Jenny Summers was sixty nine years old, retired, modestly wealthy and sound in wind and limb. She swam twice a week, played Tennis and jogged. She was slim, long limbed and firm busted, toned but not muscly. She lived in a five bedroom rambling Victorian pile, in a quiet leafy street on the outskirts of London. The house had been her home since childhood. Here she had lived, loved and grown older. She had outlived her elder brother by five years so far and tragically her younger sister by sixteen years.
Retiring she had nursed first her mother, then her father until she was on her own, with no known relatives. She wanted for little, had no desire to travel, but read voraciously. Recently she had been introduced to e-books and had re-read old childhood favourites as well as novels by some of the newer writers. Television held little entertainment value for her and only occasional forays to the local theatres or the cinema pulled her from the house for longer than the weekly shopping trip or her daily jog.
She had been a senior nurse and in retirement helped out at local functions for the elderly, although, as she admitted, some were only just older than she. She had a small circle of acquaintances, but no real friends, no one she would trust with her life, no one to share secrets with. Her neighbours were a mixed crew and although they all maintained a cordial relationship, none would class any of the others as a friend.
Jenny maintained the house as best she could, as well as having a few trusted workmen to take care of plumbing, electrics, decorating, gardening etc. She did the housework, washing, drying ironing, cleaning, vacuuming, dusting as needed, but it was never a priority. She had her books and that was enough she thought.
Her bedtime regime was fairly fixed, however. After locking up and turning all the downstairs lights off, she would go upstairs at ten pm, strip, wash, clean her teeth, use the toilet and go to her bedroom. Donning pyjamas she climbed into bed and read til eleven pm. She would then place her bookmark in her book. Sliding down and turning on her left side, switching her bedside light off, she would soon fall into a deep sleep until about seven am.
Some nights, albeit rarely she would wake and need to go to the bathroom at around three am. Tonight was one of those nights, but on rising she caught a muffled noise downstairs. Without hesitation she reached into her nightstand drawer and retrieved her Father's old Webley service revolver, cocking it she crept to the stairs. Below she heard light steps and the creak of the lounge door. Sliding against the wall, she moved to the stairs, her years in the house had taught which boards creaked or moaned underfoot.
She quietly moved downstairs, aiming the gun at the lounge door as it slid into sight. Reaching the hall she moved gently to the lounge door, which was unusually slightly open. She slid a hand into the gap, located the light switch and closing her eyes switched it on. Stepping forward into the lit room, she saw a slim figure rubbing it's eyes at the sudden light.
"Jesus, H..."
Looking round he saw Jenny, straight armed, with the gun pointed at his chest.
"Oh God!.. Please, look... please don't shoot. Please I'll put it back."
He placed a bag on the table, removing her e-book, some silverware and a small pottery figurine. She grinned and waggled the gun, indicating he should move away, which he quickly did.
"Sit!" she barked, gesturing with the gun, He sat.
Moving slowly, almost languidly she moved to the chair opposite him. Lowering herself down her eyes never left his face and her gun remained locked onto his chest. She smiled and waggled the gun again,
"Take it off," she instructed, motioning at his face with the gun, before relocating to his chest again. Sitting back she was unaware how her short nightie had ridden up her bare legs. Relaxing slightly she let her legs move apart, revealing her salt and pepper bush at the junction of her thighs.
Hesitantly he moved his hands up to his ski mask and peeled it off. His young face red with exertion and embarrassment. His eyes locked onto her pussy and he felt himself stirring. She smiled and lowered the gun to her lap. He relaxed visibly, but held his hands up to her to let her know he wouldn't be trying anything. Meanwhile his face reddened and he gulped audibly. She gestured for him to lower his arms, which he did very slowly.
"So, why me, why this house?" She asked unaware of why he stared so intently at her. She shifted a little and looked down, seeing where his eyes were pointed. She gasped and lifted her bottom slightly before pulling her nightdress down with each hand, switching the gun expertly between tugs. Sitting back she crossed her legs and her lips parted in a grin.
"Well now the shows over, answer the question! Why me?"
"I've seen these houses a lot and yours seemed the easiest, no alarm, no great comings or goings."
"And an old lady who should be a pushover, lots of antiques, collectibles, wads of cash..."
"Something like that, look, this is my first attempt at this, honestly."
"So not going at all well for you then?" she laughed.
He looked puzzled at first then laughed,
"No, I suppose it isn't, is that thing real?"
"What would you do if I said no?"
"Run like fuck, sorry run like the clappers."
"Don't worry about the language I've heard it all before. Yes it's real, yes it loaded and yes I will use it if you try anything. So first time and a complete cock up?" she responded.
"First time and totally fucked, yeah."
"Would you like some tea, because now I'm up I'm suddenly really parched."
"What! Hell yes I could go a brew, yes please."
"You'll have to do it, I can't leave you here on your own can I, come on, into the kitchen. That way."
Jenny stood and directed the man into the kitchen, fifteen minutes later they were back seated in the lounge. They sat quietly contemplating, sipping at the mugs of tea.
"What's your name? I'm Jenny."
"Gary, nice to meet you Jenny." He raised his mug in salute, she nodded and waggled her mug slightly.
"What did you do before this?"
"Oh, this and that, odd jobs, warehouseman, cab driver, storeman, oh I once did a spell as a chef in a restaurant."
"So why switch to burglary?"
"Desperation really, lost another job, wife and kids left me. Lost my house, thrown out of the hostel. been a bit downhill recently."
"So what now, will you try housebreaking again?"
"I don't know, look, trying to get a job when you're living in a hostel isn't easy, they see the address, they know. Suddenly they seem to have filled the vacancy. I..."
