During the years I was in college and then completing my Forester qualification by working for two years in State forests, I rarely saw Emma. The Christmas party, just described, was an exception
On another brief holiday at home, Helmut took me up into the mountains to show me proudly the partly forested hunting grounds he had recently bought. It was a considerable investment. He had prospered by turning his father's already profitable business into the largest building company in the region.
But three years later, at the time of my -- for me -- so fateful brief holiday with my parents, Helmut was no longer alive. Seven months earlier, on the hunt for a trophy chamois buck, Helmut lost his footing. He fell down a thirty-metre rock face to his death.
After gaining my certificate, I had taken a job as a Forester Assistant on a large, ex-aristocratic estate near the Bohemian border. The distance as well as the fact that not much drew me back to the place of my childhood, meant that I had not seen my family for more than two years.
So, one day in May, taking my annual leave, I mounted my trusty 250 Puch and rode -- stopping only for fuel and coffee - the four hundred-plus kilometres home.
Bursting into my parents' kitchen I shouted, "Mother, father! Welcome home your stranger-son!"
Embarrassed I fell silent. Sitting in the kitchen were not only mother and father but also Kate. Her little son, two-year-old Toni, was clinging in shock to her legs. But then the grown-ups burst into laughter and welcomed me home. Eventually, even little Toni smiled shyly at his crazy uncle.
As I settled down with coffee and cake, Kate was struck with an idea:
"Your coming home needs a proper celebration, Tom. Come with us tonight to Emma. She has invited Hannes and me for dinner. That's why I'm dropping off Toni for a night with Oma and Opa. You'll come with us, won't you, Tom? Emma will be delighted. She likes you; she always asks me about you. We'll pick you up at eight?"
Although tempted, I begged off. The first night home, I felt, I should spend with my parents. Also, the long ride home had left me fit only for an early night.
Kate, somewhat grudgingly, accepted my excuse.
The next morning, when Kate came to pick up little Toni, told me that Emma was disappointed that I could not have come. She, therefore, invited me for a compensatory dinner tomorrow night.
Kate with a mischievous grin, offered to ring Emma my answer, as my parents had no phone.
Flattered, pleased, and curious I accepted.
I rode to Emma's villa, on the other side of our town, on my bike; as usual, in those more carefree days, in everyday clothing and no helmet. I rang the doorbell and within seconds, Emma opened the door.
She smiled at me, "Welcome, Tom! I'm so glad to see you again. It has been years."
We hesitated a moment but when Emma opened her arms I stepped forward into a close, not-at-all cousin-like embrace. Emma was not gingerly bending in for a welcoming peck on the cheek. Her body -- I could feel her breasts, her belly, her pubes -- warmly pressed against mine.
