"Why do you live in a world of such risk", is what depotguy asks in yesterday's comment. This is a question I usually ask myself, too, but unfortunately always afterwards. Before, I sometimes just follow my desires - and they are not always reasonable. And sometimes there are just accidents, and there are always a few people who want to do you harm, and they are hard to avoid. Like the guy in the club who was a brainless male chauvinist. Maybe I have fewer scruples because I have no family I feel responsible for, as I have mentioned before. With no living relatives (noone I know of at least) I don't even have an official heir and maybe all my things will go to the home for abandoned cats anyway.

But I have to stop now - I have few ideas what to write. My drama week has begun and I am usually the first one to turn on the light and the last one who puts it out. I did some eleven hours of directing and organising and dealing with all kinds of unexpected trouble: one girl has an earache with a temperature, one boy broke two fingers playing football on Sunday and has to be operated on tomorrow. One girl has a new boyfriend and seems to have forgotten all her lines. So I better sleep early - if I can. Sleep well, too.

Such a lovely sunny Sunday morning. I stood out on the porch in my night dress (which is just my panties as some know) to breathe the fresh air. You can smell spring wherever you go - just a moment, it seems, and the new green will spring out of a zillion buds and create the world afresh. My apricot tree which is on a sunny wall of my house is already in full bloom and insects eagerly drink from its nectar. Hard to believe that tomorrow the temperature should fall by 15°C and snow should be back: according to the forecast, my garden is supposed to be snow-covered again by Tuesday.

During my morning coffee I was thinking of next week, my drama course and particularly my Wednesday evening with the Editor. "If you wanted to show him how deep your affection was, you might even consider not using a condom. It may ensure the final consumation of your union", is what a dear friend wrote in his message. I have been thinking along these lines, too, because as far as I know the pressure of a condom might be a considerable problem when he has erection problems, and I want to make the event as special and memorable as possible for him. And if I have to help make him hard in my mouth, he would feel me much better than through a sheet of latex. I don't know how fertile his sperm still is at his age, but I know from last summer that there is hardly any cum when he climaxes.

There is one thing which makes me hesitate and this is the disquieting fact that I still don't know with certainty if I contracted HIV during my unwanted contact in the club some weeks ago, because it is still too early for a test. Shall I risk to infect him, is there a danger, and would it really matter at his age and in his condition? That's what I will have to decide in the coming days, as I am not sure yet at all.

Timo is a talented writer and story teller, he is a good pianist, a very considerate and nice friend who does not judge others without reason and who forms his opinions carefully and not without trying to see things from another perspective. And we had a lovely night and I woke up so relaxed and sexually satisfied I wanted to purr like my cat - my she rest in peace.

But he has a conservative and traditional side which sometimes shocks me. Not only this typical Austrian male behaviour that he does not care much for clothes. It's not that they are ugly or not cared for, but pretty outdated and unfashionable. Like so many he hates entering a shop and buy something new, but waits until someone drags him along and tells him what he needs. And then he is moping around in the shop and looks as if he is heart-broken that he will have to part with his well-worn old things. Phillip is so very different: he is not only always immaculately dressed and gets everything himself, but rather tells me what to buy and what to wear.

What made me uneasy is when Timo said last night he didn't really mind that I had some lovers before, for him I was as virginal as if I hadn't. I first thought it was some kind of a compliment, but I think he is serious about it and seems in a way to pretend to himself that he is my first guy. The problem is that I may never be able to tell him anything about my past, and not even about my present.

Could I ever do that? Maybe when our relationship threatens to become serious, I let him read my blog first and see then what his reaction is.

I have not quite told the whole story yesterday because I wanted to make it a little more flashy. Excuse my writer's vanity. When Friedrich, the old professor, Ruth's husband, died some months ago and I was very upset, I told the Editor that I had been the last woman he had had sex with, but rather conincidentally, because I had attended a literature course he had given, and I have always been a groupy for brilliant, imaginative men. So I had stayed back in his house after the last evening and disscussed literature with him all night and had only had sex with him after we had started talking about dreams and how they sometimes come true. The Editor had thought this a great story, and that's certainly why he came to ask me last night.

Anyway, it's Friday evening again, and I love this slow transition from the well-organised workdays to the lightness of the weekend. I'll go to another of Timo's jazz concerts tonight, and afterwards he will stay at my house. I have not had sex for a whole week - so I feel pleasantly itchy as if I my skin was quietly on fire. Tomorrow we'll go shopping together because Timo needs some new clothes, and on Monday my next drama week begins, which will lead to our three performances next weekend. Opening night is on Friday. Please keep your fingers crossed for me, my dear friends.

PS: I didn't go to jacuzzi on Thursday - I'm glad, but it hurts.

I admit I may have been mistaken and all wrong with what I said about the new blog feature: I got a record number of comments, some from people who have never commented on a text of mine before, and more that 60 people must have clicked to learn more about your humble author. Thank you so much. I will go on the way I did before and pretend the change does not bother me any longer. Some of you may not know who and what I am talking about and think my tale is weird. And I must admit: it is weird, even if you know the people involved.

As usual the old man was immaculately dressed and dinner was exquisite, and he asked me a lot of questions, although I must admit that those about Phillip made me a little uneasy. I had kept my dress on, and he didn't seem to expect me to do otherwise, although I would have done with pleasure whatever his desire might have been.

I had noticed of course that there was something on his mind, because he was unusally serious and solemn. And what I was gradually told made me sad, too. After a routine health check-up the other day, his doctors had confronted him with the information that he had developed a heart condition. His formerly strong and vigorous organ was spent, it would gradually deteriorate further in the time to come and one not so distant day it would refuse to go on working.

Another friend over whose beloved head there is a dark cloud of death forming - but why him? Why the others?

And then he asked me the question which took my breath away for a moment because it hit me so directly and unexpectedly - I would love to tell you how he asked and what a wonderful conversation we had. Here just so much that you can see for yourself why I was so much taken aback:

Up to now, he had not really suffered so much from the fact that his sexual capacities had gradually deteriorated, he told me, but now as his life was coming to an end, it worried him very much and he would love to enjoy sexual intercourse for a very last time. He had always been too proud for it and didn't want to interfere with the course of nature, but now he had conferred with his doctor and he had said that Viagra might help to fulfill his wish and that his ill heart might just about allow him the risk of taking some for a last time. And if I would be willing to be his date - next Wednesday at the same time. And - you know me, my readers and friends - I didn't hesitate for a moment and said yes with all my heart.

It is like living in a new house, or better: in an old house where they have recently built a highway at the end of the garden, or put up a big, vulgar billboard on your roof. You can still live there, but something has changed which takes some of the joy away. I know of course that I am being unreasonable and react conservatively again to a change most people don't seem to mind. But I don't like very much what has been done to the home of my blog texts.

That is why I am writing about this here, and about numbers, instead of what happened to me last night at the Editor's house - it was so unexpected and special that I hesitate to just put it into the public showcase, in which it is now bound to appear for the superficial browsers who will maybe read a few lines and when their cocks do not harden a little go to the next text to read a line and find the right expressions which make them horny.

I said I was being unrealistic with all my metaphors. But I liked people to see my name on the update list, and if they got interested, they came in to my text like through a door. There it was, together with all the texts before with which it forms a unity - a web of stories that are approximately my life. And people could read and maybe think and even feel, without their second eye already resting on someone else's text. A counting device told me how many people decided to come in, and I must say I enjoy looking at the increasing number of visitors quite a lot.

I think the new display will encourage people even more who don't bother for words but just post porn pics from somewhere in the net like whguy7, who has dumped over 1000 borrowed pics in his successful blog. Or RUHR CYBER, who has recently overtaken me, although his last post was in June 2006.

Maybe it is a sign of getting old when you start caring for such trifles and don't adapt easily any longer, and tonight I might even go on writing about my life, and put it in the public showcase between all the other verbal paraphernalia of porn.

Sitting here, killing time until the limo arrives who is going to take me to the Editor's mountain house. I am still confused what it's going to be like, so I'll dress for all occasions. I have decided on a dress that goes with the season and is elegant enough for a dinner party, if there is one. But I will only wear my black thongs underneath, and the gold chain I got from him, and I won't put on too much make-up. On a Wednesday it won't be too formal, but you never know.

When I came from school, I dragged my deckchair out of the shed for the first time this year and put it up in a sunny corner protected from the eastery winds. I was almost 20°C and everything smells of spring in the garden, and all the early flowers are just beautiful. I grabbed myself a book and just put on my panties to allow the warming sun free access to most of my skin. How wonderful it is to feel the sun again. Soon my favourite season will arrive, and the pool will be made ready, too.

I don't know what the sun does to you, but I usually do not only get warm on the outside, my whole body is heated up and all kinds of desires are kindled up, which makes me yearn for someone to help me cool down. I don't think that there will be somone who does me this favour tonight, though.

Dear depotguy, I wonder why you are at a loss for words - do I use so many that there aren't any left for you? Still thanks a lot for your comment, not many feel like leaving one.

Or am I sometimes difficult for you to understand? Like in my janitor story when I hopelessly failed to make myself clear why I thought Elsie should not have had sex with him? Maybe a janitor in our schools has another position than one in your country and it is really a question of culture, as you implied - that's why it was hard for me to explain.

This reminds me of a report I lately saw on German TV, which highlighted wonderfully to what misunderstandings cultural differences may lead. A German family had gone to somewhere in Africa, and for I don't know what reason they had taken a dog along. In an African village they got friendly with some natives, but soon their good relationship ended for an unexpected reason: the Africans, who very much liked eating dogs, were offended that their new friends were so unfriendly and didn't give them their dog as a welcoming present. Sharing food was a local virtue, and people who kept all the best morcels to themselves were considered selfish and rude.

On the other hand, the German family were quite unhappy and at a loss because their new friends wanted to eat their beloved pet. How barbaric - the children could hardly stop crying. There was at lot of explaining done - but to no avail. The didn't understand each other and the Germans left quickly because they feared for the dog's life.

Well, we two might have the same problems with janitors, depotguy. I am just glad neither of us eats them, and if we fancy them, we just suck them a little.

When I opened my letterbox yesterday morning, I could smell it: there was a letter from the Editor, in its discreetly scented, expensive envelope. It was an invitation to dinner, to my big surprise already for Wednesday evening, and the chauffeur would be at my house at 7 pm. Actually, it was almost as if he ordered me there, as if he didn't expect for a moment that I could refuse or be busy. But of course I'll be there. I just wonder what it is going to be like. Last time he invited me to dinner with quite a number of important people, well-known representatives of regional cultural life. But then I had to travel there myself. Being fetched by his limo always meant something more intimate so far. But I am open to everything - I just can't help it.

"Although you seem to only get one or two comments, I reckon you get a lot of PMs from lots of people including me", is how a good Australian friend began his message a few days ago. This is not the case at all. Since I deleted my last photo, there have been only one or two a day, and always from particularly good friends, which I very much enjoy reading. Before I did get many a day: almost all of they were offers to fuck me after seeing my picture; none of them cared to read my blog. The strange thing was that these lewd and rude comments were sometimes even meant as compliments. I wonder what these people think - even in a place like this.

"How is your friend with the cancer? I hope you have not let her just fall by the wayside" - this is in the same message. Oh no, even if I have not mentioned her, I try to be in regular contact with Annalena. It is not easy, though, it seems a taxing and often lonely fight she has taken on. More often than not she does not want to accept visitors, says she is tired or has not time because of her therapy. She is in bed most of the time because she is in pain. Often she refuses to take her morphine because she'd love to spend the valuable time that remains with a clear head, but when the pain overwhelms her, it's as if her brain stops working properly and her language becomes incoherent. I try to contact her as often as I can - and I hope it is something which helps her go through her difficult time.

For unforeseen reasons we could only leave on Saturday morning but it didn't matter because the weather only turned sunny and beautiful towards the evening. But Sunday was marvellous, with fresh, powdery snow and a bright warm spring sun - what an enchanted world. In the fog on Saturday Timo and I went for a long walk along a frozen lake and through a snowed in forest, and there was so much to tell. It seems he really trusts me fully, and he has the mind of a writer, so everything he tells me appears like a well-written story. I have told him a few things about my life, too, but not much about my sexual encounters, because I don't want to shock him. Although I would not call him conservative, he seems to be guided by pretty traditional values which I had not expected with a man like him.

It seems at least that he is much less sexual than me and that sex is not much on his mind - which is pretty unusual for a guy his age. Up to now I always had to make a start with him. It's not that he is not a good and attentive lover, but just quite reserved. And we have never really done it outside the bed, and never in daylight. But he seems to enjoy me, and whenever I suck him off, he seems very happy ideed. In such moments, there is nothing I could not get from him. And he never rolls off and sleeps or immediately starts talking about work and food after an orgasm, but holds me in his arms until he feels I am ready to reenter the ordinary world, too.

So all in all it was a good, restful weekend with lovely skiing on Sunday, and I am all ready to take on the new week.