I don't want to bore you - but soon, soon Phillip will come and he will spend his last two nights and his last day with me, before he travels to London and stays there for all of April. I already told you I will visit him for two weeks from 9th April - still it will be the last time in my house for some time, the last time in my bed - for long. I am all open, all excited, and, yes, I have felt it on my fingertips, all wet for him to arrive, in about 2 to 3 hours. We have no particular plans, I will cook, and we will be together. But I have an secret ambition: it is that when he leaves my bed early on Saturday morning, he knows how much he desires me, and that even in times of foreign temptation and lust, he will remember what I can do for him, and that he can't be without.

I wrote that I was a little worried while reading Annette's customary letter last night. In her improving English, she has written about her family before, about where she lives, about some relatives and friends and pets, and about her holidays. In yesterday's letters she put down a few things about herself. What has alerted me somehow is that she would have liked to write to me already on Sunday, but she couldn't because she didn't want to risk being punished when caught doing work on the Lord's day.

Now I know that her family are devout Christians, not Catholics like almost anyone here, but belong to a special denomination. I also know that they have no television and the children are not allowed to play music at home, and that they attend long religious services on Sundays. But when a 17-year-old student mentions that she or he is punished in any way at home, usually all my alarm bells ring.

I will ask her what she meant with this remark, but I can't do it before the weekend, I just have no time, and I told you the reason why ...

My meeting with Tanja was a little awkward - as I had feared. Neither I nor she really seemed to know if I was her chaperone now, or her therapist, or her friend. But she seemed very happy to me, and well-balanced, and she laughed a lot, but we were both self-conscious and did not know what to talk about. She did not tell me any stories about guys, which had always been so entertaining, and I didn't say much about Phillip. I would have felt like telling an alcoholic about a wine tasting event. So rather soon we said good-bye and didn't fix a date for a next meeting. I think she is getting on well, and she knows where I am when there is a problem.

I visited Ruth, the 75-year-old wife of a former professor, on the way from school this afternoon, and she suggested going to a country fair together, which had opened in town today. So we looked at lots of local goods, and tasted some delicious wine and had a good time. Some people certainly thought these two old birds where behaving unseemingly like teenagers. It's just amazing how much we have to giggle when we are together. And we didn't even discuss men. I only came back by bus some minutes ago, at 20 to ten, and feel a little tipsy.

Taking in the mail I first opened the bright red envelope - another English message from my student Ambitious Annette. I just read it through quickly before I turned my computer on. There seems to be a slightly different note today, something urgent, I will have to read it carefully afterwards - and maybe tell you about it tomorrow after school, if it is worth doing so.

This evening I am visiting Tanja, the first time since she told me her story. Some of you may have read it (see March 17), and maybe you were as moved as I. She went through so many things in her life, and how she's trying to fight her sex addiction is quite marvellous, although some of you might think that in a woman this is not a negative trait at all. I can tell you it is - under the circumstances she went through.

And yet I am a little shy of meeting her. She told me so much about her life, she opened herself so totally to me that I have the impression that I know almost too much. And this can make a relationship more difficult. Because by knowing, I feel that I have taken over a great deal of responsibilty. Will I have to keep her away from men? Will I have to see that she does not begin an unhealthy relationship? Will I have to be careful myself, so that what I do does not provoke and attract her in any way? And if I myself get weak?

Does she expect me to refer and react to her story? Or would she like me to forget it and be like before? I will have to ask her and discuss how we might spend our time together.

PS: There will be no Jaccuzzi night on Thursday, because Phillip is spending his last two evenings with me. But I have been invited to a "Jacuzzi Good-Bye Phillip Party" on Saturday: only Elsie and Joerg and me, and lots of food and drinks - they said it was for me to forget and make it a little easier ...

Waking up at night, in the dark, is something which often happens to me lately. Then I lie there, and if I cannot fall asleep again immediately, my mind starts working. There are so many things to think about: Phillip, my friends, work, my students - and darkness makes everything so big, everything appears totally out of proportion - a little worry may become a big threat, a careless word an insult or a break of trust. In such situations I usually get up and wander through my house, drink something or even turn on my computer to see if someone has sent a message or written a comment under my blog.

Last night I chose the alternative. Before going to bed I had read a very erotic passage, and I still felt a little excited. So I let myself slip into a powerful fantasy of mine. And while my mind worked on it, my fingers started to find myself and give my body what it needed most in this situation. I didn't last long tonight - my loud moan made my cat, which had been sleeping at my side, stir, and then a great wave of tiredness swept over me and took me along and drowned me in deep, dreamless sleep.

There were quite a few people who commented with sympathy on my information that I do not have any family at all, because of certain circumstances I mentioned. It seems that many of my readers have a very close relationship and spend a lot of time with their family members. I have never been able to share this experience, but on the other hand, I have personally never really missed it. I grew up without rivalry and envy, I could always share what I have because I never had the feeling there was not enough. I have never learnt how to fight for my desires - some theorists say that this is a disadvantage, but I very rarely want to fight - usually arguments will do anyway. So being family-less does not make me unhappy.

If Elsie and Joerg (who are 39 and 40) are some kind of a family for me, as Syd asked, is hard to say. They live within walking distance and we have known each other since primary school, and they are certainly my closest friends. But family is different - you cannot choose them, and you cannot dismiss them, so you have to arrange in all situations. This makes family singular.

The closest to a family I had were the people I shared a house with during my studies in Zürich, friends like Beatrix and Leon. But the day I was told to better not look into my parents' coffins and remember them the way they where before the crash was the day I stopped having a family.

If it would be good to have a family of my own - this depends on so many factors. It might depend on Phillip. But I am now at an age when I must say that I am not willing to change the circumstances of my life to the worse just to become a wife and a mother. And I fear there might be just too much to lose.

Monday again, but a warm, sunny Monday: Spring is here. Yesterday afternoon we walked round the house and looked at all the various flowers in my garden. They have sprung up within days, white, yellow, blue, pink - it is so nice when coulour is back and enriches our days.

In one week Phillip will have left for London, where he will stay for a month and become familiar with his new job, in a fortnight I will fly over, too, and spend two weeks of holidays with him. He left early this morning - after a weekend of love. He teased me a little yesterday and said I had made a lasting impression on the Editor, and he was a strong character who always got what he wanted. I asked with a laugh if it would help his career if I slept with him, and Phillip replied that only God and the Editor himself knew that, but he was unusually serious when he said this.

But now, normal life is back: teaching, a staff meeting this evening, then I'd love to meet Tanja one of these days, and I should have phoned Ruth already last week. When she called me latety, she sounded quite pleased and excited and said she had to tell me some news, so I wonder what has gone on.

I wish you, and myself, and everybody else a great week, and be your lives rich and your hearts full.

It was the most wonderful party I have ever been to. Such rich food, and entertainment of the finest - some music stars were there, and a few medal winning skiers of our national team. But let's begin at the beginning:

When we left our car in the parking near the Hall, I smiled at Phillip and just lifted my short black dress so much that he could see I was wearing no panties - just stockings that kept up without a garter. I had put on a bra to tame what should not jump into innocent bystanders' faces, but I made it a slight pushup job which just brought everything exactly to the point, if you see what I mean. Phillip was proud - and horny, that's what he whispered into my ear more than once.

I was introduced to the Editor, to the Chairman of the Press Group and some other elderly bigwigs and their wives. I wondered why we stayed in a little sideroom while everyone entered the hall and took a seat. Eventually I got to know the reason. When almost everyone was seated, our group entered the Hall and people rose to their feet and applauded. Phillip and I sat at the Editor's table. We were by far the youngest of the prominent group, so you can imagine how many eyes ogled your a little embarrassed, pantyless Alpina.

The Press Group had been successful last year, the Chairman proudly said, and the Editor seconded this view. And in his long speech he mentioned Phillip as the most able representative of a younger generation, who would next year be the Press Group's eye and voice in England, and afterwards become part of the the Group's Executive Board. I would never have thought that - my Phillip.

It was such a special evening - dozens of people wanted to talk to us, and were introduced, and asked about everything. I was often addressed with my title, which in Austria is still common, when you have a Ph.D. - Frau Doktor Alpina - teachers never do this. And I danced with the Editor, who said very favourable things about Phillip and his brilliant future, while his hand on my hip wandered a little lower to feel the hem of my panties - and didn't find one.

And I - I let a little, moist tongue dart over my intensively red lips, and smile a big wet smile at him, and his eyes locked with mine, and he smiled back at me - much longer than his elderly, slightly overweight wife would have enjoyed ...

I was shopping in town, and Phillipe went back to his flat; there are things he has to settle, because he is leaving for London next Saturday. Tonight I will go to a big party with him; his Editor has invited the whole office staff, and we will be in a beautiful hall in town, there will be food and entertainment and, which is unavoidable, speeches. Phillip asked me to wear my little black dress, which is revealing a fair amout of cleavage, and heels.

Outside, it's warm, 18°C, and there are more and more flowers in my garden. I had some coffee on my porch, and I was reading another of Annette's letters. She is doing nicely, describing her family and pets, her relatives and her last holidays abroad. Her English is obviously improving; just a little practice and she will do much better in school. I will tell her that and encourage her.

Reclining in the sunshine, I'm pulling up my skirt a little, revealing my legs - how white they are after the winter. The little sun tan there was has gone or peeled off. It's lovely to feel the sun on my skin again. In a few weeks I will clean my pool from winter dirt and fill it with fresh water. And then my favourite season can begin. Pulling up the skirt a little higher, the sun catches in my fluffy hair, and a little wind catches some lingering moisture, so I feel cool there. Down goes my skirt - but summer is not far.

Now I will go and make myself presentable - actually I will try to be as beautiful as I ever can. I'd love Phillip to be really, really proud of me.

Ouch – sometimes I really doubt my power of writing, when my dear reader and registered Alpinist Gio from Italy is reminded of football when I toil hard to describe the erotic feelings of friends who sit in a Jacuzzi together. Shall I really go on writing? But then, after all, I do not know what football in Italy is really like and how people feel about it – but if it is the same feeling like mine it’s a pretty intimate sport. But why should a nation which has such an erotic relationship to food not feel the same for sports?

Gio loves teasing me a little – as you can see in yesterday’s comment of his to Tilac Girl’s blog. But, I am NOT a lazy commenter – I am just a very BAD commenter, that’s why I have become fairly reluctant to do so. While I am quite pleased with many of my blogs, I feel truly uneasy about my comments. This may have to do with my not being of English speaking origin, but I fear it is rather part of my personality. Because I feel that my comments never really hit off – they are boring, or silly, or ironic, or teacher – like, or whatever.

The truth is: I am a bad networker. A networker is someone who always says the right things to enchant and entertain and by that attract other people. You can see this particularly in the forum, next to comments on blogs. Especially the more prominent people of this site are enviably brilliant networkers. The way someone’s whole entry for the day can read “Hi”, and a dozen people comment, or how some gifted people can say “bump” in an inimitable way and easily inspire many others to say “bump”, too, and so help form a circle of people who feel very much at home with each other. As a contrast – there are always less gifted guys saying “bump” in a pretty boring and uninspiring way, so it’s obvious no-one will even notice. You find them asking questions in the forum, which are not sillier than many popular ones, and there is zero response.

Now if I say “bump”, I am sure it sounds off target again, silly, in a way wrong, definitely uninspiring, and aren’t I being too ironic or critical again?

Bump.

See what I mean?

I took a bottle of champagne over to Elsie and Joerg, but I needn't have done so: there was already one in a cooler, and it was opened as soon as I had arrived and we had stripped and sat into the Jacuzzi - as if nothing had happened at all. I noticed at once that the two of them were very much in love, they must have had a good talk together, so there were no dark clouds between them anymore, but just a strong sense of attraction.

The night had come and brought on a velvet sky full of stars, and the sparkling wine directly went into our blood. We felt so light-headed, with a kind of happiness only good friends can feel when they know that their hearts are beating in unison. It was clear from the beginning that today was Elsie's day, so she was sitting between us, relaxed and calm, sensual and expectant.

She loved feeling our hands on her body. I felt at once that she was freshly shaved, and she sighed deeply when our fingers trailed her now smooth and sensitive patch. Later on their big bed, with a glass of wonderful Barolo in our hands, kneeling between her legs that were spread wide apart, Joerg and I admired her thorough shaving job. And whenever anyone touched her soft and bald mound, she wiggled and moaned ever so sweetly.

Elsie suggested they could shave me, too, so I would feel as good as she, but we postponed that for some later time. Instead we did something which I knew both of them would enjoy, like they have many times before. So Elsie, lying on her back, put her head in my lap, so that I could look into her eyes and stroke her hair and face, while Joerg entered her carefully. And then their big waterbed started to rock in this particular, slow, deep, regular way only waterbeds do, and it went on and on and intensified until both my friends felt happy and spent, and it calmed only when we lay on our backs next to each other, and only our hands touched.