Reprieve
Finally... an hour passes... seems to pass. Is that possible? Can my precious anatomy withstand such duress?
Whatever, the mixture of pain and endorphins brings hallucination. But a knock on the door is real. It is soft... polite... humble. And it is a first, never seeing or hearing a soul in the half dozen or so previous therapy sessions.
“Come in,” the sound of the German accented voice further stealing from my state of delirium.
The door opens. Who enters? Who else will view my helpless naked, nearly upside down form?
“Strip naked, Ed. You know the regimen,” the voice smooth yet commanding.
I hear footsteps. I hear the rustle of clothing. This Ed is obeying. Then I hear the boots tapping. My therapist returns to my side. Does she again take in hand the button?
“Ed is one
