Over the past week several things have caused me to ponder the male member – homos erectus.
Well, hopefully erectus…but often, sorry-this-has-never-happened-beforus.
I mentioned ‘chix with dix’ in my last blog, an amusing set of photo-posting clubs I found on Yafro.com featuring really stunning bodies, sexy ‘girly’ faces,super hair, big tits, enviable waists, great bums…and a cock.
Yea, lady-boys! I wrote, tongue-in-cheek, (not in their cheeks I'll have you know) I wrote that I thought, that as a bi-sexual female, this appeared to be a very tempting package. And this was interpreted in several different ways.
Members of the Brighton Muffia, those shaven headed, tattooed, pierced cunts…
…sorry, Blogger.com, a very liberal and cool organisation would want me to make it clear I’m not suggesting these people are cunts…I just mean that their genitalia is pierced. Is that clear? Absolutely clear? Good, I’d hate you to think that I have problems with the sisterhood in my fair city.
Anyway, my lesbian co-conspirators in the “war against the cock dominated fascist world - Brighton Battalion” gave me a bit of a hard time.
I got rounded on over my morning hot chocolate and my evening cocktail…oh sorry, did I just say cock…oops, pardon!
So, let me answer you all.
(1) I didn’t mean I wanted to have a cock – I’m a woman thank you and very happy in my present state. I don’t want to add six inches to my body – in fact I’d rather lose it, especially around the hips and bum.
(2) I was just fantasising about a sexual partner. It was a joke.
(3) Although for the last three years I have enjoyed sex solely with women I still think of myself as bi-sexual. Because for the other 15 years I was fucked by men – and I loved it.
It was the fuckers that pissed me off in the end, not the fucking. Plus I met an amazing woman just when I needed a bit of TLC. Then another, and now my g/f. So I’m cool, ok.
So, next question. This time from friends (especially Ms Rude)…do I miss something warm inside me on a chilly Autumn night?
Right, well, a strap-on is never going to replace a slip-in.
It may be 10 inches and totally realistic but it’s fake not real flesh and blood. So, yes, in that respect I do miss cocks. It was the extension (if you were lucky) of a sexy and loving human being and that really matters.
Today, a woman’s fingers and tongue can cause the same response in me and that’s fucking fabulous. But I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit that I’ve still got a soft spot for a hard-on – and you know where to find it boysJ
But does this make me lesbian-lite? Just sort of playing at it rather than living the lifestyle 24/7. I don’t think so. I know what I am and what I feel – and so does my girlfriend.
I actually hate titles. I never thought of myself as a “hetero” during the rest of my life. No one nudged their friend and whispered ‘cocksucker’ as I kissed my boyfriends in public. I was me – doing what came naturally.
And that's how I am now. Fuck the labels – please get over it girls. We may have been oppressed along with the guys in the bad old days. But now, certainly in Brighton and London it’s out in the open and we’re all cool.
So leave me alone. Giving me and other bi’s a bad time is merely repeating the disgusting behaviour of the old fashioned gay-bashers.
On the subject of gays and giving it a bashing I must mention my pals Dolce & Gabbana. I’m going to have to change their names because I called them after the logos on their pants that appeared above their jeans in the accepted style followed by shirtlifters everywhere.
Now fashion has moved on and upwards and men’s pants have disappeared from public view.
(As have girl's thongs – a rather sexy look I thought in the early days when just foxy ladies with cute tight arses (and me) showed the weekly wash in a provocative way. Then the lardbutts of Brighton and the world consciously (and worse unconsciously) offered us a view of their greying twisted arse-wipers – urrrrrggggg. Thankfully, new jean's styles mean that’s all an ugly memory.)
So with D&G under cover what can I call my lovely boy friends? How about Alcock and Brown?*
See, I’ve managed to end my piece on the same theme as I began – that’s writing skill.
Love from the cockles of my heart. Sadie
*for my US pals Alcock and Brown were 1920’s guys who flew the Atlantic and “Brown” is vulgar slang for….oh forget it.
Exploring the dark places of the body and mind.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Sunday, October 16, 2005
The world according to Yafro
Often when I finish writing my blog I hit the next blog button at the top of the page. This reveals a fascinating world. Or not!
Sadly, more often than not you get a 14 year old girl writing at tedious length about her extremely dull life and even more boring friends (OK I was 14 once and just as ass-achingly irritating).
But occasionally you get a really thought provoking review of today’s world. My favourite pen-pal (if that is the appropriate term in this on-line environment) is Hip Liz. You’ll find him on hippolyte.blogspot.com and his blog is full of carefully considered writing and commonsense.
Inspired by him and the other brainy bloggers I was determined to ignore my usual mucky nonsense and write something important this time. The threat of bird-flu perhaps, or the gripping contest for the leadership of the Conservative Party, or the worrying escalation of the Iraq Crisis…but then I discovered Yafro!
Yea baby www.yafro.com. It’s a site where people (predominately Americans) can post pictures. If you hit the ‘no adult content’ button then you get a reassuring view of the US. Nice pics of beautiful landscapes, of which there are plenty, smiling family shots – a kind of sweet visual blog, and although I haven’t looked, I’m sure, lots of Mum and apple pie.
But can you imagine me hitting ‘no adult content’? Sooooooooo…you won’t imagine what I uncovered.
Sure, all the usual stuff. Boys proudly presenting their pork swords. Girls bending towards the camera giving us an intimate view of their flappy bits – Kingsley Amis described it like looking at a close up of a giraffe’s ear. And yes I can see what he meant.
Yea we’ve all seen that before. The really interesting stuff on Yafro tells us quite a bit about the USA today.
How about ‘young girls on the toilet’? Believe me, the barriers have come done on what you can see on the internet. And in this case, the barrier is the ‘engaged’ sign on the loo door.
There are several ‘clubs’ featuring the startled faces of attractive females caught ‘knickers down’ on the pan. As their arses are as tanned as their faces they must be Americans and as the photography is a bit haphazard they must be real.
I might be wrong, but the ‘oh my god’ rather than the “get out of here you fucking pervert’ expressions suggest that it is their snappers are female friends. I know girls have a fairly relaxed view about peeing together but to then post it on the internet. Dear reader, I’m shocked!
So, from pulchritudinous pissers to saucy swingers. “Women over 50 being fucked by black guys” tells it like it is and is just one site amongst many showing white middle-aged women with a taste for black cock in one set of lips or the other.
These rather sexy shanigans seem to happen with the permission and, often, assistance of their husbands. The pics suggest that these are organised parties and ladies you expect to see at the Shopping Mall or on the golf course are portrayed, naked, arse in the air being drilled by a dark dork.
Is this a common activity in suburban America? If so, at weekly coffee mornings, “I prefer mine black” must take on a completely different meaning.
Cocks, black, white and cappuccino - coloured feature prominently in another very popular set of clubs. Transexuals or TS’s are men who’ve had some impressive cosmetic surgery.
“Chix with Dix” and Slutz with Nutz” are just a couple of the names of these clubs and the ‘girls’ are stunning.
They all boast tits we’d all love. Nice big firm bouncers with perky nips. And arses to die for. Am I jealous?…oh nooo of course not!
However, they’ve hung on to one important thing and there it is, in pic after pic, hanging down in front of them. And some of them are extremely well hung! (sorry, that’s enough ‘hung’ puns)
“MMMMMMMMM!” I thought. A sexy ‘women’s’ face and hair, a beautiful woman’s body…a nice fat cock. What more could a bi-sexual beauty like me want?
And then I thought again. All this also comes with a man’s brain. Sadly the surgeons haven’t discovered the skill to feminise this important bit. So, on second thoughts…No!
Well, so much for seriousness although most of these pics are seriously arousing in one way or another. Once again my blog’s a bit blue. Sorry, I promise, next time not to talk about ‘tackle’ but to actually tackle vital issues…like the euro or global warming.
Promise!
Now back to Yafro. What’s this…My God, I don’t believe it…
Love from Sadie xxxxxx
Sadly, more often than not you get a 14 year old girl writing at tedious length about her extremely dull life and even more boring friends (OK I was 14 once and just as ass-achingly irritating).
But occasionally you get a really thought provoking review of today’s world. My favourite pen-pal (if that is the appropriate term in this on-line environment) is Hip Liz. You’ll find him on hippolyte.blogspot.com and his blog is full of carefully considered writing and commonsense.
Inspired by him and the other brainy bloggers I was determined to ignore my usual mucky nonsense and write something important this time. The threat of bird-flu perhaps, or the gripping contest for the leadership of the Conservative Party, or the worrying escalation of the Iraq Crisis…but then I discovered Yafro!
Yea baby www.yafro.com. It’s a site where people (predominately Americans) can post pictures. If you hit the ‘no adult content’ button then you get a reassuring view of the US. Nice pics of beautiful landscapes, of which there are plenty, smiling family shots – a kind of sweet visual blog, and although I haven’t looked, I’m sure, lots of Mum and apple pie.
But can you imagine me hitting ‘no adult content’? Sooooooooo…you won’t imagine what I uncovered.
Sure, all the usual stuff. Boys proudly presenting their pork swords. Girls bending towards the camera giving us an intimate view of their flappy bits – Kingsley Amis described it like looking at a close up of a giraffe’s ear. And yes I can see what he meant.
Yea we’ve all seen that before. The really interesting stuff on Yafro tells us quite a bit about the USA today.
How about ‘young girls on the toilet’? Believe me, the barriers have come done on what you can see on the internet. And in this case, the barrier is the ‘engaged’ sign on the loo door.
There are several ‘clubs’ featuring the startled faces of attractive females caught ‘knickers down’ on the pan. As their arses are as tanned as their faces they must be Americans and as the photography is a bit haphazard they must be real.
I might be wrong, but the ‘oh my god’ rather than the “get out of here you fucking pervert’ expressions suggest that it is their snappers are female friends. I know girls have a fairly relaxed view about peeing together but to then post it on the internet. Dear reader, I’m shocked!
So, from pulchritudinous pissers to saucy swingers. “Women over 50 being fucked by black guys” tells it like it is and is just one site amongst many showing white middle-aged women with a taste for black cock in one set of lips or the other.
These rather sexy shanigans seem to happen with the permission and, often, assistance of their husbands. The pics suggest that these are organised parties and ladies you expect to see at the Shopping Mall or on the golf course are portrayed, naked, arse in the air being drilled by a dark dork.
Is this a common activity in suburban America? If so, at weekly coffee mornings, “I prefer mine black” must take on a completely different meaning.
Cocks, black, white and cappuccino - coloured feature prominently in another very popular set of clubs. Transexuals or TS’s are men who’ve had some impressive cosmetic surgery.
“Chix with Dix” and Slutz with Nutz” are just a couple of the names of these clubs and the ‘girls’ are stunning.
They all boast tits we’d all love. Nice big firm bouncers with perky nips. And arses to die for. Am I jealous?…oh nooo of course not!
However, they’ve hung on to one important thing and there it is, in pic after pic, hanging down in front of them. And some of them are extremely well hung! (sorry, that’s enough ‘hung’ puns)
“MMMMMMMMM!” I thought. A sexy ‘women’s’ face and hair, a beautiful woman’s body…a nice fat cock. What more could a bi-sexual beauty like me want?
And then I thought again. All this also comes with a man’s brain. Sadly the surgeons haven’t discovered the skill to feminise this important bit. So, on second thoughts…No!
Well, so much for seriousness although most of these pics are seriously arousing in one way or another. Once again my blog’s a bit blue. Sorry, I promise, next time not to talk about ‘tackle’ but to actually tackle vital issues…like the euro or global warming.
Promise!
Now back to Yafro. What’s this…My God, I don’t believe it…
Love from Sadie xxxxxx
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Weighty thoughts (and the usual smut)
Well, the weather here in Brighton has been unsettled – and so have I.
Today was hot and I should have been happy but then you start thinking, is this the last hot day of the year? Is it all over? Is there any meaning to my life? Are Franz Ferdinand actually crap? Yes, the big questions.
Which gets me to yesterday morning’s big question. Will my bum slip into this season’s slim cut jeans? My g/f was quite vocal on this subject as she took a close look at the subject in question.
I heard the threatening tone in her voice as she paused in doing what good girls do to their chums on Saturday mornings (or bad girls if you’re a Daily Mail reader).
Her chilling words echoed from below. “ You know Sadie you’ve really put on some weiggggggggggg….urgggggggggggggggg!"
Funny what happens to the human voice when it gets sat on. But her pressing problem was also mine – something had to be done.
So if Brighton residents woke to a strange damp slapping noise this morning I can reassure them. It wasn't two sealions fighting on the beach it was just the sound of my thighs coming together as I jogged along the promenade.
As I swayed along frightening the seagulls I was troubled. I might get rid of some of my subcutaneous fat but I couldn’t get rid of my sodding misgivings.
I felt that changes were just around the corner.
Actually, what was just around the corner was a café where they do the most amazing bacon sandwiches. But still the thoughts weighed heavily on my mind.
I’ve actually enjoyed the most tranquil period of my recent life – and it feels strange. I’ve got a steady relationship (most of the time) and now a steady and respectable job. I left the gym ages ago and then I finally gave up my role as a pub slut, thank God!
I now work part-time in a bookshop and I’m just getting used to having the female (and male) customers more interested in probing my mind than my behind.
Normally this wouldn’t have been ‘dark’ enough news to feature in my blog. But actually I’m having dark thoughts about this blissful time.
“When everything’s settled, is when you get restless Susie!” my ex-husband used to yell at me years ago. He said things like that because he liked a steady life, always knowing what lay ahead, same food, same holidays, same three positions, absolutely no surprises and all that boring bollocks.
Oh, and he called me Susie …because, at the time, that was my name!
“I get restless because of our boring life together” I seem to recall replying snappily (I’m trying to write better dialogue in my book)
And then I stormed out of the room because that is what women do in these circumstances – and because, fuck it, he was right.
Given a dazzling mirror-like pond reflecting a perfect sunset most people would just gaze lovingly at its inspiring surface and perhaps compose a little poem - I have to chuck a stone into it.
I don’t know why, it’s just my nature.
In the past when I faced a placid future, I lobbed my stone. It could have been extra marital affairs, chucking in a great job, a particularly painful divorce or even leaping into lesbianism, but it did the job!
Now, I’m older and, I hope, wiser (otherwise these wrinkles would be even more fucking unwelcome). So you can see why I feeling a bit gloomy.
Tracy Emin looks like a bit of a stone thrower too. She came to mind because (1) I was reading about her in the Daily Telegraph Magazine (my g/f's I hasten to add, do I seeeeemmmm like a Telegraph reader???) and (2) people say I'm quite a bit like her.
Well, if us both having brown hair, three holes and a tanker-like capacity for booze is all that counts then we're identical twins - but truthfully I can't see any similiarity. However I rather admire her and the article plus some of her writing confirmed my positive feelings.
Other feelings were aroused by the photograph of Tracy on the rooftop of her loft. There she stood with that quirky but oh so sexy smile in a tight skirt, slinky shiny tights, tanned fit body and just an amazing bra-top. It was green with silver stars and cupped Tracy's Turner Prize-winning tits.
Well, I thought, I definitely would...given the chance. I bet Tracy would be up for a bit of going down too. In fact, I'd be surprised if she hasn't tried a bit of rug-munching along with all the other things she's dabbled in.
I got quite imaginative about what exhibitions Tracy and I might create. As a porn pedlar my imagination has had many good work-outs and so is very, very lively. And as my thoughts got more rude so I got more moist. However I still don't expect my knickers would fetch what Tracy's did (along with her bed) at the Saatchi Gallery.
Sad about the artistic world isn't it. You can labour starving in garrets for years perfecting your skills and then see skidmarks valued at a hundred grand.
Still Tracy has suffered for her art. From childhood she's been upsetting everything and every one with her occasionally well-aimed but mostly haphazard 'stones'.
However, I’m hoping my writing will be the ‘stone’ this time and, because of this, the bits of life that I cherish won’t have to change. It would be nice to achieve a bit of recognition, a little more money and maybe a Bentley Continental GT. I not sure what the last thing is but that’s what my co-writer Morgan dreams about.
Morgan and I are beavering away. That sounds rude I know, but our relationship is strictly professional. I even put some clothes on when he comes round to compare re-writes.
On the subject of writing, ‘Sadie Dark Places’ got two mentions in the outside world recently.
The extremely perceptive, talented and, no doubt, strikingly beautiful people at the Brighton Source, an essential ‘what’s – on in the sexy city’ magazine picked my blog out in the September issue.
In an article it selected ‘the finest local blogs’ described as ‘the gems in an ocean of turds’. Hardly a ‘Booker Prize’ style of recommendation but gratefully received by me – thank you very much guys!
The other mention is a total mystery to me. There’s some American website called ‘Blogshares’ and they appear to invest in blogs. When I found the site (it was mentioned on Google) it stated that Sadie Dark Places was number nine and valued at $1,982.00. What the fuck is all this about? (if anyone knows please, please leave a comment or email me)
Comments! Ah yes, please comment on my stuff, because it’s fun to have some intercourse (oohhhh Mrs). However, thanks to some boring bastards who are latching onto blogs through some automatic server (or something), you now have to type a number in – sorry. Apparently this prevents the automatic thing automatically placing ads for dull Russian sex sites into my comment folder.
So carry on with your provocative comments – they’re just the thing to snap me out of my mood.
Love and moody kisses from Sadie (gazing into the distance in a moody sort of way)
Today was hot and I should have been happy but then you start thinking, is this the last hot day of the year? Is it all over? Is there any meaning to my life? Are Franz Ferdinand actually crap? Yes, the big questions.
Which gets me to yesterday morning’s big question. Will my bum slip into this season’s slim cut jeans? My g/f was quite vocal on this subject as she took a close look at the subject in question.
I heard the threatening tone in her voice as she paused in doing what good girls do to their chums on Saturday mornings (or bad girls if you’re a Daily Mail reader).
Her chilling words echoed from below. “ You know Sadie you’ve really put on some weiggggggggggg….urgggggggggggggggg!"
Funny what happens to the human voice when it gets sat on. But her pressing problem was also mine – something had to be done.
So if Brighton residents woke to a strange damp slapping noise this morning I can reassure them. It wasn't two sealions fighting on the beach it was just the sound of my thighs coming together as I jogged along the promenade.
As I swayed along frightening the seagulls I was troubled. I might get rid of some of my subcutaneous fat but I couldn’t get rid of my sodding misgivings.
I felt that changes were just around the corner.
Actually, what was just around the corner was a café where they do the most amazing bacon sandwiches. But still the thoughts weighed heavily on my mind.
I’ve actually enjoyed the most tranquil period of my recent life – and it feels strange. I’ve got a steady relationship (most of the time) and now a steady and respectable job. I left the gym ages ago and then I finally gave up my role as a pub slut, thank God!
I now work part-time in a bookshop and I’m just getting used to having the female (and male) customers more interested in probing my mind than my behind.
Normally this wouldn’t have been ‘dark’ enough news to feature in my blog. But actually I’m having dark thoughts about this blissful time.
“When everything’s settled, is when you get restless Susie!” my ex-husband used to yell at me years ago. He said things like that because he liked a steady life, always knowing what lay ahead, same food, same holidays, same three positions, absolutely no surprises and all that boring bollocks.
Oh, and he called me Susie …because, at the time, that was my name!
“I get restless because of our boring life together” I seem to recall replying snappily (I’m trying to write better dialogue in my book)
And then I stormed out of the room because that is what women do in these circumstances – and because, fuck it, he was right.
Given a dazzling mirror-like pond reflecting a perfect sunset most people would just gaze lovingly at its inspiring surface and perhaps compose a little poem - I have to chuck a stone into it.
I don’t know why, it’s just my nature.
In the past when I faced a placid future, I lobbed my stone. It could have been extra marital affairs, chucking in a great job, a particularly painful divorce or even leaping into lesbianism, but it did the job!
Now, I’m older and, I hope, wiser (otherwise these wrinkles would be even more fucking unwelcome). So you can see why I feeling a bit gloomy.
Tracy Emin looks like a bit of a stone thrower too. She came to mind because (1) I was reading about her in the Daily Telegraph Magazine (my g/f's I hasten to add, do I seeeeemmmm like a Telegraph reader???) and (2) people say I'm quite a bit like her.
Well, if us both having brown hair, three holes and a tanker-like capacity for booze is all that counts then we're identical twins - but truthfully I can't see any similiarity. However I rather admire her and the article plus some of her writing confirmed my positive feelings.
Other feelings were aroused by the photograph of Tracy on the rooftop of her loft. There she stood with that quirky but oh so sexy smile in a tight skirt, slinky shiny tights, tanned fit body and just an amazing bra-top. It was green with silver stars and cupped Tracy's Turner Prize-winning tits.
Well, I thought, I definitely would...given the chance. I bet Tracy would be up for a bit of going down too. In fact, I'd be surprised if she hasn't tried a bit of rug-munching along with all the other things she's dabbled in.
I got quite imaginative about what exhibitions Tracy and I might create. As a porn pedlar my imagination has had many good work-outs and so is very, very lively. And as my thoughts got more rude so I got more moist. However I still don't expect my knickers would fetch what Tracy's did (along with her bed) at the Saatchi Gallery.
Sad about the artistic world isn't it. You can labour starving in garrets for years perfecting your skills and then see skidmarks valued at a hundred grand.
Still Tracy has suffered for her art. From childhood she's been upsetting everything and every one with her occasionally well-aimed but mostly haphazard 'stones'.
However, I’m hoping my writing will be the ‘stone’ this time and, because of this, the bits of life that I cherish won’t have to change. It would be nice to achieve a bit of recognition, a little more money and maybe a Bentley Continental GT. I not sure what the last thing is but that’s what my co-writer Morgan dreams about.
Morgan and I are beavering away. That sounds rude I know, but our relationship is strictly professional. I even put some clothes on when he comes round to compare re-writes.
On the subject of writing, ‘Sadie Dark Places’ got two mentions in the outside world recently.
The extremely perceptive, talented and, no doubt, strikingly beautiful people at the Brighton Source, an essential ‘what’s – on in the sexy city’ magazine picked my blog out in the September issue.
In an article it selected ‘the finest local blogs’ described as ‘the gems in an ocean of turds’. Hardly a ‘Booker Prize’ style of recommendation but gratefully received by me – thank you very much guys!
The other mention is a total mystery to me. There’s some American website called ‘Blogshares’ and they appear to invest in blogs. When I found the site (it was mentioned on Google) it stated that Sadie Dark Places was number nine and valued at $1,982.00. What the fuck is all this about? (if anyone knows please, please leave a comment or email me)
Comments! Ah yes, please comment on my stuff, because it’s fun to have some intercourse (oohhhh Mrs). However, thanks to some boring bastards who are latching onto blogs through some automatic server (or something), you now have to type a number in – sorry. Apparently this prevents the automatic thing automatically placing ads for dull Russian sex sites into my comment folder.
So carry on with your provocative comments – they’re just the thing to snap me out of my mood.
Love and moody kisses from Sadie (gazing into the distance in a moody sort of way)
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