Apparently, if you write erotica, you’re incapable of also being a teacher?

A series of racy romance novels by an author named Judy Mays are a little too racy for some parents in our area, especially now that they have discovered the woman known as Judy Mays is teaching their children. (read more)

In case you didn’t click through to read the rest of the story, here’s the gist: Judy is a high school teacher who writes “erotic romance novels” in her free time. She didn’t bring them to school, talk about them at school, or even make it public knowledge at all. She wrote under a pen name and was only “caught” because her author website has a P.O. box in her hometown as a way of contacting her and she was on a video on YouTube talking about her books.

If you want to get really riled up, check out what some of the parents are saying in this video.

Yeah, they accused her of being a pedophile in a round-about way. What?!?!

They are teaching their children that sexuality is shameful, and that, to me, is scary. It’s that kind of parent that ends up with pregnant teens because they are never taught anything about using condoms and exploring sexuality safely – they are taught that abstinence is the only answer (and we all know how well that works).

I rarely write about news-related topics here, but this really makes me sick to my stomach. From all the comments I’ve seen from former students on the various news pieces, she is a damn fine teacher. If she’s not allowed to continue teaching, I hope she sues the pants off the school board and everyone involved.

My blood is seriously boiling right now.

Last night, I looked at my calendar and realized that I have a week and a half until D leaves. He got an awesome job thousands of miles away, and while that works out perfectly with my own moving plans…I am nervous. I’m happy for him, but upset at the same time. And I’m nervous, so nervous for him that it won’t work out. I know it will, but I’m still nervous. Starting new is nerve-wracking.

But beyond that…I don’t want to say goodbye. It’s a chapter of my life that is coming to a close in a very definite way. He says he’ll come visit or fly me there to visit him, but will he really? He’ll be making new friends in a new town and working in a new industry where I don’t quite fit. We all make promises to stay in touch when leaving a friend, but life gets in the way and before you know it, it’s two or three years later and you haven’t seen the person since the day you left.

Usually, I’m at peace with that. When I leave someone and they leave me, I do so knowing that it means exciting, happy things for both of us. I know that it’s not personal when we only see one another once or twice per year or even per decade, and even when we don’t keep in touch at all, when the calls get few and far between and then stop completely, I think back on it with a smile in my heart, knowing that we’re both ok. Saying good-bye is always sad, but I try to remember that growing apart is just a part of life.

Except with D, I can’t. We’ve just been through so much together, both personally and professionally. He’s seen me on some of my darkest days and I’ve seen him on his. We saved each other and destroyed each other and saved each other again.

And in a week and a half, it will be over…and my heart just can’t bear to think that I might never see him again.

Because really, as much as we promise to one another that it won’t happen, it’s true. I really might never see him again. He’s getting on that plane and I’m not. We don’t have any plans as to when we’ll be in the same room or even the same state at the same time again. It might never happen.

I realized this and I cried my eyes out thinking about it last night. Today, I’m trying to play it cool. I mean, D knows that I’m sad about things, but he doesn’t realize that this is tearing me apart. He has other things on this mind (moving across the country is never easy and trying to rent an apartment site unseen from thousands of miles away is hell). He doesn’t need more stress. But it hit me like a slap across the face last night and it’s been making me sick all day. I don’t want to take him to the airport. I don’t want to deal with this at all. I’m excited to start a new chapter in my life, but I can’t let go, not of D. It’s too hard.

Excuse me while I go bury myself in my work so I force myself to stop thinking about it.

I thought it would be fun to start a new feature here at BMS called the BMS Challenge. Every Challenge post will have some links to past posts, a little discussion about the topic and a challenge to you, the reader, at the end. I hope you’ll all participate (comments for participation will stay open indefinitely)!

Whenever I’m with someone, in the moment, it seems like the best sex of my life. Well, I mean, as long as it is pretty good sex that is. I know when I’m having shitty sex! But, I tend to think something is AWESOME when I’m in the moment because actually having sex is always much better than just remembering about a time when you had sex.

Now that I’m not in the moment, now that I am actually pretty far removed from the moment, I can say one thing for certain: Sex with MM was the best sex of my life.

I wrote about it here, when I talked about how he made me squirt. I also wrote about it here, when I talked about breast worship. We had sex multiple times that weekend, but I think of it all as one because we pretty much just fucked, lounged around semi-naked, hung out, cuddled up to sleep, and fucked some more. It was awesome. I wish every weekend could be like that.

What makes sometimes the best sex ever? What was different with MM? Great sex boils down to a lot of different things. For me it was a combination of the following:

• MM is a little older and although he’s not super experienced when it comes to fucking lots of different women, but he definitely isn’t a virgin. He knows his way around a woman’s anatomy.
• I never got the feeling that he just wanted to fuck. He wanted to fuck me.
• He was open to trying new things. We didn’t get super kinky or anything, but, for example, he was open to trying anal which is something he hadn’t done before.
• He was giving, but in a very dom way. I never got the feeling like he felt he had to return the favor. It was more like, “Lay back, now because that’s my pussy and I want to lick it.” He wasn’t obligated; he wanted it.
• We were intimate beyond just fucking. I’m not always a huge cuddler, especially when I sleep, but there was lots of pillow talk about some of the important things in life, massages, etc. In other words, fucking was just a part of it.

Today, my challenge for you is this: Tell me about the best sex of your life. If you have a blog, post about it and link it in the comments (or link me to an older post if you already wrote about it). If you don’t have a blog, leave me a spicy comment telling me all about it (long, detailed posts/comments are encouraged!).