Our Own Pastoral

This is not to say, we don't enjoy sex more or less during either the moderate or excessive phase of our hedonist's lifestyle. We enjoy both for different reasons. Abstinence increases desire. Moderation accelerates that desire and finally, excess exhausts desire.

We practice yoga and Marshall arts with equal passion. We play chess, go, and poker like our lives depend on it. But these passions are mostly amongst the three of us as we're very protective of our secrets, especially those of a sexual nature. Our motto has become: No one knows, no one can know.

Tomorrow is Earth Day. The three of us have decided to add to our family. We chose Earth Day to attempt conception. Earth Day is significant to us as we work all year with the earth and her produce. It also coincides with my fertile period.

I've been off the pill now for four months. Andrea does not want to bear a child at her age. As I'm almost twenty-five, we feel I'm the most fit to be the biological mother. Of course, all three of us will be the parents. If it does not happen this year, we'll try again next year.

At some point in the future, should the universe grant us long lives, we'll tell our progeny who we really are so there's never a feeling of us having been deceptive in our approach to child-rearing. We'll set the stage gradually over the years, but we're certain, with careful handling of the matter, our child, or children should that come to pass, will understand.

Tonight, Andrea and I are going to make love every way we know how with Dad looking on. We don't want him spending his seed prematurely. In fact, for the past three days, he's abstained from having an orgasm. When he finally releases his semen into my cunt, it will be rich with sperm and hopefully one or more of the little agents of birth will find their way to my egg. And life will once again find renewal.

And finally.

Our lives remind me of the wonderful sixth symphony of Beethoven; the Pastoral. There've been four movements completed so far. The brutality my father and I experienced at the hand of my would-be rapist, the brutality of war, the loss of my mother, I liken to the fourth movement, the one I call the storm. But the storm in our life has passed.

Now, we're in the fifth movement, the allegretto or the shepherd's song as it were, the one with luck lasts for the rest of our days.