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Helen took Kathy's right hand in her own and reached behind the highchair to hold Bill's. He gave two fingers into Kathy's grip and asked, "Good thing today, Princess?"

"Played with Cindy," said Kathy.

"Helen?" he asked.

She squeezed his hand. "My temp spiked today."

He squeezed her hand back. "For these blessings, Lord," he said, forgetting what he was thankful for or maybe appropriating hers, "for this food and for this family, we give thee thanks."

They all three said "Amen." Bill took over the job of feeding Kathy. He worked harder at being a father than most biological dads.

Two months after they'd met, he'd proposed. She'd broken down, told him all about Alan, all about being pregnant, all about being abandoned. He had comforted her, made gentle love to her, driven her back to her dorm. The next day, he'd called and asked her out for a drive. In the car he'd said, "Last night was very emotional. I'm truly sorry for what you suffered. I'm truly grateful for what we shared. It wasn't until I got home that I realized that you still haven't given me an answer, any answer."

"You still want me?" she'd asked.

He'd needed some time to persuade her of that. They'd announced their engagement two weeks later and had been married a month after that.

Kathy'd come along three months after the wedding, and Bill had never treated her as anything but his own. When his family had come down for graduation, they'd claimed the new baby's nose and blue eyes for his. They still claimed the cute nose.

Kathy's eyes were now brown, a clear, chocolate brown, much deeper than Helen's. They were, in fact, the precise shade of Alan's eyes; and Alan's eyes had been his best feature.

She and Bill kiss and snuggle in front of Kathy, but anything serious requires privacy at her present age. So they could do little more than trade glances until Bill tucked Kathy into her crib. Helen went in to Kathy's room to kiss her good night.

"Nighty-night, sweet," she said after the kiss.

"Nighty-night, Mommy; nighty-night, Daddy."

"Nighty-night, Princess. Sleep tight."

And, for a wonder, she did.

If Alan had played her like a violin, Bill sang a duet with her.

Slowly, in the manner of parents who might be called back to their child's bedside, they kissed. He turned her in his arms so he could unbutton her blouse and kiss the back of her neck and her ears. She left his hug to hang up her blouse, returned so that he could unsnap her bra. He held her breasts when they were freed, supporting them, toying with the nipples, smoothing their sides, supporting them again.

She turned in his arms to give him a hug and a real kiss. He stroked her back while her hug pressed her breasts into his shirt. His tongue played with hers and then explored all of her mouth. When he tickled her palate, she disengaged their bodies, but not their lips. She undid his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt.

As her hands got past the second button, his returned to her breasts. He stroked them lightly with his fingers, starting always at her ribs, drawing his fingers along her breasts to the areolae, and then stroking the length of one finger along a nipple. When she'd dealt with five buttons, they kissed again. His hands on her bare back were warm and loving, but his back was still covered with two layers of cloth. They broke apart to finish the undressing faster.

When they were both naked, they kissed again. Then he kissed down her torso. His mouth at her breasts stoked her desire, but he kept going lower. He knelt to kiss her mound, pulling her firmly into him by her bottom cheeks. Her legs weakened during this kiss. When he released her, she sat on the bed.

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They’re at it again; fucking on the sofa. Not an inch of dignity between them. Panting and grunting and making all sorts of disgusting noises like it was their last day on Earth; his buttocks clenching hard as he thrusts forward. Sweat is pouring off his brow – Christ knows where it’s ending up, somewhere on top of her I would have thought.And now they’re going to change positions, like they always do after about five or six minutes of not getting anywhere. This isn’t their first position by...

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Harry Liebermann was a Santa Claus admirer from the time he was a little boy. That might seem strange to most folks because Harry was of the Jewish persuasion which made a lot of sense due the last name Liebermann which was about as sure a clue as a bloody fingerprint at the scene of a crime. In fact, Harry did resemble the real Santa quite a bit with his stocky rotund figure and his snow white beard that was well groomed at all times. Harry was a haberdasher by trade but he didn’t much...

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