opinion.”

The Reverend swallowed.

“My theory,” Guy explained, “is that Fumiko’s asshole is too tight.”

The Reverend swallowed again.

“Darling,” Guy told Fumiko, “kneel down and show Reverend Planer your bottom.”

Fumiko knelt on the carpet. She rested her head on the footstool.

“That’s it,” Guy said. “Now pry your butt cheeks apart.”

Fumiko obeyed.

“What do you think?” Guy asked his guests.

Mrs. Planer’s mouth opened but no sound came out.

Guy said, “I think it needs to be loosened up. Don’t you agree, Reverend?”

“Well, I, um...”

“I’ve tried to squeeze my little finger in, but she’s just too tight,” Guy continued. “But Beth, you don’t mind if I call you Beth, do you? Beth, you’ve got a smaller hand, smaller fingers. Maybe you could give it a shot.”

“I don’t think I could—”

“Please,” Guy said. “It would be the Christian thing to do.”

Beth looked at her husband.

He gulped. “I guess you could—”

“Yes. Just your little finger,” Guy coaxed.

Mrs. Planer knelt behind Fumiko. Her hand trembled.

“Go ahead, Missus Preacher. Ain’t she got the cutest little butt button? Go ahead. Touch it. She wants you to. She wants you to so bad.”