Raising a Unicorn

When May tweeted this 4Thoughts prompt I was chuffed that she thought I would have something valuable to add. I don’t consider myself a kinkster per se but some friends have convinced me recently that the delineation between kink and swinging is old fashioned and not valid. If it isn’t vanilla it is kink. Bearing that in mind my kink is non-monogamy with some other sprinkles added when the mood takes me. Mr Jones and I have been non-monogamous for more than ten years. I would consider us successful so logically it would seem we are in a good position to give advice.

Not really. Well, maybe, if a specific person asked a specific question about their specific set of circumstances, then we might chat with them but general advice for people starting out? It is too broad. There are too many variables. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to write something profound and life changing but it all just came out sounding like I was a mother giving a lecture to her child. Besides there are any number of websites, podcasts, blogs, videos and other sources of information out there. Who am I to add more to that?

Something that HAS happened that I feel is a bit more unique is my experience as a parent. I want to preface the next five hundred words or so by saying that I am not a parenting expert. I am just telling my story.

Mr Jones and I have never shoved our lifestyle in our children’s faces but we have not hidden it either. For most of their teenage lives they have been aware at some level that some of our friends are more than just dinner and games night companions. As they got older that level of knowledge got deeper. Gemma Jones has been an identity in our household since we named a boat after her about eight years ago. No questions were asked that couldn’t be answered honestly and matter of factly. Assumptions were probably made but I did my best to make sure there were no completely wild ones.

#1 Son is reserved. He doesn’t do public nudity (unlike the rest of us), he doesn’t discuss his sex life and from what I have observed said sex life is fairly vanilla. Or rather, like most late teenage / early twenties males, any sex is better than none. The Unicorn however is completely different. She is much more open and as she grows up our relationship is morphing into more of a friendship. An example of these changes is a recent facetime conversation during which she modelled her new bra and harness set. I must say I am slightly envious that she has better play clothing than me.

You read that right, play clothing. A couple of weeks before we departed on our voyage, she revealed that she is embarking on an exploratory journey into kink. My brain exploded. With the assistance of the internet, she found a man to help her with this exploration. He is considerably older than her and five months later I have not met him. At the time I was worried. She identifies as a submissive. I KNOW from experience that many men professing to be dominants are complete twats. And that is putting it politely. My parent brain went completely off the rails thinking about how a man like that would deal with a young, naïve, and inexperienced girl taking her first steps into kink at the same time as she takes her first steps into sex in general.

Over the years I have not shied away from talking about sex with my children. I have answered their questions and I have done my best to make sure they are informed. I have explicitly lectured #1 Son about the complications of fathering children with women who are probably not going to be long term partners. I have berated him about taking responsibility for his fertility and being careful about where he sticks his penis. I have made sure The Unicorn is aware of similar issues. Her openness allowed me to see that she seeks information and takes advice on board. I am confident that both of them are sure of themselves as people and while they will undoubtedly have relationships with people who are not right for them, they will navigate sex in general quite safely.

But kink? This was not something I never thought I would have to consider. I was well into my thirties before I thought about anything non-vanilla. I was grown up enough to get my own information and parental supervision was a very long way behind me. I had a husband to be my safety monitor, I wasn’t navigating this world as a single person. There is nothing in the parenting manuals that could prepare me for this one.

In then end the only thing I could really advise about is safety. All I could do was share my own experiences and express my concerns. She is too old for me to ban her exploration or ground her to prevent her from going out. It is irrelevant if I think it is a good idea or not really. My feelings about its suitability will not change her path. She is going to do what she is going to do. If I make too much fuss, then she will simply hide that part of her life from me, and I will have no input.

I reached out to other kinksters that I knew and talked to them about what was happening. For the most part they were reassuring. Those that had met my child assured me that she was a sensible being and is unlikely to get into a situation that is too out of control. They recognised my worry and reassured me that I had done all I could. Mr Jones is being careful not to say the wrong thing. He isn’t entirely happy about this, but he knows that opposing the situation won’t prevent it. Rather it will just mean he will no longer be able to talk to her about it.

The process is ongoing. Since April I have been absent from home. The Unicorn has gotten used to being able to have people over in relative privacy. Our voyage is coming to an end. We will be moving back into our house in four weeks’ time. The next few months will mean adjustments for all of us. Mr Jones and I will have to wear pants more often, The Unicorn and #1 Son will have to consider who they bring home and what they do with those people because the parents might be around. I will meet some of the new friends. That will be interesting. I am guessing meeting and interacting with parents who are also part of their world is something a lot of them have had to deal with. There are going to be some adjustments.

So that is my story. Do I have advice for any parents in the same situation? Not really. I will not presume to tell anyone how to raise their child. But I do believe that sharing stories and experiences can be a great way to gain insight. So, I hope by sharing I have given someone somewhere something.

Image by DanXaw from Pixabay

Worlds Collide

One of my greatest fears is that one day, unexpectedly, I will encounter a play friend in my professional life. Either as a colleague or as a parent. Thankfully it hasn’t happened yet but you never know.

Morning sun pierced the gap in the curtains pouring a slit of bright light over Suzie’s face. With an irritated grunt she tossed herself to the other side of the bed. The sunlight steadfastly shone on the pillow that she had left bare. Time passed. The temperature in the room rose, fed by the warmth of the sun. Suzie flung back covers to reveal her naked body. Her full round breasts moved with her chest in time with her breathing. On the bedside table her alarm buzzed piercing her sleep.

With a groan Suzie rolled over and turned off the alarm and lay with the shaft of sunlight playing over her naked belly. For a few moments she struggled to remember where she was and what day it was. Then she remembered, it was Parent – Teacher interview day. Panic began to flutter at the base of her stomach. She hated this day. Of all the days when teachers are asked to stay back, for meetings, for professional development, for awards nights the worst is parent – teacher interview day. Four hours of sitting in a hall at a tiny desk having awkward conversations with parents. With no time in between to collect your thoughts or even pee.

Suzie considered calling in sick. But she knew that would mean having to re-schedule all those meetings to another time after school. Nope, best to rip the band-aid. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and moved to the window to open the curtains. The sun shone gleefully in illuminating her entire room. As she walked past her wardrobe Suzie caught a glimpse of her ass. The bruises from two nights ago had faded a little. Their bright redness now a sullen purple with yellow tinges around the edge. A smile played around the corners of her mouth as she remembered him. The calm authority about him as he had indicated to her to lay across his lap. The way his cock prodded her belly while his hand tormented her ass. Then later, kneeling in front of him with his cock in her mouth, looking up at him. All the while her ass was burning. But not as much as her cunt.

Still fantasizing Suzie hurried to the shower, knowing she was late, knowing today was not a day to be late, or flustered, or apologetic. Nor was it a day she was going to suck that magnificent cock. She chose her outfit carefully. Her Principal’s voice ringing in her ears, “Professional dress people”. She chose a dress that snug fitting but not tight. It draped across her ample bosom showing only a hint of cleavage. The skirt was straight but allowed her to move and it was long enough that it didn’t ride up too far when she sat down. Before she stepped out the door, she checked her appearance one last time. Perfect.

The day passed in a blur. Students sat before her, some gleeful that they were finishing school early today, some nervous about the upcoming evening. She chatted with some of them about interviews that she knew were booked, calming their nerves, pointing out things they could bring up with their parents. All the things a kind teacher did. And then it was time.

The first few meetings passed without a hitch. Parents sat with their student. Grades were discussed, assignments examined, comments made about behaviour at home versus behaviour at school. Suzie was finding her rhythm. She started to relax a little. So far, so good. No complete fruit-loops and no aggressive parents with an axe to grind. Then she saw him. He was sitting in the waiting area. The same air of calm authority. The same hands, slightly larger than some, clean, manicured. The hands that could deliver a sting to your ass and then seconds later stimulate your cunt in ways she didn’t think was possible. Suzie’s ass twitched in time with her cunt. A trickle of wetness soaked her panties. For a few moments she forgot where she was. The collision between her private and professional life was completely unexpected.

He stood and for the first time she noticed the young person with him. One of her students. In fact, now that she saw them together the resemblance was obvious. The same height, the same colouring the same air of quiet confidence. Beside them a woman tottered on platform heels. Neither father nor son paid her any heed, she looked oddly out of place but in this speed-dating alternative universe nothing was unexpected.  

He sat opposite her. Nothing in his face showed that he recognised her. For a moment she doubted herself. Maybe it wasn’t him. Unsettled she shuffled her files before selecting the right one. Across the table he watched calmly. His hands were folded, nothing in his face gave him away. The mother started speaking. She babbled about her son’s cleverness and questioned his latest grade. Suzie forced herself to ignore him and focus on the mother. With a practised smile she brought out examples of work and marking rubrics to explain to the mother that remembering a bunch of facts was not enough. Suzie knew she was wasting her breath, but she was glad of the distraction.

The whole time he sat observing quietly. Suzie wondered if he would say anything. A small, bemused smile played around the corners of his mouth. Suzie felt as if SHE was the one being evaluated. He was measuring how she coped with this situation. Deciding if she was worthy. Every glance at those hands, folded neatly sent another jet of wetness to her panties. Against her seat her ass twitched, remembering the sting of his palm. After what seemed like an hour the bell rang indicating time to move on.

Suzie stood to farewell the family. She extended her hand to him. He took it firmly, looking her straight in the eye. For the first time in the whole interview he spoke,

“Thank you for being the teacher my son needs,” His voice was like silk. Exactly the way she remembered.

“Thank you for trusting our school with him,” she replied struggling to maintain a professional demeanour. She had to remind herself that he was in her world, she was in control, not him.

The mother tottered away with her son trailing behind her. For a split second they were alone in an imaginary bubble. Suzie’s heart soared.

“I have no doubt we will be seeing each other again.”

And then he was gone.

The seats in front of her tiny desk were filled with another family. A weasel of a man with his loud bossy wife and their spoiled brat of a child. The contrast couldn’t have been sharper.

This post is part of this weeks 4Thoughts or Fiction prompt, Exposed. To see who else is being exposed click on the image below.

What’s in a Name

I started writing erotica sometime around 2010. Our family had just returned from a three month caravan trip through the wilds of South and Western Australia and the Northern Territory. During that time I used a blog as a way of sharing my adventures with family and friends. My romance with the written word began….

Upon our return I started writing erotica based on the adventures I was having as part of my swinging journey. I didn’t have the confidence to go blazing ahead with a blog at first. I tested the waters by posting one of my stories on the dating website we use. Given that the audience was a bunch of people looking for other people to have sex with it was well received. I looked further afield and discovered Literotica.

It was there that I honed my skills of writing by using some of their help articles and later with the assistance of a volunteer editor. While writing there I used the pen name Babeslady, which is a play on the name Mr Jones uses for me and my actual name. It was in those early days I wrote a story about an adventure I had with Mr Jones that involved another woman he saw for a little while. She and I co-wrote the story. For this story I had to give myself a name. For no other reason than I liked it, I chose Gemma. Because I liked it, it became the name I used when I did start a blog a short while later. The second name Jones just seemed to fit. I didn’t know there is a British Actress of that name until I had already set up my first blog and Twitter account. It was too late then.

Source https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0428121/

So that was how I became Gemma Jones. I use the name for most things on the net associated with my lifestyle. When I talk to potential lovers online I introduce myself as Gemma. Some of them learn my real name, some of them work it out for themselves, some of them are none the wiser. It honestly doesn’t matter. In my mind Gemma is almost a separate person from the everyday woman who gets up, goes to school, teaches a bunch of teenagers and then comes home to make dinner and watch TV. Gemma is an adventurer who posts pictures of her body online and writes stories that excite and arouse.

In my current blog when I refer to my adventurous life I speak about Gemma, when I speak about my mundane life I refer to myself as Mrs Jones. It helps to keep my mind straight although I am sure there is more crossover than I realise. May Moor, in her post on this topic, states that she “has become so comfortable in May’s shoes (wellies actually) that I see us as one” As I read that statement I found myself nodding. Even though there is a delineation between Gemma and Mrs Jones we are really just two sides of the same coin.

I wish the world was such that we didn’t need to hide parts of us from conservative, small minded people. But it is not. And so until I retire and no longer need to appear to conduct myself in a socially acceptable way Gemma will be that delicious part of me that comes out for special people.

This post is part of this week’s 4 Thoughts or Fiction prompt #169 Pen name. Click the image below to read some other entries.

You Can’t Show That!

I was once teaching a year 9 (about 14 – 15-year-old) Religion Class. It may surprise you to know I am actually fully qualified to teach this subject which, at our school, is an academically oriented subject. So, I was teaching this class, we were doing a unit about the Reformation which involved a look at how art was largely controlled by the Church until the Renaissance which in some ways triggered the Reformation. I showed this painting as an example of Church influenced art to which a girl called out “You can’t show that it is pornography!” Her reason for thinking it was pornographic; Adam’s penis is visible.

It triggered an interesting discussion, punctuated by the ridiculous behaviour of a bunch of 14 – 15-year-olds who can’t really cope with an open and frank discussion about sex in any setting, let alone a classroom.  I was intrigued by the attitude of my student that nudity = porn. The discussion focussed on the idea that nudity is not always sexual in nature. This painting is an example of this. Man is in fact created naked, clothing is a human contrivance with multiple purposes ranging from, comfort to control.

I can understand why these teenagers think nudity is purely sexual. Many of them grow up being told to cover up so that their nudity is not displayed. The reason for not displaying nudity is purely sexual and related to the ridiculous idea of keeping girls virginal. As teenagers girls display their bodies in suggestive ways to entice boys. This display is often a rebellion against their parents urging them to cover up as younger children.

It was difficult for me to make my point in this class. I was not prepared for this discussion and I was painfully aware of my situation. I teach in a Catholic school; I was in a religion classroom. The topics on my syllabus didn’t even remotely link to explanations about the difference between displaying the human form as art and using nudity for sexual arousal and gratification. And here I was trying to explain this idea using language that was unemotional and formal. In addition, as I was navigating this incredibly awkward situation in a way that would not result in me getting grilled by my principal, I found myself asking the question. Where does art end and porn start?

Dictionary.com defines porn as “sexually explicit videos, photographs, writings or the like, produced to elicit sexual arousal.”

I have read enough to know that many things can elicit sexual arousal in one person while seeming to be completely unsexual to another. In our modern age something like “The Creation of Adam” seems very tame when compared to some of the advertising we see, or the attire that the characters of the latest superhero movie parade around in. But at the time it was painted? Who knows? Perhaps there are some weirdo priests who sit in the Sistine Chapel after hours and gaze upwards with a massive erection.

I have stated before that porn is not really something I peruse. I like reality. Watching people in the flesh have sex is arousing to me. Much more than contrived encounters depicted in standard porno movies. Watching a woman with ridiculous fake nails pretend to enjoy sex with a well-endowed man doesn’t cut it for me. Real people with real flaws pushing past their boundaries and living in the moment are incredibly stimulating. Men that I find attractive masturbating is also stimulating for me. I love the sound of a man cumming. I had a video I took of a friend while I was sucking his cock that I listened to on repeat for months. The sound of his orgasm never failed to cause a throb in my groin. I had, in the spur of the moment, created my own personal porno that was tailored entirely to me and my likings.

I have a friend who likes to see little videos of me when I am playing. He particularly likes to watch my boobs jiggle but any kind of action is welcomed. This man is a FIFO meaning he spends a lot of time in his tiny room alone with his hand. My images have accompanied many a session I am sure. I guess in a way I am his personal porn star. Which is flattering. He is the only man I share this kind of thing with. He is my own personal porn fan. We have only ever met in real life once and never had sex. But you never know what the future holds. For us the line between porn and reality is very blurred.

Where does art end and porn start? I don’t think there is a definitive point. Where does nudity become porn and not art? I don’t think there is a definitive point for that spectrum either. My take home from that situation was that conversations about sex need to become more normal. We need to be more open about sex with teenagers and children. Nudity needs to be debunked. Being nude because it feels good to walk around as we were created is not dirty or illicit. It is natural and normal and it does not always have to be about sex.

This post is part of 4 Thoughts or Fiction prompt #168. Click on the image below to see who else is turned on by Porn

Punishment or Consequence

I will start this post by stating that I am not in a D/s relationship and probably won’t ever engage in a formal D/s relationship, but I do sometimes employ some softer elements into my sexual play. Not the same thing I know.

For me submission is about relinquishing control. About not having to make decisions about what is going to happen. If someone is dominating me, I am free to focus on my response to the situation. I will say that my response to authority often features two extremes. I like to follow rules, I like structure. I will follow a rule and conform to a set of expectations while I think they are reasonable and the person issuing the rules is making them from a place of intelligence.

If I feel that the person issuing the rules is not intelligent or is making rules to suit their own stupid agenda, then my compliance is at best sullen and more frequently bratty and devious. Like all people I will look for a loophole or straight out defy. It is a very childish response, but I have been known to flip the bird behind the back of someone in authority when they give an instruction, I find particularly irritating.

During sex I will sometimes comply with a reasonable request. If I feel it has been framed appropriately. On the flip side I sometimes like to be in control, call the shots and put my partner into positions and situations that I choose. I am turned on by having power over someone. If they resist, they will earn themselves a spank in the moment but not a fully constructed punishment.

For me, discipline and punishment are not things that are part of my sex life. They are part of my vanilla life. I am a teacher, discipline is a daily thing for me. But not in the way that most people think. When I think of discipline, I think of maintaining a routine and a set of expectations. Students, and humans in general, are compliant when they know what to expect. Most people will be much calmer and happier if they have a good understanding of what they can expect when they take a certain course of action. To me discipline is about being consistent in your response to a situation.

My daughter explains to people regularly, “When Mum says no it is no.” This is a big part of being disciplined. Having a consistent set of responses to situations. Following a particular way of thinking consistently; making a plan or set of rules and sticking to it. Sometimes it is hard and tiring to do that. It is tempting to short cut the rules or the plan. Doing this will result in hardship later. People in your charge will become unruly and difficult to handle if they know they can get you to change an unpopular policy simply by questioning, whining or having a tantrum. It takes effort to enforce a plan at the start but over time that enforcement becomes habit and is easier. It is met with less resistance amongst the troops because they see the plan working in everyone’s favour.

Punishment has never been a feature of my life as a Sex Goddess, a teacher or a parent. Consequences is the approach I use. When my own children were small I would often say to them;

“You can do that if you want to but if you do then X is going to happen”

This then becomes part of the discipline circuit. A consistent set of rules and follow through. I stated how I would respond, and they can make their own choice. In a classroom the same thing happens. Once I had a student who would invariably ask “So what are we doing?” just when I had finished giving the instructions and everyone was getting on with the task. It drove me bananas. The class knew it and they all conformed to listen when I was explaining the task, except him.

One day I remember him starting to ask the inevitable question and his new girlfriend shushing him as the words started. She hurriedly repeated the instructions and urged him to get on with it. She understood the discipline thing even if he didn’t. Perhaps the consequence of not complying with her was more dire for him than not complying with me. Whatever, that habit did change with her help. Teenage boys really do think with their small brain most of the time.

People sometimes ask if I am the dominant in my relationship with Mr Jones. The answer is a very firm no. I don’t believe that kind of dynamic would be healthy in OUR relationship. I have no doubt he would very much enjoy it. He doesn’t like making decisions and having someone calling all the shots would make his life much easier. As I explained I spend my day making the decisions and calling the shots for a bunch of teenagers. It is exhausting. I don’t want to come home and do the same thing.

2021 in the classroom for me is about a bit of tightening in the discipline department. One of my classes this year is a year 7 class. They are in their first year of high school and traditionally are unruly and have an inflated sense of their own importance. Consistent expectations and consequences are important in training them to navigate high school successfully and with minimal drama.

This post is part of the current 4 Thoughts or Fiction meme “Discipline and Punishment” To see some other thoughts on the topic head click on the image below.

Forbidden

I haven’t posted in 4Thoughts or Fiction for a while. I lost a bit of focus as I meandered around my blogging. But through a few clicks while reading TMI Tuesday this week I stumbled across it again. The prompt is “Stockings” and, incidentally, I have been reading some of the contributions as they pop up in my reader. I am a fan of A Man Called Alice. His shoe and lingerie collection is something I wish I could match. While reading the prompt (and maybe perusing some images) this little gem popped into my head.

On the bed a pair of stockings lay, stretched out, sheer black with a shimmer. Against the white sheets they seemed somehow deflated. When he touched them, he could still feel the warmth from her body, but it was fading fast. Fleeting images filled his mind. Her legs encased in the silky sheer fabric. Walking in stilettos down the street. Sitting in her office chair with her ankles crossed. Bending over the filing cabinet teasing anyone watching with the possibility of seeing her knickers.

He lifted them up to his nose, he could still smell her on them. A hint of her perfume, a hint of her musk. The delicate fabric snagged on his stubble as he slid them down towards his chest. Slowly he traced his nipples, shivering at the caress of the fabric causing them to stiffen.  Down towards his aching cock the fabric travelled, raising gooseflesh over his body. The sound of his breath filled his ears as he was lost completely in the sensation.

For a moment he stroked his cock, but he wasn’t ready for that. Today he wanted something else, something forbidden. Looking over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, he sat on the bed, he knew he didn’t have much time before she was back. He slid his feet into the silky fabric stretching the hose out further, filling it with his legs, giving it another life. His cock prodded against his belly as he bent to smooth the stockings against his legs. The bathroom door clicked. His heart raced, he stood at the end of the bed, facing away from the bathroom door. Time seemed to stop as he stood there, waiting, unsure.

He could sense her behind him, although he didn’t hear her approach. She smelled clean and fresh from her shower. The familiar smell of her shampoo filled his nostrils, the heat of her breath on his neck caused the hairs to rise. She was so close to him but still she hadn’t touched him. For a moment he was afraid he would be banished to sleep on the couch, naked, alone and cold.

“Bend over,” There was no hint of emotion in her voice.

He obeyed. His torso rested on the cool, white sheets. His naked arse presented to her, his legs encased in her stockings, spread slightly, exposing his balls. His cock pressed against the bed, harder than ever.

As much as he anticipated it, the first sting of her hand was always so much more. He grunted in pain but knew better than to move.

“What are the rules about wearing my clothes?”

“Not without your permission?” His words were muffled by the duvet.

“Yes,” her words were like a whip, her hand stung his naked butt cheeks.  “Did I give you permission?”

“No.” He braced himself, waiting for more slaps.

But none came. There was a silence as he waited. He heard her moving around the room. A drawer opened. For a moment he wondered if it was THE drawer. But it didn’t seem to be the right sound.

“Stand up,” her voice was still flat and emotionless but as he stood up, he could see the fire in her eyes. He knew that if he put his hands between her thighs, he would feel heat and wetness. He ached for her to sit on the edge of the bed and spread those beautiful thighs. He felt parched and he ached for the command to quench his thirst with her juice.

She indicated some clothing on the bed. Satin underwear, the ones she had been wearing all day. Trousers, his, and a shirt, also his. “We are meeting the Wilsons at George’s Paragon at seven.” Disappointment stabbed through him. Her colleagues, stupid boring people, stupid boring dinner. “I want you to wear that,” she pointed at the clothing on the bed. “And keep my stockings on.”

Obediently he dressed. The smell of her cunt filled his nose as he smoothed the satin over his swollen cock. The trousers slid and gripped his thighs oddly over the satiny tights. His cock was still swollen making the zipper almost impossible to close. She smiled, watching him fumble with the closure.

“If only Tyler Wilson was here now,” she mused. “It would be so hot to watch him suck that cock.”

You can read other prompts featuring stockings at 4Thoughts or Fiction click here or on the image below.