Irmgard is back from the hospital, I knew so much, so I dialled her home number. She answered the phone immediately, but sounded tired and rather hesitant when I told her that I would have liked to meet her if she felt up to it. I added that everyone was worried at school, and so was I, and that I had time on Sunday afternoon if she had. First I thought she would say no, but finally she said she would be glad to see me, but I should come alone and particularly not take any man along. That had not been my idea from the beginning, and we agreed on 5 pm. on the same afternoon. Not take along a man? I was wondering.

When she opened the door she did not look well. She asked me in and we sat down in her living-room; she made some tea and when we were sitting opposite each other there was an awkward silence. Finally she said that she was glad that the school had sent a woman because when the headmaster had asked after her health on the phone she had been in trouble. I didn't understand a word. So I asked her to tell me what was the matter, I had time and I wanted to hear everything.

What I heard is a tale which I think is outrageous and at the same time very, very sad. Something which seems to be happening more and more often, usually behind closed doors and without our knowledge. Something no-one thinks possible because this is a modern world, it's Austria after all, where all people have rights and are basically equal. That's at least how I feel. It is, on the other hand, also a story which we hate to tell because it confirms our worst prejudices and we want to avoid that because we are tolerant and open, aren't we all?

Irmgard said that her problems began shortly after her son was born, when her husband, a native Tunesian, began to change his attitude towards her.

I was fishing for compliments again last night and you were ready to offer them - that's so sweet of you. But I felt lousy, I was alone, and I had also had too much Italian Vino. It's my Monthly Visitation as you know, but even more some kind of pre-holiday syndrome, the falling away of resposibility and of the feeling that I have to function. Phillip is in his office again - why can't he have normal Saturdays and Sundays like most people - particularly like me?

I'll be making use of the afternoon by visiting Irmgard, the girl who started teaching at our school after the summer holidays and surprisingly gave up after a short while and then tried to commit suicide. I am also going as some kind of official school representative. I hardly know her, and wonder how she is and if she is pleased to see me.

Oh, there is something pleasant I could write about: I had a letter in my Saturday mail from the school board. The wrote that they would pay me a bonus at the end of the year for my special services to the school, particularly my drama project. It's only about $800 - not much compared to the banker husband of one of my colleagues, who with his last year's banker's bonus bought himself a Porsche sportscar for $80'000 - but it's a symbol of governmental gratitude and appreciation, a very rare commodity indeed. I must say that getting it makes me proud.

"I've been trying my best to be "social" on the blogs", is a sentence that immediately caught my eye in another message I recently got. This is what so many people do here, this is true. For them the blog is truly a means of communication. They are funny or wise, they connect with their readers. And that's the reason why they get such an enviable number of comments. I notice that I do not really succeed in this - my attitude seems rather uncommunicative compared to many others. My blogs don't say hello. Instead I try to be some kind of a writer, or it's at least what I feel like when coming here and writing about me and my private life.

Maybe I am nothing but some awkward woman who shouts into the dark through an open window hoping that someone who happens to pass might hear. I am glad that some people do pass, or the counting device at the top of the page would not move. Or I would not get such wonderful messages.

"I have missed your blog today but expect you rushed off to Joerg and Elsie to enjoy their jacuzzi. Unless of course you had a chance to meet with Eva! She does indeed seem to be a heart stopper and because of the impact she made on you I'm sure she has an interest in the female body if yet fully discovered", I read in a message that reached me on Thursday night - and it's so lovely to see that there are people who read my blogs well and even waste some thoughts on someone like me, and come online to see if there is an update. Kisses for all who do or who have ever done that - just cyberkisses, but still try to imagine you could feel them, please.

There was no Jacuzzi this week - I would have enjoyed it - and I didn't meet Eva in the way suggested. But I found out something about her which surprised me a lot. When talking about families I heard that she is the daughter of someone I know very well, although I haven't met her since she retired. Her mother used to be quite a well-known and well-liked public figure (so I don't say more about her). She is really quite a persomalty, the kind of woman I would like to be when I am older. And she was also a singer in the choir I sing in, often standing right next to me. Now she has been travelling a lot since her retirement, to South America, Nepal and Vietnam lately, so she has no time left for regular choir practice, which I regret.

She had very often told me of her daughter who was in Berlin at the time, studying to become an actress. Then she was worried because her daughter was in India and she was without any news for weeks. Then her joy about her first grand-child. What attracted me to Eva must have been that she is so similar to her mother in many ways, so that it was as if I knew her at first sight.

Maybe my body just made a little mistake and thought my first impression of familiarity was sexual. But then my body thinks that many things are sexual, it has always been like that and it will maybe only change with age.

My intensive week is over and my autumn break has begun. Today we looked at the poducts of yesterday's work: the studends were filming the scenes they had produced in the course of the week. In pairs they had developed some characters and a little story and for a 2 min. scene a professional director and a camera woman took about an hour. This means that the students noticed they were taken seriously and they could feel like professional actors for a while. I'm sure they will remember this for a very long time. It's what is important at school: helping the students to have good memories and make valuable experiences which will be a source of strength all their lives.

And now I can lean back and relax for a while - what a relief. We have no particular plans as Phillip has no holidays, but maybe we'll go away for some individual days. We don't know yet. First I'll wait for my period to be over - it arrived as puctually as ever with the full moon - and then: well, I guess it's going to be busy because we'll be working hard at getting a baby. Although I am sure is rather rather going to be fun than work.

The aspiring film director arrived in a new set of clothes today and in a cloud of very male, although fairly cheap perfume. He walked as if he was not yet used to his new aura, and I wonder if he went to the all-night supermarket to buy the perfume yesterday before getting home or if he found a flacon somewhere among his stowed away Christmas presents. In his tow was Eva, but she looked very tired after staying up half the night with her sick child. I first got her a strong espresso from the staff-room and she gave me ever such a warm smile when I handed it to her that it warmed my soul and much more.

But the event of the day was something else. Because of my mere organizing duties this week I decided to do a few odd jobs which I have put off doing for some time, like tidying up the cellar room with all our drama props and materials. It’s actually funny to be in there because there are so many things which remind me of past productions: wooden swords and the king’s crown from this year, but also furniture we used and which no one wanted back after the closing night of the play. There is a tattered red sofa, for example, which has been standing there getting dusty for many years, and on which I even had sex with a colleague once in my wilder years.

In the basement corridor the light was on, and when I turned the corner to the store room, I got a little shock. One of our older students, who is about 17, was sitting on the sofa – my sofa – and next to him there was a girl who definitely had her hand on his cock. She was fully dressed and I first just saw her from the back. As he had closed his eyes, it took some seconds until they noticed me standing there. The girl jumped up; she was ashamed, but even more frightened, and she almost bumped into me when running from the scene. The guy jumped up, too, without buttoning his pants properly first; one had to fear they might slip and he stumble and fall after a few steps.

Both had been in my drama course, that’s why they knew the place, but they are not my students. What to do now? I had caught them at something that was strictly forbidden on our school grounds and which could have grave consequences, like being expelled. I am supposed to report them to the headmaster. But on the other hand, should I really? Their age difference is only one year, so what they did is not illegal. It’s just against the regulations of the school. Who are you to be more loyal to when you’re a teacher: To you place of work, or to the students? I’ll have to do some thinking overnight.

PS: What would you, honourable Members of the Grand Jury of the NN-Realm, suggest I ought to do?

Eva did not come to the course this morning. I had dressed particularly carefully, and now this. Her little daughter had become ill during the night. Her daughter? – Another wrong assumption on my part: I had not expected her with a man, to be honest – in my mind, she … but let’s not allow our minds to stray too far and onto dangerous ground - - -

They had replaced her by a young man in his twenties, who has graduated from a film academy and who wanted to show our kids how a director works. To do this, he distributed the script of a scene, and the students had to do it and were recorded on video tape with a very professional camera they had brought along. Incidentally it was a scene from the film with had been the guy’s exam production in the academy, and in the afternoon we watched it and everyone was pretty impressed although it was a low-budget production and very far from the customary Hollywood films they see.

So far, so good. But how do you deal with the fact that the young man and aspiring film director emits such an unpleasant body odour that the room already fills after a very short time and the students start looking around wrinkling their noses? It’s certainly not that he is dirty, or that there is something wrong with his clothes, but it’s the kind of stale smell that comes from a towel which has been used too long or a washing cloth which is never left to dry completely. I noticed how the kids tried to stand and sit as far away as possible from the source of olfactory pollution, but it was not always possible. They were of course friendly and nice to him, but it was certainly different from what they had expected a film set would smell.

So what could I do? At the end pick him out, thank him for the very good job he had done all day – and then tell him it would be equally good if maybe tomorrow he could do something about what he was carrying around like a bad aura. I didn’t tell him in exactly these words, but telling him I did – and although he thanked me for informing him he looked far from happy. Did I go too far – I am not sure. Maybe I really ought not to have been so direct – but then what do you not do when you are a teacher and want everything to be as perfect as possible? Let’s see if he comes again tomorrow, and if, in what condition.

Our special week has begun; the two ladies responsible for the course were a little late because they first didn't find our school. They were loaded with heavy camera equipment and totally out of breath. They are both actresses and have acted in various usually lesser known films. Teaching students is what they do to make a living - among other things when they are not on the set.

It turned out that they were not the only people out of breath by far - because they themselves are pretty breathtaking and some of my students were swallowing really hard - they had not expected so much of my course. I must admit that also my heart made a few extra beats particularly when I saw one of them by the name of Eva. It's hard to describe how perfectly beautiful she is - in a quiet, not flashy way - she rather looked like one of our older school girls in her jeans and with hardly any make-up. She also appears rather shy at first sight, but MY GOD - when she looks into my eyes and smiles.

Both of them showed us their casting DVDs which they usually send to agencies and producers to applay for a film job. Both look perfect, but Eva is special. When she is made up and has the right hairstyle and clothes, she looks at least twice as cool as any Bond girl ever. I must admit I had goose-skin; I felt how every little hair all along my spine stood on end. This is a feeling I do not have often when I meet people - I usually just have it in the presence of Maria.

The students were like putty in her hands - they were melting away when they saw her in her elegant black swimsuit on the DVD, and some guys began to stutter when she addressed them. From the side I watched her explain in detail how films are made and plan tomorrow when a first scence will be filmed. And now and then she turned her head and caught my eyes - and I was glad I was sitting because I am not sure that my knees would have been able to carry me at that moment.

I looked up into the sky tonight, and I noticed that the moon is almost full. Big and a little awkward it was hanging above me. When it is full, I will menstruate, and when all goes right, it might be the last time for a long time. Because I am going to stop using contraceptives - no more filling rubber reptacles with useless cum. I am going for the real thing now - I want to become pregnant - I want Phillip to be the father of my baby, the sooner the better. Maybe already next month. I feel so fertile, I am so ready - I would not wonder if we'd succeed already at the first attempt. Or if not, we'll try and try and try, and as trying is so much fun, we'll go on forever.

Sometimes we love each other slowly, tenderly, climbing towards our climaxes step by careful step. But sometimes we fuck wildly, desperately, as if we were drowning, as if it was the last time in our lives, as if it was forbidden from tomorow on, or the method changed alltogether. Like this morning before Phillip went to the office for the Monday edition - and left me here dreaming, and blogging ...