There was an intruder in the room, in bed with me.
I couldn't see very well. It was a moonless night, and the room was very dark. I had turned off the nightlight my sister kept plugged into the outlet near the door because the light bothered me while I was trying to fall asleep. It was only a tiny light, giving off less light than a candle, but I needed absolute darkness to sleep.
I thought about turning on the lamp next to the bed, but decided against it. It was a touch lamp and I would only have to touch the metal base to turn it on, but I didn't want to suddenly frighten the intruder. I didn't know if he was armed, but my mind was going through all sorts of scenarios where he had a knife or gun.
My sister wasn't home, I knew. She worked nights at the hospital where she was employed as a nurse. Nights paid a little better, and she liked the hours better. She wouldn't be in until after daylight. She didn't get off work until eight in the morning, and her husband was a truck driver, out of town on a cross country trip, which was why I was sleeping in her bed instead of on the sofa, or in one of the kids beds.
Her bed was big and comfy, a queen size, whereas my nieces shared a room, with twin beds. The first couple of nights I'd stayed there the girls had slept together and I had taken the other bed. I had spent a very uncomfortable weekend, and so had the kids. So when Judy had suggested that I sleep in her bed while she was working, I jumped at the chance.
I needed a place to stay because my husband and I were having problems. I had to get away from him for awhile.
When I first woke up, in fact, I had thought it was my husband in bed with me. I was still groggy, and it took me a moment to realize that he was a thousand miles away from me. Somehow a burglar had broken into the house and was in my room. The fact that he was in my bed meant only one thing. I was going to be raped. I was speechless, stunned, wondering if I should scream, but not wanting to bring the children into the bedroom, didn't want to put them in danger.
He had a mustache, and he tasted of mints. That's why I had originally thought it was my husband, I suppose. David has a mustache, or had one then. He's shaved it off since we divorced and he remarried, but at the time he still wore it. He ate a lot of mints too, hard candies of all kinds, in fact, because he was trying to quit smoking.
By the time I was conscience enough to know that I was in danger of being raped, he was already in position to rape me. The tee shirt I had worn to bed was pushed up over my breasts, and his lips were on my hard nipples. I wasn't wearing any panties. I never wear panties to bed, unless it's my period, so he hadn't had to remove anything to get free access to my pussy, which, betraying me, was wet and ready for him. He was taking my shirt off, and I raised my arms to let him, thinking that if I fought him I would just end up getting hurt.
I didn't want to be raped, but my body didn't seem to know it. My nipples were standing like little soldiers at attention as he kissed and nibbled at them, and my clit was as hard as a little diamond as he pushed the hood back from it with his finger and thumb.
I didn't intend to let my pussy decide to surrender on it's own though. I needed a plan. I remembered that Judy kept a letter opener, shaped like an old sword, which she and Jeff had picked up on their honeymoon, by her bedside. I was near enough the edge of the bed to reach over and feel for it with my right hand as he fondled and kissed me. The important thing was to avoid brushing against the touch lamp.
When I found the letter opener, I picked it up and clenched it in my hand, I felt his neck with my left hand, feeling for a place to stab the raping bastard, lifted my hand to plunge the little dagger into his evil neck, when he said, "Judy, baby, you feel so good."
I recognized his voice. It was my brother-in-law Jeff. He had come home earlier than I'd expected, and when he came to bed he had thought I was my sister. She may not even have told him that I was staying. She hadn't said anything about him coming home, so I hadn't even thought that it might be him. I felt so relieved. I had been only seconds away from killing my brother-in-law. Now I let the letter opener fall back on the table and relaxed. As I was giving silent thanks that I hadn't killed him, he positioned himself between my legs, lifted my ass and plunged his stiff cock into my pussy, all the way up to his balls. He poised there, said, "You feel so wet. Your pussy is so tight."
Then he said, "I love you Judy."
To which I replied, "I'm not Judy. I'm Carol." At least I was in the process of saying that when he closed his lips on mine and stifled my words.
"Jeff," I said. "Jeff."
"Not so loud,:" he said. "You'll wake the kids."
So I whispered. "Jeff. Jeff."
Which he took as "Fuck me. Fuck me."
"Judy," he said, passion in his voice. "Judy. Judy."
"Jeff," I said, a little louder, but still not loud enough to wake the kids. "I'm not Judy."
I repeated that I wasn't Judy until it seemed like I was chanting it as a mantra. He was entering me deeply with each thrust, in a rhythm with my denial of being his wife, so that every time I said the word, "Judy," his balls slapped against my ass.
I started hitting my fists against him until he stopped to see what I wanted.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
"I'm Carol," I said.
"You're pretending to be Carol? You want me to call you Carol?"
"No," I said. "I am Carol."
"Okay," he said. "Carol."
"No, really," I said. "I'm not Judy your wife. I'm Carol."
"Carol," he said.
"Jeff."
"Carol?" He had stopped. I reached out to the bedside table and touched the lamp, bringing some light to the room.
The light hurt my eyes, and I could see that he was squinting. "What are you doing here?" He asked.
"We had a fight," I said. "I'm only staying for a few days."
"Where's Judy?"
"At work," I said. Didn't he know his own wife's schedule?
