Just to say this at the beginning: you may call me a hypocrite, or a real two-faced hussy - I admit to this before you have to remind me in writing. It does sound mad: I freeze and whine about Phillip lustfully invading all pussies that open for him, and then he even honestly tells me about it, while I have my pussy stuffed behind his back and keep quiet about it, although when knowing it would make him horny like mad. Who could be in a more comfortable situation than I?

And yet .... and yet .... I guess I am human, and inconsequent, and maybe unfair, but that's me. And I will NOT tell Phillip about Leon and me outside on that wonderful spring day. I don't want to make him horny with my wonderful experience. I feel it would somehow desecrate what I felt then. I hope someone can understand me and my twisted views ...

By the way, the secret which you revealed, dear Gio, is not exactly a secret - I think it is pure necessity for most men. As you know, I am a woman of certain experience (hm, hm) and I can tell you that in very, very many cases men are ejaculating before any real action is under way. Some are already wet when they get off their pants, many just take very little contact, like rolling on a condom or fumbling agaist my clitoris. A blowjob of 10 seconds is already quite a lengthy feat, whatever those guys tell the world later.

I can tell you that I have advised many a man to release his tension à main before meeting a woman for sex to avoid red faces later. Interestingly Phillip is not that way: I think the reason is that he fucks much more with his mind than his body. He could send a woman to a few orgasms without cumming himself, if he wanted. He is so different from me - I am all body. I am not that fast, but I can do multiples on end and there is always some more lust for a last one, and a very last one. And it is not really me who craves for that - it's this often uncontrollable, often insatiable body of mine ....

Oh, Phillip made me feel wonderful and sexy in the course of the night, he was indefatigable, and his quick, knowing tongue proved that he had not forgotten one delicate spot of my body. I was unable to stand on my legs anymore before long, my inside was all liquid, molten, and soothingly warm. And we were spooning in my bed, the light was out and he was tenderly holding me in his arms - - - when he told me.

He had been to a good-bye party the night before, and there were a lot of journalists and media people, among them this smart young woman [I deleted the details about her.] And she went home with him (to his cosy little flat) and they fucked ("Imagine, such a prominent and well-known woman!". And this morning she had insisted on taking him to Heathrow in her own car - and she had sucked him off as a good-bye right there in the car, before he left ("Imagine!"

I had known all along.

Imagine this was the very last thing I wanted to do - I'd rather have died.

All my molten stuff and my inner liquids immediately froze, I could not help it. It was my soul which suddenly felt so cold, and generated some of the chilly fog that surrounded me today. At school I was unconcentrated, and vague, and I addressed one of my German classes in English, which made them laugh about me terribly and they could hardly stop again.

But then came the dreaded question, the one I had expected, the answer to which would make him horny, and wild, I could be sure of that, even if I could not understand why. The question was: "And you, my sweet Alpina, did you have sex while I was away?"

An hour before Phillip could be expected at my frontdoor, I was so excited, with trembling hands and feeling cold and warm, and there was this deep big hole inside me which desperately wanted to be filled, a certain sign that my body yearned to be pleased. I took a long shower, and finally just put on a short semi-transparent dress, and that's how I counted seconds and minutes. And I anxiously wondered what made me lose my contol so much - what does Phillip have that makes my body react to him in this extreme way?

When he was here, and after we had kissed long and tonguey, and I had felt his warm body against mine, and breathed his male scent, I couldn't help but do what I was driven to do by my burning desire, and what I knew he liked: I kneeled down before him and with trembling fingers opened his trousers. His beautiful strong cock virtually jumped into my face.

And then I grabbed it with two hands, and held it, and led it to my waiting lips, and let it slowly slide into my mouth as deep as I could - and this sliding feeling, this wonderful taste of Phillip sent repeated shudders all through my body. I started to knead his cock with my tongue, and apply this gentle vacuum which gives this slight feeling of growth, and moved my head up and down - and as I felt him tense up a little, and heard his characteristic light gasp, a great and wonderful orgasm tore through my body and made me almost swoon, and his cum gushed into my ready waiting throat to completely fill the cavity of my mouth with warm, tasty, wonderful seed. Then we both collapsed onto the ground, holding each other as if the high waves of our lust were drowning us.

Filling the cavity of my mouth I said? That is what I had expected, but not what happened. Actually there was cum on my tongue, but not that much. Only as much as I am used to when I suck him to his second or third orgasm. I noticed with growing awareness that this had certainly not been Phillip's first orgasm today.

Oh thank you, my friends, for being here when I came home from school today. I know I asked for it, but still it was just wonderful to read your comments. Sometimes I just feel lonely all alone in the big, old house when I come home. Particularly when I suffer from some stress, like in the last few days. At the beginning of a new term the lessons are usually quite hard work. It's like getting to move a big load - once it's moving, there is its own momentum, and it runs easily, but it takes a lot of energy to effect this movement.

And then Leon's phonecalls: it seems he blames me for his wife's anger because the panties she found were mine. But I can't do anything for him, I am sorry. And Phillip comes home tonight. When I think of him, my hands shake and my body waters. I have actually planned to coolly say "Nice to have you back, I hope you had a good trip" when he comes in, but I am sure I won't be able to do this. I will jump at him or worse, and my senses will be in a turmoil, and I won't be quiet again until I have felt him all inside me.

So thanks again, and have the very best of evenings when evening comes in you part of the world.

I must admit that when I log on to NN and open my blog, I first have a look at how many comments I can find under my last entry and who wrote them. I also have a look at the number of readers who have been here, and I notice that out of the 600'000 NN-members on average about 40 come and read my texts. I know of course that I oughtn't look for confirmation and just do my thing, but one is only human, after all. I think it's wonderful when this medium becomes interactive, and readers' reactions challenge me to go on and to write good texts. And it's nice to know who the readers are.

When I read other blogs, particularly those of people who also report about their own lives and allow glimpses at their personality, I cannot but admire how many comments they draw. Tilac Girl is my favourite at the time, with the looks of an innocent girl and the mind of wise, seasoned person, or Slutsrus with her shockingly different lifestyle, or Kat with her rambling, but very personal news from Wyoming. But I also like Gio and Quarterinch, as it is rare for men to write about themselves and not merely want to entertain with their knowledge or make people laugh.

What I appreciate very much and what I think is wonderful and personal, yes, what makes me happy when I log on is that there is a small number of people who write me personal messages, in which they contemplate my blog entries, tell me about their own lives, ask questions or even help me with the language by pointing out errors. I don't know what I would do without them - maybe become mute.

But what makes people leave comments - signs of appeciation - by the dozen for other bloggers, but hardly any in mine - although there is a steady number of readers? Do I bore them? Do I write too often? Is my ordinary Austrian life just too meaningless and repetitive? I know whining and writing all this is silly - but I hope I am entitled to some personal silliness now and then - I won't do it again now for some time. I promise.

Yesterday, leading up to May 1, traditionally a day of light and spring celebrations, was the night of the female Saint Walpurgis. It is exactly half a year before or after the night before All Saints'Day or, in older English, all Hallows'Day, popularly known as Halloween.

Walpurgis-Night and Halloween were both nights when - according to traditional belief - witches were travelling on their broomsticks and meeting in secret places, where they danced and worshipped the devil. Not far from here there is a round clearing in the forest which is called the Witches' Dance Place, and family lore has it that my great-grandmother still knew well who in the village was said to be a witch.

In the past, the belief in the existence of witches was very widespread. Victimised were often young, beautiful, independent and unmarried, but also old women who were living alone, although everybody could be accused of witchcraft. Their guilt was always doubtless - witches were evil, evil people lie, so if they said they were not witches, this proved that they were. If they said they were witches, well, then they were honest for once, and were guilty all the same.

To find out if someone was a witch, you tied them up and dropped them into a river. If they kept afloat they were guilty and had to be burnt, if the drowned they were innocent - too bad for them that they were dead by then.

All these thousands of men and woman who were killed or burnt alive were murdered by Christian fundamentalists, who would still do this today if they were allowed. This blog is to remember all the poor, innocent men and particularly women who were murdered because these fools called them witches - and let's celebrate the fact that those villains who did it will burn in hell for all eternity - that is if there is a hell. But for the good of these despicable creatures let's hope there is one and that the fires never go out.

Last night I met my 75-year-old friend Ruth and her about 50-year-old lover, Rudi, in one of the good restaurants in town. She had wanted me to meet him, and here I was. When I came in, they were already sitting at their table and having a lively conversation. Looking at them from some distance you could have thought that it was mum's birthday and her son was taking her out to dinner.

I must admit I had expected him to be some kind of Gigolo. But he looks like your typical bank clerk with gold-rimmed glasses and a receding hairline. They were both pleased when I sat next to them, and a lovely meal was ordered and then also enjoyed.

This was the guy who asked a 75-year-old girl to wear lingerie and who could still all her avid sexual desires? I had thought that they would mainly have sex and otherwise live in different worlds, but he was quite entertaining, and so the evening was pleasant and funny. Rudi wanted to know a lot about me and my job, and how I spent my time, and how I had met Ruth, and he proved a good listener who can make people tell about themselves.

Shortly after ten o'clock, the dinner was over. I noticed that Ruth paid the whole bill - but she had invited us after all. He gently helped her into her coat, and on his arm she left the restaurant, waving a warm good-bye to me.

None of the many people in the restaurant who witnessed the scene would have thought that as soon as they were at his home, he would fuck her brains out and she would enjoy it like nothing else. While I went back home to my empty bed all alone.

Thanks very much for taking part in yesterday's quiz to the select few who left a comment or sent a private message with an answer. Oh, Oh, who thought I gave him a dose of clap, or he to me? LOL. And the winner is .... my dear friend Duncan who wrote in his message:" I will go for him taking off your panties forgetting that he stuffed them into a pocket and his partner has found them." TaTaaaaaa - I could not have put it in better and clearer words. Feel yourself kissed - that's the prize I can award you.

Being a careful person, Leon did not want to drop my panties into the dirt, and being a careless person sometimes, I did not ask them back. So they were in a pocket of his jacket until his tidy wife aired and straightened it out, turned the pockets inside out and there they were. And they were visibly used. And as she, according to Leon, only wears enormous healthy white cookable finerips, it was obvious that they were not hers.

He told me part of what she had said to him, and it all had to do with honesty, shame, trust, morals, and disappointment. I have met her once or twice: she is a pretty, blond, straightforward, dependable, predictable, humourless and hardworking primary school teacher, for who sex is what you have early on a Sunday morning in bed before the kids wake up. The reason why I am not too sorry for him is that he wanted it this way.

Actually, this is not quite true: I am sorry for him, because he sounded so sad and miserable on the phone. He was told to move out immediately and he is staying with a bachelor colleague now. I am sure that he will be allowed back after a few days, when he crawls back on his knees and with hanging ears. What this will mean for his few marital Sunday mornings I can only guess.

What I am not so certain about is if I like the story he told his wife: that he had been to a bar with a colleage who had invited him there, and met a woman who had offered herself to him, and that he had become weak. And that she may have put the panties there on purpose because he hadn't given her money. Leon has always been a considerate person and an enduring, unselfish lover, but - I am afraid to admit - he was always some kind of a coward.

To the meal last night I did not only invite Elsie and Joerg, but also my neighbours Herr and Frau Schneider, and the main reason for us coming together like this was having a little funeral for my deceased cat Mira. After cremation, her ashes had been delivered in a little wooden box and were standing on my bookshelf for some time, and now we buried this box in my garden. I had chosen a beautiful rosebush as the site, and Joerg dug a hole in the ground and we solemnly lay my furry friend's remains in there. This time it was Frau Schneider who had tears in her eyes, because she had looked after Mira ever so often, whenever I was away for some longer time.

Afterwards we ate wonderful asparagus, the vegetable of the spring season. I didn't want people to be sad and thoughtful, so we drank some lovely dry white wine and had a very nice time. The Schneiders were very pleased to have been invited; there social life is not that spectacular as their children live pretty far away, and they enjoy my company. And I was glad not to be alone while doing this sad task.

After the Schneiders had gone home and night had come, we moved over to Elsie and Joerg's for a lovely Jacuzzi session under a starlit sky. And afterwards we put all the strawberries Joerg had bought and cut in halves onto Elsie's body and decorated it with whipped cream - and we ate them from there, and now and then fed Elsie by hand because she wasn't allowed to move. And finally Joerg couldn't stop licking the sweet stuff from her while it was my job to see with a towel that nothing ran down her sides and on the bed.

As the skinnydipping season is drawing closer, I have started getting my pool ready for summer. Yesterday, when I was not kept from it by pouring rain, I started cleaning the cover. This is some kind of a rolling shutter which floats on the water and is so strong that an animal and particularly a child can walk on it when it's closed, so it's pretty safe. Best is I can operate it with a key from my porch. Unfortunately it is whitish, and it takes a lot of cleaning in spring because of all of winter's dirt from the heatings. I took a long brush and some powercleaner and started to scrub it, and in the evening I was so tired I didn't even feel like blogging. But it's worth it and looks nice and clean when the sun shines.

There wasn't much going on anyway, besides three phonecalls. First Phillip will be home next Tuesday night. Then Ruth phoned and invited me to a meal on Sunday night. We will meet in a restaurant and her lover will be there, too. She had suggested before that I ought to meet him, and it seems he had asked for it, too. I must say I am a little reluctant to do so. Actually, I am not much interested in a guy around 50 who loves having sex with a 75 year old woman - somehow I doubt his motives. But I don't want to hurt her, so I agreed.

The third call was a little shocking and pretty embarrassing, I have to admit: Leon phoned, and he was upset and his voice full of distress. You may remember how beautifully we made love in the open air last Tuesday. And now ..... but will you guess? Let's make it a quiz: what do you think has happened? I have given you a clue already - the word "embarrassing" .....

And now I'm going shopping. It's going to be a special meal tonight.