Greetings from my yule blog.

Some kind people have noticed I haven't posted much for a month or two. It's an odd thing but when you aren't doing much that's worth writing about you've got loads of time to compose blogs and when you're up to all sorts of blogtastic stuff you are too busy to write them. I've recently been to New York, a trick I achieved through the generosity of Richard Branson in regard to his airline's fares, the 'two dollar pound' and being a dynamic marketing executive's fuck. She was in town to smooooze some clients and I was there to shoppppp! But retail excess is not this blog's territory so let me tell you about a trip we made to an up-market lesbian BSDM club instead.

You have to know a member then ring a number to get the location. A seductive voice also asks you to follow the dress code: fetish or naked. Now this was a problem, because unfortunately I hadn't packed the handcuffs, whip and leather thong that I always take on international trips. On the other hand did I want to flash everything including my cellulite to tanned, toned and cosmetically trimmed New York babes? Nooooo!

The answer was Brit ingenuity. My finger did the walking through the NY phone book, found the place, then we took a cab ride. So on the night two English ladies arrived at the club topless in black jodphurs, rubber riding boots and whips - the girls loved us.

The action was as cosmetically enhanced as the tits and arses on display. Still the other members were cunt-throbbers compared to my visit to a UK BSDM 'dungeon'. Here in chilly, faintly smelly surroundings fat white wobbly women bursting out of basques and thongs whipped fat white wobbly bald men with tattoos - you could believe a human being might have treble bum cheeks!

The NY dikes were so thin but really up for it. My girlfriend was diverted by the bondage whilst I dallied with a tattoed and pierced commodity broker from Soho. I looked in to see g/f bare-arsed naked and a bit 'tied up' so I let the broker handle my assets.

I realise this isn't especially Christmassy. Sorry but you've chosen my 'Dark Places'. Perhaps I could tie it all up by wishing you all a spankingly good Xmas, or mention whipped cream on your Christmas pud. Instead I wish you all a brilliant time and a sex-filled 2005.

Lashings of love Sadie

Things got hot in Brighton last night.

They 'burnt the clocks' on Brighton beach. This is a recently revived ritual in which flaming torches are carried through the streets by flaming drunks and then a huge pile of paper clocks is set alight. It was all curiously sexy. It's apparently to do with druids and the shortest day but this gets all forgotten as the flames leap and the mob gets frenzied. The spirit of Saturnalia overpowers the spirit of Santa Claus and things get pagan. It certainly worked for my girlfriend and I. We rushed back to the flat and made love by candlelight. You may have noticed I wrote 'made love' when I could have used the more f-f-f-familiar expletive. But that's what we did, beginning with a sensual massage, thanks to some sensationally slippery massage oil and a little book we'd bought in New York. Then, we locked and unlocked, explored and experimented, the candlelight glinting off our naked twisting bodies - pure paganism. God it was good!

Merry Saturnalia Sadie

Turned on by old guys.

The best party in Brighton last night was the Beach Boys gig at The Brighton Centre. It wasn't promising, a cold night with icy sea breezes hitting the hideous nuclear bunker that is our 'concert hall' and the people! my dear, the people. it looked like the local old folks home had been burnt down and they had all gathered here for shelter. It was grey hair and grey shoes as far as you could see.

I turned up in Hawaiian shirt and white pants with Tommy and Calvin, both in gaudy gay shirts, and ready to surf. Then, the lights went out, the MC shouted "...direct from Southern California" and the music started. For two and a half hours they filled the hall with sunshine and sound. I danced and shouted and sang along. It's such a happy sound, it slices into your brain, tingles down your spine and good vibrations cruise through your cunt. Amazing!

I, temporarily, left damp Sussex and arrived in Surferville USA. It was Fun Fun Fun, I danced away and, as usual, fell madly in love with Tommy and Calvin - I'd be the jam in their sandwich, all they had to do was ask. The young people surrounded the stage, 40 year old music sounded as fresh as the girls and guys dancing around me, tits shook, arses twitched and all the oldies rocked too, the disco lights flashing off their bald heads. Heaven!

Then they sang God only knows and the line "God only knows what I'd do without you" in that plaintive voice had tears welling in my eyes. A fucked-up marriage, a failed affair and all those men and, now, women who I doted on, gave my body and my mind to, and who I left or they left me. All these people plus the the amazing friends and lovers I have now came into my mind. So I cried for lost opportunites and the hope of a better future. My emotion fuelled by several Jack Daniels and a couple of spliffs really got the better of me.

And what did my dancing partners do? Did they give me a huge gay hug and girly sympathy? Did they fuck! Tommy reached out certainly but only to grab my arse and tell me to stop blubbing and start bopping. Then they played California Girls and the sun came out again.

I for one, wish they were all Brighton girls. Here's to a warm bed this winter.

Love & Mercy. Sadie

Here are two lips from Amsterdam.

And they're hot and damp with pleasure. Yes, I've just spent a few days in Holland's horniest haunt so expect plenty of 'finger in the dyke' type comments. The centre of Amsterdam is as cool as people say. Great 'brown cafes' (there's a gay guy joke there somewhere), full of atmosphere and smoke - the dutch don't do no-smoking! Lots of them, in fact, broken up by interesting antiquey-type shops and restaurants. You can wander along the canals, have a few beers and watch life and little Dutch girls pass you by.

In fact they're not little at all. They tower over you, apparently the Dutch are, on average, the tallest people in the world - it must be all the milk and cheese. It's true, they actually drink a glass of milk at lunchtime - it's disgusting but I suppose v healthy. Then they go out in the evening and get v pissed.

The blokes are mostly very good looking and the older ones often have great style. And the Dutch dolls are mostly stunning, tall slim, plump milk-fed tits and tight bums - hate them! Not really, they're very friendly and have a great fashion-sense. There are hundreds of fashion shops in central Amersterdam and they make Brighton look like Bognor! But they are walllet-achingly expensive.

I tried on a pair of embroidered jeans (since I was ill I don't have to lie on the floor to get them over my arse) They looked fantastic and I posed a lot in front of the mirror and admired my bum - even the gay owner flashed a look. Unfortunately I could wear the pants but not the price tag and so they got left on the hanger.

I'm staying with old friends in Amsterdam and they've been here for years. It's spooky but the last time I was here I was married and straight (but leaning a bit, if you know what I mean). I was on a business trip attending a client's conference - a real business bunny. I was young, comparitavely innocent and optimistic. I was Susie Bright, rather than Sadie Dark.

Susie was married to Brian, a man who she quickly discovered was a complete arsehole but she coped. She wore smart black business suits, talked seriously about consumer profiles and media reports and laughed a lot at the client's boring jokes. She didn't complain when she was fondled by the pissed client Brand Director and she smiled sportingly as she accompanied her clients to a seedy live sex-show. But she found the lesbian act a bit more interesting than she had expected. Today I would like to kick her into one of the canals.

Speaking of sex shows, there's the 'banana bar' in Amsterdam where men pay to watch girls eat bananas.....yes, yes, I know you're ahead of me! The lips that grip and consume the banana are not the ones you normally whistle through. Although I expect those girls could do that too, and blow a trumpet and propel ping pong balls across the room. It's all to do with having powerful vaginal muscle control and you can get them strong by exercising them at any time of the day. I'm doing it as I write this.

Whoops, I think I've gone too far - I can't find the cat anywhere!

Love & get great grip Sadie

I'm lying in bed and I'm hot and sweaty

Yea, and it's for all the wrong reasons. A virus travelled down to Brighton. got off at the station, made it's way down Queens Road, passed all the shops without buying anything, turned right at the clock tower , ambled along North St, then minced down St James St and finally decided to impregnate a curvy brunette in too-tight jeans.

So here I am, on my own, with 15 days lost out of my fascinating life. I've also lost weight (good) and writing time (bad). I sent my lover away because shivering, damp and infectious is a bad look.

Tommy and Calvin visited me because gay men understand pain and rejection. They brought lilies, champagne and dope to cheer me up. They wrinkled their elegant noses at my sweatiness and shabby creased T-shirt. They pretended not to notice my bare arse (they've known me too long) as I dashed from bed to loo.

Ms Rude, another occasional visitor, did comment on the arse. "Sadie" she said with an expert air, "Enjoy this moment, I think you're actually your jean size". So there you are, even in a crock of shit you can find a vein of gold!

I've been overdosing on ibuprofen and porn. My fav site Daily Nude Blog.com never lets me down. Even if my temperature wasn't at boiling point, these naughty bunnies would blow any thermometer. I've also become addicted to Watchersweb where ordinary women (ie. not models) strut their stuff for their boy/girlfriends camera. It's just like the brave babes on Gaydargirls.com who bare all - they are sooooo sexy. Boring women (even gays) tutt and criticise but they miss the point. To expose yourself is a real turn-on. OK, you won't be seeing my intimate bits on the internet (not yet anyway) but I hope I reveal myself in print.

I'm actually feeling a bit better now. I still look the same, imagine Tracy Emin painted by Francis Bacon! But, hey I've written this - so I must be improving.

The difference between men and women.

There are lots of cliches about sex. One focuses on lesbianism and prescribes that 'only a woman knows what really gives pleasure to a woman'. And the reason this is a cliche is that cliches come about because everyone repeats them. And in this case it's been repeated because it's absolutely, totally fucking true.

Now, I can add my humble experience to the motion 'only a woman etc etc'. I'm bisexual so I've enjoyed and been enjoyed by both sexes.

So, take part one of my sexual life - men. Like most women, (particularly the ones reading this I'm a'guessing) I'm MAC-literate. That's Mouth, Arse and Cunt, yes I've had a cock in all the usual places. In fact, if only my nostrils had been more elastic the dear boys would have shoved it up there too.

Part two of my life cuts off the cocks for a while and replaces them with feminine ingenuity and skill. And, I must admit, I'm in horny heaven.
So, I appeal to all the women reading this (OK, perhaps not, but I do appeal to a few women in Brighton). I'll try again, I ask you all to consider sex with another woman. What's stopping you?

I can sort of understand why straight men are not so attracted to gay sex. They are used to 'hiding the sausage' not having it thrust into them. But for us women penetration is most of the deal. And if the fleshy item that's seeking out our secret places is attached to a female what's the problem?

Face it, women are just better bed buddies. We all know the three 'F's' in a straight relationship: your guy fucks,farts and falls asleep! Well, take my word for it, girls make the pleasure last soooooo much longer. For a start they know exactly what buttons to press, as opposed to many men for whom clitoris might be an inaccessible Greek island. And because they've had so much experience stimulating their own cunt they are experts at exciting yours.

Another fact is that female bodies are just so much more interesting, go on admit it, there are so many more bits to play with. Compare our squeezable tits, our big suckable nipples, our plump pubic mounds, our teasable clits, our gorgeous delicious cunts, our pinky girly arseholes, and our soft, cushiony bum cheeks. And I still haven't included our elegant necks, grabbable hips, strong thighs, and lickable toes. And then there's our skin, so much softer, pliable and silky. And our lips, so satisfying to kiss.

And we're so huggable. You can really cuddle up to another woman feeling all her soft sensual parts interlocking into yours (and, no, trust me, a fat guy just isn't the same)

Even our underwear is more sensual. Admit it, does your man's baggy boxers or crusty Calvins really turn you on. Men's parts spoil the look of pants but women's bits just make them more beautiful. Just the thought of tight white knickers skimming over a sexy mound and slipping up a tight arse crack is enough to get us all moist.

My name's Sadie Dark, and I'm a femanolic. Cocks just aren't enough to satisfy my thirst, I need a feminine fix. And I'm soooooooo satisfied. So, come on girls what's holding you back. They say I - in - 13 women are lesbians. You know 13 women I'll bet, so look out for that special one and connect.

You have nothing to lose, apart from your conservatism, your inhibitions, and (I can promise you) your total fucking mind.

A bit of french, greek and BDSM

I've just got back from France, the country where all women are 'femmes'. However I wasn't on the prowl, quite the reverse in fact. I was actually taking a short vacation from vaginas in the very straight world of two old friends and their stunning farmhouse. Having left the pace and pressures of Brighton far behind, I could drop any pretensions and indulge myself in baguettes, a drop or two of bordeaux and big pants - it was very relaxing. And I really felt I needed it because as I've mentioned before I'm finding femworld a bit fraught.

When I was into men (or, more correctly, they were in me) girlsex looked very attractive. Simple, uncomplicated and "no one understands a woman's body like a woman bla bla". I suppose it was a case of the arse on the other side of the fence looking keener.

And to be honest, since I nipped over the fence, the arses have been great - it's the other end I've been having trouble with. You can't believe the complicated mind games that I've been having with women I've met or been in contact with. Maybe it's me or maybe all the males I've known were pushovers. My emotional life is like a maze and I'm finding so many wrong turnings... Whoops, getting serious and this isn't one of those 'who am I, bollocks' blogs, I'll leave that to our American cousins!

So, on roughly the same subject I have to confess some recent queerish goings on with women. (Don't get too excited) In fact, I thought I was pretty well in touch but I'm constantly being astonished by what turns us on.

Thanks to this blog and my entry on Gaydar I get a few e-mails, most are cool but some are verrrrry strange! One of the saner ones was from Sue. She just moved to Bournemouth (of all places) and she's opening a wrestling club for women. It's true, she tells me it's a very popular activity and that she used to be a member of the North Manchester Ladies Wrestling Club. I'm not sure what's happened to it but she sent me some pics. And yes, there are several luscious lasses pulling some muscular moves which all seem to end up with them sitting on each other's faces. They're watched avidly by an audience of (entirely male) wrestling experts.

Sue hopes to recruit some local wrestling enthusiasts. In case, the noble and ancient sport doesn't quite grab you, she also proposes some special nude wrestling nights. She supports this by saying that it's an old Greek tradition, Olympics and all that. I hate to disillusion her but it was guys only in ancient Greece. Still who'd want to pay to see men wrestling nude when you can see it for free most Summer nights on Dukes Mound near the Brighton Marina.

Sue invites me over for a few rounds in her front room. She's very serious but she's also a bit of a gorgeous grappler, very curvy in her lycra leotard and displaying a generous 'toe.

I must admit as I sit alone in my flat on a dull rainy afternoon, stripping down to my trollies and going a few rounds with Sue seems rather appealing. It's my fixation with unaware sexuality, I know, but fortunately for my fragile bones sense reigns and I just wish her luck. Her website should be up soon, I think it's www.wowrestling.net if you're interested, but don't harrass me if I've got it wrong.

So, from one strapping girl to another. The weirdest (and most worrying) e-mails I've been getting are from a domme in Birmingham. Now, I've been in contact with another domme and she's rather sweet. She sends me pics of her in just a leather corset dancing on a grave and talks of 'getting me into her bed'. In these crude days that almost Jane Austen!

But the brummie broad is very different. She makes it clear that all she wants to do is take all my clothes off, hang me up in a leather harness and beat the shit out me. Not literally, of course, the butt plug would prevent that - nothing pervy like 'scat' for this masochistic miss.

Fortunately, I can erase her e-mails but I sometimes think it's a pity I don't have a 'delete' button on some other aspects of my life. Alarm! getting heavy again, why, oh why am I wrestling with my conscience when I could be putting a 'cross buttock' on Sue?

J'etaime Sadie

Hello from a Brighton byke

Since joining the Brighton Cliterati, I've been called all sorts of names, from 'hey you' to some choice examples from my fellow sisters that I can't repeat on a Sunday. In fact, there's a whole new language you have to learn when you depart from the straight and narrow.

And, as many of my readers haven't yet tasted the delicious flavours of gay lurrrrve, I thought I might share some definitions with you.

The idea occured to me when I was looking at www.pinkuk.com. Now it's a great site but I haven't really been that tempted before as I've always thought it was a man thing. But I was told someone was slagging off a favourite bar of mine so I signed on to add my comment. Actually, it is mostly about Brighton manhole locations and see-through knickers (what about us girls eh?) but it had a fun item about gay slang. Here is my, very select, selection:

Bulldozer: An extremely butch lesbian
Drag King: A woman dressed like a man (just go to the Candy Bar, they even pencil a moustache under their nose)
Dyke: A lesbian - the term derives from the nineteenth-century slang word dike, which referred to male clothing, and when it was first used to refer to women, it carried a derogatory connotation of masculine appearance or behaviour (why male clothes though?)
Dyke Bite: Refers to a straight woman using lesbianism as a feminist argument or a way of insulting men
Dyke Dog: Refers to a male, straight or otherwise, who enjoys the company of lesbian women or a straight woman using lesbianism as a feminist argument or a way or insulting men
Femme: A lesbian who acts and dresses effeminately (that'll be me then)
Fluffy: Term used by lesbians to mean a woman who is turned on
French Embassy: Any location, especially a gym, where gay sex is readily available (love this)
Frig: Sex between two women, often involving one rubbing the genitals of the other with her fingers; probably derived from friction ( Ok, but why has frigging become the pc word for general fucking?)
Honeypot: A woman's genitals (buzzzzzz!)
Lemon: Another word for Lesbian (haven't heard this before but like it: Lemon squash (busy night at the Marlborough), Lemon aid (helping a girlfriend stagger home). Lemon juice (mmmmmmmmm tangy!)
Lesbro: The male equivalent of a fag-hag
Lilies of the Valley: Piles. (Brilliant,eh?)
Lipstick Lesbian: An effeminate lesbian (me again but sometimes I'm more of a Dipstick Dyke!)
Luppies: Lesbian urban professionals, or lesbian yuppies
Soft Butch: A butch lesbian with a soft side and gentle demeanour ( where are you, babes?)

I also checked Google, here are some American definitions that tickled me:

Byke: A contraction of bisexual dyke (yeaaaaa!!!! ride me baby)
chapstick lesbian: a lesbian who is very into sports, a sports dyke
Dykon: A lesbian icon, such as kd lang, Melissa Etheridge, Ellen Degeneres (what about Cherie Blair? Oh! you didn't know!)
Gold-star lesbian: A lesbian who never has had and never intends to have sex with a man. Sometimes they also get points for never sleeping with bisexuals. Entirely too many of them get terribly self-righteous about it and look down on bisexuals and lesbians who have had sex with men. (Don't I know it, fuck u all)

So endeth today's lesson in simple Sapphistry,(another definition)

Love from a lemon tart , Sadie

Women eh! I've had them up to here!

And it's true, I have. But then you can't see what part of my body I'm pointing at - clue, it's not the top of my head. But seriously, most of my troubles lately have come with a pair of tits. In my former life, women were my friends and it was blokes who messed my emotions about, but now it's often the reverse.

Take the weekend. A little burst of unexpected joy led to a lot of grief and I found myself seeking out my mates, Calvin and Tommy. Frankly, what they know about women could be tattooed on their cocks, and it would still leave room for the Brighton Telephone Directory. However they're great listeners and, as we're all a bit girly, we bond.

After much conversation and cosmopolitans we agreed that women were odd birds. Think about this, for instance. Imagine you were a gay bloke (easy, if you live in Brighton) and you were walking down the street. Amazingly, every man you see is dressing sexily - little lycra shorts, tight white T-shirts, leather pants, painted-on jeans - imagine that? You wouldn't believe your luck or that tent in your pants! But,sadly, it's a fantasy, because one guy in a 100 may be hunky, but the rest are in baggy jeans/slacks/shorts/shirts/football tops/suits and are decidedly un-sexy.

However, imagine you're a healthy, average, pert-buttocked woman, like me for instance. And you're walking down the street, any street in Brighton or any other town for that matter. What do you see? Well, if they are under 30 you see porn-stars. Almost every woman has a tiny top - nipples proud, a tanned belly, and low slung pussy-hugging jeans like denim knickers with legs. It's true isn't it? Almost every young woman (str8 or gay) this summer has been a dyke's dream.

But, and here's the twist, how many actually knew this. I'm sure every woman knows what she's showing but do they understand the effect? My Lord, I suggest not!

And then look at the women who are totally unaware of their sexual allure. First, our gallant girls in blue.

If you've noticed a sudden increase in your area of chaps in stripey pullovers with bags marked 'Swag' over their shoulders it's because every police officer in the UK is in Brighton this week.

It's the New Labour Party Confer...sorry I fell asleep at my Mac. Anyway the whole city is buzzing with bill. We were watching some female officers harressing the hunt supporters and someone suggested that although the boys have come out, with Dep Ass Com Paddick leading a Pride parade, the girls stay in the community closet.

But, it follows that gay girls would fascinated by the fuzz just as they make up a large proportion of our female armed services. And let's face it, a PC with a pussy is verrrry attractive,

First, they wear a uniform: bum-hugging skirt and a tight blouse and tight leather belts and black tights and shiny buttons. And how about the rough gaberdine trousers and big leather boots? They'd go down (and come down) rather well at the Candy Bar. Then, there's the new double-ended 'truncheons', wow! Anne Summers could really penetrate the gay market with them!

And what about the handcuffs? Or the strip-searches and the tight latex gloves? - "Bend over Ms Dark, we believe you're hiding an elicit bottle of Jack Daniels"!

No wonder they're called the filth! But cops aren't alone, have you clocked the traffic wardens? Or, on the subject of unaware sexiness - the business bunnies.

They are about when you're just getting back from the club and I'm out jogging to the newsagent. That's right, business women on their way to work.

But,look at their executive suits. They may be conservative and dressed for success but the jackets are cut short and the material's lycra so they display a cute bottom line.

Case proved.

Final cheap cop gag: Sexy PC: "OK, Ms Dark, may I warn you that anything you say will be taken down and used in evidence against you"

"Knickers"

Love & it's hard being lez Sadie

Have you got Cameltoe?

After a downer of a week it's the monthly dyke nite at the pub I work for and guess what's coming down? Well it wasn't my lycra sports shorts this time because on looking in the mirror I decided I looked too much like a crack sportswoman. Yes, I had serious case of cameltoe. This is a ladies' complaint that has had much coverage in the USA. TV shows and websites like Cameltoe.com and Cameltoeworld.com are devoted to it. I hadn't thought about it until I saw it mentioned in one of the men's mags we have at the health club where I also work. Frankly it's caused by tight fabric over your pubic mound with your labia creating a notch in your pants so forming a 'cameltoe' shape. Many of my readers are probably suffering from it at this moment and most of Britain's women innocently display it every day. I must be flashing my 'toe everytime I workout at my gym or go for a run. It's not a great look although I bet there many who think it's kinda sexy (I've met several women who are convinced men are turned on by VPL) But, considering the audience tonight, I dropped my shorts and wore sweat pants instead.

These would have been a safe choice except they carried the word 'juicy' written over my bum and this rather excited the muffia mob. However I received less attention than last time thanks to Deb, as usual, looking stunning in her naughty nurses outfit and the fact that my boss had hired a stripper.

She was great, waving her arse and tits in the customer's faces and sitting on their laps. She had the trick of handling the crowd without letting them handle her. I chatted to her in our breaks, sitting in the pub kitchen, with her wearing an open beachwrap, totally relaxed in her nudity. "Women are the worst" she testified, idly tweaking the hair on her tiny pubic strip, "blokes rarely cross the line but pissed women think anything goes".

I haven't had the chance to cross-examine a stripper before. So I asked lots of questions including the obvious one - does she even get turned on when exposing herself to an audience?

"Not at all" she said, but then she thought again "some nights maybe, when someone in the crowd looks fanciable". She admiitted however that interaction with women now gave her a bit of a thrill.

"You a lezzie?" she asked. "I am now I think" I replied. "Do you miss the pricks?" she inquired. "No I said, I'm still surrounded by them" Bitter I suppose, but then I'd just had my sweat pants pulled down while I was holding a trayful of drinks.

On a happier note two American readers have e-mailed me both puzzled by my reference to 'snogging'. This British term is unknown from them and I'm afraid I probably disappointed them with the correct definition. I think they expected something far more sordid. For a minute I imagined exciting their imagination in my fictional style:

...her eyes grew fearful and she gasped as I withdrew the Snogger from its rubber case. "Assume the position slut" I snarled as I carefully lubricated it. Her orgasmic screams echoed across Brighton as we snogged all night...

Love & watch out for that cameltoe. Sadie

Today I've seen more arseholes than a proctologist

Sorry short blog today. I've just got back from the pub - it's been a long day and I seem to have lost my sense of humour along the way. If you find it treat it gently as its had a bit of a spanking. I awoke, my usual stunning self, it was a normal day, I'd forgotten to close the curtains so my neighbours got a flash of my dark places - still they're mostly gay guys. I had a snappy, bitchy phone conversation with my new best friend (sorry) - more of this in a future blog. Then I opened my post, and found a letter from the bank/overdrawn/£25 charge etc etc. I stopped off for a recuperative hot chocolate at Cafe 22 and bumped into Anus 2, one of the muffia who gave me a hard time about being bi. Words were exchanged, I left, went to bank and faced Anus 3, a stupid cow who seemed to think I was responsible for my overdraft. After that Brighton seemed to become a rectal nightmare - people in the streets and serving in the shops becoming all pink and puckered.

Then it was showtime behind the bar. For some reason it was packed and stifling. I love getting hot and sweaty (haw haw) but not because of rude people, shouted orders and lost tempers. Thank you and good riddance Tuesday 22nd!

Back home I was a bit brisk with three lovely sexy people on GaydarGirl (sorry) and so to cool down (and heat up) I naturally hit the porn button. Tonight I saw a bit of Captain Stabbin and his Anal Adventures.

The salty old seadog invites curvy ladies onto his boat and talks them out of their bikinis. He does a quick tour of their superstructure and then commentates whilst a crewmember takes them up the poopdeck. There should be a joke about seamen somewhere but I'm a bit tired.

Love & roll on tomorrow Sadie

Why the thong approach is right.

You know that woman you saw sitting on a barstool in her too tight jeans with her shirt open to her waist and a really irritating laugh? Just who did she think she was? Well, for the last week or so she's been me. Thanks to a collision of circumstances I've been annoying people in bars all over Brighton.

One reason was my lack of Mac. Nothing to write on, or e-mail with, so I deserted my flat. Another reason was extra cash for overtime thanks to a staff shortage at work - it's amazing how infectious health clubs can be. Main reason was plain randiness - no-one's got into my pants for months.

So there I was with various friends. Since I started this blog they've all requested that I change their names - amazing! this bunch of freaks and pervs don't want to be associated with me. So my best friend is now Ms Rude and so on, I've called my two best male friends Tommy and Calvin after their underwear which is frequently displayed about their Seven jeans.

Which neatly gets me on to a pissy discussion that Ms Rude, Ms Take, Tommy, Calvin and I had at the top of our voices in Kruze last week. Tommy made some typically annoying gay observation (ie.witty) about the amount of thong that we girls had on show. I must admit we did look a bit like three sumo wrestlers on our barstools.

Knowing I was on the pull (hopefully!) he added that maybe mine was some sort of come-on to really desperate women. This got us thinking about sending signals to ladies on the lookout. You know that gay guys are supposed to have some code involving hankies in back pockets? Well imagine a thong code!

A green thong would mean go!!!!, I'm up for it you slut.

An orange thong would mean caution! move carefully and you might end up parking in my slot

A red one would mean stop! I'm a smug fucker in a perfectly balanced one-2-one relationship or I've got a period, sod off! On the other hand it could just mean I'm the sort of easy slapper who wears red underwear.

It's amazing how philosophical you get at 12am. But thong signals or not I have pulled and I'll spill the beans in another blog.

My encounter however proves that not every gay woman is prejudiced against bisexuals. And after my rant a few blogs ago I got a bit of support from lots of nice people and a lot of shit from the Brighton Muffia.

Still someone showed me an article in GScene, a gay Brighton mag. I don't always look at it (it's very boysie with lots of pics of unfortunate men who've had to turn up at parties in just their underpants - which seem to have shrunk in the wash, poor dears!) However this article was quite encouraging. A group called Brightonbothways for Brighton bisexuals has been formed. There are now about 40 members and they meet at The Queens Head on Thursdays.Their treasurer Susie says it's about people being allowed to express their true feelings (I'm all for that!) And they mention clubbing, walks and a five-day camp with riding (not bareback I trust!) and skinny-dipping so it sounds like fun. Contact Susie at shuangxinglian@hotmail.com.

Bye bye from a bi-bi

Love - at last! Sadie

A threesome with Richard and Judy

Hey, I'm still Macless but have access to a friend's machine for a few minutes. Without my Mac I haven't been blogging or writing my stuff or viewing porn - so how have I been entertaining myself?

Well, I've been entertaining myself. My daily wanking workout to keep my creative juices flowing. I tend to do this in the afternoon before I go to work. I'm far too shagged after an evenings' bartending to shag myself at night. For stimulation I only have my imagination and my TV and at this time in the afternoon I find myself lying on the bed, finger on the button, waiting for blast off - and watching Richard and Judy.

(For my American readers R&J is a chat show with married presenters - a bit like Regis and 'whoever' - blondes on US TV all look alike to me)

So I'm watching our charismatic presenters and try to turn myself on. I imagine Richard and Judy naked...no doesn't work for me,fucking then...no...doing it doggy-style with Richard rampant and ramming Judy, her screaming in ecstacy as he slaps her awesome bum cheeks...no..nothing I'm afraid.

A threesome then. Me shafting Richard with a 10 inch dildo. Me shafting Judy with a 10 inch dildo...whoops I've lost it up there somewhere! But no luck...my muff remains unmoved. But then they introduce Joanna Lumley as a guest ...and bingo!

Love & can't wait for my Mac Sadie

My blog is buggered!

And I'm pretty blogged off. I'm typing this brief apology on a friend's computer because my Mac is unwell. I rang the Mac mender and he said bring it in, he then said "I think it's the hard disk, I can replace it but you'll lose everything - of course you've backed up haven't you?" Whoops, my silence told him that this was not the case. I think I heard his glasses steam up and his spots explode. Shit, all my writing is on it. My friend offers assistance and red wine. Be back soon

Love & prayers Sadie

It was an evening of two halves. Round 1 took place in Charles St, I'd gone in expecting a quietish drink with friends - I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition! (nnnnno-one expects the Spanish Inquisition etc etc)

First, my friend Ms Hap was with another group of people who I only vaguely know. We all said hello, talked about the sun, the Sopranos etc, then suddenly one of them started on me. She'd read my blog and found my advert on GaydarGirls.com and her bitch (fuelled I expect from an overdose of Barcadi Breezers) was that I call myself bisexual. "What was this all about" she demanded, "was I only interested in 'bicpl4sex' ads ?". There are a few on Gaydar (rather dull looking blokes and foxy ladies I think, and one Brighton girl has a particularly shapely bum).

But I denied this outright. "Not at all" I blustered, "I call myself a bi because until relatively recently I was into blokes but attracted to women and now it's women who do it for me, but I'm not a man-hater and I admit that I still find some of them fanciable" Whoops, the sisterhood around the table glared at me. If I'd impaled myself on the nearest prick and sung 'Love to love you baby', the effect couldn't have been more negative.

Everyone had an opinion: "You're either gay or you're not blah blah", "people who call themselves bi are denying their sexuality blah blah" "I bet you're not getting any responses from proper gay women on Gaydar blah blah", " you should be burnt as a bisexual witch" (I made that one up)

Enough, enough. I left them all feeling righteous. So I like meat and fish! That's me, that's what I am, take it or leave it. As I was about to leave I literally bumped into Ms Hastings (not real name obviously, she just comes from that fair town). We'd chatted at a Christmas party and got on famously. So I sat down again and Round 2 began.

Much, much more fun. Ms Hastings and I caught up with life, ex-girlfriends and the universe. She's what you might call full-bodied - she says she's cuddly. And she is, in both curves and manner. She's very open and enthusiastic whilst I'm a bit... well 'dark'. Strangely we were almost dressed alike, silky jackets, jeans and pointy boots. We both fancied a bop so went next door to Envy. We danced, then cuddled (I told you she was cuddly). Then we snogged. Then, I ripped open her filmy blouse and my hungry lips feasted on her....

...No, that's what I write during the day. What actually happened was, we snogged..then...then I burst into tears. Memories of my 'ex' flooded me and my eyes. What a twat! Ms Hastings was very sweet and drove me home. We pecked cheeks and vowed to meet again. Ho hum. Still a good snog's better than nothing and..and to make me feel even better I've also been getting signals from a customer at the gym over the past couple of weeks.

Fuck the gay muffia. I'm a bi-bi and proud of it.

Love from a beautiful, intelligent bi.

Birthday zut alors!

Two French couples, in stylish T-shirts and shorts, are standing staring on the edge of the nude beach. They've obviously been taking in the sights of Brighton and now they're confronted by another sight - me, like a sweaty starfish, legs akimbo as I catch an all-over tan.

Do I slam my thighs together like a vapid virgin? Never, I spread them wider, giving my audience an even better view of one of Brighton's lesser known lanes - take that you cheese-eating, voyeur monkeys!

It was packed on the beach. I expect, like me, most people thought such stunning days were going to get rarer. As usual, the sun-lovers were predominately gay males. Why-oh-why I wonder, did so many of the hunkier homos keep their Speedos on whilst so many of the elderly ones unfortunately didn't? I'm not a cock expert but I've seen more attractive things pickled in jars.

There were a few women, several on their own and some in couples - I was there with a friend. Most were cool and relaxed and enjoying the feeling of sun and air on your body but some displayed some bizarre Brit prudishness. They went to extraordinary lengths to maintain cunny concealment. One had a scarf artfully tied around the naughty area. Another woman had a thin strand of her thong carefully positioned between her thighs. Another sunbathed naked but immediately slipped her knickers on to take a walk. Two young girls with great bodies settled down near us. One looked Brazilian or something and cheerfully stripped off completely but the other kept her pants on. Why did all these women worry when their bits wouldn't bother at least 99% of the beach.

However the last girl's pants had 'Make me purr' written across them so I could forgive her anything. So ends the Brighton Nudes Update.

Love and no white bits. Sadie

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Whooops! My friend Ms Rude read yesterday's post and wasn't sure it was very flattering about her - she doesn't know whether to sulk or sue! Oh dear, I better make amends, so here goes: Actually Rudy is a witty, erudite, elegant chanteuse whose unmistakeable fashion sense, sparkling eyes, pert nipples, firm, toned buttocks and luscious pouting lips (all of them) are the envy of Brighton's cliterati. Is that ok, rude girl? Fine I'm off to the beach.

Sadie's back.

Hey, I'm blogging again and after the rain pissing down for weeks it's a beautiful sunny day in Brighton. I was really tempted to get on down to the nude beach, stretch out and catch Summer's dying rays. But, on second thoughts, I decided that the coastal sun can be deceptive and I didn't want sea breezes flapping my curtains.

So I joined my friend Ms Rude for lunch at Boardwalk. She not only picked up the bill (flogging paintings pays) but she also almost picked up the waitress. But that's Ms Rude, I'm not telling secrets because she admits to anyone that she's horny. In fact, that's underselling herself, actually she's hornier than a hornet's horn section playing the hornpipe in Hornchurch.

When people ask "what do lesbians actually do?" they should address this to Lady Rude. Then, if they've got an hour or two to spare, she could catalogue what she's actually done and who she did it too. Some day soon I must share a few of these insights into female behavioural patterns in my blog. However I will have be careful as I don't want Blogger prosecuted under USA obscenity laws!!

As the sancerre flowed so did our laughter. Rudy is also one of the funniest women I know. We get on so well that people assume we're lovers. But then most straight people, particularly the ones who wonder what we get up to, assume that gay people go at it like randy rabbits whenever we get the chance.

I blame gay blokes. I know most live discreet ordinary lives (apart from the fisting and nipple clamps!!) but they're not the ones on the gay dating sites, in clubs, or in the mags that personify gayness as one long search for a surreptitious shag. You get the impression that on meeting someone for the first time they shake each other's cock rather than hand.

As for us lezzy ladies, well we're pretty normal too. Ms Rude and I are definitely friends not lovers, in spite of getting pissed together, dancing together and, of course, her seeing me stark naked countless times...ah yes, that'll be the reason then!

Love & cellulite Sadie

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I've been locked out of my blog since Thursday and people tell me they haven't been able to access my site. I bet this doesn't happen to bleeding Belle De Jour!!!! Imagine all the three-in-a-bed lesbian sex romps you've missed. Imagine the disappointment all my hundreds of fans will feel - not! However, now it seems ok so I'm going to post this, see what happens and have a drink with my friend Ms Rude. Then later I'll slip on my silk pyjamas and compose a few bon-mots.

Love & kissy kissy Sadie

Sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh! Sadie's sleeping off her encounter with Jack Daniels at Charles St, a Brighton hostelry. Jack's insatiable...a girl just can't say no. You take him in your mouth and I admit it, I swallow every time. Nitey nite.

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You may have guessed by now that this isn't your standard girly blog. I won't be telling you what I had for breakfast (unless someone interesting is eating it off my naked body). I won't be recalling long gossipy telephone conversations with girl friends unless we're role-playing some dark lurid scenario.

I won't tell you much about my rather ordinary life: getting up, going out, shopping, watching TV, drinking, going to the loo (that'll disappoint some gentlemen blog enthusiasts I know!) or anything else that we all do in our lives. Exploration of the dark places of body and mind is what I've promised and that's what you'll get in lovingly indecent detail.

However today I'm a bit hungover (after the excitement of yesterday's Olympics) so the only dark places I explore are my handbag for the Nurofen and my bed for refuge. My lonely bed! I remember snuggling up to Josie (not her real name) in the good old days (six months ago). We'd do 'spoons, her knees fitting perfectly into my thighs, her belly against my bum, her kisses on the back of my neck and her hand on my tit...I begin to sniffle, it's the booze I'm sure, otherwise it would be that terrible longing for things we can't have anymore. And because we can't they're so much more perfect.

Love & tears Sadie

Sunday in the pub with my mates. There's Ms Rude, Ms Hap, Ms Chief, Tommy and Calvin (named after their favourite underwear brands) These are not their real names - I'm protecting the guilty.

So, we're watching the Olympics on TV. Now I'm not surprised if gay guys get off on the male athletes but do femmes fantasise about the girls? If we were a typical example the answer is: yessssss! yessssss! yesssss!

Those lycra tops and shorts, eh? In fact, shorts is too long a word to describle what the runners wear. Many women wear knickers (panties to my colleagues in the US) that are bigger. And just look at them, dozens of sports-sluts with muscled arms to wrap you in...flat mannish chests, I admit, but look at their nipples rising along with their arms when they win a heat. You could get some rings and invent a new Olympic sport, flip the rings onto the nipples!! Ok, perhaps not, but sycronised diving is considered a sport so anything goes.

Then there's those toned bellies, those muscled thighs (just imagine those gripping you) and now we're down at short level. Ms Rude just loves the tight hard arses - she gets all excited when the starter shouts and six beautiful butts rise in the air. With Ms Rude and her roaming hands behind them you wouldn't need starting pistols - they'd all break some records actually taking off!

Now, I can remember when all atheletes including women wore sensible tops and baggy shorts like tents. Now all the women look like something out of Loaded. Once again I wonder if it's about cutting down wind-resistance or whatever bollocks they say to explain their outfits or something else.

Sadie's theory is that women (and men) like to display themselves, especially when they know they look great. Do atheletes aim to look sexy? if you're one please comment.

But now the girls and me have gone silent. A stunning black sprinter has just won her heat, she turns and her shorts are up her arse in a wedgie. She cooly thumbs then out and bends down to relieve her muscles. MMMMMMMmmm!! pure sporty-porn. Roll on the ladies volleyball!

Love & cheers for lycra Sadie

Fuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!

I've just got back from my day (call that night) job and I'm fucked. To pay for my hours on the Mac I do a little bar-tending. Tonight it was the pub gig and being the 3rd Friday of the month it's dyke nite! Brighton has a very healthy lesbian population (too healthy in my opinion - you'll see why). Most of the time they blend in and go about their business like us all - a few tattoos, shaved heads, piercings etc but this could describe many women straight or gay in Brighton. But on the 3rd Friday they let their hair (and their knickers down) at a special pub party.

The landlord expects me and Deb, the other barmaid to get in the spirit and supplies us with appropriate clothes. I get a sports bra top and cycle shorts, Deb (better figure) gets a nurses outfit.

The night starts rather calmly. The usual crowd turns up then some newcomers attracted by ads in the local gay papers. It must be every blokes dream, lots of fems, drinking and flirting, but actually it seems like any other night in the pub and people talk about films, the Olympics and gossip about friends. But as the cocktails go down so do the morals.

The music starts, fems dance, dope gets smoked, and suddenly Deb and I become targets. In this business you expect blokes to come on to you but even pissed they're nothing like drunken dykes.

We have to move fast to dodge the gropers. Deb gets asked about taking temperatures and giving bed baths and I, once again, realise how revealing cotton cycle shorts can be. As I step around the party goers cracks are made about my cracks,back and front, and fingers probe. My bum is now very sore from pinches - lesbians used to be more laid back but now they're very laddish.

Deb's nurse's knickers get pulled down ( it's a tradition). We both get several pissy propositions. A couple of the fems are very attractive but pub rules dictate no naughty stuff on the premises.

And then it's over for another month.

After I finish this I'll be in the bath nursing my bruises and my bruised ego - Deb got far more flirting and telephone numbers written on her hand. Perhaps I should try a naughty nun's outfit next time.

Still writers have to start somewhere. Orwell worked in a kitchen, Amis was a librarian, Grisham was a lawyer and I am a bar-slut in spray on pants!! Still I'll laugh about it when I'm famous - and that's a laugh too.

Love and sore cheeks Sadie

Hello

This is the first line of my first blog. I'm writing it on a summer's evening in Brighton and I would like to say "hi and welcome to my (I hope) interesting little world".

A bottle of Freixenet Cava is assisting me compose this and also helping me celebrate my first fee-paying commission - a piece on women & porn for a student rag 'published' by a friend of mine. £20 is a start I suppose, less the £5.99 for the fizz but I'm looking forward to sipping Bollinger when the book's in the shops. I hope you'll all be with me then too.

I know I said 'summer' but I'm just wearing a T-shirt and it's now so chilly that my bum is going blue. Window closed I'm afraid and also the first posting of my blog. Love and shivers Sadie

Sadie Dark Places

Sadie Dark Places