He grunted and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Winston Smith is a pussy. They could strap a cage of rats to my face and I wouldn’t give up my woman.”

“But rats were his biggest fear. What about bamboo shoots under the nails?” she asked. “Hot poker in the eye? You’d squeal like a girl and escort Big Brother to my door.”

“Nothing would break me.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. Except maybe a dentist.”

“A maniacal one that enjoys inflicting pain, or just any garden-variety dentist?”

“Any. But you’d be safe, because they wouldn’t know. They’d be all with the rats and stuff.” He sucked his teeth and dug in the bottom of the popcorn bowl for a blackened kernel.

“Aw we afwaid of a widdle dwill?”

He shook his head. “Needles and rubber gloves.”

She turned to face him and crossed her arms. “So if they brought in a dentist, a proctologist or an acupuncturist, I’d be screwed.”

“I’d roll over so fast it’d register on the Richter scale.”

“Quit eating the crunchies. If you chip a tooth, my diary might end up the entertainment at some dentistry convention.” She pulled the bowl out of his hands. “Winston had to have rats strapped to his face. They’d snap a glove and go after a splinter, and you’d draw them a map to my hideout.”

“Well, by then I’d have probably already held out for days, what do you expect?”

She rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d forgive you, honey. Right after I told them of the microchip hidden in one of your fillings and the capsule of government secrets you’d stuffed up your butt.”

He stopped chewing, took a drink, cleared his throat. “Next time, let’s rent ‘Endless Love.’”

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Shelley Ontis is a freelance writer whose fiction and poetry have been inflicted on the readers of over 20 different publications. She’d like to be a full-time novelist. She’d also like to be a caped superhero but fears the tights will chafe. Shelley blogs about writing at http://havingwritten.com.