Smut or no smut? That is the question.

So I'm a teacher.

Doesn't mean I'm not allowed to have a heart.

I write stories that range from young adult to VERY adult. Thing is, I don't publish my ADULT romances, BECAUSE I'm a teacher. Writing romances doesn't make me a bad person. It doesn't even mean I have a dirty mind. It's not like I walk around with nasty thoughts in my head all the time. I'm just good at describing an intimate scene in a love story. Isn't that the whole point of writing? Describing so that the reader can actually see and feel what's going on?

So what's the problem? Why should I keep these stories hidden away on my personal computer? Why shouldn't I publish them? Would it make me a bad person if I did? Well, that's debatable (to a parent of one of my many students).

So here's my question to you: should I leave in the "smut" or take those scenes out of the romance? Should I take a chance and publish them or take on an alias?

Hmmm...

For now, I'm going to marinade in the seasonings of love and just wait and see.

But here's a very NON-ADULT tid-bit of one of my romances:

*************************************************************************************************

“God, check him out,” Amy whispers in my ear, and I’m confused, because I know Joel is going to be here soon, and Amy never checks out anyone. At least not since she met him. “I only have eyes for my Joey,” she always says.

But when my eyes follow her pointing finger, my breath ceases and every nerve ending in my body goes numb.

Grayson is sitting across the bar staring down at his drink. He runs one hand through his dark hair and my stomach clenches. God I miss the feel of his hair between my fingers. Miss the taste of his lips on mine. I turn away and take a sip of my drink.

Amy raises a brow. “He came alone.”

“How do you know?"

She shrugs. “Look at him. Does he look like he’s with another woman?”

Honestly, he looks like he’s wallowing. My heart squeezes. Maybe he’s not as angry with me as I thought. Maybe he doesn’t want to throw me in the trash for what I did to him. Maybe there’s hope.

Maybe...

The woman next to him calls his attention and he speaks to her for a moment. She laughs and places her hand on his arm. He moves his arm away from her, dropping his hand onto his lap, before she frowns and scurries off.

I grin, and Amy senses my mood. “Come on. Just talk to him. It couldn't hurt anything.”

Could it? He rubs his face with one hand and lifts his glass to his lips.

Those lips.

Amy puts her hand on my shoulder. "What are you waiting for?"

"I honestly have no idea." I stand and make my way through the crowd.

It seems to take forever to get around the bar, like the universe is bent on keeping me in the realm of misery. My heart is racing, my palms sweaty, and I feel tingly all over. When I’m finally standing behind him, my insides twist into knots and every nerve ending in my body is on fire. I can’t speak. I can’t even move.

He turns his head a bit to the side and his body stiffens. I hear his quick intake of breath as he starts to turn, and my drink begins charging up my throat.

Don't throw up. Don't throw up!

Then his eyes meet mine, and though he says nothing, I can hear the words in that one heart-wrenching look. Words I feel in my heart. Letters that resonate through each ragged breath I take. Sounds that form the glue that can put the pieces of us back together.

I'm sorry.

#romance #smut #writing #love #reading