As Eleanor walked back to her bedroom from the communal recreation area, a powerful smell hit her.

“Leonard!?” she cried out, before composing herself. “Now, now Eleanor. Get a hold of yourself. You know Leonard’s gone. That black president killed him with his socialist sympathies.”

But where was that intoxicating musk coming from?

She speed-walked down the hall, quickly grew tired, sat down for a moment, got back up, walked further down the hall, and stopped at room 212. The placard on the door read, “Herman Finkel,” and Herman himself was inside–applying the very same medicated rash ointment that Leonard had used for years.

Herman saw Eleanor in the doorway and quickly lifted his short-sleeved button-up back up.

“Oh deary me! My modesty!” She cooed. “I just moved in, I’m not used to being on a floor with mixed company.”

He said nothing. Simply admired her. The late afternoon sunlight peeked through the window and lit her figure oh so tenderly.

“I’m Eleanor. I just moved into 205.”

“I thought Dennis Rosenblatt lived in 205.” Herman grumbled. “He dead?”

“Oh Dennis? No, no. He’s fine. He just got sick of having to go up all those stairs all the time and requested a room on a lower floor.”

Herman walked up and removed Eleanor’s over-sized prescription sunglasses, revealing her beautiful, hazel eyes. She kissed him. He wanted her and she knew it. Her breasts hung low and pressed against his increasingly plump member.

“Wow.” She cooed. “You’re so…ready.”

“With you,” Herman whispered into her ear, “I barely need any stimulation at all to activate the Cialis.”

“What?” she asked.

“I said with you I barely need any stimulation at all to activate the Cialis.” he repeated.

“What?” she asked again.

“Never mind!” he said.

Herman grabbed her at the waist and Eleanor arched her back, allowing him to envelope her in his big, strong-ish arms. Usually a jerking motion like that would bring Eleanor a shocked pain, but this time that very shock presented itself as “pasión” which is a Spanish word that Enrico taught me. Enrico is a very nice young man. Not like that Roberto. Roberto steals.

They began to move toward the bed. Eleanor unclasped Herman’s suspenders. Herman began to unbutton Eleanor’s blouse, but his depth perception was failing him so he just tore it right open. Buttons flew everywhere. So many goddamn buttons! Look at all these buttons! Someone needs to do something about these buttons. Hello?

Herman removed her girdle and threw it across the room. Next he removed his dentures and placed them in a glass beside the bed. She unbuttoned his pants and took his penis in her hand. It was warm–like the water down in Boca. It was smooth and virtually spot- free. It looked like it belonged to a man 20 years his junior. It looked like the penis of a 60-year-old man.

Eleanor looked up at him, mouth slightly agape in a crooked smile. She was impressed. He laid her down, her outstretched arms revealing a water-aerobics-toned figure. She grabbed him by the back of the head–rustling up his combover–and brought his lips to hers. So many emotions rushed through her head. He tasted of Kashi and raisins.

“Do me, Herman!” She cried out. “Do me!”

He shimmied himself into her, and she was instantly overcome with a radiation she forgot she could experience. It was better than not having to wait too long at the post office. She wanted it to last forever–as long as two, maybe three voicemails.

He would massage her just so, as if directing her. He knew all her buttons. Like my grandson with the thermostat. He knows all the buttons. I don’t know the buttons. My grandson knows all the buttons for the thermostat.

That went on for a while until they felt like that was enough of that and they’d had just about all they needed out of the experience so they stopped. Herman clapped off the light and fell asleep. Eleanor watched him for a moment before putting her clothes back on and stepping out of the room. She paused in the doorway for just one moment. Just long enough to catch one last look of the heaving, snoring man that gave her the greatest night of her long life.

She tiptoed down the hall so as to not wake anyone; it was already 8:30, after all. Eleanor knew she wouldn’t remember Herman tomorrow, but that didn’t upset her. Because perhaps if she was lucky, she would get to experience their magical night for the first time all over again.