Mimi’s small breasts bounced rhythmically as she rubbed her naked body against the old man’s round, hairy stomach. He wheezed passionately as she pushed his spotty red penis, rejuvenated by generous helpings of Viagra and clad in latex, between her pale, freckled thighs. Thrusting back and forth as he gurgled appreciatively she allowed her gaze to shift lazily around the stale, retirement village apartment. Groaning at appropriate times she examined the bedside table, cluttered with photos of children and grandchildren mounted in tacky copper frames, worn crossword puzzle books, a jar of boiled lollies and several torn condom wrappers. She felt the sweat that rolled down the old man’s stomach forming small rivulets against her thighs. A fly buzzed lazily overhead. Somewhere in the distance she could hear a lawn mower struggling against a particularly thick patch of grass. When she looked back to the old man he had stopped moaning and was lying with his head tilted back and his mouth open, a trail of saliva ran the length of his cheek to the floral pillow case. She stopped thrusting. His familiar wheezing has ceased. She stared at him. He lay motionless. The fly buzzed. Mimi could taste the bile in her throat. A cold dread began to pass over her. She raised a shaking hand toward the old man’s carotid artery when suddenly he coughed violently, wheezed heavily and looked up at her. With a note of concern in his voice he asked “Why did you stop?”