l Thomsen and introduced the girl to me as Clair Kirkhof, adding that Clair was a painter whose star was rising rapidly.

I discovered that Clair lived with a sister named Elize. Clair had gorgeously wavy auburn hair and long, slender legs. She was so beautiful she was absolutely painful to look at. I took pleasure in her beauty, but it was painful to know that she was not mine, nor, probably, ever would be.

"You and your sister have musical names," I observed.

She explained that they were indeed named after Debussy's Clair de lune and Beethoven's Für Elize.

Suddenly, it looked like a lightbulb had lit up over Abby's head and she asked, "Say, Phil, would you like to see their paintings?"

I ignored her question momentarily, asking, "Oh, so Elize paints as well?"

"Yes, of course," said Clair playfully (and with no hint of disdain).

"I'd love to see your work."

Clair winked at Abby, as though she had done something quite brilliant. Then she turned to me saying, "Well, are you free Saturday evening?"

I fell for the bait. "Sure."

"Great," Clair continued. "Elize and I are having a private showing on Saturday and we need some assistance. Abby was going to help out, but she's come up with a hot date for Saturday and wants to be free to be at his side during the show. I told her I'd let her off the hook if she could find a replacement. It looks like tag, you're it...if you don't mind."

Abby clasped her hands under her chin as if in prayer and pleaded, "Please, Phil?"

Maybe I should've resented being ambushed like that, but I was so taken with Clair that I decided to accept her invitation. Besides, I still owed Abby a favor or two more.

* * *

Saturday finally rolled around, and when I finally found the obscure address Clair had given me I saw that the place she and her sister shared was a loft over an empty warehouse. I could also see that it had skylights and tall windows all the way around.

I knocked hard. When no one answered, I knocked harder still. At last, I heard metallic-sounding footsteps approaching me from inside, the door opened, and there she stood.

"I'm sorry I'm late," I said, "but I had a hard time finding you."

Instead of stepping aside to let me pass, she looked at me blankly, saying, "Look, this is a private gathering. No crashers."

I was more than a little shocked. I said, "I'm Phil, remember? Phil Thomsen? We met Thursday at Abby's. You invited me to come over and help you out tonight—and see some of your paintings."

After this explanation, she blushed deeply. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Phil. We've had some pretty brazen crashers in the past...and by the way, I'm Elize, not Clair."

My jaw dropped. "Twins! I didn't know."

"Tonight, Clair's in red and I'm in green, just to make it easy on everyone. Anyway, come on in, because we really do need some help in the kitchen. We need to be out there selling paintings, not pouring drinks and refilling snack bowls."

"Just lead the way," I said. We walked up metal stairs and into a huge room with brick walls that had been painted burnt sienna. At least forty people were standing around looking at twelve or fifteen large erotic paintings.

Elize explained under her breath, "The people here are mainly established or potential clients, plus a few friends from the press and the art community. The customers are a pretty strange crew, and our friends are even weirder, as you'll see. Anyway, they'll all be gone by 10 or so, and afterward, the three of us can get better acquainted." "Sounds great," I said.

Clair had arrived at my side and had overheard all this, so she told Elize, "I'll take Phil to the kitchen. You talk to Mr. Chalmers for a while; I've had enough of the old fart. Let him grab your tits for a while."

After patiently showing me what to do, Clair left me on my own, and for the next three hours, I served drinks, refilled snack bowls and trays, and picked up discarded glasses, plates, forks, and napkins.

* * *

Later on, with all the guests gone, the dishes picked up, the spills wiped, and the whole place swept and vacuumed, the three of us were sprawled on the couch drinking the dregs of the wine in the several remaining open bottles of French Vouvray, Italion Pinot Grigio and Aussie Shiraz.

We talked about art and photography for several hours and I grew to like and respect the twins immensely. And I mean both of them, since they were literally like peas in a pod, physically and mentally. They were both smart and erudite and had great taste in photography and all of the arts.

Despite their obvious talent, the girls were refreshingly free of the artistic egoism I'd found in past encounters with painters, who seem to place photography on a lower rung. Funny, since painting is not nearly as lively and widely enjoyed as it once was. It's now enjoyed and appreciated mainly by painters, critics, and investors, and to the public at large, it's a yawn. Which was a shame in their case, since their work walked a tightrope between art erotica and art porn that I found very enjoyable and stimulating. At the same time, they enjoyed what they were doing and the success they were beginning to enjoy wasn't spoiling them a bit.

I gradually sensed that, despite the erotic subject matter of their paintings, they were not widely experienced sexually. Not that they were virgins—they clearly weren't—but most of their knowledge of sex seemed to come from art and literature, not the bedroom.

Finally, it was very late and, because of the wine, I could hardly stay awake, even with the discussion firmly centered, as it was, on sex.

I got up and said, "Well, I gotta go." But when I stood up, I discovered that someone had put the whole world on a bit of a slant (though at least the room wasn't spinning as it would have done in my college days).

Clair said, "Phil, you clearly can't drive in this condition, but we're in no condition to take you home, either. Unless you want to take a taxi, maybe you should just spend the night and have breakfast with us."

"I really couldn't impose on you," I said, trying to sound perfectly sincere, which I assure you, I was not.

"Oh, come on," they said in unison, and I made a big show of giving in only grudgingly.

Clair showed me to the bathroom off the kitchen, where she gave me a fresh towel and some baking soda to brush my teeth with, which I did using my index finger. Before I started my own shower water, I heard a shower running elsewhere in the huge apartment.

After I was clean and dried off, I put my trousers back on, stepped out of the bathroom, and yelled, "Should I just grab the couch in the living room, or do you have a guest bed?"

After a momentary delay, from the other end of the apartment I heard one of them yell, "Come on in here."

When I found Clair and Elize, they were sitting in a very large bed, their hair wrapped in towels. It was obvious where I was expected to go: between them. And this is exactly where I went.

At first we just talked and chuckled nervously, but soon I felt their hands on my thighs. I turned to Elize and said, "Excuse me for a moment." With this, I turned to Clair, the sister I knew best, and kissed her. At first just a peck, but then her mouth opened to my insistent tongue.

Soon we were kissing and groping intently, and I did play a little trick on them then, which I never told them about: Whenever I kissed Clair that night, I gave her a little horizontal tongue wiggle as a kind of greeting, and as time went by, she would do this unconsciously whenever our tongues met. With Elize, I did a curly vertical wiggle. From that point onward, I could tell them apart in bed by kissing them. And this happened every time we kissed, even if the kiss was a little peck on the lips. Always a tongue wiggle.

Sometimes they'd tease me by taking each other's identity, and I always played dumb so as not to give my secret away. They would even joke about my tongue wiggle, but they never compared notes, so as far as they knew, I did it the same way for each of them.

I didn't notice the rustling next to me, but I did notice it when Elize's hand gripped my cock. I continued kissing Clair, but I stopped kissing and gasped slowly at the feeling of Elize's tongue on my belly and thighs as she slowly pulled on my cock.

I started kissing Clair even harder, rolling and pinching her nipples between my thumb and first finger. This time, she was the one who gasped.

It was at about this point that Elize's tongue found my cock, licking up and down it like a lollypop, and diddling the loose skin under its head.

Clair, meanwhile, was in an agony of pleasure, saying, "Oh, God! This feels soooo good."

Given this encouragement, I let go of her nipples and started rubbing her thighs, which she parted for me, offering up her damp little pussy to be caressed and penetrated by my fingers.

Now, we kissed more deeply than ever, and I was tremendously aroused. So when Elize finally took my cock full into her mouth and began sucking and bobbing up and down on it, I almost came and had to tell her to go easy for now.

After a minute or two, I declared, "I want to eat some pussy, but I don't know who to start with. Besides, I might get whiplash going back and forth between you."

Clair whispered in Elize's ear and they said, "We have a solution." With this, Clair laid on her back and signalled to Elize, who laid herself down on Clair, so that their pussies were stacked.

I got on my belly between their legs. The perfume of their sweet little vaginas was almost overwhelming. Both girls were obviously as wet as could be, with little droplets of dew on the beautiful pink and brown folds of their inner labia.

The first thing I did was perhaps rather piggish, but they loved it anyway: I rubbed my face on their vulvas, getting their pussy dew all over my face and in my beard. Then I took Elize's clit in my mouth and slowly but deliberately returned the favor she'd shown my cock. I noticed that Clair was holding her sister in a tight embrace, rubbing Elize's breasts and pinching her nipples. They tongue kissed intermittently. Obviously, they had had sex with each other. How kinky is that?

I brought Elize almost to orgasm, then worked on Clair, whose pussy was so damp by now from her own juices and those that had dripped down from above, that a wet spot had appeared on the sheet under her butt. Then, I brought Clair to the verge of orgasm.

This brinksmanship went on for better than a half hour, when Clair said, "I want to be fucked!" "Yes, fuck us!" chimed in Elize with equal enthusiasm.

So, they separated, and after a little eeny-meeny-miney-moe, I got on top of Clair. I can't tell you how beautiful she was, how tender and trusting the expression on her face. She liked me a lot...and so did her sister!

I fucked her for maybe fifteen minutes before bringing her to climax, which I did as much by talking romantically as by anything else. I'd been saving myself, of course, because I wanted to fuck Elize, too, and by this time I wanted an orgasm so badly I fairly ached.

So, I got on top of Elize and started in on her. She'd been masturbating while watching Clair and me, so she was ripe for orgasm, too. Still, I dragged it out for a good ten minutes, savoring her beauty, marveling in the same tenderness I'd found in Clair's eyes.

At last I scooped Elize's legs up in my arms so that her knees were pressed against her shoulders. This extreme position obviously thrilled her, and it was no problem at all to give her a big, long series of powerful orgasms.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning (which was actually served at about 1 p.m.), Clair told me how they got started in painting.

She said, "We started painting at our high school in Eugene. We both got a painting scholarship to (a well-known art school in NYC), but we dropped out after two years and moved back to Oregon. We couldn't stand big city life.

"After that, we got in touch with a writer friend of ours named Zazie. She already had some contacts here in Portland, and, after a couple iffy months, our work started to sell. Now, Zazie and her husband live in a cabin on a gorgeous lake near Zigzag. Okay, Phil, that's our story; what's yours?"

I explained that I'd been freelancing for a couple years after working for several years in the agency Abbigail worked at, and that mostly I did commercial shots for ad agencies and the occasional model portfolio.

"It sounds to me like you still haven't done what you really want, though," said Elize.

I admitted that ultimately I wanted to do figure and fashion photography, but that right now, it was the big gap in my portfolio. Like most artists, I did what I had to do to survive.

Clair said, "We've done some figure and fashion photography. Would you like to see?"

I said yes, and Clair ran off, coming back with a small portfolio. It was full of very good nudes and fashion studies. I asked, "Which of you is the model?"

"We take turns modeling and shooting," said Clair. I should have guessed: They were twins all the way.

Elize looked at my expression and said, with an impish smile, "You'd like to shoot us, wouldn't you? You'd like to take pictures of us."

"Sure I would." I hadn't said anything, though, having learned long ago never to ask your lover to pose for anything you might want to show. Most women delight in posing for their man, but few women are keen on the photographs getting into circulation. I certainly would never turn down an opportunity to shoot these two, though, especially if they were going to make a free-will offer. Besides, as pro models, they would have no objection to my photos being used to further my own career. All it could do was drum up business for them as well, so both sides would benefit. They looked at each other and, without saying a word, agreed in unison to pose.

We decided to do it later that same afternoon.

I went out and bought lots of film and spare batteries for my flash unit. Then, I went home and collected the camera, tripod, lights, and the rest of my gear.

When I returned, one of them greeted me at the door. "We've been busy," she said. When I kissed her, I knew she was Elize.

Going upstairs, I saw what she meant. The living room was full of chairs, couches, various props, and cloth swatches of many different sorts.

They were great models, of course. Absolutely uninhibited, they would assume any position without question. They knew no modesty, though I really didn't take full advantage of it. They trusted me, and I had no interest in violating that trust. I was interested in capturing eroticism not raunch, and I knew that if they liked the result, they would surely pose again. I also avoided shooting their faces, since I was primarily interested in the play of light and shadow on their incredible bodies.

Besides, I knew by then that I was falling in love with them both, and I didn't want to do anything that would cost me their trust.

At 5 p.m., after three hours of shooting, we were all dead tired and I called a break.

"We haven't discussed payment, yet," I said, suddenly feeling very unprofessional about the whole thing. Some "photographer" I was!

"Why don't you just take us out to dinner?" said Clair, "We don't want any money, do we Elize?" Elize agreed.

By the time we got back to their place, we'd had a Lebanese dinner and visited three nightclubs. It was well past midnight, and we were pretty well smashed.

"Do you have any film left?" Elize asked.

"Yep," I said.

"Want to shoot something in the bedroom, then?"

I told her that it sounded like a great idea.

After I adjusted the lighting and set up some props, Elize said, "My turn to shoot."

I was a little hesitant at first. I was the photographer, not a model, but then I realized how selfish that was, considering what they'd done and the fact that they were both photographers as well. "Just remember," I said, "no face shots. I haven't shot yours."

"As if people won't be able to figure out which twins are posing in the nude for you," Elize said snidely. "But don't worry, we'll protect your anonymity."

This time, Clair and I posed together—faking all kinds of sexual activities. And when Elize had had her fill behind the camera, Clair became the photographer.

But Clair had an idea. "Let's do some porn. High quality porn with good composition and lighting, but still plenty raunchy."

So, the next thing I knew, I had my clothes back on, only my cock was sticking out of my pants with Elize sucking away on it.

When Clair took over behind the camera, Elize put on a black garterbelt and stockings outfit, and Clair had her lay down on a couch, as pretty as could be except that her legs were spread quite wide. She then had me eat pussy for a number of shots. Then Clair had Elize bend over a table, and asked me, still fully clothed, to fuck her from the back which, only for the sake of art, of course, I was quite happy to do.

After perhaps an hour of this, Elize asked me if I was having fun. I admitted that standing around with an erection for over an hour while holding my orgasm back, had given me a tremendous ache in the loins.

She looked at Clair and said, "Poor baby! Well, let me shoot while Clair finishes you off." They huddled. Apparently they were planning something really nice.

Clair went away and when she came back, she had a wrist full of all kinds of bracelets: cloisonne, pearls, gold chain, you name it. She also had a small plastic bottle of personal lubricant, and she lubed up my cock as Elize took the camera off its tripod. Obviously, she wanted a close-up.

The next thing I knew, Clair's hand was moving up and down slowly on my cock, which she had in a tight grip. It felt wonderful, and the rattle and swish of all those bracelets made it all the better.

Eventually started going a bit faster and harder, according to my instructions. I told her just what to do to make it really good for me, and before long I could feel those changes going on inside that only a man can feel...changes telling him that his release is on the way.

It started with a little squirt of mostly-clear fluid, but I finally shot some cum about a foot up into the air and I heard the shutter click, and when it landed, it landed perfectly on Clair's now slowly-moving fist, dripping down like white candle wax over her fingers and rings. A glob or two hung off her bracelets as well.

"Fine," said Elize. "That'll be a great shot. Just you watch."

* * *

I stayed again that night, and in the morning, the three of us made wild monkey love. After breakfast we all drove over to my place to develop the pictures, and after I made contact sheets, I said, "You know, there are a lot of really great photos here. I just wish there was a place to show them."

Clair said, "You know, there's an erotic art exhibition in two months that Elize and I will be entering. I think you still have time to enter. I have all the info at home, if you want it."

"Enter your photos, too," I said. "Some of the best ones are yours."

They entered their paintings and we all entered photos in the show. One of my photos and one of theirs (the hand job) got accepted. So were a couple of their paintings. My entry took second in the photography category and the hand job took third. One of their paintings was not only "Best Painting," but garnered the "Best in Show" title, too. Overall, it was quite a success for all of us.

Now, Portland is a weird city, conservative in many regards, and yet it has more nudie bars per capita than any other city in the U.S. How would our work be received? Our photos were easily the most notorious in a show that was intended to be outrageous. Well, my business picked up dramatically and I was in heavy demand from the local agents and independent models for lingerie shots, especially whenever garter belts and so forth were involved. And the twins were now supplementing their painting income with occasional photography jobs and modeling assignments as well.

We were all doing well.

It was about this time that they asked me if I'd like to move in with them, and of course I did. And we lived happily forever after.

...Don't I wish.

* * *

One night we were sprawled on the couch, the three of us, one on each side of me. We had rented a romantic movie and were ready to have a movie and popcorn followed by a pretty serious fuckfest. I got up to make the popcorn, but couldn't find any.

Clair made a guilty face and said, "I used up the last of it the other night."

Elize scowled. "And you forgot to put it on the shopping list, I suppose."

Clair shrugged sheepishly saying, "I'm sorry. It's my fault, so I'll walk to the store and get some more."

"I'll go with you," I said. It was well after dark and I didn't really like the idea of my honey going out on her own.

"Don't be silly. It's only four blocks. I'm not a child."

I was worried about her, but I also knew that I was beginning to seem a bit paternalistic. So, despite my concern for her, I had to stay. Still, I couldn't resist walking her to the door and saying, "Please be careful; I love you."

In retrospect, I certainly wish I'd insisted on going with her. While the neighborhood was not notoriously "bad," a girl out after dark is always a potential victim.

"I love you, too," she said. Then she was gone.

Elize and I watched network TV for awhile, saving the movie for Clair. As time passed, we both got progressively more nervous, until, after thirty minutes or so, I finally said, "It doesn't take a half hour to walk to the store and come back."

"I know," said Elize. "Let's go out and look."

"No," I said, "I'll look. You stay here so someone'll be here if she comes back." Elize agreed to this. But this time, it was she who pleaded with me to be careful.

Soon I was downstairs and on my way to the store. I quickly came to the place where you have to decide whether to go the long, well-lit way or take the short-cut through a field.

Something told me that Clair, wanting to hurry, had unwisely taken the shortcut, so I walked out into the field, hoping with all my heart that Clair had not been so foolish.

When I got to the middle of the field, I looked around, soon realizing that an attacker would have taken her to the darkest, most hidden part of the field. Looking around quickly, I determined that that was a clump of bushes about fifteen or twenty feet away.

Walking around to the far side of the bushes, I saw her at once, lying on her back and naked from the waist down, her legs splayed like a Hustler centerfold. Her lovely, pleasure-giving cunt— which she had pledged to me alone—was exposed to the cold night air like a broken melon. Her throat gleamed with even in the dark I knew to be blood from its rusty smell.

I dropped to my knees, listened for breath, felt her wrist and neck for a heartbeat. Finding none, it sank in that she, my lover, was almost certainly dead. This fact overwhelmed me, and I lost my dinner in the dirt before screaming and crying.

A passerby ran over to see what was up and upon reaching the scene, called 911.

* * *

When the paramedics and police arrived, they confirmed the worst.

The next week was hell, what with grieving, funeral arrangements, and visits from friends and distant relatives (Clair and Elize's parents were both gone—in a twisted way, the one bright side to the whole thing).

Elize and I faltered at re-establishing our intimacy, so to spare us both pain, I think, she accepted an invitation to stay indefinitely with her old friend Zazie in Zigzag on the slopes of Mount Hood.

During those days, I became a workaholic since I had to pay the rent by myself and just to have something other than my grief on my mind. That took care of the days and the evenings, but the nights were very hard: I desperately missed both of the girls.

I wrote Elize at the address she'd left me, just telling her how I was doing and how much I missed her, but she never replied.

I tried to reestablish a social life, dating Abby off and on for a while. I'm sure she went out with me largely because she cared for me as a friend, pitied me, and wanted to help. But I was poor company; I inevitably turned our conversation to Clair and Elize.

I invited her to bed with me once—and she really tried hard to give in to me that night—but after five minutes of faltering, exploratory kisses and caresses, she said, "I'm sorry. I get the feeling neither of us is really into this," and then she left me alone. She was correct: It didn't feel right. And that brought home to me what I knew in my heart: I was still in love with Elize and really needed to get her back into my life.

* * *

About four months after the incident, I got a call from Zazie, who said that Elize needed my help and asked me to come out to the cabin as soon as possible. She mentioned some kind of problem.

I argued that I'd written Elize several letters, to which she hadn't replied.

"It's not her fault," said Zazie. "She'll come around, but I think she needs your help and support first."

"What's the problem, anyway?"

"She behaves very strangely sometimes."

"What do you mean?"

She wouldn't tell me, saying, "Please, just come on out here to the cabin and spend some time with her. I don't want to talk about it over the phone."

Of course, I had no choice but to say yes.

* * *

I got an early start and arrived at Zazie's cabin about 10 a.m. It was substantially larger than I'd expected, based on the word "cabin." It was a rustic pioneer-style log house with a good twelve or fifteen rooms.

I knocked at the screen door. Zazie turned out to be a lovely young woman roughly Elize's age holding a baby. Inviting me in she said, "Excuse the mess, but my husband's in San Francisco on business, and I don't have as much help with Jenny as usual." The implication, I suppose, was that Elize wasn't being much help. Zazie didn't say this in an accusatory manner, but just stated it factually.

I asked, "Where is she?"

She gave me a worried grin. "Out on the pier getting some sun. But, look, I want to talk to you before you go out to her."

This reminded me of the mysterious strange behavior hinted at on the phone. "Oh yeah, what's wrong with her, anyway?"

"Sometimes she seems to think—I don't expect you to believe this until it happens to you..."

"She thinks what?"

It was obviously hard for her to say, but at last she got it out: "Sometimes she seems to think she's Clair."

"That's preposterous."

"I know. That's how I felt at first. I thought she was putting me on, but whenever I tried to talk with her about it, she pretended not to remember. Unless, of course, she actually didn't remember."

I asked, "Could it be that she's developed a split personality as a way of attempting to preserve Clair's memory?"

Zazie said, "Well, the idea that she's going crazy has occurred to me. That's why I called you. But I've been reading about multiple personality disorders, and I don't think that's her problem. Multiple personality usually involves the invention of purely fictional personalities. So, I don't know what the problem is, and I'm confused."

Her eyes were filling with tears, and I suddenly realized not only how much Elize meant to her, but how real the problem was. I put an arm around Zazie's shoulder and said, "Let me see her. I'll take care of her from now on, if she'll come home with me. It may be time for her to try to get back in the swing of things."

Zazie agreed but said, "Now, understand that the Clair personality doesn't come out all the time. She's only done it three times around me. And, as I said, she won't remember it after it happens, though she clearly realizes she's lost some time. It's like a blackout after the Clair personality comes out."

Zazie got up and led me out the back door onto the deck, pointing to a lake. There, with a vista of Mt. Hood that took my breath away as a backdrop, Elize was laying on her tummy at the end of the pier catching some rays.

I walked to the lake and out onto the pier. I can't describe the feelings welling up inside me as I walked up to her. Her beautiful body, as lithe and sexy as ever, was not what I saw. No, I saw my best friend, and I was feeling the dreadful distance that had grown up between us.

Halfway down the pier, Elize heard me coming. She sat up and looked around as if looking for an escape route, but then hesitated, unsure what to do. "Hi, Phil," she said as she stood up, biting a fingernail. "I didn't know you were coming."

When I got to her, I gave her a good, strong hug, saying, "It's a surprise." Then I added, "You know, I've missed you so much."

She said, "I'm sorry, Phil. I've had no desire for sex..."

"I meant I was lonely, Elize. I don't want sex with you just yet, either, especially if you don't want it. You're a friend and companion. I can't enjoy life apart from you."

Elize relaxed somewhat, saying, "I know, Phil. Excuse me for acting this way. This whole thing has had me way off balance."

I said, "Come home with me, Elize."

"I don't know, I'll think about it."

"I'm going back tonight."

"I'll let you know tonight, then."

After this, Elize showed me all around the grounds. We walked for several hours on some of the hiking trails, and while the ice was clearly melting, it was melting slowly.

At one point, we were high above the lake on a promontory, the warm air blowing across the lake and into our faces. I noticed an island below and asked Elize about it. "It's beautiful, Phil. From the break in the treetops you can see there's a clearing in the middle, but what you can't see is that the clearing is full of Indian Paintbrush, and lots of other wildflowers whose names I don't know."

"I wish we could go out there and see it."

"I'll take you," she said. "We'll borrow Zazie's canoe."

After returning and having lunch, we asked for the canoe, which Zazie graciously loaned us for the afternoon.

The water was almost crystal clear and looked good enough to drink. On several occasions, I saw fish darting in the dark blue-green depths.

As cold as the water was, the air was quite warm by the time we arrived at the island, and the sun was beating down oppressively. I think we welcomed the opportunity to beach our boat and walk into the shady forest.

It took only five minutes to arrive at the meadow, and Elize was right...it was like a dream. Multicolored wildflowers, green moss, and lichens of various hues strewn among rocks and grassy patches. But most pervasively of all—as she'd said—was Indian Paintbrush, obviously at the peak of its brief season.

We laid a blanket on a flat rock in the shade at the margin of the meadow and talked. At first, I guess you'd have to call it "small talk." But we both began to let our guards down and talk about all the hurt we'd been going through. It was therapeutic for both of us.

Elize—who'd never known anything other than being part of a matched pair of sisters who loved each other so much that it bordered on incest—was now just another pretty girl. Something very special about her was no longer true. Half of her was gone.

"You still have me," I assured her. "We're still a pair...if you want me."

There followed a long silence, after which Elize pushed me down and scooted over, pushing her back against my chest in the classic spoon position, which allowed me to embrace her with her head laying on my upper arm as a pillow.

And that was the way we spent the afternoon: just lounging around in that heavenly clearing, remembering Clair, comforting each other.

We both had a couple good cries.

After dinner, with Zazie and her baby, we hiked another trail to a hot spring where Elize and I lounged, nude, in water that was almost too hot to bear while Zazie bounced her baby on her knee in the slowly cooling evening air, regaling us with stories that helped by keeping clear of any mention of Clair.

By the time we got back to the cabin, darkness was almost upon us, and I was becoming aware of a full moon rising in the southern sky.

"You two go out and sit on the pier," Zazie said, adding, "With the moon full, the mountain will be gorgeous. You'll be alone: Jenny and I have to go to bed."

"I was going to go..." I started to say.

"He can spend the night, can't he?" Elize asked her friend.

Zazie smiled, saying "Of course he can. Do you want me to ready a bedroom for him?" Sometimes you don't really ask the question you want the answer to.

For the first time since I arrived, Elize laughed, saying, "Don't bother. We're used to sleeping together."

Zazie tried, but it was hard not to notice her joy at the upward turn in Elize's spirits.

So, Elize and I gathered up some blankets and after accepting a bottle of wine from Zazie, we strolled out onto the pier. We took off our shoes and tried dangling our feet in the water. It was so cold, though, that it became a game to see how long we could stand it.

As time went by and the twilight faded into night, I could see what Zazie had meant. The moon positively illuminated the mountain, putting a slowly-shimmering, unearthly reflection into the lake water. I had been to Mexico, Europe and Canada—and just about everywhere in the United States, too—and I'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

It was a special moment, and I was sharing it with Elize.

Elize was obviously happy. She said she was getting cold and asked me to put my arm around her, which I did. For quite a while we just sat and talked some more. This time, though, we talked about us, our future, our plans. Clair's name didn't come up once.

Then we were silent again for quite a while. It was a very comfortable silence for both of us, I think. We were feeling close again. Emotionally, we'd bridged the gulf.

Finally, Elize broke the silence, saying, "I want to make love."

"Here? Now?"

She didn't answer, just pushed me down and said, "Let me take the lead."

I sensed she needed to feel in control, to feel she could modulate the speed and stop or back out at any time.

For the longest time, she just stroked my hair and cheeks, her fingers shaking.

"Take your time," I said, "we have all night."

Then she just laid her head on my chest for a while. I really didn't care whether we had sex. It had been so long since she'd held me, it was so good just to feel her body against mine, to once again know human warmth.

At last, she got up on one elbow and drew herself slowly to me, putting her lips against mine. We kissed dryly at first, just pecking at each other's lips. But slowly, in unison, we opened our mouths, and our tongues touched, tentatively at first, but then, after the obligatory tongue wiggle, with the overwhelming greed we'd known before.

"It's been so long," I whispered as I took a breath.

"Way too long," was all she said as she unzipped my trousers and found my cock, which she pulled out and massaged as she kissed me.

I unbuttoned my shirt for her, and she kissed my chest, pinching my nipples in her teeth and running her tongue all over my belly.

Now, ignoring the cold, she swung around a half turn on her hands and knees and bent forward to take my cock in her mouth. At the same time, I started kissing that sweet little pussy of hers, caressing the soft labia with my tongue, sucking on her hardening clit and teasing it with my lips and tongue.

I loved her so much, and I wanted to show her as much in every way imaginable, certainly including this way.

And so it went until the middle of the night, when we finally dragged ouselves off to Elize's room, where we spent the remainder of the night.

After telling Zazie our plans over breakfast, we packed Elize's things and headed back to the city and a new chapter in our lives.

A relieved-looking Zazie waved us an enthusiastic farewell as we left, inviting us to come back and visit anytime.

* * *

It's been about four weeks now since we left Zazie's cabin, and things are gradually getting back to normal.

Or, rather, we're inventing a new kind of "normal" for ourselves. Elize is painting again, and demand for her work is gradually building up as her confidence comes back. Demand for my work is rising, too.

Clearly, we're going to survive.

Sexually, things are progressing well. I'd say we're at least as close now as we were when Clair was part of the arrangement.

Elize is late coming to bed after her shower. When she arrives, she turns out all the lights and stands looking out of the large floor-to-ceiling window, presenting a shapely, sexy silhouette against the moonglow.

"Come here," she says, and when I come, she asks, "Do you like the moonlight?"

"Of course." "My name comes from the French word for moonlight, you know."

So this is what Zazie had meant...

"Elize, listen..."

"Clair," she corrected.

I'm a little confused, as you can imagine, but I decide to play along and try to reason with the Clair persona. "Clair, you mustn't do this to Elize. Chunks of time will be gone from her and she'll think she's blacking out. She'll think she's going crazy, don't you see?"

Her face turns downward, and her lower lip curls in a frown. "But I miss you, Phil. I'm so lonely. I want to be with you."

I sigh, and circling her waist with my arms, pull her to me.

She asks, "Can I come out at night and make love to you? I have to come out sometime...I need to." There's no ignoring the sincerity of her gaze. This isn't Elize acting, putting me on. In some sense, Elize really believes she's Clair.

I play along for now. "Okay, then. Come out at night, in the moonlight, and Elize will just think she's fallen asleep."

Elize turns around and draws me to her. She puts her lips on mine, and when I open my mouth to hers, our tongues touch...and I feel Clair's secret tongue wiggle, sending a thrill through my entire body.

"Phil," she asks, "why the goose bumps?"

I'm silent, except for, "So, it is you?"

She looks at me like I'm crazy. "Of course, it is."

Before I know it, she's pulling me slowly to the bed, where I almost fall onto her, her legs already parting for me, her pussy dripping with anticipation. Although I have tears in my eyes, I slide into her as though she were no more than a warm, pleasant dream...

After the lovemaking, I take a quick shower, and when I climb into bed, she rolls over and kisses me again.

It's Elize's kiss this time.

"You know what?" she says, "I'm really horny. Let's make love." With that, she disappears under the sheet.

And as her mouth finds my cock, I smile, knowing that my future looks very bright. Twice as bright, in fact, as I thought it ever could be.