“I’m not sure you got your definition of ‘public’ right,” I whispered to Deen.

I craned my neck to check if there were any round convex mirrors hanging from the ceiling, those thingies used to spot shoplifters. There were none, but there was a security camera ahead of us. I elbowed Deen. My arm bounced off her breast, demonstrating Newton’s Third Law of Motion.

“Behave, you annoying you,” I sternly murmured.

“Make me.”

“There’s a cam over there. Stop this already.”

“No one’s watching that.” Deen gave me another light kiss on my cheek. “It’s just recording stuff, unlike the security cameras in the crowded part of the airport. I’m sure those have people operating them. This one? I don’t think so.” She nipped at my neck with her lips. It tickled. “No one’s going to check the recording of this camera if there’s no commotion, so just relax and pick a shirt for me.”

“There are people here.” I tilted my head to bop her. “Someone might see us.”

“So, your concern is getting seen? Not what I’m doing to you?”

“That’s a concern too. I can’t browse through these clothes if you’re distracting me. Stop your nonsense so we can finish here and go back to the arrival area and wait for Mom.”

We should’ve never left and gone here. The presence of many people would’ve dissuaded Deen from doing something this brazen. I was sure that despite acting like a total perv, she was prim and proper inside. Or rather, she’d still want to portray that image. But if we were alone, she wouldn’t have anything holding her back from acting like a freak. This was my fault in the first place, and I didn’t want to suffer the consequences of my mistake.

“Then, you should learn to ignore distractions,” said Deen. Her hands were all over my abdomen. She felt my bottom ribs, running her nails up over them like strumming a guitar. “You’re so thin.”

“My metabolism’s just fast. Nothing’s wrong with me.” I trudged ahead while she latched onto me like a giant tick.

“You should eat more.” Her breath was warm on my neck. Her fingers traced the bottom lining of my bra.

“I wanted to buy a slice of cake but you wouldn’t let me,” I reminded Deen. “If you want me to put on weight, then piling carbs is the fastest way to go. Sugar’s a carbohydrate, isn’t it?”

Deen vigorously nodded. Because her chin was on me, she was practically humping my shoulder with her head. “But that’s an unhealthy way of gaining weight.” She hooked her fingers into the bottom of my bra and started pulling it up.

I placed an arm across my chest to hold my shirt and bra in place. Other than that, I didn’t show any reaction. With my other hand, I riffled through the clothes. “How about this one?” I pulled out a random pink shirt from the shelf. With a fling, I unfurled it, showing the drawing of a cat playing with a yarn.

“Looks cute,” said Deen, still trying to pull up my bra under my shirt. “Though, isn’t that too small for me?”

“You think so?” This’d probably fit Deen, but I wasn’t sure when it came to the chest area. I couldn’t fully spread out the shirt and check its size with only one hand. If the situation were something else—like, Deen wasn’t about to grope me—I would’ve joked about her breast size. Instead, I dismissively chucked the shirt back onto the shelf and was about to move on ahead, but Deen wouldn’t let me.

“Erind, fold it first before you return it,” she said. “Show more concern for the store employees. They work long hours for little pay and even have to deal with horrible customers. The least you can do is lessen their load.”

“Wow, I’m getting lectured by a pervert,” I grumbled.

“It’s called being mindful.” Deen kissed my cheek again. She lingered a second or two longer this time. I didn’t mind it. She continued, “It’s like returning the grocery cart after you’ve transferred all the stuff in it to your car. Just the small things. Didn’t you tell me to return the cart after we bought stocks for your condo? You lectured me about it.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I guess I did…”

That time, I was messing with Deen. She barely knew how to buy groceries—she always had stuff delivered while I stayed at her house—so I was trying to have a higher moral ground by telling her to return the cart. I could’ve done it, but I managed to convince her to do it instead. It was a long walk from where we parked to the line of carts, plus the sun was searing the pavement.

A prank that was backfiring on me now. Where have I seen this before?

“Fold the shirt,” Deen said. “Come on, be an upstanding citizen. Aren’t you a student of the prestigious Eloyce University?”

“You and me both. And look what you’re doing to me.”

“It’s so simple to fold the shirt. Just a few seconds of your time you would’ve helped the store employee.”

“I-I can’t fold—uh, let’s just—”

“Why not?” She stopped trying to tug my bra upwards. She shifted to wriggling her fingers underneath it. I could feel her caressing the bottom of my breasts, moving front to back.

I closed my eyes, assessing the battlefield. I had multiple paths to losing. The way to win was to choose how to lose. “Fine,” I said. As soon as I removed my arm barring access to my chest, Deen pushed her hands into my bra and fully cupped my breasts.

I clenched my teeth, not letting even a pip out, as I hastily folded the shirt and placed it back where I got it.

“See?” Deen purred into my ear. Her golden locks tickled my cheeks. She began massaging my breasts. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Which one are you talking about?” I asked. “Folding a shirt or getting groped?”

“If you put on more weight, you’ll also increase the size of these.” She gave my breasts a gentle squeeze.

“Does it work that way? That sounds like just getting fatter. Even guys' chests grow if they put on weight. Manboobs, they call it.”

Deen continued to talk like she couldn’t hear what I was saying. “I also heard massaging breasts help make them grow.” She squeezed my boobs like a clown honking his nose.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Have you tried it?” From cupping my breasts, Deen spread her hands, individual fingers doing their own explorations.

I looked down. Good thing I had clothes on. I probably couldn’t stomach actually seeing what Deen was doing to me under my shirt. By now, I would’ve lashed out at her. I was surprised with myself that the repulsion was minimal. It was like I got used to having Deen sticking to me. Was she intentionally training me to get used to her like I was some pet?

“Want to try?” Deen said. “Like ten or twenty minutes a day for a month. I’ll do it for you. To check if it’s working, we’ll first measure—”

“Deen, that’s just a hoax,” I said. “There wouldn’t be breast implants if mere massaging works.” I walked further down the aisle, dragging Deen-leech stuck to me along, so we wouldn’t be spotted from the front of the store. I wasn’t one for exhibitionism. What case could be filed against us? Public indecency or something?

“It wouldn’t hurt to try. What’d you lose?”

“No, thank you,” I said, “Your breasts are big enough for both of us. Just cover for me when the boob inspectors come along to arrest those with small cups.”

“Boob inspectors?”

“Exactly. There are no boob inspectors. No one cares about my breast size. I don’t and neither should you.”

“No need to be so snappy…” Deen began playfully. Then she gasped and withdrew her hands, settling back to my waist. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to. I’m just, just, uh… did I offend you?”

Two options.

If I said yes, I could make Deen uncomfortable and pile on her, pretending she emotionally hurt me. It would also put an end to her touchy-feeliness, at least for the moment.

Unfortunately, it’d also be an admission that I was bothered by my breast size.

On the other hand, if I answered no, she’d continue her bullshittery. The status quo would be maintained.

While the first option had the double benefit of drama and concocting stories to make Deen uncomfortable, I much preferred not to pretend my breast size was an issue—it’d come back to bite me someday, somehow. I just knew it. Status quo, it is.

“No, you didn’t offend me.” I grabbed Deen’s wrists so her hands wouldn’t go up again. “I just want to buy your shirt quickly. We might miss Mom.”

“We got plenty of time until she comes out of the arrival area,” Deen said, trying again to shove her hands back into my shirt. My clothes got bunched up as we struggled, and my abdomen got exposed. “When the plane lands, it still has to taxi to the terminal, the passengers are going to disembark, plus the pieces of luggage are going to take time to unload.”

“Are you an expert in airports now?” I finally removed her hands from my body, holding them away from me. With my right hand holding hers, I hit the cabinet beside me. It wobbled a bit. “Whoa, wait a min—Ow!”

Deen suddenly bit my neck. It surprised me. I loosened my grip. She broke free. I tried to grab her hands again but ended up elbowing the cabinet. To prevent it from toppling over, I grabbed the shelves.

Giggling like an idiot, Deen shoved her hands back into my shirt, hugging me, her right hand inside my bra. “You think you’re getting away from—”

“Excuse me, miss?” a female voice called from behind us. Deen and I froze. “Is everything alright there?”

I tried to look around to see who it was but Deen’s hair was in the way.

Deen could see the person talking to us. From a sidelong glance, I noticed Deen suddenly flush red like a tomato. She released me and turned around. “Everything’s alright!” Deen quickly answered.

“Are you sure?” Looking over Deen’s shoulder, I saw that it was the cashier checking in on the commotion. “If you need help with anything,” she said, “just tell me.”

Why is Deen blushing? I wondered. Was it because someone almost caught us? A lightbulb dinged in my head. I grabbed Deen’s butt. She let out a squeak. I told the cashier, “Yes, you can help us. We’d like to try some clothes.”