It’s been so long since I’ve done this, I almost don’t know how to start. Whew! It’s Adam and Sarah’s fault. This morning they came into the kitchen each carrying one of my journals. A flash of pure panic as I remembered all the intimate things I’d written. For five-year-olds they’re both great readers. They must have picked up on my alarm. “What’s wrong Mommy?” they asked. “I was so surprised to see you with my journals,” I told them. “I’d all but forgotten them.” “What’s journals?” they asked. I explained these were books where I wrote down things about what was happening each day and how I was feeling and what I was thinking. What I was dreaming. “But they’re empty, Mommy,” they said. I realized that these were journals I hadn’t begun yet. I was so relieved. At the same time there was a twinge of disappointment. “Can we color them, Mommy?” they asked. “Of course you can,” I told them. “Sit at the table and I’ll get the crayons.”

They were busy for more than an hour doing their art. They are amazing little artists. They must get their talent from Logan. Maybe Adam gets something from Leila. I know I can’t draw a lick. That’s funny. I wonder how one could draw a lick. An image of Logan licking Leila leapt into my mind. I tried to calculate what time it was in Paris. Nine o’clock in the evening? Logan would still be playing at the club. No licking for them for several hours yet! Oh, how I miss them. Two more weeks and they should be home. Of course there are licks at the piano. Riffs. Chops. Is that right? I’ll have to remember to ask. But right now it’s 11PM here, so that would make it the wee hours there, and no doubt Leila and Logan are curled up in each other’s arms, fully sated from all that licking and riffing and chopping and fucking.

When the sweeties were done with their pictures and so proud of their creations I told them to put away the crayons and wash up for lunch. They came back to the table discussing plans for their next pictures. “I’m going to put you in mine,” Sarah said. “Me too,” Adam said. “You’re such sweet little bunnies,” I told them. They looked at each other. Adam looked at me. “Are we twins?” he asked. “Don’t you remember?” Sarah said. “Oh yeah, I forgot,” Adam said. Then he said, “But we’re sort of twins, aren’t we?” “You are the most perfect pair,” I said. “What’s a perfect pair?” they asked. I tried to explain. “When two people...” “What about you and Mommy Leila and Daddy?” they asked. It was hopeless. “There’s another perfect pear that’s easier to understand. Just a second and I’ll show you.” I went to the refrigerator and got out one of the pears that was chilling. I explained the difference between pair and pear. They didn’t seem too interested. I sliced up the pear and we ate it. Delicious.

After bedtime stories when they were sweetly asleep, I dug out my old journals. I read through some of the entries. Do I really want Sarah and Adam to read this? I think I do. Someday. Someday maybe when they have children of their own and I’m a fading memory. In other words ... ha ha.

I remembered the feel of that perfect pear. The pear shape was not so different from Leila’s breast. Not so different from the head of Logan’s cock. I thought of the head of Logan’s cock touching the tip of Leila’s breast. I thought of the juicy pear. I thought of Leila’s juicy cunt. Logan’s lovely cock. I played with these images in my mind while I masturbated. The juicy sound of my masturbation. I thought I should record it and email it to Logan and Leila, and they could listen to me, and the thought of sharing that way took me to orgasm. A little lonely, but delicious all the same.