WASHDOWN

At your place in town  
I wash myself down.  
Permission you gave,  
when back from the rave,  
to use your shower  
at that late hour.  

You'd said, 'Go in first'.  
While you slaked your thirst  
from fridge in kitchen,  
I got no-stitch-on  
before the mirror,  
baring my figure.  
 
While I'm in daydream,  
shower's glass doors steam  
as I warm to the feel  
from head hair to heel  
of the cascade warm  
on my naked form.  
 
You open room's door,  
you are in the raw -  
nowt on but your smile.  
I discern your wile
from your downward glance
to where I'd worn pants.
My butt cheeks clenchen,
I rise with tension.
 
The glass doors you slide  
apart open wide,  
step into that space,  
move up to my face.  
 
I tweak shower head  
so water will spread  
and baptize your skin,  
shine you like new pin.  

You smooth wet hair back,
make brunette look black,
Your raised upper arms
highlight forward charms.

Embracing we squeeze,  
our tensions release,  
link up mouth to mouth.  
Fires break loose down south
as meeting of thighs
extends more my size.
 
Much soap I apply  
from chest down to thigh,  
massage through your bush,  
making pussy flush.  
 
Gesture you return,  
fanning my lust's burn,  
then you give fair head  
to my pencil lead.  
You then draw back up,  
allow me to tup,  
sink in your wet hole.  
Then we rock and roll......