What is it about fart noises? Even fifteen year old boys cannot disguise their mirth at that sound or talk of farting. So much so it will grab their attention from anything. It seems strange looking at a group of fifteen year olds sometimes. Some of them still look like children. Some of them are starting to look like men. They have muscles and the beginnings of facial hair.
But they still behave like children. Laughing at fart noises and teasing the girls they are attracted to. The clamour of their bodies blurs the reason of their minds. They are still to learn the finesse of flirting. They are still to learn how to behave like adults and so they revert to childish pranks and behaviour.
One by one they will grow and change until finally they will be a group of young men. With full beards and strong bodies. As they grow and are shaped by life their childishness will disappear.
But still the sentence “Why is gas escaping an anus so funny?” will make them grin.
One of the things I have always voiced as a fear is running into a play friend when I am at work. When I have played out possible scenarios of this happening I have always imagined the man being either a potential employer or recognising him at a parent teacher interview scenario. As is always the way nothing ever plays out the way you imagine it.
As I was minding my own business one Friday night I received the following message
“Hi remember me?”
I looked at my phone. There was a number with no contact assigned. So I had absolutely no idea. My response,
“?? A name perhaps”
H proceeded to be very coy and not forthcoming with information but dropped hints while I tried to get my head around the situation. I worked out that I had never actually met this guy that we had chatted for a while planned to meet and for some reason never followed through. He had recognised me at a school function that day, gone home and thought it would be fun to mess with my head a little.
It really threw me. His complete refusal to fully identify himself although he knew where I worked, who my work colleagues and my boss were and my name but he refused to give any clues to his identity. I told him that I hadn’t saved his number, or more likely deleted it when things fell through. Eventually he gave me the name of the profile he used on the dating apps we met through and then proceeded to tell me his account had been deactivated. A quick search confirmed there was no profile with this name. He didn’t seem to understand why this situation was grossly unfair. He told me he didn’t want to reveal too much to protect his kid. Even when I pointed out he knew a lot about me.
The whole time I was having the conversation I was struggling to keep up with emotions and thoughts that were popping in to my head. I was aware that this could go very badly for me and saying the wrong thing could have major repercussions but I was also dealing with being quite irritated at his smugness. On top of this confusion about what exactly he wanted out of this conversation. He didn’t want to meet as far as I could work out. He had a partner of sorts and he didn’t tell her about this. He didn’t make any threats about outing me to my boss he just seemed to get pleasure out of messing with my head.
In the end I just stopped responding to him or giving him any openings in the conversation. I wished him well and made sure he understood that while I wouldn’t be teaching his kid next year I would likely see him around from time to time. What I didn’t tell him, mainly because I didn’t really think about it much, was that there are ways I could work out who he was. The class his kid belongs to was one that I taught this year. It isn’t that big and of course teachers have access to the contact details of parents. How else could we contact them when we need to? It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to open their class list and poke around a little.
Before I even went down that road I sat quietly and ran through the parents I had conversed with that day. I realised who it was. While I don’t have a clear mental picture of the parent I have a clear understanding of the kid. And so here I am. Now what? Nothing really. At the end of the day he would have to out himself to make a complaint or a fuss. I have done nothing wrong or unprofessional. I think I wasn’t even working at this school when we were talking. I know I wasn’t teaching his kid. And even if I was our meeting was in a separate place, on a separate pathway. I am nothing if not professional and proper with my Young People.
And so, now that my irritation at his childish behaviour has dissipated I am taking it on the chin. Or doing my best. Lessons have been learned and appreciation for the bullet I dodged in not actually meeting this person is growing.
The last month has been a whirlwind of socialising planning large events, hosting the large events and some work thrown in for good measure. As I posted about way back in August, (was it that long ago?) I have been struggling to get the focus to write. Which is a little frustrating. I hate the idea that I have spent so much time building something up and now it is slipping away.
Part of the struggle is this ridiculous amount of socialising and human interaction. Which is draining. I love having friends. I love having good conversations. If the good conversations lead to good sex then that is even better. But there comes a point when I need to take a break from people. As a classic introvert I need to recharge my internal battery by spending time by myself. This isn’t easy because I live with people but over time they have learned that I need quiet time.
To compound the situation my diet over the last few weeks has been crazy. Lots of take away and high calorie foods with a stupid amount of drinking. When I woke up to go to work for the start of Term 2 I felt like I was in the middle of a massive hangover. Not the headache and nausea part. Just the super tired and fuzzy head part. I took control of my diet a bit more this week and focussed on smaller amounts of cleaner food. Also on not drinking so much sugar. The first few days were hard. I am still feeling tired a lot of the time but that is the social batteries re-charging as well. For the most part I am feeling a little human again.
I have stories of sexy times to share I am hoping they will be forthcoming in the next few weeks.
No you can’t because there isn’t anyone there making a sound. My house is empty of humans. Except for me. Yes the dishwasher is humming and the washing machine is whirring but they can do their job without the need for instruction, assistance, admiration or just attention from me.
I don’t think anyone who lives with me understands how I feel right now. All of them have the luxury of as much alone time as they could want. None of them have a job that involves demanding, draining people in your face for eight hours straight. None of them have a deep seated need to create that gets stifled by people being present and demanding attention.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.