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There was one woman who seemed cold on the outside, once in bed turned to be the most passionate, extraordinary lover, and introduced me to a new kind of love making.

She was my supervisor at a private school on the outskirts of Frankfurt, Germany. Her name was Helga Schmidt, but insisted on always being called Frau Schmidt. She wore clothing cut almost in a military fashion. She never wore make up and her hairstyle was almost mannish. Not that I thought she was a Lesbian. I never thought of her as anything except officious. I never saw her smile. It was as if she was a throwback to East Germany. It was hard to guess her age, but I suspected she was in her mid-fifties.

Even at the annual Christmas Party she seemed distant, aloof and disinterested. The party was at a restaurant within walking distance of her flat. As the hostess, she stayed until the end saying goodnight and Merry Christmas to all the employees. I'd arrived late and was among the last to leave. I'd been in Frankfurt for four month. Let's say, it had been a very cold four months. By that I mean no pussy.

"Mr. Rosling," she always address everyone formally, "would you like to join me for a nightcap? I have a lovely bottle of schnapps at home."

I was stunned by the offer. She'd never shown any evidence of a human side. "Frau Schmidt, what a wonderful way to celebrate the Christmas season. I'd be delighted."

It was only a few minutes later that we put on our coats, scarves and hats against the winter cold and snow.

At her flat, "Mr. Rosling, I would like to change into something more comfortable, would you start a fire?"

"That sounds great."

"There's kindling, and anything else you might need on the back porch." I wasn't thinking anything romantic. I didn't think that Helga Schmidt had a romantic bone in her body. What I thought was that this German woman probably had some very good schnapps. That's all.

It didn't take long to get a fire going. Frau Schmidt emerged from her bedroom wearing a long, bulky, cloth robe. It looked like it might have been twenty years old. Comfy, but it certainly didn't scream romance.

"Mr. Rosling, I find this schnaps warming inside and out." She poured us each a glass. "Proust, Merry Christmas. I know you're far from home, but I hope I can make your holiday stay feel like home." She poured us a second drink.

"Mr. Rosling, I haven't seen you in the company of a woman since you've been here?"

"No, I haven't found anyone interesting or anyone who seems to be interested in me."

"That's too bad. There are many lovely women in Germany. How about at home in America, is there someone special?"

I didn't consider mentioning Mrs. Hamlin who was almost the same age as Helga Schmidt. "No, there's no one." Yes, Lee-Lee, Belinda and Lucinda were special; very special. I didn't bring them up either.

That's when Frau Helga Schmidt surprised me. Opening her robe just enough to show some deep cleavage, "Mr. Rosling, for this holiday season would you consider me as someone special?" Her robe seemed to open a little more.

"Ummm, Frau Schmidt, I am, I am," I was stuttering, "I've never felt any indication that you showed any amorous interest in me."

"I'm sure you know that is not in my nature. I just could not demonstrate a hint of public affection, but we're not in public, are we?" She took my hand and put it on her breast, over her robe.

"No, we're not in public, but Frau Schmidt are you certain?" I didn't

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