Second Chance
- a romantic Christmas story in ten brief episodes by WTSman

The remedy for a bruised heart may be closer to you than you
think. Are you ready to let love have a second chance? (This
could be a "George"-story, but only the rose - the Christmas rose
- has a name.)
__________________________

Episode 1

"You have a lot of kids, don't you?"

The question came out of the blue and out of the darkness. I was
working late on a Tuesday evening in November. I thought the
place was deserted; the car park was empty apart from my car. The
cleaners and the watchmen on their rounds wouldn't be here for
hours yet.

So I leapt a foot from my chair. Well, it felt like a foot.
"Huh?" or "What?" or something similarly intelligent may have
escaped my lips.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the youthful voice
laughed.

I turned around to identify my intruder. The daylight had been
gone for hours so the only light was that coming from my desk
lamp - and my computer screens. But I recognized her at once. It
was one of our graduate students. We may be a University
department these days, but originally we did pure research. We
are located hundreds of miles away from the main campus -
although only 30 miles from the capital - so we don't have all
that many students. Only the very keen. And the very bright. This
one was both.

"Hi Katrine," I replied. "You sure succeeded anyway! How come
you're here so late?"

"I have to get my mid-term report finished," she said darkly.
"It's due next week and my model calculations are playing up."

"Poor you," I said with sympathy. Her department was notorious
for allocating next to no funds for the students' computers. I
knew Katrine's workstation was almost bin-fodder.

"Poor me if my report is late," she agreed. "My grant will be
suspended until I get the report approved."

"What's the matter with your calculations?" I asked. Modelling is
not my area of expertise, but I do know a fair bit.

"Oh, I had problems making it converge," Katrine replied. "I've
cracked that and set it running. Or crawling - it goes so slowly
on my workstation that I don't think I will have enough material
by the end of the week."

"Perhaps I can help," I said. I connected to a new super host
that I had just installed. It was going to boost our
virtualization environment, but so far it hadn't been deployed.
The only guest it had was a Linux test-server. "What's the name
of your workstation?" I asked

She told me and I connected to it. "Where's your code?" I asked.

She directed me to it. I copied it to the new machine and
recompiled, then I set up pointers to her input and output
folders and started the job. Katrine's eyes were nearly popping
out of her head - the new machine ran more than a 15 times faster
than the crap on her desk. When I told her that we had only used
an eighth of the host's capacity and we could simply clone the
virtual server she was ecstatic. "Jeez! With that machine I can
survey my model with all the scenarios and run a selected one in
high resolution - and still have it ready in time" she exclaimed.

"Well, do it then!" I said.

"Can I? I mean, doesn't this belong to somebody else?" she asked.

"It does, but they don't know that it is ready yet," I replied.
"I shan't tell them until next week. You prepare 8 input folders
and I will make 7 clones of the test-server. Then we'll set it
cracking and you will have your material by Friday.

30 minutes later the new host was getting a serious work-out on
all cores. "You won't get into trouble with the owners over this,
will you?" she asked.

"No little love, I won't," I replied. "I will tell them that I
ran a 3 day burn-in test at maximum load to get realistic
performance numbers. They will even appreciate that."

She had looked a little sceptical when I called her "little
love", but I got a blazing smile anyway. "You're sweet," she said
and rushed out into the darkness to catch her bus.

I resumed my work, finished up in an hour or so and drove home to
two of those "lots" of kids



Episode 2

"You never told me about all those kids, did you?"

Katrine was there again the following Tuesday. I was working late
again as I usually do on Tuesdays.

"Hi Katrine, how is the mid-term report coming along?" I asked -
not quite so startled this time.

"It's finished!" she said with the blazing smile. "I have just
put a copy in my supervisor's pigeon hole and sent a PDF to my
external supervisor."

Katrine looked little-kid happy. Although in her mid twenties,
she does look childish in some respects. She is not tall and her
body is very slender. Her angular face is not beautiful in a
classical sense, but when she is animated her face comes alive. I
find that attractive. And her eyes are always alight with
intelligence.

"That's great," I said. "Right on time. Your grant should be
safe."

She smiled again. "Yes, thanks to you. Anyway, what's the deal
with all those kids?" She was studying my notice board. There
were twenty or so A3-sized photographs. Unlimited access to a
colour laser printer is a great thing.

"There are actually only 3 of them," I said. "But the pictures go
back over many years." I pointed out who was who.

"Gosh, she has changed a lot, hasn't she?" Katrine said. She was
referring to my middle child.

"Did you never have a 'black period' soon after you discovered
make-up?" I asked

"God yes!" Katrine laughed. "I used it by the bucket."

"Well, there you are. Realising that 'less is more' takes some
time. You'll agree that she's developed a more restrained style
since," I said and pointed to the latest picture.

"She has, and she's very pretty," Katrine agreed. "How old is
she?"

"19," I replied. "Her sister is 22 and their brother is 10."

Katrine looked sceptical. "Your oldest is only two years younger
than me," she said.

I didn't get it. "And?"

Katrine looked mysterious. Yes, mysterious. That was new. "Oh,
nothing," she said and rushed out into the darkness to catch her
bus.



Episode 3

"Is that your wife?"

Katrine was there again the next Tuesday. In a mild way I'd been
hoping she would be. I couldn't really explain why. But the
question threw me a little.

"Yes. No. That's my ex-wife," I said - possibly with a sigh.

Like everyone else, Katrine consider most IT-staff social misfits
and borderline autistics. People never miss an opportunity to say
so - all good natured fun, they think. It can get a little
tiring. But Katrine was clearly genuinely astonished. "How come
you have a picture of your EX-wife on your desk?" she asked in a
tone of voice almost dripping with incredulity.

"Well, it was her that stopped loving me, not the other way
around," I replied - holding Katrine's gaze with an effort.

She blinked first and looked away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry
on your private life," she said miserably.

"That's OK," I said - as one does. "Besides, you have a point.
After nearly two years it is fairly obvious she isn't coming
back."

"Do the kids live with her?" Katrine asked.

"No, we don't know where she is," I replied. "My oldest has an
apartment in town; the two younger ones live with me. But I dare
say my middle one will move to town when she starts uni next
year."

Katrine may not even have heard the second part of my reply. Her
eyes had opened wide at the first bit and she was gaping at me.
"What do you mean you don't know where she is?" she asked. "What
happened?"

"She grew up in an abusive home and struggled with depression and
low self-esteem for the nearly 25 years we were together," I
replied. "I tried to help her, but 2-3 years ago it got so bad I
feared she would harm herself and I finally got her in therapy.
The therapist told her to 'break free' and one day she was gone
after having emptied our bank accounts. By way of explanation
there was a brief note telling me to phone the therapist."

"Did you?" Katrine asked.

"I did," I replied tersely. "And how! I now have a court-order
against me forbidding further contact."

Katrine smiled wryly. "I don't blame you. Personally I would have
strangled the therapist."

"That's exactly what I told her I intended to do," I said with a
reluctant smile. "Thus the court-order."

"How do you work out practical things?" Katrine asked.

"We don't," I replied. "What little contact there is goes through
lawyers."

 
We were silent for a while. "What do your kids do when you work
late?" Katrine asked.

"They are with my oldest in town every Tuesday when I am here
late. In that way I can have shorter days during the rest of the
week and make things work," I said.  "Or at least function after
a fashion."

"It can't be easy," she said.

"Thousands and thousands of single parents do it," I countered.
"Most of them are women, but there are actually also a fair few
single fathers around. And in a way I was used to it already - my
wife's career had her away quite frequently. Besides, my
daughters are so old they've been a real help. I could really
feel it when my oldest left home and it will be difficult when
her sister follows suit, but so be it."

She was looking at me in a strange way. I think she was just
about to say something, but then her eyes flickered to the clock
on the wall.

"Blast!" she exclaimed. "I've missed my bus, and thus my train -
I can't make it even if I run."

"I can drive you," I said. "I am going into town tonight to have
dinner at my oldest daughter's place and then drive her siblings
home. Where do you live?"

She mentioned the address. "You're kidding!" I exclaimed. "It's
just a few blocks from where I'm going. Get your stuff and we'll
head off."

 
It was blowing a gale with driving rain that was turning into
sleet. A gust of wind nearly knocked Katrine over. "There's not
much of you, is there?" I yelled over the wind and locked my arm
in hers.

We got into the car and drove off. She was shivering, but the car
got warm quickly - and it has electric heating in the front
seats. She liked that.

She told me about her apartment on the way. She lived there with
her boyfriend who was also a student; although I got the
impression he had not taken any final exams yet, much less
progressed to post-graduate studies.

I enjoyed her company and was almost sad to drop her off outside
her front door. "This is so neat," she said. "I don't have to be
outside in this dreadful weather and I am home more than half an
hour early. Thanks heaps!"

I got a peck on the cheek. I was pathetically pleased about that.
I waited until she was 'safely inside'. That was my excuse
anyway, and I only drove off to my oldest daughter's place about
half a mile away when I couldn't see her on the stairs anymore.

My oldest is a great cook and she had excelled. Nothing fancy or
expensive - she's on a student's budget and I can't help out very
much - but it was imaginative, well-prepared and delicious. I
enjoyed being there, but my mind was straying.

"Dad, you seem to be miles away!" my daughter said.

Half a mile would be a better guess. I apologized and rejoined in
the conversation.



Episode 4

"Working late again are we?"

November had turned into December. It was darker and colder and
wetter. The misery seemed to have crept into Katrine's voice. It
didn't have its usual sparkle. Come to think of it, I hadn't
heard her since last week. The shared student offices are just up
the corridor from IT and I would usually see her - and especially
hear her infectious laugh - several times a day. But not for the
last week.

"Yes," I said trying to smile and hoping it didn't look too
forced. "The usual."

She was looking at me in a sort of tentative way. Thinking she
was trying to work up the courage to ask for a lift, I had to
disappoint her. "Listen, I'm sorry, but I can't drive you home
today. I am not going to town; I am going straight home and only
stopping to pick up the kids at the train from town."

"That's OK," she said miserably. "I don't live there anymore."

"Oh! When did that happen?" I asked.

"Last Tuesday," she said.

"You mean the day I drove you home?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied and the bitterness was clear in her voice.
"That day."

"What happened?" I blurted out - I was so surprised,

"Turns out coming home early was not such a crash hot idea," she
said with forced little laugh. "My boyfriend and my best girl
friend were just finishing a cosy shower together after having
fucked themselves silly all afternoon. They were stark naked."

Her face crumbled. "They've been at it for months. He said he was
working out every Tuesday and that was why he had always just
showered when I got home." She sniffled. "Well, it was a work-out
I suppose." There was a brief reluctant smile on her face. Even
in the midst of her deepest misery her lively wit refused to be
suppressed completely.

"I must have been so blind," she continued. "He would always
change the bedding on Tuesdays - I thought that at least on that
one point he participated in the house keeping chores."

"Why was it you moving out and not him?" I asked.

"Turns out that he had conveniently 'forgotten' to get my name on
the lease too. I was busy completing my Bachelor Project when we
got the apartment so he handled all the paperwork. Except the
money; I paid the deposit." She looked despondent.

"Is he paying that back?" I asked. She would need her deposit if
she was to get another place.

"Nothing so far," she replied. "He claims he's been paying more
of the running costs so he doesn't believe he owes me anything."

"Charming specimen," I said almost to myself, then looked her in
the eye. "Listen, I know it doesn't help much right now, but
you're better off without him - a two-timing bastard."

"I know - that's what my girl friends, well other girl friends,
tell me," she said. "But he was my first and one and only
boyfriend." She started crying.

I don't know how she ended up in my arms, but she cried it all
out there. "He said he was so tired of sleeping with someone who
looked like a boy," she sobbed.

Sure, she is small and slender and somewhat angular. But I was in
no doubt that it was a girl I had in my arms.

 
I sat with her like that for God knows how long. She finally
calmed down, wiped her grimy little face and got up - shy and
embarrassed she seemed to be.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I needed to cry."

"One does sometimes," I said - mostly to myself.

She left to go 'home'. I don't know where to. I saw her through
the windows in the weak light from the lamp posts on the car
park. A dark shadow in her winter coat. She looked so small and
forlorn.

 
I finished up some admin work and drove home. There was a letter
waiting for me from my ex-wife's solicitor. It essentially said
that in lieu of child support for my son for the past 2 and next
8 years I could keep the house. And the mortgage we took out to
buy the apartment for our daughters of course. And there was no
mention of the year where our middle daughter had been a minor.
Or the emptied savings accounts. But at least I was out of limbo.
I was free. Skinned but free.



Episode 5

"Have you got a minute?"

Katrine's voice was maybe not quite as miserable as last week,
but the sparkle was still absent. I felt angry. It was like
something beautiful had been deliberately destroyed. I had seen
her quite a bit since last Tuesday. The personal interlude had
not been mentioned; our interaction had been purely professional.


I had launched a new initiative that would give the modelling
people access to 'spare CPU cycles' during nights and weekends.
Most of our central computers do exactly nothing outside normal
working hours. With a bit of tweaking I had made it simple to
have dormant virtual machines 'come alive' and soak up the unused
capacity.

Top management had been ecstatic: It looked really good on so
many levels - more capacity for no investment and this could go
straight into end-of-year reporting on 'green' initiatives too. I
was in line for a much needed raise.

I had made sure to mention the 'close collaboration with the
staff and students of the modelling group' in the 'development of
the concept' and the 'stress testing of the system'. The group
leader had been all smiles. The fact that only Katrine was able
to utilize the system this side of Christmas was lost on him. I
diffidently asked him if he would act in the role of Chairman of
the Allocation Committee. He collects honours and titles and
looked liked Christmas had come early.

But enough of academic egos. Yes, I had seen a lot of Katrine in
the preceding week, but we hadn't 'talked'.

Did I have a minute? "For you always," I replied. That is a hardy
old bromide and rarely true. But I realized this time it was.

"First of all, thank you for, for, you know, caring last week.
I..." she trailed off. There were tears in her eyes again. And a
hint of annoyance with herself. She seemingly felt she should be
able to handle this without crying.

"Thank you for trusting me to care," I replied as gently as I
could. "Yours is not the first broken heart I've helped getting
on the road to mending. Remember I have two daughters not much
younger than you."

She nodded, biting her lip. I got a vague suspicion this was not
quite the reply she had wanted.

"I was wondering," she said, but got no further.

I tried to smile encouragingly. You read that all the time; I
have no idea how you do it. "Yes?" I prompted.

She started again. "I know it's fresh of me since you've already
helped me so much, but there is no one else that helps me and..."
Once more she was stopped by tears and failing voice control.

I put a hand on her shoulder. "Out with it!" I said.

The physical contact helped. "I have been squatting with friends
for the last two weeks," she said, "but I'm out of options. I
even brought my sleeping bag here and used the lame excuse that I
wanted to check on my calculations over night, but the guards
told me it was illegal. Do you know anyone that has a room for
rent? Cheaply?"

All this was delivered in a voice barely above a whisper and she
could not look at me.

"Yes," I said. "I do."

"Who?" she asked, finally looking up.

"Me," I replied, having made up my mind on the spot.

"That's not what I meant," she started to protest. I held up a
hand to silence her.

"But it's true," I said. "My middle daughter has just been told
that she can start pre-med on the first of February. She had a
stand-by application and it came through. She'll move in with her
sister in town in the New Year. That leaves my son and me alone
in a large house. You are very welcome - and you can get a lift
to and from work every day with me."

She cried in my arms once more. To my shame I had a physical
reaction, but the way we were sitting I hoped she wouldn't
notice.



Episode 6

"It's time to go home!"

The sparkle was back in Katrine's voice. She had been staying
with us for a week now and it had gone amazingly well. We had
collected her few personal belongings, stored in a leaky loft
room belonging to a friend in town, already last Wednesday. She
had all of her work books in her office and her modest collection
of literature had fitted easily into the bookshelves in the room
she got in my house. Her clothes also fitted in the wardrobe and
chest of drawers; unlike my daughters she didn't have all that
many.

The bed and chest and desk were nothing special - just what I had
put in the room to convert it to a usable guest bedroom when my
oldest daughter moved out. Katrine was reluctant to take a fight
with her ex-boyfriend over furniture, but I urged her to get at
least something. She promised she would 'think about it'.

My children took it well. My young son accepted without question
that Katrine was renting a room with us. He is an easy going
child and not one to look for hidden agendas. When he discovered
that Katrine was willing and able to help with home work, happy
to play the occasional game with him and tireless at reading
stories, she could do no wrong. As an only child Katrine has no
experience with siblings, but she basked in his adoration

My middle daughter started out slightly sceptical about the
arrangement but she was not in any way hostile. For the next few
weeks she would be sharing a bathroom with Katrine, so they
obviously had to work things out between them. It didn't take
long - before the first week had passed they were friends.

And me? I loved having Katrine there. She was eager to help with
the daily running of the household. We had had a robust
discussion about payment. I knew she couldn't afford much, but
she had her pride. We finally agreed that she would pay a modest
fixed sum for room and board. It doesn't make all that much
difference in the food budget if you are one person more or less;
certainly not with someone like Katrine who eats less than my son
does. Likewise with heating and washing and so on. And I didn't
charge her for driving to and from work with me; I was going
anyway. But to Katrine it meant a significant saving.

 
Time to go? "Yes," I replied. "It must be time. Can't let the
kids wait at the station."

More often it was me waiting for them than the other way around.
But after Katrine had gotten into our lives many things were
running much smoother.

"Do we need to shop on the way home?" I asked as we got into the
car

"Yes, we do, but only for a few things," Katrine said and
retrieved a shopping list from her purse.

I looked at her with a strong feeling of déjà-vu. Katrine looked
back at me with a funny little smile. "What?" she asked with a
slightly teasing lilt to her voice

"Oh nothing," I said. "It's just." I stopped. I didn't know quite
what I felt and much less how to express it.

She put a hand on my shoulder. "Out with it!" she said.

The physical contact helped. "You make me happy," I blurted out.

I saw pure unmistakable beauty in her face. It was the joy that
did it. "I am glad," she said. "You make me happy too."

We were quiet for most of the drive home.



Episode 7

"Last Tuesday before Christmas!"

Katrine was positively bouncy. Her parents were Jehovah's
Witnesses so she had never known Christmas celebrations as a
child. Her boyfriend had found such things childish and dissed
her feeble attempts at decorating their apartment. Finding out
that we went all out for Christmas had turned her little-kid
happy.

It hadn't started well. I had innocently asked her if she was
planning on spending Christmas with her parents. When she had
finished crying she told me about them. They had disowned her
completely when she took up with a non-Witness; she hadn't seen
them for years. I held her through the storm.

My middle daughter was there when it happened. She is a complete
kid for Christmas and she had told Katrine about all the things
we were going to do, and how much more fun it was going to be now
because she would be there too. The friendship got another notch
that evening. Katrine turned little-kid happy.

Did I tell you that being little-kid happy makes Katrine
beautiful?

She had remained little-kid happy. The other students noted. Even
her supervisor noted although he was clueless about the reason.
And my colleagues noted.

My colleagues also noted changes in me. Especially that the
picture of my ex-wife was finally gone from my desk.

 
Last Tuesday before Christmas? "Not exactly," I replied. "But
last Tuesday before the Christmas holidays."

I had taken the week leading up to Christmas off in order to be
home when my son had holidays and Katrine had informed her
supervisor that she would be 'working from home'. She might - I
have a hefty network link to work and Katrine could use that, but
I had a sneaking suspicion she would spend the week decorating
the house, baking Christmas cookies and making filled chocolates
together with my kids.

But there was still nearly a week of work. That last week before
the Christmas break is always very busy. There are reports that
need to be finished and often budget allocations that need to be
exhausted so they aren't withdrawn. On top of all that I had an
extra meeting at the main campus and my calendar was a nightmare.

Katrine hung on my arm on the way out to the car. Fair enough -
the snow drifts were so deep she could almost disappear in them.
But I liked it.

"There is a Christmas do at my son's school on Thursday evening,"
I said despondently as we were driving north. The air was crisp
with frost, but it had stopped snowing at midday and the roads,
unlike the car park, were clear.

"I know," Katrine said. "He told me about it. He is so looking
forward to it."

"Well, I can't go," I said feeling even worse now. "I have this
meeting with the big-wigs. And his sister is unavailable; she has
an intro meeting for pre-med."

"Yes, she told me," Katrine said. "It will be so exciting for
her."

"I don't know what to do," I said.

"Not a problem," Katrine replied. "I'll take him. You can pick us
up at the school when it finishes."

"You'd do that?" I asked in wonder.

"Sure," she smiled. "It will be fun. Only the other night he
asked if I would be going."

"Oh!" I said. I knew my son liked Katrine, but this was a new
development.

Or was it? There had been many 'new developments'. Katrine got
him up in the morning, made his breakfast and packed his lunch.
The last couple of mornings she had walked him in to school,
something I had tried to 'wean' him off now that he was 10. I
noted that they held hands walking in. He'd stopped doing that
with me years ago.

 
My son and middle daughter were loaded with shopping bags when we
picked them up, and very circumspect about it. They had been
shopping for presents in town with their big sister. Katrine
moved to the back seat with them and a lot of whispering and
giggling took place during the brief drive home.



Episode 8

"We're out of icing sugar for decorating the cookies"

Katrine looked like a fair quantity of the sugar - with and
without colouring - was distributed over her body. My son and
daughter looked much the same; I shuddered to think what the
kitchen would be like. But from the noises coming out from there
they were having fun.

But 'out of' is a party pooper. I shuddered again. One of the
things you learn as a single parent is planning ahead and I would
have sworn we had everything we needed for Christmas. "Are you
sending me out to the shops on the last shopping day before
Christmas?" I asked in horror. "Do you realize half the
population will be there???"

"Pretty please with sugar on top?" she pleaded.

"Yes, I can see the sugar on top," I said and removed a quantity
of red icing from her forehead with my finger, resisting the
wicked urge to lick it off.

20 minutes later I had removed the drift snow from our driveway
and was on my way to the shops 5 miles away.

Another 20 minutes later I realized I had been wrong - the other
half of the population was in the shops too! But miraculously
they still had icing sugar and the "express queue" at the
checkouts actually moved forward occasionally. It was nearly my
turn when my cell-phone rang.

"Dad, we also need more pasteurized egg-whites for the icing,"
came my daughter's voice.

A curse, wholly unsuitable for the season, escaped my lips and I
left the queue to go hunting. Once more I was in luck and I
resumed queuing up - at the end of course, cursing the morons who
believed that a trolley filled to the brim was OK in a "max 10
items" queue.

It had been nearly an hour when I finally made it home. "That
took you long enough!" my daughter exclaimed.

Having well and truly spent my quota of un-loving exclamations
for a Christmas holiday, I refrained from comments.

"Are you guys coming?" my daughter yelled to Katrine and my son.

"Na, you do it," my son yelled back from the living room.

I was shell-shocked. Decorating Christmas cookies is my son's
number one favourite activity. I looked in to see if he was sick.
He wasn't. He was sitting snuggled up close to Katrine who was
reading a Christmas story to him.

My daughter peered in too. When our eyes met there was a funny
little smile on her face. The same smile she had smiled when she
told me how one of the parents who live near by had asked her who
the woman was that had taken her brother to the school Christmas
party.

We left them to read. I ended up finishing the cookie decorations
while my daughter did an industrial grade cleaning up job of the
kitchen.



Episode 9

"This has been the happiest day of my life."

Katrine was standing in her pretty little bodice and skirt; this
Christmas Eve was the first time I had ever seen her in anything
but jeans. She was smiling a glacier melting smile.

I was back from having taken my father home and my daughters to
the train station. They were heading to England in the morning to
visit my oldest daughter's boyfriend. There aren't all that many
flights to London on a Christmas morning and they wouldn't be
able to make it if they spent the night with me.

But yes, it had been a truly magical evening. Over here our main
celebration of Christmas is the night of the 24th. Last year -
the first Christmas without my ex-wife - had been tense and
difficult, but this year everything felt right. My old dad - a
bit hard of hearing, but otherwise in reasonable health for his
age - had been there as always. This was the first time he had
met Katrine and he was very nice to her. "She is a lovely girl,
Katrine I mean," he said as I was driving him home.

My daughters, who had mysteriously taken forever to get out to
the car, were giggling agreement. "So she is Granddad," my oldest
said. "We like her a lot."

"I think Mum would have liked her too," Dad said. Whatever that
was supposed to mean. My mother had died from Alzheimer's a year
and a half ago. Mercifully she never knew about my marriage
break-up; it would have caused her unbelievable pain.

 
Despite my urgings to the contrary Katrine had cleared the
kitchen completely after putting my son to bed. She was standing
in the doorway between the dining room and the living room. I was
about to gently chide her when I spotted something. Above her was
a branch of mistletoe. Katrine followed my gaze and blushed. "It
was your daughters. They put it up just before they left, I..."

She said no more. I had moved in close and her mouth was now
covered by mine. We were kissing with a hunger that was almost
frightening. "Oh God," she gasped when we came up for air. "I
fantasized about this."

We kissed again. According to the tradition, a man may kiss a
girl under the mistletoe as long as there are berries left. This
branch had loads of berries. I explained that part of the
tradition to Katrine and reached up to remove two. She stopped
me. "Don't do that," she said. "There is no quota." We kissed
again.

 
I was hard; very hard. There is no way she could not know it. She
was rubbing her self closely against me and I could feel the
warmth from her groin. I lifted her up - she was shockingly light
- and carried her to the bedroom. We undressed each other while
kissing. Her blessed bodice laces stumped me and she undid them
herself. When she took of the top she looked at me nervously. "I
don't have much," she started.

I stopped her by kissing her, and then moved to unclasp her bra.
She now had fear in her eyes. Fear of rejection. "Katrine my
love," I said. "There is exactly one difference between big
breasts and small breasts."

The fear turned to hope. "What's that?" she whispered.

"Fat," I replied. "Of which you have next to none. But
everything, as in everything else is the same. They are just as
attractive and just as wonderful and they can do exactly the
same."

I demonstrated. My lips closed over one of her nipples. It
swelled and stiffened in my mouth and Katrine groaned in
pleasure. No one had ever paid proper homage to her breasts
before.

It turned out there were a lot of things she had never
experienced in bed before. She had never had a full body massage.
She had never been licked and kissed on all of her erogenous
zones. She had never had her pussy licked. When my persistent
licking coaxed her clit out from behind its hood Katrine came for
the first time ever from anything but her own fingers. When I
entered her she came again and then again. When I came in her she
cried and cried and kissed my face everywhere. "I never knew it
could be like this," she said. She clung to me as we fell asleep.

The happiest day of my life? The happiest day for a long long
time, that's for sure. Right up there with when my children were
born.



Episode 10

"Dad, do you know where Katrine is?"

My son came barging in to the bedroom. When you're ten there is
no such thing as sleeping in. And we have never believed in
locked doors in my household, but I had tried - and failed - to
introduce the concept of knocking first.

So he got the answer to his question without either me or Katrine
having to say anything. She smiled at him and he smiled back.

"Oh," he said, neither shy nor particularly surprised. "I
wondered if you would play my new board game with me."

"I will - when I've finished playing with your dad," Katrine
replied.

"Cool!" my son said, closed the door and went to the living room
to watch TV.

The End