The boards of my attic bedroom, in my poor husband's old, creaking house, did not sound beneath his steps. His face was still shaded when he reached f...or me, but that only made the first touch sweeter. My thief was who I wanted him to be, like that. As he ran a shaking hand into my hair, brought another down to join my own on my breast, he was a desert prince divesting me of my silken robe. As he settled on the edge of my bed, warmth and solidity at my side, he was an immoral brother, tempted. Elcome to part 2 of my story Wanted HIS knife back. Naturally, we fought and soon, the cops came. We got hauled downtown where we were wisely separated and we each told our stories. I handed the cop talking to me the switchblade and didn’t get any charges for having it, mainly because older brother was bitching that I’d taken the knife from his innocent little brother, after I’d beat the shit out of him. The brother was still in the nurses station when the cops took me back to school. I had to tell the principal the story. I lived in the middle of nowhere. I gathered my faculties,grabbed my handgun, and ran down the stairs. In front of me stood a manin a dark cloak, the image only the shadow being cast from the smalllight coming from the stereo. I raised the gun and pointed it toward historso, smiled, and said, "You walked into the wrong house fella."I laughed slightly, then he raised his hand, and I felt my body go limpeven though I was stuck in the same position. I couldn't talk. I couldn'tmove, and then he.