Act One: Stealing Away
It
started with a bump in the night.
A
bump that stirred me from an erotic adventure of a dream that,
unfortunately, was already fading from my memory. Damn the
interruption!
It
was just getting good.
A
second, more pronounced bump confirmed that I was not alone in my
home.
Throwing
off the covers, I reached first for my robe, and second for my
pistol. Then, suitably attired and armed, I crept out of my bedroom,
on the prowl for whatever a creature had disturbed my peace and the
sanctity of my slumber.
There
was life up ahead, in the house, in the dark. I could not see it,
and it made not a sound … yet I felt it, sure as I could feel my
own tingling nerves. With as much stealth, I stalked my way toward
it … you could have heard a pin …
Drop.
Something
smashed on the floor. It was me. It was a vase. It was ugly, a
gift, and I’d always hated the despicable thing. My subconscious
might have whacked it in on purpose.
I
dared not breathe, and ahead of me in the darkness, I could feel my
houseguest not daring to breath either. The ruckus had given away my
position, and I could feel searching eyes upon me, our intercourse
the mystery over what and whom we each faced.
It
occurred to me to turn around, go back to bed, and hide under the
covers until this ghost went away. I assumed that was the child in
me. But the swashbuckler in me reached for the light switch.
Perhaps
it was the swashbuckler who was really the child.
My
hand switched the switch, and the room was washed in light.
We
… were washed in light. And both frozen in place.
She
was definitely dressed the cat burglar part, all in black from the
tip of her tall riding boots, to her figure hugging bodysuit, right
up to the black mask covering her face around her eyes.
Her
eyes … those eyes … blue and brighter than any jewel she was apt
to find rummaging through my
desk … which was the
act I’d caught her in. There certainly was no masking those eyes.
“That’s
it!” I said, sighting my pistol on her. “Don’t move!”
“I’m
not moving,” she said. “See? I’m not moving.”
She
smiled a smile I didn’t much trust, but I was drawn to it.
“Just
you see that you don’t,” I said. “Move, that is.”
“Did
you just tell me to move?”
“No
… DON’T move.”
“Okay,”
she said.
God,
her grin was wicked.
“I
don’t want to get myself in trouble.”
Who
puts on lipstick to burglarize a home? Of all the burning
questions, this would be the one hot on my mind.
“You’re
already in trouble.” I played the tough guy.
“You
mean,” she said, “because my robe is open?”
“What?
You’re not wearing a robe.”
“But
you are. And it’s … um …”
I
looked down.
“… open.”
My
robe was open.
“As
if it’s not enough,” she said, eyeing my escaped manhood, “that
you’re pointing your gun at me.”
“Waking
somebody at this hour …” I fidgeted with my robe while keeping my
eyes on her. “You’re lucky I’m covered up at all.”
“Am
I?”
“What
… are you holding behind your back?”
“Nothing.”
“Let’s
see it.”
“You
said not to move.”
“You
can move that much,” I said. “And slowly.”
She
did move slowly, producing a black velvet sack.
“It
matches the outfit,” I said.
“Of
course.”
“What’s
in the sack?”
“Oh,
nothing much,” she said. “Just some things I found lying around.”
“Toss
it to me.”
“The
sack?”
“Yes,
the sack.”
“Oh,
okay.”
She
threw it, well away from me. Its contents sounded valuable when it
landed on the floor.
“You
did that on purpose.”
“Of
course I did. You told me to.”
“I
said to throw it to me.”
“Oh.”
“I’m
going to call the cops now.”
“Wait.”
“Wait
for what? Why?”
“I
have,” she said, “another idea.”
“You
do? What, do you want to call them?”
“No
… no I don’t.”
I
was getting impatient, and it surely showed.
“Why,”
she said, “don’t we do this instead. You take me to bed …
nobody calls the cops … and then we both just put this little …
incident … behind us.”
I
lowered the gun to my side.
“Does
that mean we have a deal?”
All
of a sudden, it seemed like an awful hassle to have to call the
police … to give a report … to help with the investigation any
way I can …
She
smiled. “We do have a deal.”
How
was it she read my mind?
“Yeah,
okay. We have a deal.”
“I
guess you can put the gun down then.”
I
set it on a table.
“Ahh,”
she said. “I feel less inhibited already. Which way to the boudoir
… mon ami?”
Act
Two: The Sex Act
“This
is nice … you like the lights on, I see.”
“Otherwise,”
I said, “it’s hard to see what’s going bump in the night.”
“But
now you know it’s me.”
“And
I want to keep an eye on you …”
She
pouted at the notion of my mistrust.
“And
I want to look at you …”
The
doleful part of her pout disappeared, but the sexiness of it on her
lips remained. As did the black mask on her face.
She
reached back behind her head, and released the long fawn tresses
she’d kept tied there.
They
fell over her shoulders like a tawny wave of … woman.
“You’re
a beautiful cat burglar.”
“I’ve
never stolen anybody’s cat,” she said, turning her back. “Unzip
me.”
She
held her hair up so I could get to her zipper.
I
leaned in and nibbled her neck, feeling the goosebumps rise at my
lips. She shuddered.
My
hand found her zipper and pulled it down to the small of her back.
“Boots
too,” she said, letting loose her hair.
Sitting
down on the edge of my bed, I bent down and unzipped the calves of
her slinky black boots.
She
stepped out of them and faced me. “I’m a little shorter without
the heels.”
“That’s
alright. Anybody would be.”
Smirking,
she grabbed ahold of one of her stretchy sleeves, and pulled her arm
out of it, which also bared a shoulder … and most of a breast.
And
not an insignificant breast at that.
Ever
the helpful one, I helped her other shoulder free of her suit, and
then helped her suit down to the top of her hips.
She
let me pull her close, and kiss her lightly around the navel.
Again
I felt her goosebumps rise.
“That
tickles.” She squirmed, but did not back away.
“I’m
sorry,” I said, without stopping.
“You
…” she caressed my head in her hands, “are not sorry, a bit.”
My
kisses worked up to her bosom.
“You
…” I said, “might be right.”
I
took a soft handful of one, and a delicious mouthful of the other,
evoking a soft moan from the wanton thief.
Exploring,
my other hand felt … for something of hers … to steal.
Suddenly,
she withdrew, and slid her bodysuit the rest of the way down to the
floor.
Then
she was free of it.
“No
underwear?”
“No
panty lines.”
“Spoken
like a true thief,” I said. “And a real professional.”
“Just
because I know what I’m doing …” She crawled onto the bed and
laid down. “ … doesn’t mean I’m a professional.”
“Oh,
you know what you’re doing, do you?”
Her
smile was wry.
“Show
me what you know …” I said, “and I’ll show you mine.”
My
robe fell to the floor, and I joined her on the bed.
Act Three: The Real Screwing
It
continued with a knock at the door.
I
was startled awake, as I had been in the night.
But
it was day … if the bright of the light peeking in past the drapes
was any indication.
The
knocking continued.
Whomever
it was seemed as intent on rousing me, as the thief in the night had
been on arousing me.
Had
she gone? I wondered as I went to the door, back in my robe, and
hoping she was still lingering about.
Perhaps
making breakfast. Breakfast before another romp. Ahhh … so much
to look forward to, wishfully thinking.
The
knocking was persistent.
“Alright,
alright, I’m coming.”
There
was a joke there, somewhere.
I
looked out through the sidelight.
The
police? Why were the police at my door?
“Good
morning,” I said as I opened the door. “What can I do for you?”
“Are
you the homeowner?”
“Well,
the bank is homeowner … but I’m the one making the payments.”
I
was as sure of my charm as I ever was.
But
the audience was cool, looking less than impressed.
“Sir,
are you …”
“Yes,
that’s my name. What’s this about?”
“You’re
under arrest, sir.”
“Under
arrest? What for?”
I
didn’t think I’d broken any laws, that they knew of.
“It’s
in connection with an alleged sexual assault, sir. We’re not at
liberty to discuss it much other than that.”
“A
sexual assault? Impossible!”
I
searched my mind, for any way it could possibly be possible.
“Sir,
you are under arrest, and you have to come with us down to the
station.”
“There
is no way I could be under arrest!” I said. “And there’s no way
I’m coming down to the station with you.”
A
ride in the back of a squad car later, I found myself being booked at
the police station, an honor I’d never before been afforded.
And
before I knew it, I was sitting in front of a judge.
She
banged her gavel like an angry bitch.
(The
judge of course being the angry bitch—the gavel itself seemed
fine.)
“ORDER
… I’ll have ORDER in this court.”
Nobody
was out of order to begin with … it was only myself, my lawyer, and
another lawyer standing over a pretty young woman in her church
clothes, who was seated at the other table in front of the judge.
The
judge, who looked bitchily at me for noticing we weren’t out
of order … and that she banged her gavel like a bitch.
Sorry,
an angry bitch.
“Now,”
she said to me, “you are probably aware, but for the record, we
will state that you are being charged with a sexual assault.”
My
attorney shushed me, before I even opened my mouth to speak.
“Now,
we’ll begin the hearing.”
I
sat attentively. Incredulous, but attentive.
The
judge’s angry, bitchy stare bore down on me.
“Well,
you know the charges. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I
…” I started to defend myself, but my attorney shushed me again.
“I’m
sorry, Your Honor,” he said to Her Honor.
She
looked perturbed.
“You
just tell me,” my
attorney said to me with a wink. “And I’ll do the talking
to the judge.” He got down and whispered in my ear, “She’s
kind of bitchy.”
“I
know,” I whispered back to him. “I was thinking the same―”
My
lawyer straightened himself. “Let the court record show, my client
said he thinks the judge is bitchy.”
“Hey,
I didn’t say that, you asshole!”
“Did
you,” the judge said, “just call me an asshole?”
“No!
Not you, Judge! Him!”
My
lawyer shrugged and shook his head.
“Did
you,” the judge said, “tell your lawyer that I was … bitchy?”
Ooh,
and did she look bitchy when she said it.
I
seethed at my lawyer. “No, Judge … never. I never would have―”
“Lying
in court?” the judge said.
My
lawyer, and the other lawyer, both nodded their heads ‘yes’.
“The
charges are really piling up.”
The
lawyers nodded some more, and I felt like smacking them.
Still,
I preferred to live as a free man.
“I
… I’m sorry, Judge. I … it’ll never happen again.”
“I
should hope not,” she said. “Please try to respect these
proceedings … or I shall have you removed. Am I understood?”
“Yes,”
I said. “Completely.”
“My
client says ‘yes’,” my deadpan lawyer chimed in.
It
took all of my restraint to restrain myself.
“This
poor woman,” the judge nodded toward the church-clothed lass, who
up to that point had not said a word. “This poor woman has alleged
that you perpetrated a sexual assault upon her last night, at your
residence.”
The
poor woman’s face expressed hurt and sadness.
I
summoned my lawyer’s ear. “I’ve seen this woman before in my
life. They must have the wrong guy.”
My
lawyer straightened. “Your Honor, my client says he does not recall
being ‘upon’ this sweet young lady …”
The
young lady smiled shyly.
“ … but
it’s definitely possible.”
“WHAT?”
I said. “THAT’S NOT WHAT I SAID!”
“Counsel,”
the judge said to my lawyer, “get your client under control, or I’m
going to throw both of your sorry asses out of here.”
My
‘counsel’ leaned down. “You
heard her, right?”
My
scowl was my answer.
“I
told you,” he whispered to me, “she’s bitchy, right?”
I
did not reply, unwilling to fall for that one again.
“Judge
…” I stood up. “I’ve never seen her before. Honest.”
The
judge turned to the young woman. “He says he’s never seen you.
What do you have to say to that?”
The
sweet, church-clothed little thing stood up, reached back
behind her head, and released the long fawn tresses she’d kept tied
there.
They
fell over her shoulders like a tawny wave of … woman.
“OH
NO!” I thought.
“OH
YES!” I’m sure she was thinking.
They
all looked at me for my reaction, which naturally, I did my best to
conceal.
My
accuser grinned, made her thumbs and forefingers into circles, and
held them up over her eyes … like a mask.
All
of which went completely unnoticed by everyone else in the courtroom.
“Did
you …” I stammered. “Did you see that?”
“See
what?” the judge said, as everyone turned back to the young lady,
whom had instantly resumed the shy, and the sweet.
“I
don’t know what he means,” she said, innocently.
“Listen,
Judge …” I said. “Now that she let her hair down, I do
recognize her. We were together last night. What
happened was, I caught her burglarizing my house, and … she offered
to go to bed with me if I didn’t call the cops.”
“And
that,” my lawyer chimed in again, “is where the sexual
assault happened.”
“Judge?”
I said. “Can I get a different lawyer? Seriously, this guy is …”
“He’s
a fine lawyer,” the judge said, “and your motion is denied.”
“That’s
not fair!”
“My
court … my rules.”
“And,”
my lawyer said, “don’t forget … he called you a bitch before,
Your Honor.”
“Don’t
worry,” she said, “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Judge,”
I said, “we had consensual sex … there was no assault.”
“So
he says,” my lawyer said.
“Obviously,”
the sweet young lady said, “He’s delusional. I would never steal
… and I would certainly never agree to the … depraved acts …
that this man performed on me last night. Maybe he should be in a
mental institution.”
“You
didn’t complain about them last night!”
I
just couldn’t help myself.
“ORDER!”
the judge said. “I’ve warned you, counselor.”
“Judge,”
I said, “then how did she get in my house, huh? What does little
miss innocent have to say about that?”
The
judge was unmoved. “How she got there is … frankly, immaterial.”
“But
how can that be―”
I
was beside myself.
“Judge,”
the woman’s lawyer said, speaking up for the first time. “I move
that we proceed with sentencing.”
“I
second that motion,” my lawyer said.
“WHAT?”
I jumped up. “What about the verdict?!”
“Oh,”
the judge said. “Guilty.”
“GUILTY?”
I said. “No way! I’m not guilty of anything!”
“Bailiff,
take this man away to jail. Lock the door … and throw away the
key.”
The
next thing I knew, I was being introduced to my cellmates … a guy
nicknamed ‘Thick Chocolate’, which was self-explanatory … and
another guy named ‘Super Burrito’... because he was big, and
Mexican, and as he said … I was going to have the shits after he
was through with me.
Quite
understandably, I fainted.
And
I was startled awake.
In
my bed. At home. It was night.
I
sat up … gave it a second’s thought … and then laid back down,
pulling the covers over my body, and a pillow over my head.
Then,
I noticed a strange little something under the covers with me,
grabbed it, and sat up.
I
held it up in the moonlight to see what it was.
A
black mask.
I
heard the front door close.
My
cat burglar had come and gone.
The
End
###
-Harlowe Pilgrim
Copyright 2015 Cock And Bull Publishing, LLC
Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.
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