Punky Fu

He would rush to greet her – his lips rounding out and diving for hers, his arms trying not to crush the breath from her in enthusiasm, and his hungry hands helpfully checking to make sure her breasts hadn’t fallen off during the day.  (Later, he would require a visual confirmation, a taste test, and a grip strength test to make sure her nipples stayed securely attached, but for now, a simple, if frisky, frisking would suffice.)  

Their embrace was always a signal.  It would commence the evening’s celebration, like the pop of a champagne cork on New Year’s, and it would simultaneously tell their bodies that everything was okay again – you can relax now, like goofy, happy music at the end of a long movie.   

They would share their days of trials and tribulations. The evils, once shared with the other, would lose strength and begin to fade, finally.  He would smooth her brow with kisses.  She would rub the tension from his back and neck. 

They would understand each other at a depth so profound – getting it at a truly existential level – that they knew they were no longer alone.