ā€œI didnā€™t shake your hand because I knew where it had been,ā€ Elizabeth said, giggling, shaking Bernieā€™s penis like a wet towel as they waited for the Viagra to kick in.

ā€œFisting is a very socialist sex act,ā€ Bernie said. ā€œEveryone has a fist, right? Even people without hands can have a sex stump!ā€

ā€œOh, Bernie,ā€ she said, rolling over to slop her breasts upon his sunken chest. ā€œYouā€™re so smart.ā€

ā€œThe only people that canā€™t fist, I guess, are people without any arms. I guess they just use their feet. Feet! Can I put my foot in you, Elizabeth?ā€

She looked down at his feet, flaky and gnarled, bunioned and blistered, the sole a single thick callus. ā€œMaybe later, baby.ā€

ā€œThatā€™s OK. I find nothing erotic about the foot. It is just a draft animal. Like having sex with a mule or a donkey or a horse or, I dunno, an ox. Just doesnā€™t appeal to me at all.ā€

She shook his penis harder, making his loose scrotum flail about.

ā€œCastro took me to a donkey show in 1972. Disgusting. I donā€™t know why a donkey would have sex with a woman that ugly. That donkey has needs, dammit. Needs!ā€

ā€œI think it moved a little,ā€ Elizabeth said, rubbing her thumb along his circumcision scar.

ā€œI had to be cut three times,ā€ he said proudly. ā€œIt just kept growing back. The mohel finally had to cauterize it with a brĆ»lĆ©e torch at my bar mitzvah.ā€

ā€œJesus!ā€ Elizabeth said.

ā€œAnd the smell! The whole party was ruined. They thought we were serving pork!ā€

Elizabeth laughed into the fold of his neck and snuggled closer, their slack flesh sticky to the other. She spat into her hand and rubbed it along his flaccid member.

ā€œBernie, why do you think a woman canā€™t be President,ā€ she asked gently, her breath tickling the firest of gray hairs bristling from his ear.

ā€œI think a woman can be President,ā€ he replied, breath rancid with vinegar and onions. ā€œIā€™m just not sure America is ready for a Native American woman President.ā€

ā€œOh, Bernie,ā€ she cried. ā€œIā€™ve been so oppressed for my heritage!ā€ She wept beside him as his penis finally became semi-erect.

ā€œI think itā€™s ready,ā€ he mumbled. ā€œMaybe ball it up in your hand and just sort of stuff it up in there.ā€

ā€œIā€™m too dry from all my tears,ā€ she said, pulling away from him with a Velcro noise.

ā€œWhere are you going! My doctor cleared me for sex! Sex!ā€

ā€œIā€™m just not in the mood any longer,ā€ she said while dressing.

ā€œThatā€™s why a women should never be President,ā€ he muttered.

ā€œWhat did you say?ā€

ā€œYou know who else canā€™t fist? Quadruple amputees! Poor bastards. Just a torso. Horrible. Oral, yes, most of them. But no fisting! Gah!ā€

Elizabeth looked at him for a minute, sprawled across the bed, his scarred penis lolling to the side, and then shook her lesbian haircut out and left the hotel room.