Professor Grant’s psych department Christmas party made no sense to Hanzo. People chatter, dish clatter, the jitter and jingle of seasonal song. Too shy to talk, he wandered into another room.

Sheryl cultivated brash knowing it was a mask. “Hi,” she said to Hanzo. “Do you think those fish are married? Do you think they have sex?”

Hanzo blinked.

“I doubt fish actually fuck,” Sheryl clarified. “Do you?”

Hanzo couldn’t decide whether she was asking whether he thought fish fucked or whether he fucked. Either way the answer was no. The single syllable came out so soft, he wasn’t sure she heard.

“Seems we’re compatible. Maybe we should get married.”

Hanzo nodded solemnly.

“Good. I’m glad that’s settled. I’m Sheryl by the way.” She shook his hand. “You know what I’d like to do? I’d like to jerk you off into this fish tank. I can practically picture your semen jetting out, floating on the surface, sinking slowly down, pale ribbons of fresh white cum.”

Hanzo didn’t know how to respond. Finally he ventured, “I don’t know if the fish would like it.”

“Only one way to find out.” Sheryl let her hand clasping Hanzo’s swing towards his groin. Just as she’d suspected, his erection was magnificent.