I was at a funeral today - Herr Schneider, my neighbour who together with his wife used to look after my house when I was away and who was such a wonderful neighbour, died last Saturday. He was 87 years old - much older than I had thought. I heard that in the evening when they went to bed his wife kissed him good-bye, and in the morning when she woke up he was cold and stiff. It's not an altogether bad way to go - even if he didn't have the chance of saying all the things he might have wanted to say before his death. Imagine dying like this - just leaving without bringing anything to an end. Who would miss me? Who would be sad?

Herr Schneider was one of the generation of people whose youth was robbed by history. When he was a teenager, he was educated to be a Nazi, when he was 20, World War II began. When he came back from captivity, he was 30 and his youth was over - fortunately he met Frau Schneider and they had a quiet life together, they had children who are adults now and live far way fom their parents. They have been my neighbours as long as I can remember, and after my parents' death, which left me without any family, they adopted me in a way. We were never very close, but I know they were watching over me and my property, and they'd water my garden and do a lot of jobs for me when I was away. And they were always friendly and greeted me from their window whenever I left the house.

Now Frau Schneider will move to a residence for elderly people somewhere outside Klagenfurt, close to her children and grand-children, but in an area she does not know at all and where she has no friends. She had tears in her eyes when she told me, and I would have liked to take her into my arms and tell her she could stay with me. But it was a crazy thought - even if she is younger than her husband, I cannot look after her, it would be too much responsibility. Now their house will be on the market and I have no idea who my next neighbours are going to be.

My friend Duncan writes about the picture of my pool: "It seems such a lovely place, flowers in bloom set in quiet countryside. The picture says you must have just been swimming." You are right, Duncan, you are more attentive than I am - the wet stains are there because Elsie and I have just come out of the water. We must be standing somewhere behind the camera, naked and dripping.

Syd, you are right in what you say - so far I have only seen it from my point of view, but what I passed on in the last blog about the woman who appears in public and sucks Phillip's and other's cock could really be damaging. This is not my intent, and it's not my business - and I do not have any proof and don't know how much of the story is really true. That's why I am going to delete the passage in question now - this abilily to edit blogs is certainly the biggest benefit of being a premium member of this site.

On Saturday evening Phillip phoned - it's already been two weeks since I visited him in London, enjoying his new and much bigger flat with him. There were two weeks of the most wonderful sex, two weeks during which I ever so often lost myself and became all body, all senses, all reigned by Phillip's magic presence - by his touches and his taste. That's what I was thinking of early this morning when it was still dark outside and so cosily warm in my bed. When my fingers found the burning desire between my thighs and tried to still it.

He was missing me, he said on the phone. I said the same to him - and it's true: noone can reach me the way he can. I have visions sometimes, when I walk in the streets or even during lessons, when the heads of my students bow over their exercise books and they take some notes, visions of naked me kneeling in front of him and reaching up to his cock which is just within my reach - it's so long and hard and warm, and when I don't grab it and hold to it tight, I will fall into an abyss and shatter to pieces way down on the ground of the gorge.

And then I see that I am not the only one trying to reach him - there are others, young, good-looking women, who hold to his cock as desperately as I do. [I have deleted the following passage about who seems to suck Phillip's cock ever so often. It's someone who is publicly known and it's not my intention to expose her].

I know it's his life, as much as my life is my life - and still I could imagine a world in which the two of us were different.

Yes, Manic, I have a pool, and I am enjoying it very much, although here in the Alpine regions you can only use it between May and middle of October - for the rest of the year it is just too cold. But I swim almost daily during the warmer months, and even more often I sit in the sun or I lie on the grass. As I mentioned before, I was born and spent my childhood here, and when both my parents died in a car accident ten years ago, I inherited it from them. This picture is about three years old, I think Joerg took it, and it shows what it looks like in autumn.

It's an almost unnaturally warm late October Sunday morning - I was having guests last night and cooked for them. This morning I had to tidy my kitchen and my dining-room, but I took my time and read my Sunday newspaper during breakfast to see what makes the world go round today. I have plenty of time because yesterday during lunch time, a polite female voice from the Editor's office informed me that the Editor was sorry but for reasons of urgent business he couldn't keep his appointment for Sunday afternoon, and if I could agree to postponing it to next Sunday. I said I could.

So I am free today. As I don't have any texts to mark yet, I'll take my deckchair outside maybe for the last time this season and lie in the sun. It's a pity my pool is already hibernating - but the swimming season is definitly over. I'll go on reading Paul Auster's "Brooklyn Follies", quite a male book like all of his, but he is such an imaginative story teller.

I was on the phone with Elsie yesterday: we have agreed to inviting my friend Aldo to Jacuzzi when Joerg is away on business next time. I had already asked Aldo when we were driving home from the swingers club, and he had agreed after I had promised to go to the club with him again. Elsie, who has begun to experiment with her sexuality lately, seemed quite excited - and I think it's going to be unproblematic, certainly better than her failed attempts to invite strangers in. It's better that Aldo is there when Joerg is away though: then Elsie can find out without any pressure how far she is ready to take her experimenting. And Aldo is always a pleasure to be with. We don't know yet when all this will take place, it might be in November.

Never tell me again that literature does not have any effect on people. There is this little novel by Colin Higgins titled "Harold and Maud", which was made into a wonderful film back in the 70s, about a boy in his early 20s called Harold and a woman of 80 named Maud. I have read the text with my students more than once, and they like it because it's funny and pretty eccentric. When I show them the film with a wonderful Ruth Gordon as Maud, they love it and its 70s flair, too, and they enjoy the music by Cat Stevens and the awkward clothes people wore then. There is only one scene when they usually wrinkle their noses and say uuuuugh - and that's when we see Harold and Maud in the same bed and it becomes obvious that they have made love.

Now I have given the novel to my friend Ruth, who is 75 - I thought the plot might interest her - you may guess why. I had not seen her for some time after the death of her husband Friedrich, because she spent some time away, but last night we met - actually we went to a concert in our school together. Three former female students of mine have formed an a capella group and were singing songs by the Andrew Sisters and others. How beautiful and attractive they looked.

When we were having a glass of wine after the concert, Ruth suddenly beamed and said she had done it. And she told me that since I had given her the novel some time ago, she had had in her mind to repeat Maud's feat. And now it had become reality, and it had been really, really wonderful. And she smiled her radiant smile. She even looked a little like the wonderful Ruth Gordon in the role of Maud.

Evidently he had to give me the particulars, and I got to know that it had happened in Italy where she spent three weeks in September. She said she didn't know what the boy's motives were - but she didn't mind. He had just turned 20 and he had been the youngest man she ever had in her life. Even her Friedrich had been older when they did it for the first time, and it was in complete darkness. But this boy had been so wonderful, smooth skinned, eager, polite. Of course they did not kiss. But he came three times hotly into her, and the fourth time was the first blowjob he ever got in his life. He almost couldn't believe it.

So Ruth was very well, and full of plans, and I thought that I'd like to see her more often and take enough time for her - who knows how much longer she'll be able to enjoy so much youthfulness at her age.

"What about piercings that you don't show off in the street, say a piercing in an intimate place?" is what Sluttysubbyboy asks in his comment. I have never had sex with anyone whose genitals were pierced, so I cannot say what it is really like. (Can a guy pack it into a condom without any danger of slashing the rubber?) I don't think I would like it for the reasons I have mentioned in my last blog. I have seen it in pictures here at NN, and I ever thought it improved the overall situation in any way. But I am neither a fundamentalist nor a missionary and if someone finds himself or herself more sexy and if it heightens his or her sexual awareness of him- or herself, I would never persuade them into changing their style, and the fact that I would not have sex with them is not really a reason for change, is it?

Last night, Jacuzzi was like in the good old times: just the three of us - no additional people, no other friends, on experiments, just a quiet bubble party under a starry sky. And it was much more intimate again, unlike the last few times, as we three were sitting very close, on either side of Joerg, and reestablishing the skin contacts we have been missing for some time.

But I'll have to go on in the evening, because it's time to leave for school and I am not even dressed yet. It's getting a little chilly anyway to sit here at the computer just in my nightdress - which consist of a pair of my black thongs. So off under the warm shower and into my business suit - I have decided on the striped dark-blue one and on tights with a garter. Have a lovely Friday, my friends.

My short answer for fast readers is: no, I don't. And I will never have either of them.

When I say why, I can only speak for where I live - in the Austrian countryside, in a fairly traditional Catholic country. Here you will find these things less frequently, although there are more and more of my students who can be seen with them. And I am usually not as happy about their new accessories as they are.

My main reason is that I do not think it is beautiful. And even among those who have them, I hardly ever find anyone who thinks this. Usually my students have them to make a statement - for something (maybe a social group, in order to be accepted) or against something (all the values of traditional culture, including the parents).

In a country where tattoos and piercings are not yet a universal aspect of youth culture, they have also kept some of their traditional symbolic values. Males with tattoos signal that they belong to (or sympathize with) a typically masculine social group: sailors, professional soldiers or criminals. What men and women have in common is that here - once your childhood is over - it is also a statement of belonging (or feeling like belonging) to a lower social class, although there is no real class system here. Being pierced traditionally signals that you are part of the sado-masochist sex scene, or at least that you are sexually aware and active, like wearing scanty clothing and a lot of makeup is a signal for prostitution.

I understand elderly people who are not happy about seeing 13-year-old girlies in the streets who signal that they are sado-masochist teen whores. And there are too many men, particularly from other, more traditional cultures, who also address them as such. Then the poor girls are outraged, and many say that foreigners are nasty, because all they want to express with their attire is "I want to be accepted by my friends" and "I want to be different from my parents".

So the reason why I have neither a tattoo nor a piercing is that I make my stataments verbally, not physically, that the social group I belong to does not have them, that I think the human body is most beautiful the way it is, and because I do not want to be treated like a member of the lowest social class - as I am not. Please do not think that I am a social snob because of my last statement - just be realistic and have a look around how women of this social class are treated by the rest of society (maybe not only in Austria) - just ask them, for example, how much they earn ...

No wonder that here so many women try to get rid of these accessories - who have turned into stigmata - as soon as they grow up - which means they will spend a lot of money to remove a tattoo, while others will never ever bare that part of their bodies anymore and wear trousers or long sleeves for the rest of their lives.

So much positive feedback for me here on NN - thanks, my friends. I wish people I daily meet were as friendly and positive as you are - but it seems so hard to say something nice to people when you meet them face to face. But when a mistake happens almost everybody hastens to point it out, although criticism makes nothing and nobody better - it's just praise which does.

When I opened the mailbox today, I could smell what was waiting there for me - another scented letter, and there is only one person who sends me those: Phillip's Editor. He knows that my holidays are over. And now he has invited me to his chalet in the mountains for next Sunday to hear what my stay in London has been like and to have dinner with him. I have already accepted the invitation and mailed back.

I thought this would happen and I made up my mind to accept already in London. And yes: I am ready to do it. Whatever it will be.

"I must say that in the many months of reading your blogs you have opened up to me a greater awareness of how women think and what they feel. Forming opinions on your issues have helped me to become a better person, to think more of my own wife's feelings and how I relate to her." Isn't that a wonderful compliment, which I could find in a message which was sent to me today. Thank you, Duncan, you make me proud to have you among my readers. And it gives me courage to get on.

When I came back from work and opened my mailbox, there was another picture postcard from Maria, this time from Singapore. She has prolonged her Far East trip "and guess what", she wrote, "I have resigned from my job. One night I sent in my resignation from a local internet café in Bali. You can hardly imagine how free I feel. It's is even better than flying." My heart leapt with joy for her. She will easily find another occupation, top people like she are looked for everywhere. And next time I meet her, I hope she will be her old self again.

I enjoyed teaching today. It's definitely what I can do best. I love to perform, to instruct, to guide, to motivate, to entertain, to give them something for life, to make them articute, self-confident people who can take on the world. It is just such an exhausting task. During my holidays I could take in so much for myself - but now it's me again who predominantly gives, and gets little in exchange.