“Merry Christmas,” I greeted her.
“Merry Christmas.” She smiled.
I m from America and you’re the first Danish girl I’ve ever wished a Merry Christmas to,” I told her.
“You’re the first American I’ve ever had wish me a Merry Christmas.” There were light freckles on her cheeks, and now they disappeared into deep dimples. “Indeed, she added, you re the first American with whom I’ve ever spoken.”
There was a lazy snow falling. I looked up at it, and then back at the redhead. “It’s snowing,” I remarked.
_“Are all Americans so observant?” Her green eyes twinkled.
“Are you waiting for someone?” I took the bull by the horns.
“Alas, no.” She sighed. “Every Christmas my uncle used to meet me. But last year he died.”
“I’m sorry.”
‘“I’ll probably just go back to Ohlpühr and spend the holidays at the school.” She sighed again.
“That doesn’t sound very satisfying. Do you have to?”
“No. I don’t have to. But I have no place else to go.”
Why not spend the holidays in Copenhagen?” I suggested.
“I’d love to, but . . .”
“Is the problem financial?” I asked delicately.
“I’m afraid it is.”
“Suppose you had a job?” I tiptoed up to my gambit.
“What kind of job?”
“Say as guide to an American tourist for the next few days.
“Are you serious?”
“I am. I’ll provide room, board, and seventy-five American dollars for the week.”
She thought it over a moment. “Accepted!” she decided finally. “I’m at your service, Mr.-—?”
“Victor. Steve Victor. And you can call me Steve.”
“My name is Ingrid Eriksenn.”
“Merry Christmas, Ingrid.”
“Merry Christmas . . . Steve.”
I took her arm and we went down the church steps together. We went back to the hotel and I got her a room there. I said good night to her at the door. Hell, you can’t rush things with a girl fresh from the convent school.
Bright and early the next morning, Christmas Day, we met for breakfast. She’d worked out an itinerary for the day. Since most other places were closed, it was an itinerary of Copenhagen churches. We spent the entire day going from one Christmas service to the next. By the time Christmas Night was over, I was ready to shoot the next choir boy I heard caroling “Silent Night” in Danish.
The next day we toured the museums. The day after that it was art galleries. And still I was no closer to luring Ingrid to the harem of Sheikh Ali Khat.
That night I decided I’d have to push it. I told her I wanted to see some of the Copenhagen night life. I was afraid she might disapprove, but on the contrary, she was eager for the experience.
“The girls at the school used to whisper about what goes on in the Copenhagen night clubs,” she told me. “But I never thought I’d have the chance to really find out for myself.”
So Ingrid and I went bar-hopping. By the time we’d settled down to watch the spicy floor show in the third joint on our itinerary, I realized something about Ingrid. She wasn’t used to drinking. Liquor made her talkative. It also made her dizzy. I stopped ordering drinks for her. I didn’t want her to get sick. She pouted, but she was too excited and happy about our nitery excursion to spoil it by staying mad. Soon she was bubbling with conversation again.
“Do you know this is the first time I’ve ever seen a naked woman,” she told me, pointing at the stripper just finishing her routine.
“Really? But I thought you went to an all-girls’ school.”
“Yes. But it’s very strict and very proper. We’re not allowed to undress in front of each other. . . . Oh, it’s so damn dull there! I hate it.”
“Then why do you stay there? I mean, you told me before that you’re over twenty-one. Surely you’re free to leave if you want to.”
“You don’t understand. I’ve been there since I was six years old. That’s when my parents died, and my uncle, who was my guardian, sent me there then. It’s the only life I’ve ever known. Even though I could have left any time this past year, I was afraid to. But after this week, I shan’t be afraid any more. Now that I see what life can be like, I’m never going back.”
“You’d better be careful,” I advised her hypocritically. “After all, you haven’t had very much experience with men.”
“Very much experience!” Ingrid echoed. I haven t had any experience! None at all! At my age! Isn’t that awful? But what can I do about it?”
“I’ll see if I can’t think of something,” I murmured.
I thought of something. Much later that night, when we returned to the hotel, I suggested that we have a nightcap in my room. Ingrid readily agreed.
I held it down to one drink. After our night of carousing, I was none too sober myself. And Ingrid was still decidedly tiddly.
“I’ve never been alone in a man’s room before,” she told me.
“Well, you’ve led a sheltered life.”
“I suppose so. But we did used to talk at school. I mean, I’m not all that innocent. I can guess what’s going to happen next.”
“You can?”
“Of course. You’re going to kiss me.”
“I am?”
“Aren’t you?” She sounded worried.
“Sure thing.” I kissed her.
“Would you believe that’s the first time I’ve been kissed—I mean, really kissed?” Ingrid sighed.
“Yep.”
“Was I that bad?”
“Nope.” I kissed her again.
“You didn’t do it!” she exclaimed when the second kiss was over.
“Do what?”
“With the second kiss you’re supposed to stroke my breast. That’s what the boys all do, according to the girls at school. And with the next kiss you slip your hand inside my blouse.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.” I kissed Ingrid again and slipped my hand inside her blouse. It was so well filled that there wasn’t really room for my hand, and so I started unbuttoning it.
“You’re not supposed to do that until a little later,” she told me. “Oh, but I forgot,” she added. “You’re an American. And American men always rush things.”
“It’s part of our national heritage.” I undid her bra and stroked both her breasts simultaneously. There was a light sprinkling of freckles in the wide cleavage between them. Ingrid’s red hair tickled my ears as she kissed the back of my neck when I bent to press my lips to one of the bright red nipples.
“Ahh,” she moaned. “This was really worth waiting for.”
“About this new life you’re contemplating,” I murmured, remembering my mission. “Have you ever thought of traveling? To the Middle East, say?”
“Don’t talk now,” she said. “Your lips tickle when you talk. What’s that?” The lower half of her body pulled back as she felt me pressing against her.
“Well, that’s . . . umm . . .”
“Oh, I know!” Ingrid clapped her hands. “The girls used to talk about men having that. Only they were so vague. Something about when a man gets excited it gets bigger and . . . uh . . . Oh, they must have been putting me on.”
“No, they weren’t,” I assured her.
“Could I—-could I-could I see it?” She blushed prettily.
“All right.” I unzipped my pants.
“Oh, my! I never dreamed it would be so—- And are you really supposed to put that—- But how-—?”
“Nature arranges things,” I told her reassuringly. “One of these days you’ll find out for yourself.”
“One of these days?” She was gasping and her plump young breasts were rising and falling quickly. “Why not right now?”
“Well, you’re a virgin, and I don’t want to—”
“Oh.” She thought about that a moment. “How do you know I’m a virgin?” she asked finally.