"You know that for a long time there was no-one else for me than you, Alpina, although we didn't meet regularly. I am not a woman who needs it so often, unlike you, I know. You are such a wonderful lover and when we were together it was just perfect. No-one could ever touch my deepest inside the way you did. Yet I know that the next day you could have sex with someone else and be as passionate as with me and forget everything again, and I am sure you could be as loving and wild on a third day with a third person, if the situation offered itself. And you would do it with men, something I could never do again, and which I could not imagine you do. How could these wonderful hands and fingers hold cock as lovingly as me? I must admit it hurt me more that you would ever believe.

I told you of Concita, the Peruvian girl I met at the charity I work for. When she entered my office I was already lost. I suffered for you, but I yielded quickly. We had a wonderful, deep relationship, my only one beside you. After she had gone back to her country, I just waited for the moment I could follow her. It was one of the most wonderful days of my life when we met again. We were such a perfect match.

But her family hated me - for perverting their daughter they said. I was afraid that harm might be done to me when lying in her arms. Only weeks after I had travelled back to Austria, in the hope she would follow, she wrote to me that she was married now - having given in to the pressure of her family.

I had a terrible time, but I didn't want to bother you, Alpina, because you had told me there was a man you loved. I wanted to see you again before your wedding, though, to feel you for a last time maybe - I don't know what will come. I don't know what you will be like in the future. I don't know if we can ever come together again under these circumstances."

This was when I was so ill on the weekend; I was listening to her between one bout of vomiting and the next. And we cried together, but we didn't touch. And I promised her nothing would change. And I didn't really know if I was lying or not.

I admit yesterday's blog was rather an example of strange, fuzzy logic, some in our country would call it female logic, but it was not meant totally seriously, as you might have noticed. Yes, I guess I have a different keyboard, particularly if you do not find all the typical Umlauts woderwick mentions in his comment on yours. Is that the way you can produce my German letters on your keyboard?

There was also a comment yesterday which I usually do not find - the verdict of the silent majority so to speak, someone who is bored by my blog. I know it's the resonant voice of the 99,99% NN members who have never read a word of my little niche-product - and so many people can't be wrong, can they? Maybe I ought to accept the offer for help.

Re-reading what I have written so far, I wonder myself where my panic to be a married woman in a month's time will take me in the end. That's what I did not mention so far. It's time I did.

When we Vorarlbergians (that's the folks who live here) say "goodbye" to someone, we traditionally use the word "pfüete" for it, which is short for "Gott behüte dich" or in English "May God always hold his protective hand over you". As I said: "pfüete". It may be so different from anything you ever say that you cannot even read it in this blog, because your keyboard does not show any Umlaut like the German letter "ü". Like for example in "Zürich".

As I use such awkward sounds, and say such strange words, and speak and even think and dream in this language, how dare you ever think you can understand how I DO something? Like making love for example.

Really some food for thought, ain't it?

It has been all work and no play since yesterday morning, but it's getting better and the outlook is bright. Thursday is coming up soon, and Aldo already agreed over the weekend to come to Jacuzzi. "Can I bring anything?" he inquired nicely. "Just bring anything you have", corny me said, after which he had a good laugh and promised his best. I have decided not to tell Phillip beforehand - maybe later if there is anything to tell. Or nothing at all. I never said I was totally truthful all the time.

Of course I feel a little remorse, so I have decided to bring Phillip closer to his desire to share and make sure this will happen soon. There must be someone suitable somewhere.

On Saturday I will accompany Phillip to the annual party at the Press House. It might be special because the Editor knows about our wedding plans, so there could be some surprise. It's usually a night when I am pretty cold, as Phillip always asks me not to wear too much. The last two times I was naked under my little black evening dress and Phillip was ever so excited and proudly said that looking at me one could just about guess this. And I don't want to spoil his fun in spite of the cold winds who make me shiver. Let's just act as if it was my excitement.

But next to this all, there will also be a lot of good old plain work, without the slightest hint that I am up to a few pretty naughty things.

It wasn't the Föhn, of course, I should have known - it was my lunar cycle: the blood is gushing and making me uneasy and all Phillip got this morning in bed was a thorough leasurly licking which ended in a pretty mouthful of proteins already before my morning espresso. Does cum make fat?

Let's mention the positive: I didn't get on your nerves this month with my pregnancy, did I? Which is, as you can easily see, a real non-pregnancy.

It's going to be a horrible day: the essays must be finished now, there are feedbacks to be written for 25 individual literary mock-exam conversations I had lately, and a literary test must be devised on a play I'll have to read again before doing so. The world looks bleak, but I have, I have to go through this today.

So wherever you enjoy your wonderful Sunday, my readers and friends, think of poor Alpina and her plight.

The end of another week, the fastest of my life, it seems, if I didn't know that the next will be even faster. I heard it is a sign of age. Maybe it's just that so many things we do are done routinely, so that they lack an edge of memory. It's beautiful, but it's over. It's so easy to remember one's first kiss or the first blowjob of one's life, but asking myself what I have done this week, I hesitate: lots of work, talking to colleagues, marking tests, going shopping, writing blogs, sleeping with Phillip. Jacuzzi with Elsie. And the gardener got my garden ready for winter, cutting bushes and trees. Or was it last week or the week before? But there's no use becoming philisophical on a Saturday morning before shopping.

I have been reading other blogs - it always fascinates me how different lives can be. Seshat with her little black kitty; he's become part of my life, too, I have even printed one of the ever so cute pictures. Some blogs seem to be momentarily deserted and life seems to sidetrack them, while others are regular and visited by scores of people who leave their comments. Those are of course the ones I envy - the queens of the blog. And there are some who rocket up the list like spaceshuttles; Sphynx Lady who has just overtaken me has hundreds of readers a day although hardly anyone leaves a comment. Is it the clinic shots of her privates who attracts them, but makes them shy? One can only guess and wonder what goes on behind the millions of screens all connected by this medium.

This definitely seems to be my philisophical day. So I better take my wicker bag and set out to the openair market, before the veggies are sold to all the unphilosophical people who arrive before me. See you later.

Call me an idiot - but I can be like this sometimes, irresponsible, too fast to think, plain silly. Particularly when Sister Hyde looks over my shoulder and pushes me from behind. This brought me into the Swingers Club, of all places, and into a number of awkward though admittedly sexy situations. Yesterday was such a day again, and maybe a reason was, you know, the Föhn.

I had got ready for Jacuzzi, directing the removable head of my shower agaist my nether openings to diligently get rid of all the cum hovering around there. I should have expected I would enjoy the water jet long after cleanliness had been provided for, just for fun and the good feeling it gave me - and I did.

Prepared like this I leaped into Jacuzzi with Elsie and we could not stop horsing around and laughing like madwomen. Joerg was not home, being on a training for two days with his company. We chatted about erotic experiences and reminded each other of everything embarrassing which had ever happened to us, and finally I promised Elsie that I would help her invite Aldo to Jacuzzi next Thursday when Joerg was absent, too. It was time for Aldo's speciality again, Elsie said with dreamy eyes, and we should share it like we did once before.

I was a little reluctant first, but much too little to be honest, and Elsie said we should see it as a private wedding-eve party, although it's not exactly going to be the way it is the usual custom here, I must admit.

Was I playful yesterday. But that's what I feel lately - itchy, excited - maybe it's really the Föhn. Maybe it's just me, and life, and all is so good and hopeful and so close to my feelings and my heart. Touch me anywhere, and there are shivers all over me and reactions, so that my pulse races. I could embrace the world - and if it - while I am doing so - shoved its little cock into me, I would ride it with pleasure.

Tonight is Jacuzzi night, and I don't know yet who I am going to embrace or not embrace. But there is a potential for it - I'm so much in a giving mood, all is possible - or at least much.

And I am in a taking mood - Phillip can sing a song of that. I am his constant cum-depot, and we replenish and replenish. So I am constantly oozing - I'm glad I'm washing my panties myself, or they might think some dangerous illness has befallen me. I'll certainly have to wash myself thoroughly before entering the Jacuzzi tonight - why should I share the little Phillipean sperm guys with Elsie - friendship does not have to go that far ...

"I am so fascinated by you, Alpina. Each time I read your blog, it is a smile, a tear .... or a shiver. I won't ever be grateful enough for the delicious moments you create daily for me!" is what I find in bluecat's comment which I read first thing in the morning after switching on my computer and my mind. Bluecat - you really know how to make a vain girl proud and happy. Feel kissed, my dear friend, and accept a little friendly squeeze in the physical region of your choice ...

Besides this light of praise, it's still dark and dull here, with rising temperatures eating up the snow in my garden. It's the Föhn, the warm southerly wind from beyond the Alps, which produces headaches and traffic accidents. Why I am blogging when I ought to get ready I don't know - also the Föhn maybe. My bus leaves in 50 minutes. My briefcase is ready and packed, but I am not - I'm still in my sleeping gear which - regular readers know - is less than a good mother would recommend her daughter. That's why I am a little cool now, you could see it on me pretty well. Time for a warm and soothing shower.

Close your eyes and feel with me the warm water run over our sensitive skins. Let's begin our day like this together.

This is my 745th blog - amateur mathematicians among you could now easily find out how often I used a certain term per update ("Elsie" and "love" in every second, "Phillip" in two thirds, but "cock" just in one out of seven). So far so good.

I have just been informed, that I used "school" 225 times, a little more that once every three updates. And I used "school" more often than "sex", just for the records. Aren't I a serious and respectable girl after all?

Please do not worry, depotguy, this is just fun. Just think of all the other things which are recorded - also of you, and used in less transparent statistics, and stored in dark cellars and on shiny harddisks. All the pictures and films taken of you at every street corner, cash point, or filling station, plus all the mails and telephone calls which were recorded. I bet the FBI knows how often you used the word "kill" in electronic communication during the last year (I hope zero times). So my 87 uses of "cum" are just - a drop in the ocean, if you allow me this fairly dreadful pun. Or, with the late Kurt Vonnegut: So it goes.