Today’s Word – Lazy

Term is finally over. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. I also love my holidays. The last few days of term involved a lot of manoeuvring from different staff members trying to establish their position in the hierarchy. Annoying stuff. Typically teachers are focussed on the young people in their care. Our focus should be on how they are tracking and providing the best we can for them. Not worrying about which executive said what or who is climbing the ladder. Maybe I am mistaken.

Whatever the case I am on board our yacht for two weeks of isolation and relaxing. Somehow my body has read the memo. I have no energy. I foresee a lot of sleeping and giving of zero fucks in the next few days.

Bing on the sunshine and pants free days.
Every Damn Day in June

Me and My Pole

I had my first pole dance lesson in 2009. It was on the balcony of an inner city apartment of a woman who went on to open one of the first studios dedicated to this sport in Brisbane. At that time the industry was in it’s infancy and this particular studio was very closely linked to the stripper industry. Many of the instructors worked in nearby strip clubs and the studio frequently did promos in these clubs. 

Almost twelve years later I am still on a pole. In all honesty I should be an instructor myself. I should really be amazing but I am still rated as a beginner. Why? 

So many reasons. Many of them linked to choices I made. Not practicing enough because I didn’t know exactly WHAT to practice. Getting frustrated because I couldn’t do several key moves that most people master relatively early in their journey. Being loyal to studios and teachers that I had outgrown or who were simply not teaching in a way that worked for me. I can honestly say that I have regressed a lot in the last five years. Or at the least stayed stagnant. Two years ago I was safely cocooned in a studio that made me feel good about my body and taught me a lot about dance and flaunting myself. Sadly it closed and I was left at a loose end. I contemplated many things and wondered if this was time to kiss my pole goodbye. 

But I couldn’t kick the habit. I found a studio close to my house and I enrolled. I deliberately didn’t tell them my entire history. Every now and then they can see I have done something and I guess they know I am on a journey. I have deliberately started at the beginning so that I can get rid of some bad habits. It has been productive although sometimes a little frustrating. What is really refreshing is being supported but also given challenges. The difference between this studio and my previous studios is amazing. I love the structure and the way moves are broken down. I love the way success is celebrated. I also love that for the first time I am being forced to do drills and train muscles. Instead of being given vague instructions like “make sure your core is turned on” For the first time I actually know where my core is and how to turn it on properly. I can feel when I am using it. 

I don’t consider myself to be completely crazy about pole dance. For me it is more of a slow burn. I think if I had found this space when I started this journey I would be in a very different place right now. But that is OK. My journey is my journey. One of my greatest failings is that I constantly compare myself to others in many different ways and aspects of my life. As a teacher, as a mother, as a blogger, as a wife and as a pole dancer. As a pole dancer I have had to really change my mindset and stop comparing myself to other women around me. We are on a journey but it is OUR journey. It is OUR path that we follow. Some of us walk along a highway that leads us straight to excellence at high speed. Some, like me, get distracted by little side roads and twisting paths. Neither path is better than the other it is just our path. 

This lesson is something that can be transferred to other parts of my life. Teachers are encouraged to engage in “reflective practice” What this means is to reflect on lessons we deliver and assess how we could improve things. Especially when the shit hits the fan. Which happens, even to the best of us. This concept is great but it can be a slippery slope. It can easily go from objective thoughts to beating yourself up. Watching other teachers work is a great way to learn. But it is easy to fall into the trap of feeling inferior and as if you will never be good enough. The lesson I learned at my pole, that my journey is MINE, serves me well here. I am a good teacher. My students do appreciate me. I am valued. 

Likewise remembering that my journey is valid and not to be compared to others can be applied to my writing. I came back from our voyage thinking I would be all over this writing gig. Then I got put in Twitter jail and my traffic faltered. Getting back to mainstream life has taken a lot more adjustment than I expected. It would be easy to throw my hands in the air and give up because my blog isn’t as professional looking as others and I am not getting the feedback that I was. But again this is MY writing. My journey is not the same as everyone else’s. I am very unique and that is not a bad thing. 

So here I am on my journey. Not doing it the same as a lot of people. But it is mine and I have had a lot of experiences that others have not. So I am happy with my twisting, turning paths. They have led me to some very interesting people and some amazing memories.

Wicked Wednesday

TMI Tuesday – The Breakfast Edition

Disclaimer: I may or may not be a little angry with the world and some of my answers may come across as a bit rant like.

1. What’s for breakfast?

Baked beans with cheese and bacon roll. If I had more time it would also include a poached egg. Sadly Mr Jones bought BBQ flavoured baked beans instead of tomato. I will forgive him… once.

2. Three words you don’t want to hear during sex.

What’s for dinner.

Especially if it isn’t the person you are fucking who is asking the question.

3. Stupid shit you shouldn’t do but do anyway. List two.

Put pins in my mouth while I am sewing.

Post pictures of my boobs on the internet. We try to discourage teenagers from this kind of behaviour and then go and do it ourselves (who am I kidding? Other teachers don’t do this stuff).

4. One thing you love to hate.

Pious, white, middle aged men.

For added fun I like to imagine tying them up and belting their pasty white arses!

5. Today is a great day for _____ .

Changing the world by inspiring a student. I have been assured by multiple people that some of my students are glad to have me back in their lives. I have yet to have a student tell me this though.

It doesn’t stop me from trying.

TMI Tuesday blog

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.

4Thoughts

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.

Gemma Jones Picture
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.

4Thoughts

Happy Xmas – The War is Over (almost).

Australian students are coming to the end of their school year. In Queensland the last official day of school is 11 December. Some independent schools are already on holidays and the Catholic sector, where I work, school will finish on 4 December. To be perfectly honest, I cannot wait.

I am not alone in thinking 2020 was challenging. I am grateful that I don’t live in the Northern Hemisphere if I am being completely honest. My life has been simultaneously not affected much and profoundly affected at the same time. I was talking with a teacher who is from the US and is working in Australia for a year on an exchange program. What she described about the impact of Covid on her US colleagues is nothing short of horrendous. I am grateful that I live in a country where life is almost the same as it was.

I was teaching a lesson of the famous subject called Stretch which I have posted about before. We were doing a quiz about Christmas traditions and the song Happy Xmas the War os over was part of the quiz. Most of the students in my class did not know of the song and could not understand why it was included in the Christmas Quiz.

I explained to them the basic history of the song but in the noisy chaos that is Stretch, I won’t go into the reasons for that here, I didn’t go into much depth. For me the song is about reflecting on the year that has passed and challenging yourself to be honest about what you have and have not achieved.

In this time of lockdown and social isolation it is easier than ever to sit at our screens and point out everything that is wrong with the world. Humans have become consumers of media, quick to point out others’ mistakes and shortcomings without giving much thought to what they can do to make the world better. It is easy to sit back and wait for the government or some nefarious authority figure to wave their wand of power and make a great change. The world will not change even if that were to happen.

Humans are ingenious especially when it comes to avoiding responsibility and making their life easier. We are quite happy to ignore something that should be fixed and let it be someone else’s problem. But the reality is that change happens when every person does something small every day. Something like picking up someone else’s litter, or asking that person everyone avoids how they are going.

These things are hard. They take a conscious decision to go out of the way and against the flow. I will admit I am not great at them. There are times when I avoid that person who inserts themselves into every conversation even when they are not invited. There are times when I walk past litter, actually this happens all the time for me, if I didn’t I would never stop picking up rubbish.

This year my mental health was better than last year but I wouldn’t say it has been great. I wouldn’t say that I have been a model citizen but reflecting is a great way to recalibrate. I look forward to relaxing with my family and taking advantage of opportunities next year.

Gratitude

A couple of years ago the captain of my school started “The Gratitude Project”. Her goal was to encourage all of the people in the school community to take time to notice and remember things they are grateful for. Each classroom had Gratitude Jars and students and teachers were encouraged to write on a slip of paper something they were grateful for, to put in the jar. The project was as successful as those kinds of things are. Some teachers got on board and some classes did some cool things. Two years on the jars make appearances from time to time in various guises. I guess there were about forty of them kicking around. One can’t blame the chaplain for recycling right?

Humans are a strange bunch. On a company and nation/ state level our culture is driven by growth. GDP must constantly increase, productivity must constantly improve. We must keep biggering and Biggering and BIGGERING!

But on a personal level we are seemingly compelled to take everyone, including ourselves down. I read a beautiful poem today, written by Nananoyz at Praying for Eyebrows about her mother who was never told she was beautiful. It made me think about the way we always assume people know that we think they are beautiful, strong, amazing and fabulous and so we never tell them. Often until it is too late.

I have recently been feeling a bit unappreciated. It is a long story and I am afraid if I write it in words it will sound peevish and just plain self centred so I won’t. I will simply say that as the end of the school year is upon us I didn’t feel that some students were showing as much appreciation for my efforts as they should. I wallowed in my self pity for a while until I kicked myself in the arse, reminded myself that part of the charm of teenagers is that they are inherently selfish and got on with it.

Then as I was sitting in my daughter’s graduation (she attended the school where I teach) a parent of a student who I had taught in her first two years of high school was sitting next to me. This particular student has learning difficulties. Unlike most she just gets on with it. She never asks for extra time, extra attention, or for someone to make allowances for her. She just asks for clarification, a lot. Even though we aren’t supposed to have favourites, she is a stand out in my memory bank.

Out of the blue the mum of this student says “Thank you for being so patient with my daughter, you helped her so much,” I was stunned. It has been four years since I had a class with her. But her mother remembered me and took the time to thank me. In all honesty I should be thanking her. Thanking her for allowing me to be part of the life of such an amazing student. But mostly for reminding me that we should not be focussing on who is thanking US but rather who in our lives needs our gratitude.

This post is part of this week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt, “Giving Thanks”. Although it is not as sexy as you guys are used to I felt moved to share my thoughts. Please click on the link below and see who else is being wicked this week.

My Scrambled Brain

My daughter turned eighteen recently. Today, Saturday, we are holding a family gathering to celebrate the event. My parents and both my siblings live in different towns several hours drive away so this event doesn’t just involve twenty five people descending on my house for an evening. I will be graced by the presence of my parents for three days. Which may sound like a good thing but believe me, it isn’t. But that isn’t the point of this post.

A few years ago I entertained regularly. I was quite adept at planning, preparing and presenting a meal for 15 – 30 people as the occasion demanded. Over the years the group of people we hung out with whittled away, people moved, we lost contact etc. My mental health went to another place and this is the first large gathering I have hosted in a while.

What is disturbing me about this event, apart from the parental visit, is my lack of ability to get focussed and be organised. Once I was the person who had the answers. I planned whole weekend camps for five families, accomodation, meals, shopping, the works. At the moment I am struggling to make decisions about what we will eat and decorations for a single evening. I make plans, I forget them (yes I should write them down, I know). I write lists, they don’t make sense, I go shopping and get home only to realise I should have had another twenty items on my list. it goes on and on.

I can’t seem to focus on a single task to completion. For example I woke up and was scrolling through Fakebook (no that isn’t a typo) and saw something that inspired a blog post. Between my bed and the keyboard I latched on to three other tasks and now I am writing this.

You will get to read my pearls of wisdom later. If I remember them and someone doesn’t interrupt me.

I think it is some of the reason I haven’t been posting regularly. Believe me there are about ten stories that have started their life and are hanging in the balance somewhere. I hope that they get to be fully formed and make their way to your view. Maybe when the holidays start in three weeks.

Until then you will have to make do with the occasional brain fart!

TMI Tuesday – Adjusting to the New Normal

Welcome to this week’s TMI Tuesday. As usual please visit TMI Tuesday to check out the other contributions. But only after you read mine first!

1. Favorite form of adult pajamas: Kimono, soft pant, romper or Winnie-the-pooh style? 

I only became a pajama wearer recently. I sleep naked and have since I was in my early twenties. Consequently I never really saw the point of spending money on pajamas. On an outlet shopping expedition I bought my first pair of Peter Alexander pajama pants. It has changed my whole outlook on pajamas. If I worked from home I would live in those babies!!

I think I need a new pair soon though.

2. What time do you wake-up in the morning?

During term time my alarm goes off at 5.30am. It is a struggle to get up at that time but it is necessary if I am going to even have a hope of getting something on these pages and retain my sanity.

When school is out I usually get up around 7am. Sometimes earlier in summer. Despite taking medication that is supposed to help with my circadian rhythms insomnia seems to be part of my regular sleep landscape these days so a regular sleep cycle seems to be impossible to achieve.

3. Your favorite chore to do is _____ .

Washing clothes. There is something about hanging them all on the line neatly and then folding them. I feel as if I have achieved something with my day if I have done a few loads of laundry.

4. Least favorite chore to do is _____ . Why?

Cleaning dishes. It is messy and wet and it seems like as soon as you get that sink clean and empty there is something else sitting there. A completely endless, thankless task!!

5. Tell us about a home-cooked meal that you cannot forget.

When our children were younger we often went camping with a group of families. It was the practice on these trips to share meals. Each family would be responsible for cooking one meal or alternatively we would all contribute something to the meal. One of the group members was quite good at camp oven cooking. There is something very special about food that has been cooked on the coals. Particularly when you are balancing your plate on your lap around a fire.

Bonus: Is tired the new norm?

I don’t think tired is the new norm but having a mental health issue definitely seems to be something that is more prevalent than it was about 10 years ago. It seems that everywhere I turn people are identifying as having a mental health problem.

Another disturbing thing that is perhaps linked to the above is the overwhelming number of people who are more interested in constant scrolling and consumption of rubbish content created by their internet interests stopping only to perhaps create some substandard content of their own using an app that basically does it for you. No one is interested in putting in the effort to create something completely original with their own minds and hands.

OK that maybe was a bit of a rant. I apologise.

Bonus Bonus: Due to the lack of sexy content today here are some boobs

Remember to click the link and enjoy some other bloggers

I Grew a Unicorn

Today was an emotional day for me. My daughter completed her last day of classes for high school. For the next four weeks she will be completing final exams and then my youngest child will have graduated from high school. During that time she will also celebrate her 18th birthday. I will no longer be the mother of children. My children will be adults.

My child is unique. Like her mother I guess. I have sought to be a parent unlike my own. In our house there are no mysteries about sex or nudity. There are no questions unanswered or brushed off. More importantly my children were never made to feel as if they could not be whatever they wanted. Their creativity was never discouraged. Choices of clothing and hobbies were never criticised or ridiculed. The result has been strong independent people who own their life choices and are not worried what other people think.

For the last three years I have been fortunate that my daughter has attended the school where I teach. It has been a unique experience. As a teacher it has given me insights into how teenagers perceive teachers and education in general. As a parent I have had a much more intimate look into the life of my child at school. During this time we have been like very close friends. We share many of the same opinions, interests and ideas.

When she was younger we shielded our children from our lifestyle. Now as they are adults they know enough. It isn’t discussed openly but certain things are tacitly accepted and acknowledged. There is no judgement. Only an understanding that privacy is important and respect for choices is paramount. Life is not about following the rules but about making sure you treat people with respect and kindness.

Dating for her has always been different. Several years ago she identified openly as Pansexual. More recently she has made the decision to avoid males altogether until she meets one who is grown up enough to be worthy of her.

God help that male…

Monogamy in her mind, like her mother, is an outdated concept that is not helpful for many people. And so it seems that she is destined for a lifetime of unconventional relationships. Or maybe she will wake up one day, meet a man who cuts through the crap and suddenly she will fall for the white picket fence dream.

Her grandmother can live in hope. I am not going to hold my breath. Or, more accurately, I am not going to concern myself with things that are not my business.

On her last day of classes she wore her wool dreadlock extensions. A novelty, as for the first time in her life her hair is very long. In the afternoon she and her friend had the last session with their Dungeons and Dragons club. Something they created and nurtured over their senior year. For the occasion they dressed up which is always fun.

When all of the festivities were over I had a moment of watching the majesty of my child frolicking across the car park with her blonde extensions flying free and her witch cape flapping around her legs. It hit me squarely between the eyes what I had created. The emotion of the day brought tears to my eyes as I realised I have made something truly magical.