The Old Man sat quietly, the ratty chair beneath him creaking each time he adjusted. In fact, he sat like this most days, almost motionless as the slightest movement led to those irritating sounds. As the day wore on, he would doze, or lazily watch the people around him shuffling about. Every once in a while, a voice would penetrate the haze of his thoughts, but he rarely responded. Same times, every day, he would eat his bland meals that failed to remind him whatsoever of the lifetime of delicacies his wife Ellen had prepared for him. Of course, these days, The Old Man failed to remember many things.

The Old Man had learned that when one of those nice strong people who always wore light blue shirts and pants came to lift him from the chair, it would be time to clean, to change, to lie down in what always seemed like a strange bed in a strange room. Once there, the darkness would descend, and the memories would begin. Not recent ones, because The Old Man could barely remember what he ate for dinner, but stories from long ago that seemed to emerge out of clouds hanging from the dark ceiling.

So many nights, The Old Man lay awake wondering when he would see Eileen. His wife used to lie next to him night after night, curled on her left side waiting for him to mold his body around hers. Was it yesterday she had said she would be back again? Or last week? It was hard for him to place in time as each day ran into the one before and the one next. That nice strong young man in the blue shirt, George (or was it Jeff?) had called him a "sundowner" because he hardly slept at night. Just lying there with his fragmented memories.

Out of habit, The Old Man reached down in his pajama bottom to touch himself. Smiling, he could still see in his mind his first girlfriend, Carol (or Karen?). They had gone to a movie, he was sure, something silly that made her giggle uncontrollably. No, that was not right, not the movie before they touched. No, the giggling was their first date movie, yes, that movie with the men in armor with coconuts and wooden rabbits. The Old Man remembered now, that first date was the premiere of that movie, oddly on a Sunday morning. How she had laughed through the movie, except when she quietly took his hand in hers. That first time they held hands, yes, it was the silly movie. Which was followed the next week by the party, the friend's birthday party where they kissed and made out and inhaled each other's tongues for what felt like the entire evening.

The touching, that came later. Yes, it was that movie where they went to the first part of a double feature and then left early to go to her house. What was that movie? Soft curls, The Old Man recalled. Soft, fine, damp curls. Karen had opened her jeans as they lay on her bed. Soft pink comforter on top of her single bed not meant for what they were trying to do. As they kissed, she had opened the button on her jeans. Or had he? Who opened and who touched? Carol had taken his hand and placed it inside the open pants. No directions or road map provided though.

The Old Man felt a stirring in his penis, something stiffening. Soft curls, like the soft hair on her head but damp and then wet and then he was touching slickness and heat. Finger sliding inside and being clamped down, squeezed tightly as he penetrated her. He had never known that sensation before, of soft curls wet against his palm while his finger probed in and slid out. Over and over, he had done all he understood to do, to finger her vagina like that. The Old Man felt her arms wrapped around him even now, her whispering something in his ear that now seemed foreign to him. No, he was the young man then, not The Old Man, but the young man with his hand in her pants and his finger in her wet vagina.

Karen had taken his hand out. He didn't ask why. He was afraid to question or ask. No words were exchanged, though she still clung to him with her face buried in his shoulder. As she unbuckled his pants. As her own hand now explored like his had. She found his curls. His genital. Her hand moving to find a way to grip. The Old Man never knew and never asked how she knew about the right grip. But she did, and she stroked and she kept going until his whole body stiffened while he ejaculated over her wrist and his shirt. This he remembered. The Old Man couldn't remember his name half the time, but the first orgasm in a girl's hand, that he would never forget.

The next morning, the nice young woman in the light blue shirt came into his room like she did every day to wake him and clean him and dress him and lead him to breakfast. She found him in bed, like every morning, his hand in his pajama bottom grasping his penis and mumbling in his sleep. Sometimes it was Ellen. Or Eileen. She felt sorry for The Old Man, not being able to remember his wife's real name. But this morning, The Old Man kept calling her Karen, and she didn't remember seeing his penis quite so erect as it seemed today.

That day, The Old Man sat in his ratty chair in the bright great room watching others shuffle by. Tina, the nice young woman in the light blue shirt and pants, was by his side frequently today. Somehow she seemed more familiar today than before. Her name tag said Tina but surely her name was Winnie because she giggled to him just like Winnie did. The Old Man sat in his chair and closed his eyes and he knew Winnie was there just like she had been in Chicago. Or was it Atlanta? Wait, no he thought. It had been both places. He smiled thinking of how Winnie’s lush lips kissed him. Oh, she knew how to kiss even if was hiding behind that name tag that said 'Tina'.

It was December now. So cold in Chicago when he arrived for a meeting. But it was warm in Winnie’s car when they arranged to meet for the first time after years of chatting. Talking and playing together on the phone. He remembered her lips and her laugh. And then it struck him like the clouds had parted because the laugh was never due to something funny he said but how she reacted each time she hit climax when they talked about sex on the phone. And then it was December in Chicago in her car and the windows steamed and her lips engulfed his straining turgid cock but she was unable to swallow him whole. She swallowed his seed though and smiled after.

It was years later and a hotel room in Atlanta that she laughed and giggled again. Now it was his turn to taste and lick and suckle her swollen clit until he hops bucked and that giggle erupted again. Some women squirted. Winnie giggled. And then she took him gently and sweetly into her mouth and took her time and swallowed his semen after an hour of edging him. He knew he was confused about lunch that day, but he could never forget that orgasm.

The Old Man suddenly felt uncomfortable. His bladder was full and he had to empty it. George, the nice young man in the light blue shirt and pants, rushed over to help him to stand and to walk to the bathroom. But no, The Old Man didn’t want George to help with his pants because his penis was hard and it was all due to Tina. He wanted her to open his pants and to help him relieve the discomfort.

Winnie was there, and knew just how to hold him as he stood by the urinal. Yes, she still cared years later. Just like Tina to help him, especially that day. The day The Old Man remembered the giggles and the orgasm and the days when he could cum.