The old man pulled feebly on his penis. He wiggled and flopped the soft member in his hands. His only desire was to sprout an erection and arouse himself to ejaculation. His frustration turned to disgust as he realized his futile attempts at self-gratification.
“Has it really come to this?” Arthur muddled. “I used to be so virile. I could do this 3 times a day. But now…”
He zipped up his pants and headed out of his room.
“I hate this God damn wheelchair!” Arthur spewed the words with a fiery conviction. “Why the hell a man has to get so damn decrepit that he can’t even walk… I don’t fuckin’ know.”
Arthur continued to fumble with the controls. He tried to maneuver the chair around the silk tree in the hallway. He just couldn’t understand why the orderly would have put the thing in the narrow hallway in the first place.
Exasperated, Arthur dropped his head allowing his chin to rest on his chest. He closed his eyes for an instant and took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure for another attempt to steer the wheelchair toward the cafeteria.
This isn’t how Arthur Bartholomew Winston wanted to end up – in a retirement home surrounded by a bunch of feeble-minded nitwits. And that’s his depiction of the staff. The other inhabitants are nothing more than pond scum to a man like Arthur.
If he hadn’t outlived his children, he may not be here now. But since his grandchildren and great grandchildren never got to know the man, they placed him in the “best home money could buy” as his oldest grandson put it.
In his day, Arthur was full of life – and full of himself. He was an entrepreneur even before the title was in vogue. He invested his money in other men’s ideas. When the businesses took off, he was the silent partner raking in the cash. He had a wife and two kids, but spent his time searching for the next business deal – and the next piece of ass.
Oh, yes. Arthur was a womanizer indeed. The legendary Don Juan could barely hold a candle. He would provide himself the company of two, three, even four women at a time. The abundant money lining his pockets afforded that sort of sexual luxury.
Arthur finally got the wheelchair headed down the hallway again. He was heading for the cafeteria hoping for a slice of Key Lime pie.
As he turned the corner and entered the cafeteria, he had to stop abruptly – lurching the chair to a halt.
“Slow down, big fella.” snorted Maxine, one of the orderlies. “You almost ran into Ms. Beatrice here.”
The woman in the walker was another pathetic slug, Arthur thought. But at least she wasn’t confined to a damn wheelchair to get around.
Something about the woman peaked Arthur’s interest.
“I’m Arthur Bartholomew,” he said with a confident look in his eye and a surly tone in his voice.
“Well, I’m Beatrice Baxter, Mr. Bartholomew. Nice to meet you.” she said in a soft-spoken southern drawl.
“Oh, no. Please call me Arthur. I insist.” interjected Arthur, feeling his staunchness subsiding.
And with that they smiled at one another. Arthur went for his pie and Beatrice headed down the hall.
When Arthur got back to his room, he closed the door. He started thinking about his chance encounter with Beatrice and suddenly felt aroused. He unzipped his fly and reached for his penis. Sure enough, he had an erection. As he began to stroke his penis, his thoughts went to Beatrice. Not as the old woman he met in the cafeteria, but as a young woman.
He pictured meeting in a bar and dancing a slow dance with her. As their bodies drew close, Beatrice began to grind her crotch on Arthur’s thigh. Looking into her eyes, his erection was imminent. He whispered in her ear to join him in his room.
As the doors closed on the elevator, Beatrice leapt into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and wrapped her silken legs tightly around his waist.
Arthur undid his pants and slid his hands under her skirt to remove her undergarments – only to find she wasn’t wearing any. She reached down and guided his erection into her swollen vagina. Her juices were already flowing which allowed his penis to slide easily into her.
They were locked in a passionate kiss. Their tongues were exploring one another’s mouth. Arthur placed his hands under Beatrice’s buttocks and dug his fingers into her flesh. He was buried to the hilt and proceeded to thrust deeply and repeatedly into Beatrice’s nether region.
They had just passed the 5th floor when Beatrice began to hyperventilate and squeal. She was on the verge of climax – with Arthur not far behind. Her vagina contracted. Waves of pleasure washed over her. As her vagina gripped and sucked on Arthur’s penis, he too was having an orgasm. They hollered out together as their bodies sang in ecstasy.
Just then, Arthur felt his ejaculation spill out onto his hands and on his lap. He opened his eyes to realize that the fantasy had brought forth the first release he had had in years.
He was a mess, but he felt damn good. He was happy to know he could still function as a man. Now he just had to get this sticky crap off of himself. The next day he searched for Beatrice. He went to the information desk to ask for her room number. He went down the hall and knocked on her door.
When she opened the door, Arthur said, “Howdy, Beatrice. I just wanted to come by and thank you.”
“Thank me? For what?” inquired Beatrice.
“For the pleasure… uh, I mean, for the pleasure of meeting you.” he responded with an impish smile.
With that, Beatrice invited him in. They looked deeply into each other’s eyes as if they had been lovers in a past life.
“I feel I know you.” Beatrice suggested with a sort of quiet confidence.
“Funny you should say that.” said Arthur. “I was thinking about you yesterday and it was quite like a memory. Something we had shared together.”
“I must confess,” continued Beatrice, “I caught myself fantasizing about you yesterday, Arthur.” Arthur was caught by surprise by her comments. “After we met, I came back to the room and had a delicious fantasy.” she said with an invigorating tone.
“Go on…” smiled Arthur, intrigued by her frankness.
“I met you in a bar and we danced. You invited me to your room but we never got that far.”, she said with a playful grin. Arthur couldn’t believe it. How could she have had the same fantasy as him? “And while I was fantasizing, I’m not ashamed to say I had to touch myself. I’m not being too forward with you, am I Arthur?” Beatrice asked as she winked at Arthur.
Arthur searched for the words. Not that he was embarrassed by any of this, just that it was a shock to hear his same fantasy described back to him.
“Why, no.” he replied. “As a matter of fact…” He proceeded to detail his daydream and the similarities to hers. She didn’t seem surprised. On the contrary, she seemed pleased in knowing they shared a bond.
Beatrice concluded, “You know, Arthur, the essence of our being are the juices of life. It flows in your veins until they lay you to rest. And we’re not dead yet.”
They both smiled with a pubescent glint in their eyes.