A Thief in the Night

A COLD DECEMBER NIGHT AROUND MIDNIGHT - The bedroom of Lian, an extremely attractive, lonely and bored housewife . . .

The burglar roots around in the jewelry box looking for goodies when he suddenly hears the bedroom door open. He turns to see a woman standing at the threshold of the door; she flips the light switch on and the bedroom fills with the glow of two bedside table lamps.

Spotting the intruder the woman screams and turns to run with the burglar quickly giving chase. She desperately flees down the hallway heading for the stairs. But thanks to her 5 inch high heels, and the extremely tight short skirt she is wearing, she can't flee fast enough to escape.

The young man is quickly on her before she reaches the stairs. He grabs her roughly by the arm, and shakes her as she struggles to free herself. Wanting to scare her into submission, he whips out a switchblade knife and waves the six inch blade alarmingly close to her pretty face.

Extremely frightened by the ugly cold steel of the knife she whispers a quick prayer before her assailant hisses in her ear, "Don't make me cut your ass bitch."

"P-please . . . . Don't hurt me. Please, y-you can have, I mean . . . take anything you want from the house, but just don't hurt me."

"I think I have exactly what I want here, in my arms. Let's go back down the hallway to that pretty little bedroom of yours so I can decide what I'm going to do with you . . . or to you."

The lady shudders as she is roughly pushed down the dark hallway toward her bedroom. The young burglar gets an eyeful as he propels her forward in front of him. The skirt she is wearing makes two things patently obvious— she has a really nice ass, along with a pair of fine legs, and based on the length and the tightness of her slutty little mini-skirt, she doesn't mind showing either of them off.

When they finally reach the bedroom the woman hesitates, fearful of what he might do to her. Her hesitation is greeted roughly as he snaps, "Get in there bitch."

To emphasize his tough words he gives her forceful push. Lian nearly stumbles to the floor, but at the last possible moment, he reaches out deftly and catches her by the elbow. He half drags, half carries her over to the bed as she gets a sense for the first time of his youthful strength.

The woman cowers on the edge of her king sized bed while the burglar paces the room trying to figure out just how to handle the situation. Coming home unexpectedly like this, she has totally fucked up his plans. His earlier mentioned dire threat to cut her was a threat with no real substance behind it. He only wanted to scare her into submission so he can figure out how to best handle the situation.

No one was supposed to be home. He did his homework; what the fuck happened? He glares at her from across the room hoping he can come up with a plan fast.

His glare quickly softens though as he finally takes a good look at the lady. She is an older Asian woman; old enough to be his mother maybe as she appears to be in her late thirties or early forties.

Her shiny black hair is pulled up into a careless bun, but despite this, in the soft glow of the bedroom light, the burglar sees her for what she truly is: an exotic mature Asian beauty. It is for this type of woman that young Zeke has always possessed a major weakness for.

Crossing the room toward her, he decides to find out just what the hell she is doing home when abruptly she jumps up from the bed and starts to speak. "Please take anything you want just don't hurt me. Please . . . I won't call the police."

She might as well been talking to the lamp as her words are lost upon him when he sees what appears to be two large bowling balls bounce up and down inside her tight white blouse.

"Jesus she must have huge tits," he thinks as he draws nearer. Those apparently large tits of hers is the final piece of the puzzle. She now possess all the physical attributes in a woman that makes her perfect in his mind.

Their eyes met for a brief moment in the dim light of the room. There seems to be a brief moment where it's almost like they recognize each other from some dark and distant past—forgotten- except in the very depths of their hearts.

Again that unbidden thought floats inside his head, she is old enough to be my mother. But the moment is fleeting. He needs to concentrate on the task at hand not on fanciful musings.

He lashes out at her; his anger is the result of the weakness he feels toward her. "Yeah, you sure are a pretty Chinese whore ain't you and well put together I see."

His eyes fall helplessly to her chest before, quite unexpectedly, she slaps him hard defiantly barking, "I ain't a whore you bastard."

Almost immediately she regrets her impulsive reaction as he raises the knife, before letting it drop again just as quickly. He is not angry, but instead only amused by her spunk.

He rubs the side of his face before replying. "Well, I seen you have a bit of spirit to you lady. That is good . . . I mean . . . that you ain't a whore."

"W-what are you going to do to me," she whispers while edging toward the bedroom door.

"Go ahead, try and run again and see where it gets you," he snarls as he strides across the room slamming the door shut. He turns back toward her barking, "Give me your cell phone . . . you have a landline?"

"No," she sniffles as she hands over her phone. "Look . . . I'm sorry about the slap. I just can't stand being called a whore. My husband calls me that sometimes and I hate it."

"And where is the man of the house now?"

"Away on business . . . as usual."

"Speaking of being away today is Saturday. I have been watching this place for a few weeks now and no one is ever home on Saturday night so why are you here now?"

"Your right. I usually go stay with my mother on Saturday's but we got in a fight so I went out with a friend tonight and then came home early when she met some guy."

"Only to find me, huh. Your lucky day."

"Somehow," she looks at him evenly trying not to show any fear, "I'm not feeling very lucky right now."

"And you will be feeling even less lucky if you try slapping me again. Yeah speaking of that, I think you have shown yourself to be untrustworthy. I don't like to be slapped much so I better do something so that doesn't happen again. Maybe I should tie those pretty little hands of yours up so they don't get into anymore mischief."

"Oh please. Is that really necessary?"

"Fucking A right it is. But just to show you what a nice guy I can be, I will give you a choice here. You can either tell me where I might find something to bind your hands that won't hurt you too much or I can tear your bedroom apart until I find something on my own."

Lian does her best to blink back the tears that are threatening to flow. She doesn't want to show weakness as she senses it will only further embolden him. Trying to calm her voice and sound braver than she feels, she points a shaky finger towards the large dresser on the far wall, "You can find my pantyhose in the bottom drawer."

"Pantyhose, yeah perfect. Now don't do anything stupid and make a break for the door sweetheart. I mean with those slutty, what? six inch high heels your wearing you won't get far and I do promise if I have to run and catch you I won't be so nice this time. Understood?"

"Yes and they are five inches not six by the way."

He pauses in mid stride and glares at her. She fears at first maybe she should not have corrected him so easily, but her fears are put to rest when his glare turns to a rather likable smile.

"Well I stand corrected. Are you also going to correct me on them being . . . slutty also or just the height?"

She says nothing only looking down while praying that charming smile he just gave her does not hide some ill intent. Watching him glide across the room she notices he moves with the confidence of a nimble creature of the night.

Dressed in a black sweater and jeans, he is both young and handsome. He wore his long Teutonic-golden hair in a casual jumble that seemed to fit him. Both his hair and smile almost seem to glow when the soft light of the bedroom strikes them just right.

Wanting to provide in accurate description to the police she takes the time to analyze him. With a build that is lean, yet appears powerful, he is probably 5'9" and maybe weighs in the neighborhood of 180 pounds she would guess. Probably pure muscle at his age, she muses which she guesses to be a young 18 or 19.

What Lian notes about him especially is his uncanny resemblance to Roger, her American high school sweetheart back in Taiwan. They had met in the international private high school she attended. Her parents, of course, hated him.

After she got pregnant at the age of 17, they planned on getting married. It all fell apart though when Roger was busted for selling cocaine at the high school. She never heard from him again after he moved back to America with his parents.

On her own with an 8 month old baby to support she took a job as a stripper in a local dance club. Being a stripper paid her bills and also served to give her the attention she always seemed to be seeking from men.

She went through a series of increasingly bad boyfriends until one finally convinced her to hold some drugs for him. Her bad luck continued when she got busted holding his drugs.

She did eight years in prison, while her baby was taken away and given to the Catholic Church to be put up for adoption. Her mother, by now alone and sickly, was in no condition to take care of a baby.

Upon being released from prison she contacted the church to try and find out about her son, but they would not release any information in regards to her son. Determined to find something out, with the help of a small bribe to encourage her, a secretary at the church took pity on her, and divulged a bit of information on the sly. Apparently, Randy had been adopted by an American and his wife, and was now living somewhere back in the United States.

Then in an ironic twist of fate Lian ended up in America herself. A traveling American business man took a fancy to her one night at the strip club and ended up taking her out to dinner. The dinner was followed by an intense romantic relationship that ended up with them getting married three months later. She ended up moving with her new husband to a comfortable suburb just outside of Boston.

Her dream of a better life soon turned to a nightmare though as Bill was extremely jealous and controlling of his younger wife. Making matters worse, she found after settling into her new home that Bill had three bratty young teenage kids from a previous marriage. He had failed to mention this to her during their whirlwind courtship.

Now at the age of 35 things were improving somewhat. The kids had all moved out of the house by now so she didn't have to contend with them anymore. As for Bill, he spent nearly every weekend away on business, or hanging out with his buddies, chasing women and getting drunk.

Lian, having the weekends to herself, would hang out with her best friend Liz. On Fridays, they would go out to dinner and then after to a nightclub or lounge for drinks. On Saturdays she would go to her mother's house where she would spend the night.

Now watching this young thief in the night paw through her underwear drawer she is on the verge of bursting out in tears.

Struggling to control her emotions, she forces herself to think about something else. Something a bit more pleasant . . . or naughty even. Well at least he is both young and handsome, so if he does decide to get sexual with me I could do worse.

Considering she is as horny as all hell, such a thought doesn't surprise her. She had downed two glasses of wine with Liz at the club and then, of course, there was the four substantial lines of coke they did in the bathroom, before Liz met some guy and abandoned her.

The truth is she had planned on getting out her imposing 8 inch dildo, and fucking herself silly tonight as soon as she got home; that is right after pulling out her own little secret stash of coke and snorting up to her heart's content.

Her new 8 inch dildo, was quickly becoming her best friend as her and Bill's sex life was rather lacking. He had several young women on the side leaving him with little energy to entertain his wife in bed.

But Lian dared not cheat on him as he was insanely jealous, even if he didn't want her. The only reason he allowed her to hang out with Liz was because Liz's husband, Frank, was one of his best friends.

Now she was alone with this handsome young thief and sex seemed to be a real possibility . . . or so it seemed to her. She had noticed with keen interest how big his eyes got whenever they fell on her chest.

She sensed he was deeply attracted to her, despite his outwardly macho bravado of calling her a bitch and acting tough. Her thoughts are interrupted as she hears him exclaim loudly, "Jesus H. Christ."

He turns to her holding up one of her bras, marveling at its immense size before saying, "Jesus lady just how big are those fucking tits of yours."

"38 double E's" Lian proclaims proudly.

Before he can stop himself the thief pays her a compliment. "Wow, niiice"

He crosses back over to her holding a pair of tan pantyhose-again his eyes seem to focus squarely on her chest. After her hands are tied securely behind her back he orders her to stand up. Facing each other, next to the bed, the raw sexual tension between them is just starting to blossom.

"You sure are pretty, but I think maybe . . ." He reaches up and slowly snakes a hand behind her neck and begins to remove the pins holding her hair up.

"There that is better, much better," he says watching her shake her head back and forth helping her long, gorgeous, jet black hair cascade down all the way past her waist.

Their eyes meet again for a moment as once again she sees so much of Roger in him that it nearly takes her breathe away. The thing that drew Lian to Roger in the first place back in high school was her overwhelming physical attraction for him. Now it seems it's happening all over again.

"Jesus you're hot," he mumbles half to himself, half to her. "How old are you? Or wait is that impolite to ask a lady?"

He can't help but to wonder about this attractive, older woman. She is totally at his mercy, yet she doesn't act like a victim at all. Instead, she is standing up straight and proud thrusting her chest out towards him confidently—seductively even.

"No more impolite than busting into a lady's bedroom and taking her hostage. I'm 34 and you are what sweetie? Let me guess 18 maybe, little young to be a thief I would imagine."

"Sweetie huh? I like that, we just met and already you are calling me cute little nicknames. And yeah, I am 18, just turned last week"

"Really, well happy belated birthday I guess. When was the big day?"

"Tuesday."

"Tuesday," she repeats slowly, her mind whirling.

"Yeah Tuesday it comes after Monday and before Wednesday."

"That was the eighth?"

"Yeah the 8^th was my birthday and I got no presents in case you are wondering."

A thought briefly crosses her mind before she dismisses it as the odds would have to be astronomical against it. If he is not lying and truly did turn 18 years old on Dec. 8^th, he shares the exact same birthday as Randy.

She impulsively asks his name after recalling the church secretary telling her one more thing when Lian was begging for any information about her baby. Apparently, the American couple that had adopted him confided in the secretary that they did not like the name Randy so they had made a firm decision to change it to something a bit more unique. Zach maybe, no, no it was, now she remembers clearly, it was Zeke for sure.

"My name is . . . wait what do you want to know for? So you got a name to tell the cops when you try to turn me in."

"No I'm just curious is all. And as long as you don't tell me your last name a first name is useless."

"Maybe, but if it's so useless why do you want to know it?"

She smiles at him hoping it will put him at ease. "I don't know, maybe so I can just put a name to that adorable face of yours."

He is not used to praise and begins to blush just as she tells him, "My name is Lian by the way, which means lovely willow in Chinese."

"Well you certainly are lovely that is the truth . . . Lian." He likes the way her name rolls off his tongue. In fact, as he stands close to her, he is beginning to like everything about her, which is maybe why he tells her his name.

"My name is Zeke." Her knees buckle as she collapses down onto the bed.

"What the hell happened? I mean does just knowing my name cause you to swoon?"

"I could use a drink. Please." She looks up at him batting her eyes. It seems to him she might be ready to cry. The mere thought of her crying melts his heart.

"He glances around and spots the bathroom. "Ahh, you want water, from the bathroom. You have a glass in there maybe?"

"No, a real drink. Champagne from the mini bar over there. I need a little something to calm my nerves. Maybe you should join me."

"Champagne. That could be nice. Just maybe I will."

He walks over to the bar, finds the champagne on a small shelf under the bar, and pours them both a full glass in two champagne flutes.

He watches, bemused, as holding the glass to her lips she greedily drinks the champagne down in two long gulps. Meanwhile, he carefully sips on his own not ready to let his guard down and get drunk with this lady . . . not just yet anyway.

Same name, same birthday . . . is it enough? Lian wonders before deciding she needs more proof. She briefly considers asking him if he was adopted but that could be a useless avenue to pursue. It is possible his parents, if he was in fact adopted, had not told him. Besides she worries such an invasive question might set him off.

Then it comes to her- just what the final proof might be, but to uncover this clue will be tricky business at best. She vividly remembers her son having a distinctive Port-wine stain birthmark on his upper left thigh. If he was to have the same birthmark, in the same spot, it would provide the final proof that she needs.

But to see such a birthmark high up on his inner thigh will require getting his jeans off. That is the tricky part, but somehow, someway she is determined to find out.

Sitting down on the bed next to her he asks, "So what shall I do with you? You have seen my face, know my name. Hell, as soon as I leave you will be contacting the police."

"I can understand why you would think that, but maybe if you don't steal anything I won't have a reason to call the police."

"Look lady . . ."

"Lian, please call me Lian," she interrupts him.

"Fine, Lian, why the hell would I break in here and NOT steal anything. That makes no sense, especially since I imagine you have a lot of nice things stashed away in this pretty bedroom of yours . . . like some expensive jewelry maybe?"

"Yes, but . . . I have to plead with you not to take anything or I will be in more trouble than you can imagine."

"Why the shit is insured right."

"Of course it is. That is not the issue. Will you listen?

"I'm all ears."

She swiftly explains to him how she has been in and out of rehab several times, a bad coke habit it seems, and if jewelry was to suddenly go missing her husband would assume she pawned it for drug money. She goes on to confess how her husband has a real bad temper, and she would probably catch a beating.

He makes the mistake of asking why she stays with him if he is that bad, and now finds himself having to listen to her fucking life story. But being his feelings for her are growing by leaps and bounds he listens attentively. Or maybe more accurately, stares at her tits attentively, and listens . . . sort of . . . with some interest.