Depending on tomorrow's weather forecast, Timo and I might go skiing again over the weekend. We have not decided yet because if there is snowfall tomorrow evening, the car will not make it up to the pass. So if I stay quiet tomorrow, you know where I am. And with who - you might certainly be glad because all of you think that I have to go through that and wash Phillip out of my system - the sooner, the better - to find happiness. Sex with Phillip may be like a drug, like what depotguy mentions, so maybe I can get rid of the fateful stuff with something which replaces it nicely. And until then I'll keep my hands over the blanket at night.

Did you know that nuns have to sleep that way and that mother superior regularly has an eye on them, so that their dreams cannot result in sinful action?

"To have turned Philip down must have taken quite some strength", is what OldGeezer wrote in his comment the day before yesterday. It's amazing how people can identify with me and my feelings just by reading my little texts here. You are ever so right, OldGeezer, it is harder than I initially thought.

I felt quite determined and strong on the phone. I had thought for ages how to tell him, and fortunately he didn't insist and didn't start begging me. And when I wrote my blog, I was quite proud of myself, particularly after I had got some confirmation from my readers and friends.

But the real test comes at night, when I wake up and can't fall asleep again, or in the early morning, when I think over my decision and my body begins to protest - then it hurts most, then my fingers insist on having their own life and find their way between my legs, massaging my clitoris to the rhythm of Phillip, Phillip, Phillip ... and tears well up from my heart. I have heard of people in the state of detoxification - and I know now what they must go through.

Sometimes I have wild fantasies and dreams which make me wake up in a shock. The other day I observed myself going for a walk with Timo and three of our children. I could see from somewhere above that we were a nice, harmonious family. Suddenly Phillip came, and he was bathed in such a brilliant light I could not help going to him and doing what I always did when he came home from a longer absence. I sank to my knees before him, opened his trousers and, holding his cock with both hands, sucked him off. And while I was doing this, I looked into my husband's and my children's eyes - and they were so hurt and so sad.

In the past Adolf used to be quite a popular German forename, and also a lot of Austrians were called this. Then came along the Adolf of Adolfs - Hitler - and with him this name disappeared pretty quickly. All the Adolfs alive must be close to retirement age now and have disappeared from public view - I had a colleague with that name and we suggested he cut off his moustache, and my former dentist was also called Adolf, and he was the sweetest of souls, in spite of his torturous electric drill.

When parents called their son Adolf as late as the 60s, they were either very traditional or still not convinced that Hitler was an aberration of history, or both, and the poor children did not have an easy life. So not a few of them simpy decided to change their names - like Timo, my Timo, who is such a cryptic Adolf and says he had to suffer from it a lot. So one day when he still went to school he decided that from this day on he had a different name and soon everybody called him this: Timo. Today it is even in his passport.

Why his parents gave him this discredited name may be for both the above mentioned reasons, according to Timo. His father was called Adolf, and he was very traditional and not a friend of postwar developments - his grandfather had lost his job as a teacher after the war because he was a Nazi and didn't become a democrat fast enough. Timo's youth had been none too pleasant like that of his father.

That Timo told me about his real name is certainly a sign of trust. He wants me to know him. Does it change anything for me? Not really, he will always be Timo for me, and not Adolf, and I will never be his Eva Braun.

Oh, Gio, you know so well where to put your kisses to release a girl's tensions. And it worked - the blood has arrived and I already feel much more balanced, although I will not go to Jacuzzi on Thursday as I don't wish to display my dangling white tell-tale thread.

And, my dear friends, I have done it: I have told Phillip that I am not coming to London over Easter, as we had planned last time we met. He was not pleased at all and thought it was a great pity. What I didn't tell him (yet) is that I will go skiing with Timo for about ten days. I had to ask Timo - and I was glad he didn't take a week to think about it, but could decide spontaneously. There is a pleasant little hotel I have been to before and it is certainly going to be nice.

Never in my life have I skied so little like this year, although it is the only sport I am any good at. Actually, skiing was quite a passion of my family and so of mine, when I was younger. In my late teens I was even in a selection of young talents of our region and regularly went to training camps. But then I decided on an academic career and had less time, so I never got over the regional level. But for many years, when watching ski racing on TV, I saw some of my former pals who had achieved national fame and even became world famous. And then I wondered if I had chosen the right path: imagine having seen me at the Olympics - Alpina the downhill wizzard - although then you would never have found out what I nice woman I really am, would you?

I couldn't make myself very clear in this morning's blog, and maybe the janitor's union will sue me for discrimination after all. All I can say is that a female teacher of the school fucking the janitor is not the same like you guys fucking the babysitter for some extra cash on the way home. Wherever this happens, it smells like trouble - and not for the janitor. You are sweet, depotguy, and I hope you will get all the janitors which you fancy.

As the moon was full again, I am waiting for my blood to come. Fortunately I don't have to be afraid like last month. But I am feeling low, and it is not only because Maria has gone. I feel the pull of the full moon on my body, which aches and gets tense until the menstrual release come over me. That's why I'll make it a short blog, my sweet readers, before I say something even more silly and become tearful.

It's hard to believe, but Elsie has fucked the janitor of her school. He is in his thirties and pretty muscular, quite friendly and helpful, and Elsie said she suddenly felt a lot like it when she was tidying up the school kitchen late last Friday evening and asked him to help her carry some spare table down to the cellar store room, where a lot up disused funiture is waiting to be disposed.

She told him to fuck her on an old sofa or the table, and it seems that he first hesitated - maybe because he could not believe his ears - but when she touched the front of his trousers he came alive pretty quickly. He laid her over the table and pounded into her pretty forcefully, and, according to Elsie, it was such a good, alternative feeling and she had been so horny that she came almost immediately. To finish him off she gave him a good blowjob on the sofa, and when she had done so, she was so horny again that she asked him to give her a licking, which he did, but with a deplorable lack of expertise.

Now without wanting to discriminate any professional group, to my mind it's far from advisable to fuck the janitor if you are a teacher at the same school, particularly if you don't know him well and have only admired his body from afar. But Elsie seems quite pleased with her feat, and it seems that the janitor is not the last on her list by far.

When we woke up in each other's arms, it was like a miracle after yesterday's miserable weather: the sun was shinig from a dark-blue sky, and it was warm like in the middle of spring. Ideal weather for flying, so nothing held Maria back from going to her meeting as soon as possible, and I decided to go along with her.

A lot of people had gathered in the area where the paragliders usually land, and there were some vans ready to take them up to the mountain from where they are taking off. Maria was in such a good mood because it was the first time for this season and she was looking forward very much to that special flying feeling. She was all excited and horsing around, and before she left in the van she kissed me on my lips as hotly as Madonna and Britney, and some people appeared fairly scandalized. Fortunately I didn't know anyone.

She was making two flights, and in between we had lunch in a little restaurant. It was lovely to see her fly. I recognized her as soon as she came over the mountain ledge. There she was caught by an upcurrant and started circling all around the valley, until she finally landed with ease close to me and came over to take me into her arms.

In the restaurant she was all exuberant and wanted to sit next to me to be as near as possible. She touched me again and again, and once she reached under my skirt when the waitress saw it and disapprovingly frowned, but she said she wanted to feel me on her finger, almost like a guy would do, and she laughed so loud that people at the next tables turned their heads.

And now she has left. It's as if it was a dream and now I have woken up again. Was she really here? I can't really be sure and prove it - as she has left nothing besides some daffodils, which I could have bought myself after all. And there's not even any cum on the bedsheets, which usually shows that you have been with a lover.

Once during the night, in a rare moment when my body came to rest and my mind worked again, I was overgrown with a wild hope it could stay like this - I would chuck everything that held me here and follow Maria to Vienna and sink into her forever. Always her skin under my probing fingers. Always her dark, heavy scent on my lips. Always her tongue giving me glimpses of heaven.

She has gone to her flight meeting early - I didn't go along as the weather is unsteady. There is a lot of wind which may keep them from gliding without running too many risks. I was touched last night and cried a few tears when she told me of an affair she had lately. It seems as if she wants to be faithful to me in an old-fashioned way: one should not have more than one lover at a time. She would never expect this from me, though.

She had met a young girl from a South American branch of the charity she works for, who was in Vienna for a training. She is Peruvian, her name is Concita and they seem to have fallen for each other immediately, in the very first meeting they were attending together. Their eyes met - and their hearts only stopped racing and their minds came to rest hours later when in Maria's flat they came up for air after a first explosion of their senses. But Concita had to go back to Peru. And if I could forgive Maria?

So we cried a little together: I because she had asked and she because I could forgive - and all was good.

Timo suggested that maybe I was dancing at too many weddings when I told him of my arrangements for the weekend which unfortunately exclude him. He is wrong, of course: I am dancing at no wedding, and this may be the problem. But I know what he meant to say: Maria, Phillip, Joerg and Elsie, the Editor, Aldo, Leon, and now he. That really looks a little unhealthy - multiple lover syndrome, if you ask me. There are moments in life when the time has come to decide. Who do you tell ...

Speaking of Elsie and Joerg: on Thursday the Jacuzzi was crowded, because the two guys from Kueken's sportsclub finally arrived. I don't think that you know Eisstockschiessen, which is some kind of alpine curling played in Bavaria and here with similar rules. Don't ask me how Kueken got familiar with that crowd.

We had agreed that it was a swimsuit event, so Aunty Alpina was wearing her baggy one-piece yellow contraption, while Elsie and Kueken had introduced a motto at the last moment: Carneval in Rio. It made them wear Copacabana super sexy thong bikinis. The two pretty muscular guys in their twenties were wearing very sharp thongs which hinted at their contents nicely, even Aunty had to admit that. There was some Samba blaring through the garden and we had Daiquiries and lovely South American food, no-one touched anybody all evening, and it was good fun after all.

But you just had to look into the two bikini beauties' eyes to see that they did not plan to leave it that way in the future.

It depends on the subject if Austria is a modern or a traditional country, and sometimes there are interesting mixtures of contrasting attitudes and values. When I went to school, for example, we were having sexual education from an early age on, but often it was taught by someone with very traditional, catholic moral views. One of their favourite topics always used to be masturbation, and there was hardly any difference between men and women. Yes, they were so obsessed by it that it was easy to guess even for us children how much they themselves must have been fighting against the devil and his afflictions. We always had to giggle when we imagined this or that teacher actually masturbating, particularly the nuns intrigued us.

I will never forget how my mother, who was a doctor by training, too, told me that they would warn us against masturbation at school but that I should not believe them, because they were telling us an utter load of bigotted rubbish. Masturbation was not only natural, but also without any health risks whatsoever, and it could be very, very pleasing if it didn't become an addiction. She was doing it, and my father was doing it, and it was nothing I should ever be ashamed of in my life.

That is why I often think of my mother - not while, but usually after masturbating. Like during the last two days, when I celebrated my longing for Maria's touches in that way. When I imagined that my fingers on my hot skin were Maria's and when in my deeply gratifying orgasms I was moaning her name.

Thank you, Maria. Thank you, Mother.