It was a beautiful personal library. Two walls of the room anchored dark wood shelves that held numerous books and knickknacks, and the sort of awards and honors and sporting trophies that a successful man earned in a lifetime. The room's other wood paneled walls were decorated with hunting prints and landscapes. There was a rock-faced fireplace hissing with the flickering flames of gas logs. At one end of the room was a large wood desk stained to match the walls and shelves. Seated at the desk was a middle-aged man. He looked fit and trim with a full face and dark hair that was accented with silver highlights. The man was absorbed in the information he was gleaning from a computer monitor that took up a corner of the desk.

At the other end of the room a door opened and a woman appeared. She struck a little pose with one hand resting high up on the doorframe. She smiled seductively at the man behind the desk, but he never saw it. He never looked up from his work. "John," she sang softly, managing to draw out the single syllable into a low, seductive three-note love call.

The man responded by tapping at his computer's keyboard and peering even more intently at its monitor.

The woman shook back her hair and thrust out her generous breasts. She daintily cleared her throat and resumed her seductive smile, but again the man failed to respond. She frowned and narrowed her eyes. "Hey, you behind the desk," she said sharply.

"Hmmm?" John said, finally raising his head. His gaze fell across the room to his wife. In her mid-twenties, two decades younger than John, the tall blonde looked stunning. She was wearing a festive, red babydoll negligee trimmed with white fur-like marabou around the neckline and hem. In one hand she held a small bottle of wine and two glasses. "Carole," he smiled, "you look good enough to eat."

Carole gave him a shy smile and then she pirouetted, revealing nothing in the way of underclothing when the hem of her babydoll swirled up. She curtsied and said, "Eating me is sort of what I had in mind, good sir." Then she grew more serious, "John, it's Christmas Eve. She held up the wine and glasses to eye level. The fine crystal made a tinkling sound. "Can't you set aside time from your business for a little fun?"

"Unfortunately babe, business competition doesn't recognize holidays, but if you'll pour the wine, I'll be there just as soon as I finish this report."

Carole saw her husband turn his attention back to the computer screen. In a second he was completely engrossed. She sighed; it was as if she hadn't been in the room at all. Shoulders slumped; she turned and left the library, softly closing the door behind her.

John continued to read until the words began to blur on the screen. He leaned back in his chair and massaged his eyes with his fingertips. He rubbed his hand across his face, trying to wipe away his weariness. Just one more page and he would finish the report and then he could go to bed. John leaned forward and peered back at the computer monitor.

"Hello John," said a menacing, dark haired woman from the screen.

"Ha!" cried John, jerking upright in his chair. The woman on the screen was the image of his long dead first wife, Markie. She was dressed in a hideous orange nylon over-stuffed winter coat and on her head was an ugly, pink stocking cap with a purple ball at its crown.

A dozen things went through John's mind. His computer wasn't running the Internet browser, so it couldn't be some sort of transmission. He didn't have any pictures of his former spouse in the computer. And if he did, he was sure that Markie would never have dressed like the woman on the screen. Was this some kind of joke? He continued to stare in amazement at the image on the screen. He and Markie hadn't had a particularly exciting marriage. He'd worked at building a successful business. In fact he'd worked a lot and made a pile of money, and then spent what little free time he had on the golf course. Markie had seemed content to spend her fair share of that pile of money on herself and to run their social life. They had rattled on like that for years, childless, and sort of content with their own separate lives until Markie had made an ill timed left turn into the path of an eighteen-wheeler and John had become a widower.

"Come on John, say something," commanded the woman on the screen.

John reached for the keyboard.

"This isn't a chat room John, just talk to me."

"You can hear me?" asked John, his voice a couple of octaves above normal.

"Obviously I can hear you. I'm not a computer program, John. I'm the spirit of your loving wife."

"Uh... OK Markie, why are you here, and what's more," he gestured at the screen, "why on earth are you wearing that awful coat and stocking cap?"

"I've been sent here to try and redeem some part of your shriveled soul. And as far as these clothes are concerned, you know, you wear in death those things you make for yourself in life."

John frowned at the thick winter clothing, "I don't remember you being particularly cold natured when we were married."

"For goodness sakes John, it's a metaphor. These awful things show how I became frigid in our marriage and what an awful match we became. Frankly, I blame you because Lord knows, I would never wear pink, purple and orange together. "

John became defensive, "I know we didn't have a great marriage, but I don't remember you complaining much. You bought almost anything you wanted, and I'll have you to know that I was always faithful to you, even when our sex life was practically nonexistent. You never seemed to be in the mood.

"Are you kidding?" she said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Maybe I would have been in the mood more often if you had spent more time at home instead of the office. In fact, when I was in the mood, as you put it, I practically had to tackle and rape you before you could run back to work." Markie took a deep breath and waved her hand in front of her face. "Never mind that, the time for our relationship has passed. I'm here to help you before that sweet young thing you've married ends up wearing this crap." She gestured at her garish coat. "Now listen, three more spirits will visit you tonight. I'm sure you know the drill. Maybe you'll learn something."

John had regained some measure of composure and he was a little miffed at being blamed for their poor marital life. He knew that he hadn't been a great husband, but he'd done his best. "Come on Markie, I don't want to waste sleep on this Dickensian stuff, can't you just make your point now?"

"Sorry John, the powers that be just called me in for the intro'. Actually, most of my spirit is about a thousand universes over that way." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm studying to become a minor deity. I only wish the sentient beings there didn't have such an awful shade of green skin. "Oh well," she began to fade away. "Good luck, John." She disappeared.

John groaned. Was this some sort of waking dream brought about by too much work? Would he be scared witless out of his sleep three times in one night as the spirits invaded his bedroom? And how about Carole, would she sleep through all these visitations? He paused. Carole. What was he was supposed to remember about Carole?

"Ahem."

John shivered, startled once again. There was another figure on his computer screen. It was a nice looking young lady dressed something like a flight attendant.

"Hello, I am the Spirit of Christmas past. We feel..."

John interrupted, "Can you hear me?"

She tossed her auburn hair and looked a bit testy. "Of course I can hear you. Now if you please, I have a long night ahead of me."

"Sorry," mumbled John.

"No problem." She gestured to her right and a blank window appeared on the screen. "Now, as I was saying, we feel that, like a lot of men, you have some issues with intimacy. This episode, from a Christmas in your past, should give you insight into those issues."

John hated the word issues used in that context, but he kept his mouth shut and dutifully watched as a picture appeared in the screen window. Almost immediately he recognized the scene that it revealed. He'd been sixteen years old. It was Christmas Eve sometime in the mid-nineteen sixties. His parents, who were real partygoers, had insisted that he accompany them to a dinner with friends. John had been pretty sure that since he had just received his driver's license, he was along as a chauffeur for his hard drinking parents.

There were three married couples at the dinner - John's parents, the Halls and the Leathermans. Also present at the party was Kay Leatherman, the daughter of their hosts. Kay and John were in the same grade at the same school but they rarely shared the same classes.

There were plenty of before dinner drinks for the adults, and John found himself sitting with the other males in the Leatherman's comfortable den. John nodded his head and smiled at the older men as they managed to blend politics, the Vietnam War, football, the space program and car maintenance into one alcohol blurred conversation.

After dinner the men headed back to the den and the television for a football game while the wives adjourned to the kitchen with a bottle of wine. John was about to accompany the men when he heard Kay hiss his name. When he turned to look, Kay was curling a finger at him in a come here gesture. He followed the girl down some stairs into a family room in the basement. The main feature of the room was a pool table that stood at its center. There was also an old couch and a black and white television as well as an assortment of the odds and ends that a family collects and then stores away.

Kay smiled, "I thought maybe you'd had enough of the adults."

"Yeah," said John, "they were getting pretty wasted."

"Our parents like a good party, that's for sure." She grinned at him. "I do a little partying myself. Would you like a drink?" she asked conspiratorially.

"A drink?" echoed John. He'd never had anything stronger than a sip or two of beer, but he knew he wasn't about to refuse Kay. She wasn't the prettiest girl in school, but she certainly had nothing to be ashamed of. She was of average height, with dark, straight, shoulder length hair. She was wearing a red and green tartan mini-skirt and a matching green sleeveless turtleneck blouse with a thin gold chain necklace. "Uh... sure," agreed John, "I'll have a drink, that is, if you are."

"Of course," she said. Kay moved some junk that was in front of a low cabinet and opened it. She removed a bottle that proved to be half full of bourbon. She disappeared into a small bathroom and reappeared a minute later with two glasses nearly filled with a bourbon and water mix.

She handed one of the glasses to John. He didn't want to take a cautious little sip in front of Kay. So his first gulp was twice as much as he had intended. His first thought was, gahhh... how can anyone possibly drink this stuff? And then the burning started. He gasped. Of course that was a mistake. The fumes he in haled made him cough and his eyes began to water.

Kay's eyes were laughing at him, but she managed to keep a straight face when she said, "Maybe I made yours a little too strong."

"Maybe," was all John could manage to gasp. But soon he realized that once the burning got past his throat, the bourbon produced a pleasant sensation. Warmth flowed down to his stomach, and then to his surprise, it seemed to sort of swell and tickle his penis.

"Drink up," said Kay, "we don't want anyone to catch us." She finished off her glass in three long swallows.

John held his breath and gulped down the rest of the drink. He could feel his face begin to flush and he felt as if his senses were beginning to sort of ooze away from his brain. After Kay put away the bottle and glasses she grabbed a cue stick and said, "Let's play some pool."

John readily agreed and they rolled into a game of eight ball. Kay claimed that she hardly ever played and proved it by clumsily rolling the balls around the table to little effect. John didn't care. He spent the time he wasn't shooting by positioning himself to look at the generous amount of leg Kay showed every time she bent over the table. Not to mention how nice her ass looked in her tight skirt.

After John won the first game Kay smiled and said, "I lost. Does that mean that I have to make us another drink?"

"Oh yeah." John was enjoying himself. Between the liquor and Kay's skin show he was a little light headed and sported a nice hard on.

They downed another drink and started another game. Now they giggled at every miss and flubbed shot. John's cock was achingly hard. He took to giving it a little rub whenever Kay bent over the table.

Suddenly she straightened up in the middle of lining up one of her shots and looked over her shoulder at John, "Are you looking at my butt?"

"Oh... nooo," said John, holding up his right hand, and crossing his heart with his left.

"Oh... OK" said Kay, with a little disappointment in her voice. She returned to her shot.

"I've been too busy looking at those beautiful legs to notice your butt." Oh God, thought John. Is this what liquor does to you? He couldn't believe he'd had the nerve to say that.

Kay flattened out on the table, shaking with laughter. She finally managed to say, "Well stop it and show me what I'm doing wrong."

John felt as if his fuzzy mind was just along for the ride as his body walked up behind Kay. He had the feeling that he'd seen this scene in a movie. He slid his warm hands down the length of Kay's bare arms until his hands rested on hers and his hard on nestled onto her firm butt.

"You see," he spoke softly into her fragrant hair, "you're holding onto the cue much too firmly with your left hand." He moved the fingers of her left hand into a looser position. "The cue," he whispered as he slid the cue back and forth by guiding her right hand with his, "should move in and out, in and out like this." With each thrust of the cue he slid his erection up and down and side to side on Kay's tight butt.

"I think I'm getting it now," said Kay. "Let me give it a try."

John slid his hands back up Kay's arms, but he wasn't about to move his burning body away from hers. He moved his hands underneath her arms and cupped her breasts. All John could feel was the sensation of the fabric of Kay's blouse slipping over her bra, but he thought it was the sexiest thing in the world.

Despite all of John's help - or perhaps because of it - Kay missed her shot. The two teens straightened up. Kay turned and looked into John's eyes. "No fair," she said in a throaty voice. Her hand slid down between their bodies until the back of Kay's had was brushing against John's erection. "Let's see if you can shoot with my body all over yours."

"Sounds fair to me," said John. His alcohol-fueled libido kicked into high gear and John leaned forward to Kay give a sloppy, wet kiss. At the same time he grabbed her hand and mashed Kay's palm against his stiff member. Kay's responded enthusiastically. Her tongue went into John's mouth and her fingers danced all over the bulge in his pants.