Having decided that I only want to write sexy things in here, I have to admit now that the engine has begun to stutter a little: nothing much sexy happens to me. All is ordinary and decent, its too cold to stand outside even in clothes, and my ladies at school work diligently. So when - in uneventful times - I am too much shaken by sexual overdrive, I chat with an American friend on Yahoo: she is fairly massive but very erotic and she loves to show on cam.

I'm not on Yahoo very often - I think it makes me depressive. I am xxxxxx too much into the role of a hunter who desperately looks for prey, and hardly anyone answers. You exchange a few bantering words, and suddenly the answers stop. It makes you sad.

So I love to meet K. - and there are always new things you can learn. I for example did not know that ladies usually own such an array of dildos and all kinds of electric stimulants. Being shown the proper way to use them, I usually get enough steamed up to worry about my keyboard - while I encourage K. to show me some more. Which - to my geat pleasure - she does.

If there are any ladies who read this, they might not understand, because for them it's so abvious that they don't even think of trying. My question was: can I still go shopping to the supermarket on an ordinary workday morning and only carry my shopping bags home after I have slept with a woman I have met there? I am sure you ladies are only too aware of how many men just wait for your sign - and you don't even bother.

I must admit that I had little success lately which I attributed to my age. But last week I hit the jackpot again - after so many failures. A woman returned my smile while packing tomatoes into a plastic bag, answered to my witty remarks and agreed to having some coffee on the way out.

I listened to some complaints about a husband who was always busy and under pressure in his job, kids who didn't do what they were supposed to - I wondered how readly her tears came. I assured her that she was far from unattractive and her life was not over at all, and that any man could be proud who would win her favour.

When she undressed and we lay down on my bed, it was a quarter past ten and she was not expected home before twelve. So we had time for more than just some quick release. She was unadventurous, and talked much too much, her body was flabby and plump and her tattoo and piercing strangely inappropritate - but she was one to grow loud and was not shy of orals. So all in all it was satisfactory. But it was my ego which climaxed even more beautifully, I must admit.

Consuela was not amused today. Her bellybutton glared at me from her bare midriff, and so did her eyes - she had not done her homework. When I said she was expected to hand in work she said if I didn't keep promises she wouldn't. I told her that doing work at school had nothing to do with promises but with academic progress because she would have to pass her exam. She only jeered derisively.

But there are ups, too, not only downs. When I woke up yesterday evening from an overdose of wine, I had an e-mail. And it was from Sehnaz, the dark-eyed Turkish girl with the headscarf. When in class last week she had asked for another book to read at home, I had slipped in my official visiting card - with telephone number and e-mail address - and the encouraging suggestion that if they needed any support from me they could ask me anytime.

Her German was still basic, but surprisingly good and she wrote to me she liked the book a lot. Today I heard that over weekends she works a few hours in a small Turkish backyard company importing one thing or other from her home country, and this requires work at the computer. That's why she had thought she could e-mail me.

And the way she smiled at me definitely made me forget poor disgruntled Consuela.

There are days I feel fine, and there are days I feel like that.

When Jacqueline and I left our houses at the same time after seven in the morning and met in the street, it looked like a fortunate coincidence. Only that I had set my alarm for six, carefully dressed like for work and waited behind my toilet window until her door opened before I sprinted out of my house.

We shortly talked about the beautiful weather, and then I had a spontaneous idea (planned in advance for days !!): Why don't you come over into my garden if you have no important plans for this evening and we see what there is in the fridge and eat something.
You can take the boys along of course, they can eat with us and play in my garden.

She gave me one of her radiant smiles, thought this a lovely idea and mounted her bicycle to ride to the local hospital where she worked as a nurse. The last I saw was her flaming hair wave in the morning air.

I organized all day, so cleverly that all looked pretty improvised, just a few flowers on the table and some marinated chicken breast for the grill, and waited for the afternoon to creep by. Hardly once I thought of Consuela. And then she came, the boys in her town and a home-made cake in her arm (good-bye, strawberry tiramisu which I had prepared already in the morning). And she wore her black bikini, combined with a dark green pareo which she was wearing round her hips and which contrasted beautifully with her burning hair.

We had dinner, and sitting there we were watching the boys play ball all around my flowerbeds, and for a casual onlooker we might have looked just like a happy little family.

And I was deeply pleased and genuinely shocked.

This year's Swiss beauty queen is called Fiona Hefti, and she was quite successful at the global beauty contest last week. She was later interviewed about her experiences by Swiss Television and was asked what it had been like to appear on stage in this mere nothing of a white bikini before everybody's eyes and if she had not been nervous. She said the bikini had really been tight and tiny but she had glued it to her buttocks so it would not ride down and reaveal her bare essentials.

I was thinking of her when I walked behind my women's class again while they were writing an exercise. Maria was leaning over the desk so eagerly, so full of concentration, and thanks to God, the idea of using any glue had never crosses her mind - though I doubt that there is glue strong enough to tame this natural force. What was revealed by her low sitting jeans, merely emphasized than covered by her tiny thongs, was pure poetry - the eternal song of womenhood that kept humankind thriving for all these millons of years and which sounded in my ears like the sweetest of music.

And I was still hearing the tune, when Consuela stepped in my way after class and said she would expect me tomorrow night - I hadn't come last Friday and that wasn't nice. So see you then tomorrow, she said, at about the same time.

I have not spoken to Jacqueline since the cinema evening; sometimes we meet in the street before our houses when going to work or returning from there. She has been in the garden with her kids. She has been lying in the sun in her black bikini, and I have waved over to her.

We have had a number of beautifully sunny days recently, and she has taken to going out onto her porch naked in the very early morning again - I think still warm from her bed. I have seen her stretch her limbs, breathing in the fresh air. On this side of our houses, which are next to each other along our cul-de-sac, there is only nature: green meadows, and a forest in the far distance. Often there are deer grazing when I step out onto my porch early.

I was just stepping out after six a.m. some days ago, when I noticed her standing there in the nude again. Her red hair was burning in the morning sun. I stepped back quickly - and admired her from behind my curtains only, not daring to disturb her peace.

But yesterday, when I stood there naked in the early morning light, she came out, looked over to me and waved, and even shouted cheerful greetings. She was not embarrassed like me, not such a coward, but acted as if everything was fine. And in fact - it felt just fine.

Anybody would love others to know a little more about ourselves.
I am Anybody.

Age: 54
Marital status: Single
Profession: Language Teacher
Hair: Brown, turning grey
Hobbies: Literature, Cooking, Painting
Passion: Women
Place of residence: Outside Zürich, Switzerland

And that is how I paint:

Back with my class. Consuela - and in her tow Silvia - did not look at me in a particularly friendly way. Actually they did not look at me at all but talked all the time till I had to ask them to tune down and participate in the lesson. They were not amused, I could tell. She must have waited for me on Friday - in vain.

But there are also nice things happening: Maria, the Italian girl with the inviting panty signals (20th May) and the extraordinarily well rounded behind had taken to answering my smiles last week. Maybe she wondered why I had suddenly turned so friendly towards her, and could not explain it. Maybe I had just followed her signals. Who will ever know?

I asked her a question when she was leaving the class, and she readily answered - more and longer than I had expected - and we had a good laugh and soon all others had left. What radiant, dark, passionate eyes in this little person. She was not fat - but not slim either. Everything was just a little too full, pleasantly full, like a ripe, juicy apple - you can't help taking a good bite: her cheeks round and red, her breasts about to explode her bra, her thighs ready to tear her jeans apart, a surprisingly thin waist, and her ass ...

I invited her to a coffee (much better than just stand here !) and she told me about her life. It was not always easy, particularly not since she had come to this country. And she talked and talked and was obviously happy to have someone who would listen. And she trusted me - that's what she said.

Maria, Maria, Mariiiiiiia (you remember that line in West Side Story?) Maria .... you're using up my time .... but beware, my sweet little voluptious, some time I may have some demands on you ...

We met while teaching together at some school years ago, and we didn't hit off immediately. She is 6 years older than me, over 60 since this month, she lives alone and is far from what people call good-looking. Her body looks like many post-menopause female bodies; even if a woman keeps her weight, her body starts shifting material to her hips and thighs and breasts, and gravity does not improve the situation. Her hair has turned grey, and if you meet her in the street with her shopping bags, you will not even notice her.

We came closer after a school party when I was too drunk to drive and she offered me to stay at her place for the night. I gladly accepted and was about to settle down on her sofa after a last drink when something happened which in retrospective I can only call a revelation. So far I had know women mainly as reluctant, attentive, rather passive beings who would finally agree to sexual contacts but then usually hold still in order not to disappoint me.

Now Helen was different. Her sexual desire was insatiable. What she wanted from me and how she wanted it opened totally new doors of experience to me - so we tore into each other like fighting animals - desperately and wild until we were utterly exhausted and our senses satisfied. She was never one to talk a lot; not even after having sex, so this characterized our relationship whose object was foremost and alone - sex.

But in spite of not talking a lot, our common language has developped far: we have begun to use just the most descriptive sexual language we can, all the words people tend to call dirty and which are so secretly liberating and uplifting. Noone could listen to what we say to each other - he would think us the most lewd of beings. But we thrive on it.

To make it short: I visited her in order not having to visit Consuela last night ... and today I am tired and bruised, but utterly satisfied and my senses are at rest.