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.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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