Commodities

Christmas In Norway: Part 3

SKANDINAVIAN FOLKLORE AND FEAST DAYS. Based on a post by Jorunn [https://www.literotica.com/authors/Jorunn/works], in 4 parts. Listen to the ►Podcast [https://archive.org/download/680754058065264640/ChristmasInNorway3.mp3] at Connected [https://feeds.feedburner.com/connected-podcast]. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/f159cc3740c431ffed367aaaad2c5ed1/f8878906c3e0d853-b7/s640x960/38055952374bbbcb12e8509cbe2897fda288712b.jpg] SYV SLAGS KAKER. (OR, SEVEN SORTS OF  COOKIES) December 22nd – Evening, Five Days Later Jorunn said, “Well, Gunnar, we are back at our starting point, and this concludes the tour. We got off to a rough start on the first day, but since then, I have enjoyed spending time with you. After my mom got divorced, I stopped dating. Sure, I went out in mixed groups with my friends, but I cannot remember the last time I went somewhere, by myself, with a man. The divorce made me lose all confidence and trust in men. Why enter a relationship, and give my heart to a man, knowing it is going to fail? My father hurt my mother and me so badly, that neither of us have recovered. You were so wonderful to me this week, and showed me that not all men are like my father.” Jorunn looked at me with pleading eyes, “I don’t want this tour to end. I don’t want you to leave. Can you please stay in Oslo at least a few more days?” Jorunn didn’t want me to go. And I didn’t want to leave her either. I replied, “Jorunn, I cannot think of anyone or any place I would rather be than here in Oslo, with you.” Jorunn said, “It’s still early enough that we may be able to find seating without a reservation. I know a great place for seafood.” “Lead on,” I replied. Jorunn and I discussed the now-completed tour while enjoying a delicious dinner at a small kafé. I offered suggestions for the tour, but otherwise let her know I enjoyed seeing Norway, and I told her what a wonderful guide she was. After returning to America, I promised to recommend her tours to everyone I knew. As I looked over the dessert menu, I asked Jorunn, “I’m willing to stay a few more days. Are there any other Norwegian Christmas traditions or activities worth doing over the next few days?” “If you put down that dessert menu, there is one called Syv Slags Kaker. I baked seven kinds of cookies to celebrate Jul. If you come to my house, we can have coffee and you can sample all seven kinds.” “That sounds great,” I replied. Jorunn was inviting me to her home. She was beautiful and funny, and I admit I developed fantasies about her as I watched her vlog videos back in the nursing home. Heck, I even created new fantasies over the last week. She was much warmer toward me at the end of the tour. In Tromsø, we shared a blanket as we rode in a sleigh pulled by an actual reindeer. But after the Nutcracker ballet, I held back and did not cross any lines. Could a 56-year-old man and a 25-year-old woman have a sexual relationship? I managed to keep up with Jorunn all week and didn’t see any reason not to. I reached below the table to carefully re-position myself before standing up. We made our way to the Train Station and rode to Jorunn’s neighborhood. As we walked to her house, I noticed many homes with a lighted star in one of the windows. “What are those stars,” I asked. “They are a tradition in Norway. A star is lit on the first Sunday of Advent to help guide the Three Wise Men.” We stopped in front of a modest house. There was no star in the window, but I saw sheaves of oats hung from one of the trees. I was familiar with the tradition of putting out something for the birds in the frigid days of December. As we stepped inside, I was suddenly surprised. “Hi, Mom! I would like you to meet Gunnar Larsen.” “Good evening, Mr. Larsen. Jorunn has been sending me text messages all week about your exciting travels. I hope you enjoyed your tour. My name is Leah.” This was not what I expected. I hoped to be alone with Jorunn. The family resemblance was striking and quite apparent. Leah’s straight hair was a bit shorter than Jorunn’s but matched her daughter’s pure blonde color. Her blue eyes stood out from her attractive face. She was wearing a multi-colored Norwegian Dale sweater and green trousers. I possessed absolutely no experience telling how old Norwegian women are. She must be in her forties but looked younger. I said, “I enjoyed Jorunn’s tour very much. Your daughter is quite talented in many ways. Please, call me Gunnar.” Jorunn said, “Gunnar was asking about other Jul traditions and activities here in Norway over Christmas. I thought Syv Slags Kaker would be a good one, and your cookies are the best ones in Oslo. I’ll make us some coffee.” Leah looked at me, “Please sit Gunnar. How much longer will you be staying in Norway?” I replied, “About two more weeks. I wanted to celebrate the New Year here before returning to America.” I talked about the completed tour, and she seemed interested enough that I rambled on. “I really enjoyed visiting Lillehammer. It brought back memories of watching the 1994 Winter Olympics, probably my favorite one. The music was fantastic, and the woman who sang the Olympic Hymn at the opening ceremony possessed such a wonderful voice.” Leah replied, “Her name is Sissel Kyrkjebø. She is still extremely popular today, and we consider her a national treasure. I was 18 at the time, and worked at those Olympics.” “I’d love to hear more about that,” I replied. “It was nice to see many of the venues still being used. I also enjoyed the Olympic Museum in Maihaugen, which told the history of the 1994 Olympics. I was surprised to learn that Norway has won more Olympic medals than any other country. But the highlight for me was riding the chairlift to the top of the Lysgårdsbakkene ski jump. The views were amazing. I can’t imagine anyone being brave enough to make such a jump.” “I agree with you on that!” laughed Leah. I continued, “We also flew to Tromsø, and I got to see the Northern Lights. We can sometimes see them in southern Minnesota, but they were much more impressive here with the clear Norwegian air. Jorunn and I took a ride in a sleigh, pulled by actual reindeer. Reindeer are much larger than I thought. We visited a Sami farm, where we ate reindeer stew and learned about the Sami culture.” “I’ve never been, but I hear it’s really fun,” replied Leah. “Bærums Verk was also a highlight. You may already know that the town dates to the 1600s. I loved the old buildings and cobbled streets. Although the Christmas Market was small, I found it unique, with artisans selling handmade crafts. It was nice to see the old crafts like glassblowing, ironwork, and woodworking.” Jorunn returned with a large tray, holding coffee and cookies, and we began sampling. Leah asked, “Did you take Gunnar to Pepperkakebyen in Bergen? It’s a marvelous gingerbread village in my hometown. There are over 200 small gingerbread houses, and with the tiny lights turned on, it looks so real.” Jorunn replied, “A week goes by quickly, mamma. There is only so much time. The gingerbread houses are very nice, and I have fond memories of going there with you.” As we continued talking and munching cookies, I looked around at the decorations. There was an advent calendar, wreaths, angels, gnomes called nisse, hearts, stars, and candles. The decorations looked more natural, perhaps a bit less commercialized than in America. There was a real tree, complete with its wonderful pine smell, a star at the top, garland, tinsel, ornaments, and white lights. I looked at Leah, “I noticed that you don’t have a Christmas star in the window as many of the other houses do.” Leah replied, “I found my former husband in bed with another woman. I immediately divorced him. Among the many things he took from Jorunn and I, was our Christmas Star.” Leah sounded deeply hurt and from more than just the missing star. After tasting the last of the seven cookies, Leah asked how I liked them. “The waffle-like Krumkaker was probably my favorite. We tried making them in Minnesota, but yours turned out so much better. And, of course, the Pepperkaker gingerbread stars were great.” I held up another cookie and said, “I don’t know the name of this one, but it was also excellent.” Leah replied, “That one is Serinakaker, a Norwegian butter cookie.” I realized the inevitable, “It is getting late. Thank you both, Leah and Jorunn, for a wonderful evening. I need to get back to my hotel and figure out what to do over the next few days.” I saw Jorunn look at her mother, who nodded. As I stood up, Leah did too. “Nonsense, Gunnar. I won’t have it. Come, spend Christmas with Jorunn and me! Nearly everything in Oslo shuts down in the afternoon on Christmas Eve and stays closed until the 27th. No restaurants or shops will be open. I have an unused bedroom upstairs. Come celebrate Jul with us.” I caught the signal between mother and daughter and wondered if this was pre-planned. But spending Christmas alone in my hotel sounded almost as bad as spending it alone in the nursing home. It was an easy decision. “I accept.” Leah said, “Good. I’ll stop by your hotel tomorrow and help you move your things. Perhaps we can have lunch as well at one of the restaurants along Karl Johans gate.” “It would be my pleasure, ” I replied. “Let’s say, about 11:00 AM” LITTLE CHRISTMAS EVE December 23rd - Morning It was December 23rd, known in Norway as Lille Julaften. Spending Christmas with Leah and Jorunn created a problem for me. I needed to find at least one Christmas present for each, just in case they bought a gift for me. I got up early and headed out to search. Reflecting on last night, and indeed, the last week, it ended up being far simpler than I feared. I soon found a gift for each, along with reusable cloth gift bags in Christmas colors. I heard a knock on my hotel door and opened it. Leah stood there, holding a coat over her arm. She was wearing a traditional Norwegian folk costume called a bunad. Her blonde hair, simply styled, was highlighted by two attractive braids. I smiled and said, “What a pleasant surprise. You look like you just stepped out of a fairy tale.” She looked past me into the messy room, then took a step toward me and surprised me with a kiss on my cheek. She stepped back and started laughing. “It didn’t work. I am a fairy tale princess, but you are still a frog! It looks like we have some work to do cleaning up your lily pad.” As Leah entered the room, I said, “I already packed a small bag, enough for a few days.” Leah walked over to the pile of clothes from my week-long trip. She picked up a shirt and sniffed it. Then she pulled a wool sweater out from the pile. “Keep your wool sweaters away from the rest of your dirty clothes. Wool is harder to clean and may pick up the smell. Let me see what else you packed.” Leah dumped out my small gym bag onto the bed and then began tossing things aside. “This won’t do. We need to take all of your clothes back to my house and wash them.” Fond memories returned. Whenever we went on a trip, Solveig would always dump out my suitcase and re-load it with other clothes. Solvieg would also pick out clothes for me to wear whenever we dressed to go out to weddings or a party. Leah said, “Don’t expect me to wash them for you. I have other things to do to get ready for Christmas. You’ll have enough free time you can wash them yourself. We will gather everything up after we come back from lunch.” What a woman! I can see where Jorunn inherited her strong personality. We left my hotel, and Leah took me to one of her favorite kafés. As we walked, Leah’s bunad drew eyes, and attracted smiles, as if she were a magnet. As we waited for our food, I asked Leah about her bunad. Leah replied, “I don’t get to wear my bunad very often. I usually wear it for National Day in May, and for weddings and baptisms, but I haven’t been to many of those lately. Christmas is also an acceptable time to wear it.” Leah wore the traditional white blouse with a silver neckpin. Her vest was bright red with a handmade breastplate. Her navy skirt was trimmed with intricate embroidery, and covered in front by a white apron. Around her waist and running down the front was a decorative handwoven belt. “I grew up east of Bergen, in the Hardanger region, so my bunad is in the Hardanger style. While details may vary, you can tell where someone is from by which style of bunad they are wearing. It would not be proper to choose a bunad from a different region simply because you prefer a different color.” “That’s a lovely silver brooch you have on. It looks very old.” “It was my grandmother’s. Norwegians have a spiritual connection to silver, and silver brooches are handed down for many generations. One day, it will be Jorunn’s.” The food was excellent. I have not eaten a bad meal here in Norway. Leah was a great conversationalist, and she freely shared her humor and wit. Her stories from the 1994 Olympics were fascinating, and even though Jorunn and I were just there, I wanted to go back. I learned Leah worked as a radiology technician at a local hospital here in Oslo and took the entire holiday off. The meal finished too quickly, and we returned to my hotel. As we gathered my assorted clothing, I saw one of my socks on the floor, so I walked around Leah to pick it up. Turning quickly, I found myself face-to-face with her. We stared at each other for a moment, then moved at the same time. Our lips came together, and we kissed. Not a gentle kiss, but a passionate one, long and deep. Intentions were clear on both sides. We separated. Leah said, “I have not had sex since divorcing my husband nearly three years ago. That bastard took away more than my Christmas Star, he took away my trust in men. I am forty-seven years old. I never go out on dates, because I’m afraid to open my heart again to another man. Jorunn texted me every night for the past week and would send short videos she took during the day. She kept repeating how much fun she was having with you, and how nice a man you are. I know it sounds funny, but after watching and reading what Jorunn sent me, I feel like I already know you, and have made it past the first date. I know you lost the woman you loved. I cannot replace her in your heart, but if you are ready, I would like to share mine.” This was unexpected. “When I was in Minnesota, I watched Jorunn’s vlog almost every night. She is so sweet and funny and does such an excellent job. Even though I never met Jorunn, I felt like I knew her. To use your dating analogy, it’s one of the reasons I picked her as a tour guide. I felt comfortable with Jorunn and was too afraid to trust another tour company. When I came to Norway, I left my past behind. It is time for me to find something, or someone, to love.” Our bodies came together, and our lips re-joined. Any fears of rejection vanished as I locked my lips onto those of this beautiful Norwegian woman. Our tongues danced with each other, while our hands moved quickly over each other’s bodies. “Help me take off my bunad,” pleaded Leah. Together, we unclasped, unbuckled, unbuttoned, and untied, removing one layer at a time of the intricate bunad and laying it over a chair. It was like slowly opening the best Christmas present I have ever gotten, as more of Leah’s body slowly revealed itself to me. Her breasts were small, but firm, and went well with her slender frame. I forgot how delicate a woman’s features are, and Leah’s body was perfect in every way. Below her waist, I found a mound of pure blonde hair, barely darker than the color on her head. “I have no other words, you are truly a gorgeous woman, Leah.” “Thank you, Gunnar. Now it’s my turn to have fun.” Leah approached me. With small steps, she moved gracefully. She lifted my pullover shirt, pausing as it obscured my eyes. “Don’t take your shirt off. Just enjoy the sensations.” In the darkness, her fingers teasingly played with the hairs on my chest. A fingernail flicked back and forth over my nipple, drawing it to an erection. Moving lower, Leah unbuckled my trousers and slid them down, taking my knickers with them. I was not yet erect, but moving rapidly in that direction. Cool fingers wrapped around my cock and lifted, while a single fingernail twirled against my ball sack. Her tongue dragged across the tip of my cock. Then, Leah’s hands moved behind me to cup and squeeze my bum cheeks. Her warm breath washed over my cock. Leah stood and pulled my shirt the rest of the way off, and I stepped out of my trousers. We remained like this, both naked, looking longingly at each other. Leah reached up and touched my hair. “You have just a touch of grey. I like that. Few mature men are as blessed as you, with a firm, lean body. I see all kinds of patients. You look like a forty-year-old.” I suppose that was one benefit of eating the low-fat, low-sugar, and tasteless nursing home food. I lost nearly thirty pounds. “I am older than I look, and you should know that I had a stroke two years ago. I am doing much better, but still have a balance issue, and sometimes slur my words. "Slurring your words might just be because you have a lazy tongue. Perhaps we can find a way to fix that later.” For a moment, I wondered what she meant, then hoped my notions might come true. Leah dropped to her knees directly in front of me and ran a finger along my nearly erect shaft. “It feels so nice to touch a real one again. What a lovely cock you have.” I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t have a very large penis.” Leah laughed, “Anything more than a mouthful is just wasted. Now let’s begin. I will say a Norwegian word, and you repeat it. Listen carefully to my pronunciation and maybe we can fix your American accent.” Leah said, “Penis.” Then she grabbed my cock with her right hand. This might be fun, so I replied, “Penis!” Leah whispered, “Rub.” Then she began gently sliding her hand along my shaft. Without any lubrication, there was quite a bit of friction. I replied, “Rub!” Leah said, “Lick.” Leah extended her tongue, and starting near the base, began leaving wet trails along each side of my glistening cock. The warm softness of her tongue brought me to full erection. It felt fantastic, and I gasped out, “Lick!” Leah said, “Suck.” She opened her mouth wide and took in the head of my cock, using her tongue to tease the underside. Bringing her lips together, I felt the insides of her mouth pressing inward and squeezing tightly against me. When her suction began, she pulled the head of my cock deeper into her mouth. Leah’s head pulled back ever so slightly, allowing her soft lips to glide over me until my cock was almost freed. But not quite. Using the extra room, Leah teased my opening with the tip of her tongue. From the way her tongue easily twirled around, I was certain I contributed my pre-cum. Then her suction pulled me deeper into her mouth. She look

Christmas In Norway: Part 2

SLEDGES, CORKSCREWS, AND OTHER FEARS. Based on a post by Jorunn [https://www.literotica.com/authors/Jorunn/works], in 4 parts. Listen to the ►Podcast [https://archive.org/download/680754058065264640/ChristmasInNorway2.mp3] at Connected [https://feeds.feedburner.com/connected-podcast]. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/a863c8c5103c41d5a1d895fa71fd6eb2/8c8969d5ceda323d-18/s640x960/4e8f4f2637230588bb4668929e0852509a0a0f7e.jpg] Once at the starting point, we both sat down on our sledges. I was grateful only a few others were preparing to ride, but gasped again when I saw how youthful their faces were. I doubted anyone here was over thirty years old. I wondered whether Jorunn was punishing me, or perhaps was hoping I would voluntarily quit the tour. “I don’t know if I can do this, Jorunn. I’m afraid.” Jorunn looked me in the eye with a grim look on her face. “Afraid is coming home with my mother, and finding my father sleeping with another woman. Afraid is watching how he broke apart my family and wondering how my mom and I would go on. Afraid is me cutting off my father and not wanting to ever see him again.” “Afraid is quitting a dead-end job and trying to earn a living as a vlogger in one of the most expensive countries on earth. Afraid is checking every morning for clicks, likes, and followers, and finding out the numbers did not change.” “Afraid is starting a private small-group tour company, all by myself, and weaving my way through the many regulations, laws, and insurance requirements. Afraid is knowing I have to book at least one trip a month just to cover those costs.” “Afraid is taking a group of six to Svalbard for a glacier hike in early summer, and spotting a polar bear less than 200 meters away lumbering towards us. Afraid is watching our guide fire off the last of her flares, but seeing the bear still coming. Afraid is the look in our guide’s eyes as she reached for her rifle.” “You don’t need to be afraid of sledging, Gunnar. What you need to be afraid of is being too afraid to try sledging. Meet me at the bottom of the hill. Either make the run or turn in your sledge and take the Metro down the hill.” I watched Jorunn push off and head down the run, then thought about her words. I lived a good life in Minnesota, meeting Solveig in college and then stepping right into a lifetime job with the 3M company. Adventure was going to our lake cabin where the only challenges were fighting off mosquitos, and figuring out how to remove burnt marshmallows off the end of a stick. After our first child, Solveig and I stopped doing anything like sledding, and instead sat and watched our kids having all the fun. What am I doing here in Norway? Why am I here? Jorunn answered that question for me. I pushed off and started my run. I fought my way down the mountain, and as I approached the end of the run, I was happy to see it level off. I saw Jorunn standing next to her sledge, her small camera pointed at me. I raised both hands over my head, waved, then yelled, “I did it!” I coasted to a stop three meters past her. Jorunn ran up to me, and as I stood, she hugged me. “I’m proud of you Gunnar.” As we hugged, under the clear blue skies and chilly temperatures, I closed my eyes and went back 35 years to a small hill in Minneapolis, where I hugged Solvieg after sledding. Jorunn released me and stepped back. I yelped, “It was wonderful! I kept to the side as other people whizzed past me. A few sections were bumpy, and my teeth rattled. The only time I was scared was when there was a steep drop-off on one side. Don’t you use guardrails in Norway?” “You may have seen a few small concrete walls, but we believe in personal responsibility here in Norway. If you cannot manage a sledge, you should not make the run. The authorities do monitor the conditions and sometimes close the run when it is too icy.” “Does that mean you believed in me? Believed I could make it down the hill?” “There is nothing wrong with you, Gunnar. While I was waiting here at the bottom of the hill, I read about your Iron Range in Minnesota. You are rusty. There is a Wizard of Oz Museum there. You are the Tin Man. This tour is the Oil Can. Figure it out. The Oil Can only works if you pick it up and use it. Stand tall and walk proudly for as long as you can. If you fall, get up and keep going.” It was an interesting way to look at life. I was only 56 years old, but for the last few years, I acted like I was 80. I still have many years to go sledging, if only I was not afraid to try. I turned to Jorunn. “Let’s go again!” PEA SOUP December 16 - Mid-Day After three more runs, Jorunn and I turned in our sledges and ate lunch at the beautiful Frognersteren Restaurant on top of the hill. I followed her suggestion of a thick pea soup with meatballs and potatoes. It was delicious. As we sipped hot chocolate, it felt good to be alive again. “A week ago, I was in a nursing home in Minnesota. After my wife died, no one visited me, not even my adult children. I was alone. It was a terrible place, run by a terrible nurse. I had to get out. I made plans with my lawyer, then walked out the front door and got on a plane to come to Norway. What’s the worst place you have ever been?” “Dublin, Ireland. After the divorce, my mother and I were struggling financially. We had gone from living a comfortable life to living paycheck to paycheck. I saw a post on the Internet for a job as a body double for a Vikings television program. I wasn’t sure what a body double did, but it paid well for a short gig. I took all my clothes off while a dozen people stared at me and took photos and videos. I hadn’t been naked in front of any man in over a year, since before the divorce. They must have liked me because I got the part, and they flew me to Dublin. The next morning, I went to the studios. I sat there in a robe while they cut and styled my hair to match the actress I was portraying. Then off to the makeup department, where I removed my robe while they applied fake tattoos and full body makeup so I would look dirty in all the right places.” “After lunch in the studio, the costume department placed me in a white linen tunic. When it was time to film, they told me to stand in front of the lead actor while he lifted the tunic off me and tossed it aside. He was much older than me, and with his beard, he reminded me of my father. He exuded the same swagger as if the world revolved only around him. I would be fully exposed to him, and to the camera crew, who were filming me from behind. They told me to act submissive and let the lead actor hug me. It took several takes and a few tweaks before the director was happy.” “Next, I was ordered to lay down on a stylized Viking bed covered with furs. The sex scene was to be filmed twice. Once for television, then for an unrated video release. The make-up people gave me a once over, then thankfully positioned a flesh-covered patch over my vagina. In the first shot, I was naked, but the lead actor remained fully clothed. He stood and positioned himself between my legs, and they told me to keep my vagina pressed tight against his crotch as he bucked against me. We needed to make the audience believe we were having sex while showing them nothing. I remained in this position while they adjusted the lighting and camera angles, and beneath his trousers, I felt the lead actor’s erect cock pressed against me.” “The director yelled, ‘Action’. Once again, they told me to be submissive, and let the lead actor take charge. He started humping against me. Looking up at him, he was still a handsome man, and I wondered how many women around the world dreamed or fantasized about being in the same place I was. I wasn’t one of them, but I understood this was why they hired me, so I accepted it. Like earlier, it took several takes. The director would review the shot and make small adjustments each time. After the last take, I saw a large wet spot on the front of the lead actor’s trousers.” “Then it was time for the unrated scene. A host of costume and make-up people swarmed around the actor while I lay there naked. This time, he was to be naked as he approached the bed. The camera angle was off to the side to avoid full frontal and he used his left hand to shield his erection, thankfully contained in a flesh-covered sock. The scene began with the lead actor approaching me, and once in position, he began humping against me. His covered cock slid against the covering over my vagina, but the sensations passed right through. My nipples became erect, and I felt my wetness building.” “After several takes, the director was happy, and we moved on to the last scene for which I was needed. In this one, the lead actor would be laying on top of me, his arms extended and propping himself up with his hands placed on either side of my body. This scene was more challenging because it needed to be mixed with prior facial cuts shot separately with the lead male actor and lead female actress. The scene would be filmed from several angles including above and below. As the director reviewed the earlier footage, the makeup people worked on my face and hair.” “The next thing I felt was the lead actor lying on top of me, his body pressing his erect cock against the patch covering my vagina. I wanted to turn away, but he told me to look at him because it would help him release his creative juices. I feared the possible double entendre. Here I was, face-to-face with the avatar of the man I hated more than anyone, the man who destroyed our family. When the director was ready, he said to go at it and try to simulate real sex. He yelled 'Action’. I was sweating under the lights, and the patch covering my vagina began to slip, aided by the movement of the lead actor’s covered cock. As my pussy became more exposed, I was afraid his cock might slide into me, so I yelled 'Cut!’. Everything stopped, and I pushed him off.” “That was enough. I yelled I was through, gathered my things, and headed for the front door. I paid my own way back to Oslo, and thought about filing a protest, but later learned what they did was mostly proper. Most sex scenes are between two body doubles. It is rare, but sometimes a lead actor will film such scenes if they have it in their nudity clause. I had a new appreciation for body doubles, but my own acting career lasted one day, and looking at the final scenes after release, I was on screen for eight seconds, and no one knew it was me!” I said, “Wow. We have something in common. The nursing home did everything properly, but like you, I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I headed for the front door. I’m sorry for your terrible experience.” Jorunn shook her head, “Don’t be sorry. The experience ended up changing my life for the better. After I got back to Oslo, I swore to never work for anyone else again. I wanted to direct my own scenes, so I started doing vlogs. That led to the creation of my tour company. As things turned out, I walked out one door and right into something I loved. Plus, I walked out wearing this really cool, braided leather Viking headband I have on now. You are halfway there. You have walked out the front door. Now you must find something, or someone, to love.” A profound statement from someone so young. SPIKERSUPPA December 16 - Afternoon I noticed the sun getting low on the horizon. Jorunn caught my glance and said, “The sun sets early here in Oslo, around 3:30 in the afternoon. In some of the northern cities, it set last month and will not rise again until spring.” I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day looking at museums, and flushed with my success on the hill, I took a chance. “Do you ice skate?” Jorunn replied, “I do, but not very well.” I said, “If you know of a skating rink with lights, maybe we can go there and skate.” “There is a nice lighted one in downtown Oslo called Spikersuppa,” said Jorunn. “When the sun goes down in Oslo, the twinkling lights are turned on, bringing with them their magic. The ice-skating rink is close to the Christmas market, which is our agenda for tonight.” “That sounds great to me,” I replied. We took the T-bane back to downtown Oslo and arrived as the sun was setting. There weren’t any clouds, but the multi-layered horizon was still beautiful. Orange along the bottom, and above it, increasingly darker hues of blue and purple, before turning to black in the night sky. After leaving the train station Jorunn and I walked along a pedestrian-only street named 'Karl Johns gate’ passing high-end stores and restaurants. Jorunn either pointed to, or mentioned, notable downtown buildings such as the Royal Palace, Parliament, the National Theatre, the Grand Hotel, and the original University of Oslo buildings. We also passed the brilliantly lit Freia clock, associated with the long-time Norwegian chocolate maker, and the unofficial symbol of Oslo. We rented skates and then stepped tentatively onto the ice. It wasn’t a big rink, and fortunately, not crowded. In the middle was a frozen water fountain. Christmas music was playing and twinkling lights glowed all around us. “I played ice hockey in Minnesota when I was in high school, but haven’t skated since.” “My father used to take me to figure skating lessons when I was young, but I stopped. I kept falling when trying to do spins.” “Maybe we can help each other out. Have you ever tried ice dancing?” Jorunn laughed. “No! Never!” “Neither have I. But a wise woman once told me that I should not be afraid of ice dancing. What I should be afraid of is being too afraid to try ice dancing.” Jorunn smiled, “A very wise woman, indeed! Let’s try it and see what happens.” I remember watching the wonderful British duo of Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean ice dancing in their last Olympics in 1994. The Olympics were here in Norway, in Lillehammer. I was not about to try any lifts or spins, but I reached my right arm behind Jorunn and placed my hand on her right hip. Taking her left hand in mine, I held her left arm across my body. “Ready?” I asked. Jorunn nodded, and together we pushed off. Right. Left. Right. Left. We moved slowly, side-by-side, in a steady rhythm, and made it around the rink making only a few wobbles. After three more passes, my ancient muscle memory awoke, and I wanted to do more. We separated and I joined my right hand to her left. “We can take longer strides and skate a little faster this way.” After another trip around the rink, we added a slow weaving pattern. Coming out of the last turn, I told Jorunn, “Here is your chance to be a figure skater. I’ll hold your hand. Try a spin.” I skated slightly just ahead of Jorunn, then pulled her forward so she would have enough speed. I raised her hand into the air as she went past, and she started spinning. She yelled, “I’m doing it.” And she was, at least until her speed slowed and she fell into me. “Dam toe pick!” she yelled. With her arms around me, our eyes met. Then she wrinkled her nose, her signature facial expression on the vlogs indicating she didn’t like something. Just as quickly, her face lit up and her big smile glowed. “I’m laughing too hard inside. That was such fun!” She burst out laughing and I joined her. We finally broke the ice, here on the ice. Jorunn separated from me and said, “It is time for Christmas Market.” I helped her up and we turned in our skates. The nearby lights and sounds beckoned. THE CHRISTMAS MARKET December 16 - Evening The sun set long ago and was now just a memory. It was completely dark, but downtown Oslo turned into a Christmas wonderland. There were twinkling lights on almost every tree, with the large and stately buildings surrounding us outlined in white lights to accompany their dramatic uplighting. Oslo was so different than Minneapolis. In downtown Minneapolis, 30-year-old buildings were being torn down to build taller ones in the same location. Here, the buildings were massive, centuries-old, covering an entire block, and they were still in use, letting everyone appreciate the history and architecture. Jorunn and I saw glass-covered buildings in Oslo, with their clean modern architecture, but this was the heart of the city. The life, the pulse, and vitality of Oslo all sprang from here. Towering above everything at the Christmas Market was a brilliantly lit Ferris wheel, each spoke outlined in white lights. I looked at Jorunn and she nodded. She took my hand, and we ran for the Ferris wheel, artfully dodging between the growing number of people. When we boarded, we found each of the seats enclosed in a glass bubble, possibly as a safety measure, or just as likely, protection from the cold. One of the benefits of this was being able to move around a bit, which afforded us a 360-degree aerial view of downtown Oslo. We paused near the top, where Jorunn pulled out her camera. Jorunn said, “It’s rather romantic up here. We should do a selfie.” She sat down right me. “Kiss me. On the lips. Just a quick one. I have the timer set for three seconds. We’ll put our lips together and hold them for a few seconds until the flash goes off.” “Jorunn, I am much older than you. I don’t think it will look very romantic.” “Gunnar, you’re not too old to kiss someone. And if I need to, I can do a little digital touchup, or just flash a quick cut. It will be perfect.” “How do want me to kiss you? Do you want my eyes open or closed? Should I look at the camera or…” Jorunn quickly reached behind my head and pulled me to her. As our lips met, I closed my eyes, and my mouth responded. I felt her softness and a quick tease as Jorunn’s tongue glazed over my lips. A flash went off. But Jorunn did not separate, nor did I. I opened my eyes, and saw that Jorunn’s eyes closed. As our lips pressed together, it felt so warm and comfortable. We separated, and Jorunn said, “Perfect!” Then she looked at the photo just taken. I thought about the sequence of her words and her actions. Jorunn switched over to video and began doing her vlog. She was speaking in English. Immersed in Norwegian for three days, it almost sounded like a foreign language to me. When Jorunn finished, I asked her why she didn’t record her vlogs in Norwegian. She surprised me by continuing in English. “Norwegians already live here. Who would watch my videos if I recorded them in Norwegian? If someone in Norway wants to see the view from the top of this Ferris wheel, they will come here and ride it. People from every continent watch my videos and speak at least some English. It used to bother me when I would get comments on my videos complaining I spoke with a Norwegian accent. Now I just laugh.” I asked her, “Every continent? Including Antarctica?” “Yes. The Norwegian Polar Institute has a year-round research station in Antarctica named 'Troll’. Their mission is to study the polar regions and the effects of global warming and pollution. It’s not a tourist destination, but they have talked to me about possibly going there. They want to do more outreach, to spread the word to younger audiences on social media. I have followers there, but we haven’t been able to work out the permissions and details. The

Christmas In Norway: Part 1

THE HOMELAND CALLS FOR GUNNAR, AND SO DOES LOVE. Based on a post by Jorunn [https://www.literotica.com/authors/Jorunn/works], in 4 parts. Listen to the ►Podcast [https://archive.org/download/680754058065264640/ChristmasInNorway1.mp3] at Connected [https://feeds.feedburner.com/connected-podcast]. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/2490a7123826df39b725428acace2a7b/b46dff4b40c23ac6-92/s640x960/3404c55cea5115d00b61ed3fbd83852a8d0071fd.jpg] ‘You are the Tin Man. This tour; is the Oil Can.  Figure it out.’ A recently widowed Norwegian American plans his escape from a Minnesota nursing home to travel abroad and join a ‘Christmas in Norway Tour’. While battling his fears, he meets a beautiful young tour guide and her divorced mother, who years later, still bears scars from her unfaithful husband’s affair. This story is about overcoming those fears to let healing begin.  This story picks up after that, and shows the lingering effects of a husband’s extra-marital affair on his family. This is also a Christmas story, so expect to travel to locations in Norway, encounter Norwegian Christmas traditions, and maybe even get sprinkled with pixie-dust! “A man has only one escape from his old self: to see a different self - in the mirror of some woman’s eyes” - Clare Booth Luce PREQUEL: THE RUINED CHRISTMAS Oslo, Norway - Three Years Ago My name is Jorunn. As a Norwegian landsby girl, Mamma and I spent Christmas week in Bergen, visiting her family and celebrating my 22nd birthday. We decided to leave Bergen two days early so that Pappa would not have to celebrate New Year’s Eve alone. During the week, while we were away, Pappa told us how he missed us. We arrived back home in mid-afternoon, just as the sun was setting, and saw our Christmas Star lit up in the window. After entering the house, we heard Pappa moaning upstairs and went up to see if he was all right. Opening the bedroom door, we saw him humping a strange woman! “What are you doing?” shouted Mamma. Pappa replied, “Leah, you’re home early.” “Who is this woman?” “She’s just a slut. She means nothing to me.” The woman yelped, “I am not a slut! I am a happily married woman.” Mamma yelled, “I can see what keeps you happy.” Pappa yelled back, “I still love you, Leah. Let me get rid of this slut. She’s only here because I was lonely. We can talk.” Mamma replied, “You can talk to my advokater. We’re through! How can I ever trust you again, you bastard? Do you realize what you have done to our family!” Mamma began sobbing and ran down the stairs. Pappa looked at me and said, “Jorunn, none of this would have happened if your mother hadn’t come home early and seen us.” I looked at Pappa and saw his slime-covered beard slick with the woman’s juices. “You’re wrong Pappa. It did happen. Mamma and I just wouldn’t have known. You said you didn’t want to be seen by us. That works both ways! I don’t ever want to talk to you or see you ever again!” I ran downstairs to Mamma, and with our suitcases still in the boot, we drove to a friend’s house. GUNNAR AND NURSE RATCHED December 13 - Morning Minneapolis, Minnesota - Present Day I pressed the button on my cell phone and hung up after talking with Roger Mans, my long-time friend and attorney. My two adult children texted a few days ago they wanted to visit me here in the nursing home. I had not seen them since the funeral of my wife, Solveig, and that was two months ago. Their plan was for me to sign their power of attorney forms, giving them full control over me and my affairs. But my plan was different, and now was time to put it into place. Two years ago, at just 54 years old, I had a stroke. A devastating paralysis left me needing a lot of care, and therapy to regain my mobility, speech, and other functions. I realized Solveig was unable to care for me at our home. She tried with all her heart, but she was also fighting her own battle with cancer, and undergoing her own rigorous treatments. So I decided to enter a nursing home, while I continued to get rehab. I wanted a facility with a stroke recovery unit. This limited my nursing home choices. The only thing making life bearable here, was Solveig faithfully visiting me, and sneaking an occasional home-cooked meal past the head nurse and her staff. Sadly, Solveig succumbed to the cancer while I was still a resident at the ‘Bethel Retirement Center’. At Solveig’s funeral, my children promised to visit often, but as usual, I could never count on them for anything. Without my wife here to check on things, my decent clothes never came back from the laundry, and instead, the staff returned excuses. I put on old sweatpants and an old sweatshirt. It would do for now. I prepared myself for this day by walking the halls of the nursing home, attending physical therapy sessions, and taking care of myself without help from the staff. Still not fully recovered, but like my clothing, it would do for now. I said goodbye to Alfred, my shared roommate. He nodded, wished me luck, and said he would love to go with me. I felt sorry for him. He was a great storyteller but needed to use his walker, and physically, he required the kind of care they provided here. I walked down the hall to the nurse’s station and found Molly Turner, the rather brusque chief nurse, and her two assistants sitting behind it. “Good morning, Nurse Ratched,” I said. “Good day to you, Gunnar,” she replied. “I’m checking out,” I said. “Be serious, Gunnar. No one ever checks out of a nursing home, unless they are flat on their back with a toe tag.” I looked at her and smiled, “I only hope that will be your Fate, Molly.” “That’s not a nice thing to say, Gunnar. Now, return to your room or I will have dietary take away your rice pudding for a week.” The rice pudding here was a pale imitation of the riskrem, which Solvieg would make every Christmas. I would miss it this year. I gave Nurse Ratched a one-fingered salute, then walked toward the exit. There was a scramble of squeaky chairs and shouts behind me, and I heard their footsteps closing in on me. As I pushed the two doors open to the main lobby, there was Roger, standing next to the nursing home administrator. I walked up to my lawyer, and shook his hand, “Thank you, old friend.” I turned to see a stunned Nurse Ratched. “Allow me to escort Mr. Larsen back to his room,” she meekly pronounced. The nursing home administrator said, “That won’t be necessary, Molly. Mr. Larsen is leaving us. He isn’t taking anything with him. You may clear out his room and get it ready for the next resident.” I looked Nurse Ratched in the eye and saw the fires of hell blazing within. Then, it was my turn to smile back. All my therapists had agreed that my rehab was successful. My speech skills were quite restored. My left arm and leg took longer to restore. But it was good enough to ditch the wheelchair, then the walker, then the cane. What really set me back was the grief of losing my wife, and the guilt of not being there when she needed me most. GUNNAR’S HOUSE Roger drove me to my house. I hadn’t been there in two years. It looked pathetic. No one bothered shoveling the snow on the walkway, and I feared what my children may have done to the inside. I found the hidden key I placed under a rock years ago and used it to enter through the front door. The living room and dining room furniture were mostly gone, or should I say, stolen. They had rifled through the small office nook next to the kitchen, with papers scattered over the kitchen countertops and floor. I turned and said, “You’re going to have your work cut out for you, Roger.” “This is exactly what you said would happen, Gunnar. Our firm will take care of it for you.” I opened a small drawer in the office nook and thankfully found my passport intact. It was useless to my children. I went to the master bedroom and saw the dresser drawers partially opened, with clothes scattered all about the floor. On top of the dresser was Solvieg’s jewelry box. I opened it, and few things remained. I was glad to see the gold charm bracelet I gave her 35 years ago for Christmas. She wore it a couple of times, then stopped, complaining it turned her wrist green as the fake gold coating wore away. But she kept it all these years. A worn-out trinket to my children, as precious as the Sauron’s Ring of Power to me. I picked it up and put it in the pocket of my sweatpants. I went into the walk-in closet and picked out some clothes, tossed them into an old gym bag, and said, “I’m done. We can go.” Roger said, “The locksmith and security company will meet me here this afternoon. Once they are done, your children will no longer have access.” “I’d rather not have an auction of whatever is left in the house. I don’t think Solveig would have liked that. Once you go through the papers, just throw everything left in a dumpster and haul it away. Whatever the two pirates plundered will be the only inheritance they will ever see from me.” MILLER AND MANS LAW OFFICE Roger and I next went to his office. I said hello to Jane, the long-time receptionist. I have always suspected that Jane knows everything that goes on here, and secretly runs the whole place, not unlike the way Nurse Ratched does in her domain. However, Jane does so with more efficiency, happiness, and joy for both clients and staff. Jane asked, “Can I get you anything, Gunnar?” “I’d love a cup of decent coffee, and an Apple Fritter if you have one.” “I’ll bring them to Roger’s office. Two creams and no sugar, if I remember right.” “Perfect, as always, Jane.” We went into Roger’s plush office, and I sat down in a chair more comfortable than any I sat in for the last two years. “Are you actually going to go through with this?” Roger asked. “Every bit of it,” I replied. I signed multiple papers, removing my two children as beneficiaries from my life insurance and investment accounts. I also gave Roger limited power of attorney to sell my house and dispose of its possessions. Jane arrived with the coffee and Apple Fritter. “Norway? Why would anyone want to go to Norway in December?” “Did Roger spill the beans?” I asked. Jane replied, “Every piece of paper that comes into this office passes through my hands. I opened your travel visa when it came in.” “Jane, I can’t spend Christmas here in Minnesota. The bitter wintry weather pales in comparison to the cold hearts of my own two children. The further away from them I am, the better. I’ve never been to Norway and have always wanted to see the 'home country’ of my ancestors.” Like I said, Jane knows all. The coffee tasted great, and the deep-fried Apple Fritter, one of Nursed Ratched’s 'prohibited foods’, was outstanding. Roger slid me a packet labeled 'Gunnar - Norway’. As Jane left, I opened it and looked at the contents. As planned, there was an international cell phone with a different number, a stack of krone, and three new credit cards bearing the name of a fictitious business. I handed Roger my old cell phone. “We’ll dispose of this for you. Your children will have no idea where you are unless they hire a private detective with exceptionally good connections. Legally, they have no rights to any of your assets, so even if somehow they track you to our law office, they will not get past Jane.” I believed Roger on that. “The tour company you asked us to sign you up with seems pretty sketchy. Their contract looks like something generated off a free online legal site. We reviewed it, it is crude, but legal and binding. If you back out, they still get paid. Why did you pick this tour company? There are many larger and more reputable companies we might have booked you with.” “It’s silly, Roger. I know it’s only a one-person company, run by a young vlogger in Norway. It was terribly boring in the nursing home, so I would spend evenings watching her videos as she traveled around Norway visiting various places, and leading small groups of tourists. It looked like the people were having fun and she made me laugh. Watching her videos was one of the few things that brought me any happiness.” “Why did you reserve for four persons?” asked Roger. “I wanted to make sure her Christmas in Norway tour wouldn’t be canceled. She has a four-person minimum.” “You won’t get those other bookings back, even if more people are going.” “I don’t need the money, Roger, but I do need this tour.” “How about clothing? You don’t have many clothes in that gym bag, Gunnar. Do you want to stop somewhere before we get to the airport?” “No. I’ll travel light. It’ll be easier when going through airport security. I’ll buy more clothes when I get to Norway.” “How about after you come back?” “I’m going to someplace warm and sunny. Maybe visit a mouse in Florida. I’ll be in touch if I need anything while I’m in Norway, and call you when I get back in three weeks.” JORUNN, THE TOUR GUIDE December 15 – Morning, Two Days Later I spent yesterday shopping for the new clothes I would need. The tour is a mix of city and outdoor activities, so I bought a basic wardrobe, along with good walking shoes, snow pants, a warm jacket, and gloves. I ate lunch and dinner at two smaller restaurants. The food was good, but I felt lonely eating by myself, in a city I didn’t know, in a strange country. I missed Solveig very much and wished she were here with me. The next morning, I walked to the nearby hotel where the tour group would be meeting and followed the “Christmas in Norway Tour” sign to a small room off the lobby. There she was! Jorunn. My vlogger! She was about as tall as I am, at least when I can stand straight, with long blonde hair parted in the middle, clear blue eyes, and her signature radiant smile. She wore a Norwegian Dale sweater and brown pants. Jorunn spoke to me in Norwegian. “Excuse me, sir, this room is reserved for a tour group.” I hobbled closer. “Yes, and I’m one of the people taking the tour.” “We have a pretty active schedule for the next seven days, from December 15th through the 22nd. Do you think you are well enough to take this tour?” I wasn’t sure if I was, but I didn’t want to tell her that. “I won’t slow you down,” I replied. “What is your name?” she asked. “Gunnar Larsen.” She opened a small notebook and flipped through the pages. “It says here you are in a group of four. I see three other names. When are they coming?” “There won’t be any others from my group. One of the names is my recently deceased wife, the other two are my estranged adult children. I’m all there is.” Jorunn looked puzzled. “Only four people in total signed up, including you, all from your group. If the others aren’t coming, then you will be the only one. I don’t… I can’t… I mean, I have reservations I cannot cancel. You’re going to cost me a fortune whether I go through with the tour or not.” I replied, “The contract states that you have a four-person minimum. I am paying you in full for all four people. You won’t lose any money.” Jorunn smirked and looked like she was thinking. “I don’t know if you’re some kind of dirty old man, but if I agree to continue this tour, you should know that we will have separate rooms every night and there will be no sex of any kind. Judging by the way you look; I hope you can at least wipe your own butt!” “Your terms are acceptable. I had a stroke two years ago, but I have mostly recovered. I can walk, talk, and listen. I have trouble with my balance at times and sometimes slur my words. If you think something is too strenuous for me, I am willing to skip that part of the tour.” “Well, Mr. Larsen of Minnesota, you need to sign some release forms. As stated in the contract, I get to film the tour group for my vlogs, so I expect smiles when I am filming you. For now, go help yourself to breakfast. There is coffee, brunost, bread, and milk. Enough to feed four. Don’t expect me to serve you, and if you don’t know how to use a cheese sliver, learn fast.” She looked puzzled earlier but was now the confident Jorunn with whom I spent virtual evenings. I was delighted we worked this out. Smiles would not be a problem. OSLO December 15 - Morning Jorunn left the room and returned shortly with a small basket of food. “We have a lot of brunost left over, so I am going to make us a food packet for lunch called matpakke. I have a place in mind where we can sit and picnic.” “We will use the Vy app and Oslo Pass and travel by train and Metro. But today, we will mainly walk around Oslo. You will need to check into this hotel under the tour name if you have not done so. We will be in Oslo for two nights. The prepaid room is part of your tour package. I will try to cancel or change some reservations. Meet me back here in one hour.” I went back to my hotel to retrieve my belongings, then checked into the one Jorunn requested. It was not as nice as the one I left, but it was clean, and I did not want to make a fuss on the first day. I purchased a surprising amount of clothing yesterday and needed to make two trips to bring everything over. Then I returned to the meeting room and found Jorunn waiting. Jorunn and I walked from the hotel to Oslo Central Station and took a tram to the Vigeland Sculpture Park. Jorunn told me it is the world’s largest sculpture park made by a single artist, Gustav Vigeland, with over two hundred sculptures combining the human form with an element of fantasy. Most figures were naked, with a mix of vagueness and rather notably open precision. The most prominent sculpture was a 17-meter-high monolith consisting of 121 intertwined human figures clambering to the top, carved from a single stone block. We spent over an hour walking the grounds, and while it was interesting, I told Jorunn that I didn’t see much in the way of Christmas here. A combination of walking and a short bus ride brought us to the grounds of the Akershus Fortress. Constructed in the 13th century, it protects the waterfront and Oslo harbor. Also on the site was the restored Akershus Castle, which was formerly a residence of prior kings of Norway. Jorunn said it serves today as an entertainment and event center for the Norwegian government, and this close to Christmas was not open to the public. I found it challenging to walk the grounds of the Fortress, as there were steep inclines mixed with stone steps and cobblestone paths. Remnants of a prior snowstorm still lingered in shady areas and under arches, making the footing treacherous. We did stop at places offering magnificent views of the city of Oslo, the bay, and the fjord, and several ramparts still bore cannons. Jorunn was rather businesslike and did not seem to be enjoyin

Angel of Mercy: Part 2

MIRACLES CAN HAPPEN ON CHRISTMAS EVE. Based on a post by auguy86 [https://www.sexstories.com/profile1055872/auguy86], in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/my-first-2025/AngelOfMercy2.mp3] at My First Time [https://feeds.feedburner.com/my-first-time]. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/bfbe0f460f693f7a588dc0ef3c7f6f90/05f7431798128eb1-86/s640x960/536ecb1c6d1ad284dd81453b630d1559c51210d3.jpg] “I; I don’t want to just be a charity case,” Ken replied. “If you do this, Gabrielle;” “It will only be because I want to. Promise,” Gabby replied, finishing his thought. “Now, your first lesson in kissing: making the move. I’m a young, attractive woman who has been making eye contact with you all night and finding every excuse in the book to touch you. You may not realize it, but when a woman does that, it means she’s ready for you to make the move. Try it on me, just like I did.” Mimicking Ken, Gabby closed her eyes, waiting for the moment that Ken would kiss her once more. He leaned in as she had done, trying to take his time and not rush anything. As he was about to kiss her, he remembered that agonizing wait when he could sense her almost on top of him. Pausing mere centimeters from her lips, he allowed the tension to build up for a few moments. Soon, a huge smile began to form on Gabby’s lips; she was enjoying this, and he hadn’t even touched her yet! Ken collected his courage and finally met her lips with his, moving them ever so slightly as he kissed her. He only had his instincts to guide him, but she didn’t seem to mind one bit. “Umm; that was very nice,” Gabby whispered as they parted. “Good job in mimicking my technique. Let’s try one more. This time, lick your lips just a bit before you kiss me, and try to let our mouths fit together like a puzzle. You can take my lower lip between yours, or I can take your lip between mine. Tilting your head to the side a bit is also a natural position. The possibilities are almost endless. When you’re ready, don’t be afraid to put your tongue in my mouth. In the future, you’ll want to be careful about doing this too soon, but for our purposes tonight, go right ahead.” Ken did as she instructed, and found that the increased moisture to be quite pleasant. It allowed each of their lips to slide along the other’s with little effort. All too soon, he felt Gabby take his lower lip in hers, sucking lightly and even nibbling for an instant. After she did this a second time, Ken took the hint and reciprocated in kind, eliciting a contented murmur from Gabby. As their kissing became more passionate, he could no longer resist the urge to taste this gorgeous woman. Still tentative, he pressed his tongue against the crease of her lips, which parted to allow him entry. Though he didn’t know what to do once he was in, he soon found himself enthralled in Gabby’s passions. Her tongue danced with his, exploring his mouth in a slow, methodical fashion. This gave him the perfect gauge to judge his own efforts by. After nearly twenty minutes of making out, they finally separated, their faces flushed from the experience. “Holy shit.” Ken sighed. “You, my friend, are one quick study. The next girl that kisses you may well get addicted and refuse to let you go,” Gabby agreed with a playful grin. Leaning back on the sofa, she reached down and unbuttoned the top button of her jeans, asking, “You ready to learn something else?” In spite of his hardening cock, Ken couldn’t help but feel like he was doing something he shouldn’t. “Look, you seriously don’t have to;” “I want to,” she said with confidence. “Ken, you are such a sweet, special guy, and I want to show you that. I want to prove to you how lucky a girl I would be to have a guy like you.” Would be? What’s that supposed to mean? “I’ve never made love to a virgin, Ken,” she continued. “But I know what I love in bed, and I think I can help you get quite good at this. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but if you’ll allow me, I’d love nothing more than to take your virginity tonight.” Ken was torn. This woman certainly drove him crazy, but part of him worried this was all an elaborate setup. Women never came on to him like this, let alone one this beautiful! Then again, she hadn’t balked in the slightest in kissing him. Hell, she had even encouraged him to French kiss her. In spite of the fact that he had every reason to be distrusting after Jacqueline’s message, he recognized that she had shown him nothing but kindness and patience. He didn’t believe in destiny or fate, but if there was a moment in which he was supposed to lose his virginity, this had to be it. “Okay; I want to,” he whispered. “I’m glad,” she replied with a warm smile. Fumbling with his belt, he said, “I guess I’d better;” “There’s plenty of time, Ken,” Gabby reassured him. “If we do this, I want to do it right. I want to show you the proper way to take a girl around the world. That starts with what we were doing earlier, only this time, you can start removing my clothes in the process.” As Ken leaned in and resumed their kissing, Gabby guided his hands lower and slipped them underneath her sweater. He spent a few moments enjoying the warm sensation of skin-to-skin contact before tugging her sweater up. They separated for a moment so that Gabby could finish peeling her top off, revealing a simple, black silk bra. As they continued making out, Ken reached behind her, trying to decipher the key to unhooking the ever-hated bra. “Want some advice?” Gabby asked with a slight giggle. “Sure,” Ken signed, beginning to get frustrated. “Feel for the crease, then slip one finger under and one finger over. Squeeze together and rub your fingers until it unhooks.” Concentrating, Ken did as she instructed. The clasp itself was easy to find, and her descriptions were spot on. To his surprise, it only took one unsuccessful attempt before he managed to snap the garment open. “Impressive,” Gabby marveled. “Thanks, but that was all you. I’d be lost without your instructions.” “You’re a natural student; you take direction well. Ready for the next lesson?” “Oh yeah,” Ken said with anticipation. “Your kissing skills have grown by leaps and bounds in just a few minutes. Now you should remember that you don’t have to kiss just my lips. My cheeks, my neck, my shoulders; my entire body is your playground. Few things turn a woman on more than a man whose only desire is to worship every inch of her form.” With that, Gabby shrugged her shoulders and slipped her bra off, revealing her ample D-cup tits to Ken. He was utterly speechless at the sight he now beheld. They were not only large, but quite perky as well. Her tiny pink nipples, already hard from their making out, were the perfect accent to Gabby’s most notable assets. As he drank her in, he felt her guide his hand towards her, reaching him out to touch her tit. It barely fit into his hand, yet it was so soft and warm that it felt like it just belonged there. Taking a deep breath, Ken now reached in with both of his hands, squeezing her tits together and exploring every inch of their surface. Remembering her words from a moment ago, he leaned in once more and began to kiss his way from her lips down to her chest. “Yes; just like that.” she cooed. Arriving at the valley of her bosom, he made his way to one side, kissing her tit while also stimulating her nipple with his finger. “That’s so good, Ken; ooh, you can suck on them too,” she whispered with encouragement. Ken’s heart leapt at her suggestion, and he moved to take one of her tiny nipples in his mouth. He sucked with eagerness at first, but Gabby soon coaxed him to go slower. “Careful there; be gentle.” “Sorry.” “Quite alright, they’re just a bit sensitive,” she said with a sweet giggle. Ken spent quite some time lapping at her tits, alternating sides every so often. At first, Gabby advised him on when to change so as not to over stimulate one side or the other. Soon, though, Ken was moving back and forth all on his own, driving her wild with lust in the process. After several minutes of this, she lifted his head up, a wicked grin on her face. “Ready for the big reveal?” she asked, lowering the zipper of her jeans. “Uh; uh huh.” Lifting her hips up, Gabby slipped her jeans over her curvy ass and down her long legs before kicking them off with her boots. She then turned to recline back on the sofa, spreading her legs a tiny bit. The smoldering come hither look she gave Ken was enough to bring any man to his knees. “Come on, Ken; you’ve got a Christmas present to open.” Ken’s mouth went dry as he stared at her black thong panties, mesmerized in disbelief by what was about to happen. With trembling hands, he slipped his fingers into her waistband and slid the silky garment off, revealing Gabby’s shaven pussy at last. In that moment, Ken had completely forgotten that he was still wearing all his clothes. “I just love the way you’re looking at me,” Gabby breathed, breaking his trance. “It’s like you won the lottery or something.” “I; think I did.” “So sweet. Now then, time to learn how to really make a woman happy. Most women are at least willing to engage in oral sex, but you always need to give at least as much as you receive. It’s only polite. And there’s no better way to make a woman want to suck your cock; than to eat her pussy without prompting. With that said.” Gabby now spread her legs wide for him, beckoning him to explore her delectable womanhood. Following a trail she laid with her fingers, Ken began to kiss his way up her leg and inner thigh. After repeating the action on her other leg, he arrived at her soaked pussy, breathing in the musky aroma seeping from within her. “Spread my lips, Ken,” Gabby whispered. Using a gentle touch, he did as she asked, gazing deep into her slick tunnel. He soon leaned forward, touching his tongue to the folds of her labia. She tasted different than he had expected, perhaps a bit salty, but nothing unpleasant in Ken’s mind. He continued to taste and tease her lips for a few moments, and she began to squirm and writhe under him in pleasure. “Oh, yes; that’s just right, Ken; you can move a little higher, too. See that little bump there? That’s my clit. She’s sensitive, but if you pay enough attention to her; something good is bound to happen.” He tilted his head upwards a bit, running his tongue along her lips as he arrived at her clit. Flicking the nub a couple of times, he was surprised at just how strong Gabby’s reaction was. Ken liked that. She was having the time of her life, and it was all because of him. Feeling a twinge of confidence, he redoubled his efforts and began lapping at her clit again and again, never giving her a chance to rest. “Yes; yes, that’s fucking incredible!” she cried out. As Gabby’s hips began to buck, Ken looped his arms around her thighs on instinct, helping her to remain still. He continued his worshipping of her womanhood, savoring every drop of her juices as she squirmed and squealed in delight. Soon, he began to sense that her thrashing was reaching a crescendo and an ultimate plateau. He received almost immediate verbal confirmation of this. “Holy shit; Fuck that’s awesome! Oh, Ken don’t stop; don’t; stop; please don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop; ah!” Ken knew in an academic sense that women could achieve powerful orgasms. Still, he had never actually seen it happen, let alone experienced it by his hand, or rather his tongue. Yet lying beneath him was the most beautiful woman he had ever met in his life, and she was becoming even more beautiful by the second as her body erupted in ecstasy. The look of pleasure on her face as her eyes fluttered closed was awe-inspiring. A few final licks to her pussy, and she gently pushed his face away from her crotch. “That’s quite enough; but oh so wonderful.” she sighed. “You’re a natural, Ken.” “Thanks. That’s; got to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Seeing you lose control like that, it was surreal.” “So sweet,” she said, sitting up straight on the sofa. “For all your supposed awkwardness, you sure know how to pay a girl a compliment.” She leaned forward, planting a long, slow kiss on his lips. As they parted, she whispered, “Ready for your due reward?” With a slight gasp, he replied, “Oh, hell yes.” Gabby stood from the sofa, smiling the entire time. Reaching behind the armrest of the sofa, she pulled out a dark blue sleeping bag and began to spread it out on the thick rug in front of the fire. “It’s a tradition,” she explained, seeing the look of confusion on Ken’s face. “When I was a little girl, I swore I’d catch Santa in the act by sleeping next to the tree. He’d never be able to sneak past me. Well, my parents told me to go for it, but that it wouldn’t work; he’s too good. Sure enough, he had come and gone the next morning. He even left a note next to my pillow that said, ‘Nice try, Gabby. Merry Christmas.’ Ever since then, I’ve slept by the tree every Christmas Eve.” “Love it,” Ken grinned. By now, she had finished spreading the sleeping bag out on the floor and affixed a couple of pillows at the head for them. As it was designed for one person, she had opened it completely and laid it out flat, making it large enough for two to lie on. Seeing what she was doing, Ken grabbed a large throw blanket from the sofa to cover up with. “Why, thank you,” she said. “But don’t you think you’re a bit overdressed?” “Huh?” Ken had been so entranced with Gabby’s naked body that he’d forgotten that he was still wearing his clothes. “Oh, uh, I guess so.” “Can I help with that?” she asked with a mischievous grin. “Sure.” Gabby sauntered over to him, wrapping him in a warm hug as they stood next to the fireplace. After kissing his lips, she moved to his cheek and neck, just as he had done to her before. As she began to drive him crazy, she slipped her fingers into his tee shirt and pulled it off of him, exposing his bare chest to her. Now with a new playground to explore, Gabby continued from where she left off. She first lingered around his neck and shoulders, then down his chest before finally reaching his stomach. As she knelt before him, she unbuckled his belt and slid his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, freeing his rock hard cock at last. Ken was not large my most standards, being only about five inches in length at full staff, but to Gabby he was perfect. She had no hesitation as she began to lightly stroke his length in her hand, and soon began to take him in her mouth bit-by-bit. Ken was in blissful agony; not only was he receiving is first blowjob, but he also had to keep from exploding too soon, all while concentrating on standing still. She sucked him for a few seconds more before releasing him. “If you get close, let me know, okay? I want this inside my pussy, too.” Ken could only nod in reply. She soon resumed her pleasuring of his member, sucking him with gleeful determination. He had been so good to her tonight; she only wanted to reward his efforts. Slowing her pace, she gazed up at him with her smoldering eyes, her pretty face framed by her long blonde hair. As Ken began to lose himself in her beauty, he also felt a familiar bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. Though he panicked for a moment, he soon had the presence of mind to tap Gabby on the forehead. “I think you’d better slow down,” he stammered. Releasing his cock from her mouth with a pop, Gabby grinned and replied, “Good. Because I think it’s time for me to take your virginity.” After switching off the gas logs, she stretched out on the open sleeping bag and held part of the blanket up, beckoning Ken to slide in with her. He did so with eagerness, though was still nervous as hell; he had no idea what he was doing! Sensing his doubts, Gabby spoke with soft confidence and reassurance. “Let’s go you on top to start. That way you can control it so you don’t go off too soon. Honestly, though, don’t worry about stamina. You’ve already lasted through one of my blowjobs, which is no small feat, if I do say so myself. You ready?” “Um, yeah; I think so. But do we need any; protection? I don’t have a condom or anything.” With a warm smile, she replied, “Don’t ever change, Ken. Sweet, humble, and considerate, that’s what you are. I don’t have any diseases per my last doctor’s visit two months ago, and I know you’re a virgin so I don’t think there’s any concern.” “That’s good. But; what if you get pregnant? I’m not sure I’d be able to pull out in time.” “Well,” she paused, her smile becoming more bittersweet. “It’s a long story, but trust me when I say that there’s no risk of me becoming pregnant. We’re clear to let loose with this, as long as you’re comfortable with that, of course.” “I am. I just; wanted to be sure.” “Thank you, Ken. Now, if you please, my pussy is aching for your cock, and you’d best make her happy.” Positioning his pelvic region between her legs, Ken attempted to push into her, but his slick cock merely grazed the surface before slipping up to her belly. Gabby just smiled and reached down, taking a gentle grip on his cock with her hand and guiding him to the entrance of her pussy. Feeling a bit of give, he followed his instincts and penetrated her at long last, his virginity melting away in the process. She was divine, far tighter than Ken had ever imagined in his wildest dreams and fantasies. “Oh Ken; that’s just where you belong,” she cooed in satisfaction. “Holy fuck; so tight.” he could only reply. Ken began to thrust in and out of her, keeping his tempo moderate at the start to get a feel for how sensitive he was. The sensations of making love to this goddess were only enhanced by the look of sheer enjoyment in Gabby’s eyes. He prayed that he would be able to last and enjoy it all, even if only for a few minutes. As he continued thrusting into her, Gabby began to get a mischievous look in her eyes. “You’re thinking something,” Ken observed. “Uh huh. Wanna learn a trick that’ll drive any girl nuts?” “Sure.” “Come up on your knees and keep your torso straight up. Try to get to where you can keep yourself inside me without having to balance on your arms.” “Like this?” he asked, relaxing back on his folded knees. “Exactly. You can also stretch my leg out against your chest to help you balance.” “Very nice,” he said as he followed her instructions. &ld

Angel of Mercy: Part 1

MIRACLES CAN HAPPEN ON CHRISTMAS EVE. Based on a post by auguy86 [https://www.sexstories.com/profile1055872/auguy86], in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/my-first-2025/AngelOfMercy1.mp3] at My First Time [https://feeds.feedburner.com/my-first-time]. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/406312c85a271db7eee636a0bfc96a86/41e45611ed107f1f-91/s640x960/347dd632815869c95ab34b6941cb39c74c46582c.jpg] Ken Dix flipped through the TV guide at a moderate pace; “500 channels, and nothing but Christmas specials on.” Finding nothing but disappointment at every turn. As it was Christmas Eve, every show was a mushy feel-good romp spouting lines about family and goodwill to others. None of that spoke to Ken in the slightest. “Ken?” a voice came from the kitchen. “What’s up, Mom?” “I’ve got my hands full with making everything for dinner tonight, but I’m going to run short on a couple of ingredients,” Helen Dix said, poking her head into the living room. “Can you run to the store real quick for me please?” “Sure thing,” Ken replied, seeing as he had nothing better to do. “Great, thank you. I made a list on the counter for you. The store should be open for another hour or two. The main things would be the eggs; I don’t have enough to finish my famous chess pie. If they have tea by the gallon, grab one sweet and one unsweet. The rest are great if you find them, but not essential.” “Got it,” Ken said as he took the list from the counter. Heading out to his car, Ken cranked up his Honda Civic and pulled out of the driveway. As he made his way into town, Ken reflected on his current situation. Though he loved his mom, being home for the holidays was always nerve-wracking for him. His hometown of Alpharetta, Georgia was crawling with former high school classmates of his, people he’d just as soon never see again. But up at MIT, he was actually among peers that he could relate to on an intellectual level. Not that he’d made that many friends up there. As a nineteen-year-old freshman, he was still stuck in the same boring math and science classes as everyone else. He couldn’t wait until he could start his health sciences training. Maybe then he could meet some decent people, perhaps of the female variety. Ken soon arrived in the parking lot of the local Kroger. It was soon obvious that the place was packed with last-minute shoppers, all trying to find that one final ingredient they were missing. Locking his car, Ken sauntered into the store, grabbing a shopping basket along the way. He found the shelves of the store well picked over, striking out on the nonessential items on his mom’s list. Making his way to the drinks aisle, he was pleased to see that the store was keeping the gallon jugs of tea well stocked for the holidays, and picked up a pair. Ken soon arrived in the refrigerated section of the store. Almost every shelf was empty, but he did manage to find one last carton of six eggs, just what his mom needed. Depositing the carton in his shopping basket, Ken made his way back to the front of the store, checking out in the express lane. He gripped the shopping bags tightly, being careful that the eggs weren’t harmed from the swinging of the bags. Arriving back in the parking lot, he was pleasantly surprised to see one of his former classmates, Jacqueline Brown. As he approached, she saw him coming. “Ken? Kenneth Dix?” She was extremely pretty, as was befitting one of the most popular girls in school, and kept her chestnut-brown hair cut just below her jawline. Her soft, warm facial features and bubbly personality belied the sharp intellect hiding underneath. She and Ken had been partners a few times in various subjects, and he had helped craft her entrance essay to the University of Washington. This earned her a full ride scholarship. In spite of her popularity, they had worked well together, and Ken even dared to call her a friend, at least in his own mind. They had never hung out on a social basis; her circle of friends would never have let her live that down. Still, times had changed. They were both out of high school, after all. What could it hurt to ask? “Jacqueline? Wow, I never thought I’d see you back here. Thought you escaped to cooler climates?” “Yeah, Seattle is nice, but nothing beats Christmas at home,” she replied, adjusting her UW sweatshirt. “You back for the same reason?” “Uh huh. Mom pretty much insisted. She won’t settle for anything less than a full family gathering on Christmas Eve. I’m just grabbing a few last things for her. But yeah, it’s great seeing you again. You, uh, you look good.” “Um; thanks,” she replied with hesitation. “I’m, uh, gonna be home for a couple of weeks. Would you want to, I don’t know, hang out sometime? Maybe grab a bite to eat? My treat.” “Well, Ken, that’s sweet of you to ask.” she said almost to herself. As she paused, her eyes suddenly lit up as if she had gotten an idea. “Alright! Here, let me give you my number.” She scribbled a series of digits down on a scrap piece of paper, writing her name next to them. “I’ll, um, talk to you later, I guess?” “Sounds great!” Ken couldn’t believe it; he had actually done it! He had asked out the prettiest girl he had ever known! Moreover, she had given him her number! Things were definitely looking up. “Dick!” a voice behind them yelled. Ken turned, immediately recognizing Jason Brown, Jacqueline’s fraternal twin brother, along with his two flunkies, Brian and Barrett Sullivan. Jason had been the star quarterback at his high school, and the Sullivan boys were his best offensive linemen. They often served as his muscle off the football field, as well. Ken was intimately familiar with these three, as they had made it their mission in high school to make his life a living hell. Being stuffed in lockers, having his wallet stolen, all were commonplace with them. The three approached, attempting to appear imposing, which they were from the perspective of the ever-scrawny Ken. “I’ve got nothing to say to you guys,” Ken muttered as they approached. “Well I’ve got something to say to you, Mr. Kenny Dick,” Jason growled. “Just shut up and leave me alone,” Ken replied, his blood boiling at the use of Jason’s longtime nickname for him. “No! You shut the fuck up and listen!” Jason said, grabbing Ken by the collar of his tee-shirt and flinging him against his car. In the process, Ken dropped his shopping bags, the jugs of tea landing directly on the egg carton. “Jason! Stop it!” Jacqueline protested. Undeterred, Jason threatened. “Listen fuck-wad, you stay the hell away from my sister!” “She’s an adult, dickhead! She can have anyone she wants as a friend!” Ken protested. “You don’t belong on the same Planet as her! You’re nothing’! A pathetic sack of guts your dumbass mother decided to give a name to! Know what? Just do us all a favor and drop dead!” Enraged at the insult to his mom, Ken swung a wild haymaker at his assailant, but Jason was more than ready, pinning Ken’s arm back against his car. Jason then delivered a crushing punch to Ken’s gut, dropping him down to his knees. Before leaving, Jason knelt down next to his gasping victim. “Next time, I won’t be so nice. Next time; I might just kill you myself. See ya around. Dick.” Turning to his sister, Jason said, “Come on, time to go home.” Jacqueline looked down at the pitiful form of Ken before muttering, “Sorry, Ken.” The trio of boys sauntered off across the parking lot, laughing and high-fiving at their antics. Jacqueline followed right behind them. Ken picked himself up and inspected his groceries, discovering the crushed eggs in his bag. Swearing and cursing, he grabbed the misshapen carton and went to throw it in a nearby trash can. “No chess pie tonight.” As Ken returned to his car and began his drive home, Jason and his flunkies watched on from his car, still pleased with their efforts. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Jacqueline said in a lecturing tone. Jason turned to face his sister. “I do what I gotta do, Jacqueline. That fuck-wad has no business getting friendly with you. He needs to learn his place.” “Be that as it may, I can take care of myself,” she replied firmly. “Take care of yourself? Wait; you didn’t?” “I did. Jason, someday you’ll learn that there are more subtle and effective ways to ward off undesirables. Trust me, Ken won’t bother me ever again.” Back at Home. Upon arriving back home, Ken couldn’t bring himself to tell his mom about the incident with the eggs. He instead told her that the store had run out altogether. She had spent many sleepless nights in the past worrying about the constant bullying her son was subjected to in school. Ken didn’t want to give her anything else to worry about. By this time, has uncles had started arriving, and the living room was soon filled with the sounds of football games. In Ken’s mind, these were no more thought provoking that the mindless Christmas specials he had found earlier. Ken went up to his room to take a hot shower, as well as get some alone time in the process. As he stripped down, he saw a bruise beginning to form on his stomach from Jason’s punch. He winced in pain as he touched the tender skin. Shit; that’s not going away for a while. Ken took some Tylenol for the pain before stepping into the shower. The hot water helped relax his body, and the steam gradually built up, clearing his mind a bit. He finished after a while and, after making sure his door was shut, flopped facedown onto his bed. After laying there for around an hour or so, his mom finally called him down to rejoin the family for dinner. Taking his seat at the table, Ken glanced around the room at his various family members. His mom had two older brothers, Lee and Stan. Though Lee was tall and still relatively youthful looking at forty-five, Stan was shorter and beginning to bald as he approached fifty. Still, both of them had one notable thing in common as far as Ken was concerned: they were both still jocks at heart. Ken had never known his father; it had always just been him and his mom. He could tell that his uncles tried to be male role models for him, but their efforts were usually ill-conceived attempts to “man him up.” Never once did they understand his introverted tendencies, and always tried to get him to be more of a people person. After a while, Ken stopped paying their advice any attention. It was striking to Ken how similar Lee and Stan’s families were. They had both married beautiful, blonde cheerleaders, and now both had sixteen-year-old daughters, both of whom were among the most popular girls in school. It all sickened Ken; they were just perpetuating the stereotype of pretty and popular being the be-all, end-all in life. As the family ate, Ken remained silent for the most part. The adults were engrossed in discussions about their jobs, and the two daughters were giggling and playing on their phones the entire time. None of this was relevant to Ken. “You know, I saw something interesting today,” Lee said as dessert was being brought out. “I was at Kroger filling up my car, and saw you in the main parking lot, Ken. Looked like you were, uh, having some words with a few guys out there.” Shit! He saw that? Not wanting to worry his mom, Ken replied, “It; it was nothing.” “Nothing, eh? Is that why that punk punched you in the gut?” With a worried look on her face, Helen asked, “Ken, sweetie, what is he talking about?” She walked around the table to Ken’s seat and lifted up his shirt, seeing the bruise on his abdomen. “Was it that Jason boy again?” “Mom, just let it go.” “No! Ken, you know I worry about you!” “You worry about Me? I think you need to worry more about your brother!” Ken shouted, his anger exploding at last. “Right, Uncle Lee? Come on, you see your own nephew being ganged up on in a parking lot, yet you do nothing to help him out?!” “A man’s gotta learn to fight his own battles,” Lee replied in a calm voice. “No. You want to know what a man does? A man sticks up for his Family! No. Matter. What! You stood there and watched your own nephew get beaten up. That says a hell of a lot more about you than it does me. And if that’s family; I don’t want any part of this one.” Without a word, Ken stood and left the dining room. He then grabbed his MIT hoodie and headed for the front door. As he was about to get into his car and drive off, he saw to his frustration that his uncles’ cars were parked in the driveway behind him, blocking him in. Cursing under his breath, he prepared to leave on foot. “Ken! Come back inside, please!” Helen called after him, running down the driveway. “No. I’ve got to go out; clear my head.” “Ken, it’s Christmas Eve. Please, come be with your family.” “Mom, aside from you, not a single person in that house feels like family to me,” Ken replied coldly. “I’ll; I’ll call you after while.” Ken walked off into the cold Georgia night, not knowing for sure where to go or what to do. Nobody else was out, as they were all at home with their families. Remembering the square in historic downtown Alpharetta, he decided to head in that direction. Maybe the quiet walk would do him some good. Arriving in the town square, Ken walked along the sidewalks for a bit, peering into the darkened windows of the various shops and restaurants. Everything looked so different to him with everyone gone for the day; it all seemed so peaceful. As he continued to walk, he soon saw City Hall in the distance. In front of the building was a large green space, which was teeming with a surprising amount of activity for it being Christmas Eve. Ken moved closer, now spying a large gathering of people sitting on picnic blankets, all bundled up in coats and hats. Ahead of them, a large screen projected the classic film, It’s a Wonderful Life. Though Ken was never into the Christmas cheer, as it were, he felt strangely drawn to watch a few minutes of the film from a distance. He soon began to regret that decision, as the movie had reached the point where George Baily had an arrest warrant out for him, lashing out at his family in anger. Watching him get drunk and punched in a bar fight, Ken began to feel sick with anger. Despite all his efforts to help better the world around him, the universe conspired against George Baily; just as it seemed to be conspiring against Ken. Unable to watch a moment more, he turned and walked into the nearby park. Again alone with his thoughts, Ken sat on a bench near the fountain in the center of the park. He contemplated many things, as he often did in solitude. He thought about his piss poor excuse for a family, intent on changing him into what they say he should be. If only they could love him as he is. He thought about Jason Brown, a perpetual asshole that managed to get all the beautiful women his heart desired. If only the universe would serve up his just desserts, rather than conspiring against Ken. Sighing in frustration, he stuffed his freezing hands into his jeans pockets. Jacqueline! Feeling the scrap of paper still in his pocket, Ken suddenly felt a glimmer of hope in an otherwise dreary day. He needed something, anything to lift his spirits, and hearing her kind, sweet voice might just do it. Hell, he didn’t even care anymore if she was interested in him in a romantic sense; he just needed someone to listen and understand him. Digging out his phone, he dialed the number. After a single ring, a message began to play, seeming to be read by a game show host. “Congratulations! You’ve reached Live 95.5 FM’s world-famous Loser Line! Live 95.5; featuring the best entertainment in Seattle! If you’ve reached this message, you have attempted to hit on a girl Way out of your league! That poor young lady wants nothing to do with you, but you just couldn’t help creeping on her! That’s where we come in! Now you know what a loser you really are! So leave the girl alone, loser! You’re doing everyone a favor! If you’d like to leave a message for the world-famous Loser Line, begin speaking at the tone!” Beep! Ken hung up the phone in quiet disbelief. How could he have been so wrong about Jacqueline? They had worked so well together in school, and he even considered her a friend! She always spoke so kindly to him, how could this have happened? Was she really as nasty and shallow as her dumbass brother? Was she really just that good of an actress? As he pondered all this, Ken’s rage finally exploded out of him. “That two-faced bitch! Who the fuck does she think she is?! I trusted her! Hell, she would never have gotten a full scholarship without my help! All I ever did was Like her! And after all that, she doesn’t even have the decency to turn me down to my face?! What The Fucking Hell? At least her brother was honest about his disdain. She’s far worse! I can’t imagine how evil she’d be if a person actually offended her?” Slumping back down onto the park bench, every thought that entered Ken’s mind brought him lower. Jason was an ass, but then again, he didn’t know how to act any different. Uncle Lee was a moron, but then again, he had no malicious intent. But Jacqueline; she was the last straw. He had trusted her, opened up to her, and she repaid him by committing the single most cruel and senseless act Ken could ever imagine. Everything was crashing down around him. As he continued to sulk, Jason’s words entered into his mind once more. “I should just do everyone a favor and drop dead; is that what you want, Jacqueline? Seems like you agree with your brother, or you wouldn’t have given me that number.” Ken reached into his pocket, withdrawing a folding knife. It had been a high school graduation present to him from his grandfather, before he passed a few months later. A far cry from the typical Swiss Army knife, he unfolded the shiny, four-inch blade, which stood in beautiful contrast to the wooden handle. Inscribed in the wood were Ken’s initials. He had not used it for anything yet, never had any need to. As he stared at his reflection in the blade, Ken kept replaying Jason’s cruel words in his mind, to do the world a favor and drop dead. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.” Ken mumbled. Just as he took a firm grip on the handle, preparing to take the knife to his throat, an unfamiliar voice came from off to the side. “Hey!” Gabrielle’s Christmas night. Gabrielle Libertine relaxed in a lawn chair, savoring the crisp, cold air of Christmas Eve. This was her favorite time of the year, and being able to enjoy an outdoor showing of her favorite Christmas film, It’s a Wonderful Life, made it even better. It all fit in perfectly with her life philosophy: live for happiness. Not only her own, but as much as could be had for the world around her too. “You want the moon? Just say the word, and I’ll throw a lasso around it and