Erotic Romance: The Playground by @EroticPhoebe
Cover links to Amazon.com | The Playground by Phoebe Alexander Genre/Keyword(s): Romance, Erotic, Humor, Women's Fiction, mashups, swinging, 18+ |
As a teacher, I'm used to being on the playground. But I never thought I'd be the one swinging.
I'm also a wife and mother, always trying to keep everyone happy. My sons just left for college, forcing me to see how far apart my husband and I have grown. I feel like a damn cliché.
Then the teacher down the hall with questionable morals introduces me to her friends. They're swingers.
What the what?!
It's all fun and games until your sex swing breaks. Haha, no really, so far it seems like all fun and games. It could be the answer to what’s missing in my life...or maybe I’m just not asking the right questions?
I'm also a wife and mother, always trying to keep everyone happy. My sons just left for college, forcing me to see how far apart my husband and I have grown. I feel like a damn cliché.
Then the teacher down the hall with questionable morals introduces me to her friends. They're swingers.
What the what?!
It's all fun and games until your sex swing breaks. Haha, no really, so far it seems like all fun and games. It could be the answer to what’s missing in my life...or maybe I’m just not asking the right questions?
"This is the new teacher at our school, Journey West!” she introduces me to the ladies lining the room on folding chairs and on the couch.
“Wait, what?” the blonde woman on the middle couch cushion asks.
Every. Damn. Time. Some days I want to throat-punch my mother for giving me such a stupid name.
“Journey,” I repeat. “Yeah, I know. It's my real name. And I married a man named West.”
There was a chorus of “Wows!” and general surprise slash intrigue.
“Enough about me, who brought the dildos?!” I exclaim, looking from face to face.
When I'm nervous, I tend to say inappropriate things at times. Although how inappropriate can it be to mention dildos when I am, in fact, at a party where dildos will likely be passed around, scrutinized, and sold?
After an initial pause of disbelief at my semi-outrageous question, there is an eruption of laughter amongst the party-goers. Then a woman with long, raven-colored hair pulls a brightly-patterned Vera Bradley bag from the other side of the couch and whips out a rather large lavender specimen. “Is this what you had in mind?” she laughs, wielding it like a Star Wars light saber.
“It's a good start!”
“Wait, what?” the blonde woman on the middle couch cushion asks.
Every. Damn. Time. Some days I want to throat-punch my mother for giving me such a stupid name.
“Journey,” I repeat. “Yeah, I know. It's my real name. And I married a man named West.”
There was a chorus of “Wows!” and general surprise slash intrigue.
“Enough about me, who brought the dildos?!” I exclaim, looking from face to face.
When I'm nervous, I tend to say inappropriate things at times. Although how inappropriate can it be to mention dildos when I am, in fact, at a party where dildos will likely be passed around, scrutinized, and sold?
After an initial pause of disbelief at my semi-outrageous question, there is an eruption of laughter amongst the party-goers. Then a woman with long, raven-colored hair pulls a brightly-patterned Vera Bradley bag from the other side of the couch and whips out a rather large lavender specimen. “Is this what you had in mind?” she laughs, wielding it like a Star Wars light saber.
“It's a good start!”
