Peanut Butter Cup

She spread the peanut butter thin on the slice of wheat bread, topped it with a lacy smattering of honey, then rolled it into a messy tube. The honey oozed out the ends, dotting the countertop. Cupping her hand underneath it, she took a slow bite out of the tube sandwich. Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling.

It was so much better ever since she switched from white bread.

She stared guiltily down at the peanut butter jar. He wouldn't want her eating it. It was always stuck in the back of the cabinet, despite the fact that everything else of his was up front and center. He never commented whenever she nipped corners off of his other treats. A few semi-sweet chocolate chips rolled into her hand out of the bag, a few baked chips poured into a bowl, one of those individual-sized bags of buttered popcorn every so often.These small acts of theft had to have been noticed by him. He is a a very particular sort of folk. He is the sort of man who counted his chocolate chips.

They had been living together a month now. Even if the sex had them probing every orifice on each other, she couldn't help but feel guilty whenever she dipped into his snack cache. It was the same guilt that flickered to life whenever she used his face cloth to squeegee out her ears in the shower or his razor whenever she shaved her legs. It still didn't stop her from doing these things. She just always made sure not to leave any residue of her doings, figuratively or literally.

She looked at the microwave clock and gasped. He was due to come home any second. Shoving the rest of the tube sandwich in her mouth, she grabbed the peanut butter jar with the other. It was then she realized that the peanut butter jar didn't have a lid, and that the peanut butter jar's lid was nowhere to be found.

She must have put in somewhere near. It would have made sense to put the damn thing down on the counter right next to the jar, but she had been so hasty in getting a sandwich made. Slamming the jar of peanut butter down, she began to search.She threw open her own cabinet, wondering if she had laid it down in there when she had reached for the honey. All that greeted her eyes was the multitude of SlimQuick powdered shakes and SlimQuick bars that she hated but bought anyway.

No lid to be found.

That is when she had the idea that it may have rolled off, finding a dark and unseen place. This line of thought had her on hands and knees, looking under the kitchen table, behind the garbage can, the neglected landscape that was under the stove. She got a fair amount of smudge on the knees of her jeans.

No lid to be found.

By the time he came in the door, she had just opened the fridge.

She found the lid.

They always kept the bread cold. It slowed a possible outbreak of mold. Looking up over the door of the fridge, she watched his eyes flick over to the still-open jar of peanut butter on the counter. By the time she stood up, lid in hand, he was looking at her with what she took as a look of recrimination.

How dare you, she thought he was thinking, opening up what is mine and not yours.

The truth was, he was actually hoping that he had plucked out all of his pubic hairs out of the jar from the last time he fucked the peanut butter.