When I arrived at Elsie and Joerg's last night, I already knew there was no Jacuzzi - all day the media had warned not to stay outside if you could avoid it, because of storm Kyrill which was tearing over Northern Europe yesterday. There are some trees in their garden and there was a danger of being hit by falling branches. All over Europe more than 40 people were killed by the storm. We were not hit much here in Austria as we were on the southern fringe of the storm, but there were still trees uprooted and lorries overturned.

Kueken was not there, and Joerg was somewhere at a meeting, too, so there was only Elsie and me, but it was nice to have a girl to girl talk again over a bottle of Italian red. What astonished me most, though, is that they were still sleeping with Kueken; it happened at least three times. Particularly Joerg seems to be quite enthralled by it, so he begged Elsie to consent, which she did as she was the one who had initially started the whole business. I wondered, but I didn't say much as it is really not my concern. But I don't think that Elsie is happy with it - she just doesn't want to be a spoilsport now.

By the way, if you thought I was at the swingers club tonight and already imagined me in all stages of undress, you are mistaken: Aldo phoned me and we put it off to next Friday - I could not quite grasp for what reasons - but I am not in a hurry.

Letters in my postbox this afternoon. One in a high quality envelope and with the faint smell of an expensive male fragrance: the Editor, after I had already thought he had lost interest in me. The other was less spectacular, but I recognized the handwriting of the address. A letter from Leon, my old friend and lover from my time as a student in Zuerich, who I hardly ever think of but cannot forget, who is somehow under my skin, so that I cannot help but make love with him whenever we meet. He writes me from time to time, mostly when he is unhappy, and then his letters are tearful, if you can use the expression for a letter written by a man. I usually read them with interest, even with sympathy, but I cannot really be sorry for him.

We met by accident, or shall I say: fate brought us together. We were riding on the same train, we were sitting in the same compartment and holding the same book in our hands: it was a grammar of the Latin language. Obviously we were attending the same course at University. He had spotted me before, he admitted, and had sat down opposite me on purpose. That's how we met. When we parted, we were lovers, shared a flat with some other young people (among them my friend Beatrix), I was leaving for England and he was going to get married.

He could have married me - just not there and then, but he could not wait. I wanted so see something of the world, learn English, be young and irresposible. He had met Susanne, who was so different from me in many ways. She is a pretty, tall, slim and small-breast woman - a born primary school teacher with a permanent radiant smile and eyes that signal that nothing in the world is really bad if you don't look at it hard. She was of the same protestant middle-class backgroud like he, and she signalled that she wanted him, of all men. And she didn't sleep with other men like me - never. They looked a wonderful couple, and his parents were pleased (imagine he had married that promiscuous catholic foreigner). Soon they had three equally pretty children, and both had a good, well-paid teaching job and were and still are respected members of their community.

I told him there was a price he had to pay when he decided for her, but he didn't listen then, he was appalled that I had slept again with another guy and refused to belong to him. She is still pretty, and manages his life and that of his children well, but in spite of her inborn happy smile, she is not really a sensuous person. It's not that she does not like sex - when all the work is done, the lessons prepared, the children fed, when she is not too tired, maybe on a Sunday morning in their marital bed. Then she lets herself be entered - and she cums astonishingly fast and violent, says Leon. And he can cum then, too. Always in the missionary position. She would never give him anything as dirty as a blowjob. It was actually him who told her that there were people who did this. He never mentioned anal. Once when they were newly married, he used the word fuck for what he'd love to do with her. I took some time for her irritation to go away.

When Leon does not think of sex, his life is almost perfect, and people envy him for his life. It's a good life - and it's a sad life at the same time, and the saddest thing is that there are more people living in such a marital hell than one might expect.

I was reminded by someone that yesterday's was my 500th blog. 500 times that I raised my voice to shout something into this my virtual home of stories and thoughts - sometimes I also moaned, or whispered, or then the whole of me felt rather like a song. With about 45 readers per text I am not one of the most successful writers here - on the contrary. But I really enjoy it and I am greatful that I have found such a wonderful group of patient and faithful followers who for a moment every day seem to think of me, and feel with me, and enjoy my online company. Thank you so much for this - it means such a lot to me.

I admit I spend more time writing here than reading. But those texts I read I really enjoy. Each has its personal style, and I have tried to have this, too. My initial decision was to be always personal, to put myself and my small world into the center of my blog. So I am neither political, nor wise, nor particularly entertaining and making you laugh, I just spread out aspects of my life before you for you to see. I trade in emotions and particularities: I try to be as open as I can, and immediate, and vulnerable, and direct - as close to you as I possibly can, and closer than to almost everyone I my everyday life.

The day when I think there is something I cannot write about here will be the day I give up writing my blog.

Today would have been my beloved father's birthday - had fate not called him off so soon. He would be 67, only 67 - that is no age at all to be dead, hardly time to go into retirement for a family doctor in the countryside. He and Mum would live in the house I am in now, I would have an apartment in town somewhere - maybe I would not even live in the area. I might have stayed in Vienna, or in Zuerich, and not have come back to the place of my birth. Over the weekend or in my holidays I would visit them, and in summer swim in their pool naked - all of the family always swam naked. Mum would cook one of her wonderful traditional dinners, and afterwards my father would entertain us with one of his stories about the past or about one of his many patients. He was such a story teller.

Secretly he had hoped that one day I would take over his surgery, but when he noticed that I was going to be a teacher, he never showed any disappointment. But if I felt like going along to one of his visits, he was still glad to take me along. We had to walk up sometimes to reach the mountain huts of some of his patients. Often he gave some extra advice to the farmers or their wives when also a cow or a sheep was ill - he could heal them, too. On such a visit he treated me as if I was a colleague of his and even asked my opinion, if not my advice.

He was born in 1940, his father had made him before he went into the war - to leave a trace on earth if he should be killed, my father joked. His father was a doctor, so he became a doctor, too. He also got married to a doctor, my Mum. But before they took over grandpa's surgery, they traveled to England, and after a Pink Floyd concert in autumn 1967, my father loved to tell, in a London park at night, they produced me, their only daughter. So he was a child of the war and I of the "make love not war" movement, and he thought it was much better like this.

Then one evening a little more than ten years ago, they visited some friends in their car. It was only a very short drive. On their way home they collided with another car which was travelling much too fast, and they (as well as the driver of the other car) were dead on the spot. They had not even said goodbye before they left.

I went to the local churchyard on my way home from school today and put some flowers on their grave. At home I lit a candle, which is still burning brightly next to me. More I cannot do.

Thanks for telling me so many nice things to bring me in a more pleasant mood. School was not too bad today, either, to make me think of something else: it was my drama afternoon and I was working with my students towards our performance at the end of March. Not everything has gone well all the time: there are always a lot of disputes in the creative process, and not everybody is a team player. One of my colleagues also had some kind of a burn-out, and she will only come back for the intensive week which will be next week.

But today I was quite happy because some progress could be seen: our protagonist - who I didn't know if I could trust - did not only know his soliloquy by heart, but he also seemed to have known what he was saying. When I praised him he looked at me as if he expected me at least to kiss him, if not more. It's a pretty intensive time and I often sleep badly when I think of all the work that has yet to be done. And I am so damned ambitious - it would be a personal disaster if it was't a success again like the last times.

It is midnight now, and my work for today is done: I have corrected English tests all evening. In a few days I will have to hand in the grades for my first year students. They will decide if they can stay or not, so in a way they depend on my judgement. There will be tears again tomorrow when I hand them back their test - and I don't feel at ease in such a situation. I feel so helpless - but it seeme it has to be part of my job. But now it's time to go to bed - the alarm will go off in six hours.

"Please cheer up and tell us of all the little things you are doing no matter how mundane it may seem to you. Remember that for all people life has its dull and aimless periods but they are only temporary. Be optimistic, and most importantly seek out and enjoy good sex while you await your reunion with Phillip". Such a wonderful message from someone who can feel what I feel from almost the other side of the world, while people close to me don't notice anything. It's surprising how much you can see of my inside in a blog - but then I know that so many of you could do with a little less of this and a little more of my outside.

Yes, I have the impression that my life is dull and aimless at the moment. I stayed in all Saturday night, and I looked at old photoalbums and wrote a lot into my diary. My life needs a change is what I feel more and more - and I am thinking about this more often as is sometimes good for me.

There was a storm last night in Austria, with hurricane force gales on the mountains, and it is still much too warm for the season. My old wooden house was creaking as if it was alive. I didn't feel too good all through this week - some of my more sensitive readers noticed so well. Or why would I have gone on so tediously about my friends' confusions - there was just nothing to write about myself. I felt so barren.

Why can't I go longer without having sex? I mean: I certainly could - for lengths of time, like a nun. But then I would shrivel up like one - body and soul - I would become dusty and dry and nagging and evil like an old maid. Yet my juices must flow, I am wired that way, I always was, since I was able to decide myself over my body.

After school, before the long weekend, I didn't dare go straight home - I was afraid my roof would fall on my head. So I lingered in town, and finally went into a café. And there I ran into Aldo. And you can guess .... Yes, I promised to go to the swingers club with him again, next Friday or Saturday. I first didn't know - but then my dark Sister Hyde shouted her "yes" so vehemently that I could not resist her. I will let myself be taken again, soon .... and thinking that, my heart starts beating faster ...

Yesterday was one of these days that are just drowned in work - there was hardly time to eat. But - and that was nice - in the morning I had Elsie on my answering machine and she made a point of reminding me explicitly that I shouldn't miss Thursday Jacuzzi in the evening, so I decided to be there.

As expected, Kueken was there, too, but something interesting happened: Elsie was talking mainly with me all evening, and although Kueken was participating in the conversation, too, she was given a distincly inferior role, as if grown-ups were talking now and she was expected to behave. Their threesome has not formed any closeness between them, but rather broken their bond, particularly as far as Elsie is concerned.

This was mainly Kueken's mistake it seems, but maybe the poor girl just didn't know better and tried to bite off much more than she could chew. Asked to lick Elsie in exchange on that particular evening, it seems she refused and said she wasn't queer, and when Joerg turned towards Elsie to cum into her, too, Kueken had yawned. If one thing is unforgivable in a threesome - I have noticed so much myself - it's yawning at the wrong moment ....

Yesterday she just behaved like some kind of a daughter towards Joerg, and I noticed the kind of unusual daughterly feelings I know myself so well, too: being daughter and lover at the same time - this is not unfamiliar to me, and I almost started to like her a little for this.

She kept close to Joerg all evening, and enjoyed being held and fondled now and then. In the Jacuzzi you could almost guess she was holding his penis. So all in all she was like a young little concubine, a situation which may appeal to Joerg, but it is certainly not one to last - I am sure of that. I didn't mind much - it seems almost certain that I have won back at least one of my friends.

Many of you have certainly noticed that Joerg is a person who cannot easily deal with limits, neither his own nor those of others. This has its rewards, of course, because there are also no limits to his generosity, his willingness to help and his goodwill. It's wonderful to have a friend who has such a generous disposition.

On the other hand, he always has to be shown distincly how much he can take. If he isn't told, he takes all if he feels like it: all of Tanja some time ago when he could. Some of Grisi - more than she was willing to deal with, as far as I have heard. He would have taken all of me if I had not made myself clear - he told me more than once that he was watching me for the slightest invitation for him to "thoroughly fuck me" (his words).

I was always wondering how badly Elsie can deal with this: instead of showing him his limits, she doesn't do this but pouts when he oversteps them; in serious cases she moves out and stays with her sister for some time, as some might remember.

Elsie didn't tell me exactly how they brought Kueken to participate. It seems to have been a mixture of alcohol, generous presents and chilling after Christmas Eve Jacuzzi - and my guess is that the girl was just intoxicated with all the attention she got from real grown-ups. So they were lying on their bed (I know how lovely this is myself so well) when it began. But there seems to have been little fondling or erotic foreplay - as soon as Joerg realized that he could actually pluck the chicken, he was rutting on top of her while Elsie was sitting somewhere next to it watching - and even the girl was quite taken back at the first moment - but then he had already cum into her - fast sqirter as he is (At least he knew she is on the pill).

What came next is easy to guess when you know how guys function when their cocks have taken over from their minds: he asked Elsie to eat Kueken's pussy to regain his cum and at the same time give her a good orgasm (which he hadn't - fast squirter as he is). Elsie told me she could slap her own face now - but at the time she did what she was asked.

I have just been looking at Gio's new year's present - so sweet to be your January girl - lots of kisses, my love. Had I known, I could have sent you a more sexy picture (*wink). It's certainly a first for me to be a calendar girl - to imagine I might even be hanging on someone's wall ...

But it's Elsie and Joerg's threesome I wanted to write about today. To start with I have to mention that I was in a few threesomes myself over the years. Once I was even a birthday present for a guy; his girlfriend had asked me to fulfil her guy's dream and spend a night with them. Some longterm readers might remember that I was also in threesomes with my friend Beatrix in Zürich and her husband - when we were single and students, we had our experimental moments, or we populated the same bed out of pure friendship and feelings of togetherness.

My experience is that it works best and leaves no hard feelings when you speak about everybody's limits first, or when at least the two women agree on how far they'd like to go. I always made a point of keeping it strictly heterosexual, of indulging the guy and give him a whale of a time, but never succumb to his pornographic urges and perform a lesbian scene for him. I also made sure that I disliked being part in a power game, mainly to be fucked in front of a wife or girlfriend to give her a message by doing so. Just clean erotic meaningless sexual fun - a new experience, the feeling of mutual friendship and closeness. I must admit that when I helped Phillip fulfil his wish for a threesome with the Elf, there were no such precautions - and maybe that was why the whole experience was far from fulfilling for all.

Elsie and Kueken didn't do much talking before, either, and that was certainly why Elsie was really hurt, so she said, when soon Joerg was pounding into the poor girl "as if fucking would be forbidden in the new year" (Elsie's own words).