Chilly halls and old slate walls and dim electric light,
My robe, nightgown and Slippers took a shower late last night.
Nakedness means nothing when you step onto the drain,
To blast away harsh memories and microbes and pain.

Gray tiles and gray washcloth, gray suds were on my face,
When I heard his clear voice echo from behind me in that space.
I’d dreamed his proclamations there many times before,
And didn’t hardly change my pace, my every-nightly chore.

Phantom fingers lifted, tugged, caressed his little girl
Masterfully stepping through the trance mirror, to my world.
His arms are strong, though ethereal, and I have learned to wait;
For a count of ten, some fondling, some whispers that elate.

Their grip was far more passionate and pulled me to the wall,
I gasped and staggered backward trying not to slip and fall.
I shook my head in disbelief, my breath caught in my shock,
Did I  really feel behind me, a man’s chest? His thigh? His,,,

My senses were so filled with what I had just felt behind
That I hardly even noticed as his hand did southward wind.
Spread wide across my tummy, manly fingers pressed me back
I shivered as his other kept on playing with my rack.

“You never do this, never!” I was excited and appalled
He confidently laughed and my nipples tugged and rolled.
His hand pressed hard between my legs, my strength began to wane,
Two fingers and a thumb lit fire to my body and my brain.

“Someone might come,” I whispered, as I fought against his will,
He leaned me back across his chest and whispered, “Someone will.”
I swooned with steamy dizziness, I giggled nervously,
His lips poured slowly in my ear, “My toy, that pleases me.”

Boiling acid filled my veins, -relaxing evil flow-
It touched the muscles in my back and every one let go.
Like a ragdoll back I flopped, my arms down at my side,
My breasts lay undefended and my legs were open wide.

But long enough I struggled see, for time is not his friend,
He whisks back through the mirror at the count of nine or ten.
I write this moments later, at my desk, unwrapped, undried,
The feelings freshly lingering on the body that he plied.

I scarcely can absorb it, how he took me, how I gave,
How I wonder “can I stop him?”, and “do I want to be saved?”
Tomorrow, will his soothing hands once more take me to heaven?
And what sweet fate awaits me if they are still there at eleven?