No, just for once I’m not talking about my social life (well not that precise part anyway). Sadie’s Pants is a short list of people, places and things that take my breath away. The idea came from a chat I was having with the usual suspects over a tsunami of Sea Breezes. We were talking about favourite things, most were pretty obvious - apart from one of Ms Rude’s which was a dream about Britney Spears, a lb of butter and a baseball bat, and just about everyone of mine. In fact, my choice was mostly greeted by much mirth and wet seats – so I’ve decided to spread the joy. In no particular order:
Café 22. Over the past couple of years this has been my bolthole to escape from the various arseholes that have threatened my natural state of harmony and love. At the top of St James Street, the invaluable website RealBrighton.com calls it “Brighton's answer to Central Perk!” Well perhaps, I think maybe Central Prick would be more accurate to reflect some of the less amusing characters that show up from time to time. But I ignore them, order a hot chocolate, and bury my face into Joanna Trollope. Or Monica Ali, or whomever I’m reading at the time. If I don’t have a book then the mags on display offer another view of Brighton. Generally this is at crutch level as bulging briefs (in the chap’s reads) and pussy pouting panties (in the girl’s mags) bear testimony to our city’s sexy reputation. And the hot chocolate? Oh baby yes, yes, yes! It’s a cliché that chocolate can be better than sex (but true when I think of how it stimulates my tastebuds compared with several bloke’s attempts to stimulate my sexbud). So there, Café 22, it’s absolutely one of my favourite dark (chocolate) places.
Penny Smith. I often wake up with Penny in my flat in Brighton. I love her naughty eyes, pert little nose, dirty mouth and tousled blonde locks. Ok, ok, she’s a presenter and newsreader on GMTV, the early morning news show. You may not know her in the Midlands and North or in the USA but frankly, on first appearances; she looks like most blonde TV news/weather tarts. What makes her different to me is her muff-moistening English full-bodied sexiness. That’s right, Penny is no typical TV beanpole with a wig, she’s a big titted, big-bummed Brit beauty. I looked her up on Google (I’m on there by the way) and apart from the sexless official GMTV website she’s inspired many more revealing picture galleries and forum chats. Many of these reflect the fact that she’s also big on yoga, and one of the pics takes me back to that unforgettable moment when I saw her demonstrating some gynaecological - inspired yoga positions in stretchy plum silk pants and top. Imagine it, Penny’s rear aspect, on her hands and knees, pussy proud, arse in the air…steady yourself Sadie. Look girls, forget your Britney, Christina or Beyonce what knots my knickers is the thought of Penny prowling up the length of my bed, bare, tanned and plumptuous - the naked newsreader, she can give me an exclusive anytime!
Morgans. You know how they call sports cars penis extensions? There are lots of jokes about the Ferrari Testosterone and the Meno-porsche. Well consider the Morgan. I wasn’t really aware of these 1930’s style sports cars until I met an old work acquaintance (from my advertising days) at a party before Christmas. We got on really well and agreed to see if we could write something together using our combined experience. So recently he (yes, it is a he, and he’s straight, well straight-ish) drove down to Brighton to begin our collaboration and he arrived in a green and cream two-toned Morgan. I considered the car’s name, I’m sure the tweedy-suited founders of the company who gave this stylish vehicle their name didn’t consider the 21st Century implications – it is so overt. Say My Organ quickly and you see what I mean. So, I interrogated my working colleague, is your organ an antique design that conks out when it overheats? He went all green and cream and countered that it was a classic shape and could see off many more modern examples. But, joking apart, I fell in love with the car. It’s a two seater, the canvas roof leaks, there’s just enough luggage room for a spare pair of knickers and a toothbrush but god it’s so cool. He let me drive it around Brighton and I really showed off at the lights on the promenade. Ok, it’s a bit hairy-chested but Brigitte Bardot and Mick Jagger have both owned one so I think most girls would learn to love it – just don’t try getting in gracefully in a short skirt. Naturally, being me, I asked if you could ‘do it’ in a Morgan. He assured me it was possible. Well, maybe if you’re Kate Moss shaped but it would be fun trying - the ‘Rabbit’ sized gear lever would give any girl a deep and satisfying ride.
And finally, a pair of small pants:
Coffee, Cake and Kink. There is a place in Covent Garden that gives whipping up a coffee an entirely new meaning – so much so that it’s received an ‘Erotic Award’. In the middle of Endell St this small coffee bar offers cake on the plate and ‘cake’ (in the slang sense) on the wall. You sit sipping hot stuff whilst surveying even hotter stuff displayed on the walls and bookshelves. Stunningly art photography of bums, cocks, tits and cunts often encased in gleaming latex or leather stimulate the eye and the libido. The fetish theme extends to things from mugs, postcards and coasters to cuffs and jewellery. Submit to their website, there’s a painting called ‘Sexie Sadie’ by Sheryl Lee that could almost be me – the arse is certainly huge enough! And my birthday’s coming up soon…nudge nudge.
Coco de Mer. Ok, I couldn’t mention pants without mentioning the pants I got from this fetishy lingerie and sex toys shop in Monmouth St (just around the corner from the above café). Would you pay £40 for a pair of red knickers? No, well then you’re probably not up to forking out £165 for a pink silk pair with a little frill down your arse crack. I have a friend who wouldn’t even spend a fiver for a M&S pack of six, she always goes commando with a small piece of folded loo paper between her and her jeans to mop up the basics. But then Coco de Mer’s knickers aren’t about real life or skidmarks they’re about treating yourself. They’re about pampering your pussy and giving your arse a silky squeeze – they’re sublime. And what pair did my girlfriend buy me? Huh, I’m not telling you – a lady need’s to preserve her mystery!
Love & “pant, pant” Sadie
