Charlie was sitting upright, underneath, as usual, pillows under his back, hishead sunken into the satin, padded headboard. Mrs. Bernstein, his employer,was on top, sliding roughly up and down, her breasts bouncing and shaking, likehams in wet plastic sacks.“Charlie,” she whispers, “tell me I’m still beautiful.”But Charlie doesn’t answer. Instead, he sits up as best he can, and pulls herclose, burying his face between her D-cups. He grunts, and squeezes her back,and with her skin oozing through his fingers, the question is forgotten, just as itwas last time, and all the times before that.He tries to imagine, between breasts spidered with veins, that he’s somewhereelse, doing this with someone else, but it’s no use, and it never is. The oldwoman keeps talking.“I could pass for forty, couldn’t I, Charlie? The firmness,” she pants, “they’retoo firm for a woman my age.”And Charlie just pounds away.“Charlie,” she gasps, a whisper in his ear, “you make me feel young again.”Charlie smiles to himself then, and picks up the tempo. She always gets sweetwhen she’s about to climax.Expectedly sudden, she grabs him tightly. He grunts a little louder. She moansa little deeper. He pounds a little harder, and she squeezes him tight betweenher thighs.Just then, she starts to sort of whistle. Her dentures are losing their grip. Hertongue is jammed into them, trying to stifle her squeaks of orgasm.Soon after, Charlie is in the bathroom hurriedly washing off the memories andrinsing the taste from his mouth. For Charlie, there’s still cleaning to do, andseconds later, with dustwand in hand, and with all his precious muck still side-stroking in his sack, Charlie is in Mr. Bernstein’s study.Mr. Bernstein is Jewish.Charlie has met people who think that all Jews are a part of a consortium benton world domination through the manipulation and control of money.