Dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians

I read this on a T-shirt this week, nice tits too, but it was the only remotely funny thing that's happened to me.

People think my dark places are mostly inside knickers but actually I get almost as much pleasure from exploring emotions too. And wow, haven't I managed to supply myself with a wide range. However, let's be positive to start with. I've had lots of e-mails kindly offering cheerful thoughts and support. Thank you all - when you live a part of your life in public it's touching that people care.

I had several 'hugs' from nice people - and, of course, a couple where I was offered a big hug providing I took all my clothes off first! I've heard of the hand of friendship but this was ridiculous.

That's another emotional problem. Because I mostly write about sexy things, because that's what I mostly like, some readers think I'm a nymphomanic, latent, latex-clad lesbian licker. It's just not true. In the second act of my life, I've had two longish-term relationships (fingers and thighs crossed for my present one) a couple of 'affairs' and the odd gusset grabber. So based on my observations of Brighton promiscuity I'm practically pure.

This reputation hasn't helped my relationships much. Too much truth revealed I suppose, rather than retained in my mind.

My writing is my 'voice' it's not necessarily my total personality. It's how I think not necessarily how I act in day to day life. So my correspondants, who expect me to accept every invitation for a drink (and probably to turn up and ravish them roughly over the pub table) are puzzled when I appear shy and a bit reclusive. But that's the real me and probably, I'm like most of the other women in Brighton - apart from my friend Ms Rude who's 'wide open' for any invitation!

Perhaps I'll have to stop exposing sexy dark places and focus on others. Like revealing unknown lanes in Brighton or the wonderful array of stars in the dark sky over this scintillating city or previously missed corners of our more obscure museums. No more fantastical fucking, no more bondage, no more nudity, no more 'plastic vaginas'. Whatyathink?


Love (in a pure way) Sadie

There's a name for me and it begins with 'C'

Yes, it is that one. It certainly isn't caring or considerate. For once I don't feel like writing this but I actually believe that putting things into words can help. I certainly hope so!

I was sublimely happy yesterday. Cards, lunch, laughs and Valentine's night with my lover - what could go wrong?

Well, she arrived and did what she usually does when she gets back from London. This is to throw off her work clothes and then give me a good workover.

So what did I do? I produced my Valentine's surprise. A special pair of knickers (no, not the trashy pink ones) but something even trashier. It was something I'd spotted and ordered when I was amusing myself with the 'family-run sex shop'. It was a pair of 'three-dildo' latex panties, 'perfect for lesbians' the caption read. But then I've always been a sucker for great advertising.

Basically, there are two dildos inside and one big cock hanging outside. I'd imagined slipping these on and giving my girlfriend (and myself) a thrill,or two, or three.

However, my girlfriend was not amused and made it clear that it was she who wore the 'three-dildo' pants in this relationship.

I took acception to this. It was something that had been nagging at me since we met and now it was in the open so to speak. It was the giver/taker, dominant/submissive, top/bottom thing that's always present in gay love. Who does what to whom to be exact.

With men/women straight sex you sort of know the rules - you can change them but they exist. Men fuck, women are fuckees.

But woman/woman should be different. We should be equal but that's too simple, of course we aren't. Now I suppose if you looked at my girlfriend and me you'd come to certain conclusions. She's short-haired, natural make-up, flat chested, slim hipped and I'm girly, titty, red lippy, fleshy and big-bummed.

Easy isn't it. She's the 'bloke' and I'm the shag. But that's not the way I see it.

So I said some things. And then I said some worse things. Then she got angry with me. So I said some really, really bad things.

And now she's driving back to London. And I'm sobbing on the bed.

Fucking Valentine.

Sadie

I didn’t get a Valentine's Card today.

I got three…weeeeeeeee! How uncool, I know. How taken in I’ve been by crass, commercial, sexist, invented bullshit…totally pathetic! But fuck, I got three…how many did you get?

One of them sported trashy satin hearts and a little love poem that had unusual rhymes for ‘hunt’ and ‘glass’ and ‘luck’. Wonder who sent that? The nuns at my local convent?Perhaps not, in fact I recognise the hand of my good friend Ms Rude (as many, many, many dykes have in Brighton!)

As for the other two cards, I have no idea. Isn’t that wonderful, someone secretly admires me, I’m so thrilled. So there, under my hard-arsed, cynical veneer is a little fluffy pussy cat….purrrrrrr!

They weren’t from my g/f, I’m sure of that. She doesn’t do “this sort of crap”. But I’m still excited. Because I know she’ll be here tonight with her special present – that gift of making me howl like a horny hyena.

So I’m in great spirits when Tommy and Calvin arrive to take me to lunch. And they’ve brought great spirits too – a bottle of tequila. We toast each other's luck in being in lurve on this sunny 14th of Feb. They’ve also brought me a gift - a pair of horrid pink polyester knickers that even Ann Summers would reject as tasteless.

They’re basically big shiny pants with a heart-shape cut out in the rear. Really, what sort of cheap slut would actually wear them?

Well, a couple of shots later and I decide it would be a great idea to model them. I nip into the bathroom, slip off my cool ‘coco de mers’ and pull the polypants on…instantly I feel a rash spreading over my naughty bits. I look in the mirror, a pale arse crack is framed in cheap pink satin. Could this be the sight that turns two confirmed shirt-lifters onto girls?

I dance out. Franz Ferdinand are playing ‘Take me out’ on the hi-fi. Tommy and Calvin laugh out loud on first seeing me then watch with a bemused expression as I waggle my bum in their faces.

It’s the kind of look that vegetarians would give a Big Mac. They’re quite attracted to the bun and the lettice but the meat inside isn’t to their taste.

The track ends and so does my display. Smart knickers go back on as (to Tommy and Calvin’s relief) do my ‘Seven’ jeans. And off we go to ‘Havana’.

I’m back. Great hilarious lunch and I’m relatively sober, preparing myself and my flat for g/f’s arrival. Well sober-ish. Well, fuck I’m wrotin this blooog arnt I?

Lov & kishes Sadie

Today, my theme is twats.

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