Closings and openings.

Hey, it’s quite some time since I filed any news on my blog.

But then, the Chinese have a curse: “May you live in interesting times”. Well my life has been quite interesting lately which is why I haven’t written anything.

My health hasn’t been so good, what with my stomach and all, but it’s my love life that has gone completely down the toilet.

My girlfriend and I have completely, totally, absolutely parted. Our relationship was always give and take (yes, you guessed it, I gave and she took) but finally Jane really took off.

She’s now living permanently in London giving someone else a sore cunt…and a sore head. I admit it, she could do wonderful things with your body but she was also an expert at fucking up your mind.

So for the past month or so my brain cells have been totally shagged. This hasn’t been great for my writing or my other relationships.

My dear lovely gay guy friends have had their worst fears about women confirmed as I’ve snapped and snarled and snivelled.

A chap would have pulled himself together and then pulled another chap and a good fisting would have taken his mind off slushy things like lurve.

But weak complicated women sit around in three day old knickers saying things like “ Jane just wasn’t prepared to accept me for what I am” and other bollocks.

Oddly lesbians aren’t as good at the stupid girly stuff either. When my boyfriends left in the long distant past or my marriage broke up I remember my straight girlfriends not being straight at all but gathering around spouting stuff that even chick-lit writers would regard as sick-making.

Maybe gay girls, like gay blokes, have to live in the real world to survive. Whateve, I haven’t had a lot of sympathy from my lezzie mates just a lot of ‘get on with life you pathetic cow’ sort of advice,

Admittedly Ms Rude offered to fuck the arse off me to cheer me up but I didn’t want to spoil a perfect friendship for an hour or two or three of country matters.

So as Spring came to Brighton the dark clouds hung around my little flat.

Morgan, my co-writer of our postponed novel, would turn up with ideas, then have to listen to my re-runs of why my life was so fucked – up. But then he’s straight so he, unfortunately for him, was the next best thing to my past girly sympathisers.

However, if you’ve read this far, don’t despair, this isn’t going to be all emotional.

The hand wringing and making a clean breast of things stops here and the hands on breasts stuff starts now.

Because Ms Hastings who was a permanent feature in my life has become an occasional feature in my bed.

You may remember her. As a friend she’s appeared occasionally in my blog and then a couple of months ago we spent a (fairly) innocent night together.

I remember it well as I lay, dry of mouth and damp of thighs, admiring her cuddly and very sexy body.

We parted, slightly embarrassed in that middle-class English woman sort of way, and I worried that I’d screwed up our friendship even if we hadn’t screwed.

We chatted on the phone, making slight references to the night, but she got on with her married life in Hastings and I got on with my mucked-up life in Brighton.

She was very supportive about my break-up and then suggested that we had lunch on the next Friday.

I was a complete mess at the time and was desperate not to frighten her off in any way.

So I put any thoughts of a shag behind me. To prove it to myself I turned up at the restaurants in jacket, jeans and a pair of M&S ‘£6 for 5’ black briefs. Those pants wouldn’t have pulled Boris Johnson pumped full of Viagra so I felt Ms Hastings was safe.

Ms H was in jeans too, nicely stretched over her grabbable bum.

In seconds it was just like old times. I forgot my bad memories, she told me the horrors of her marriage and we just laughed. Then, after a bottle or two something completely unexpected happened.

Ms Hastings started coming on to me.

She said ‘that night’ had opened her eyes. But not her legs I thought at the time but then I was a bit pissed too.

She said she had always been fascinated with my life. After all, I had been just like her, an apparently straight married woman, but I’d discovered that there was more to enjoy in the world than a nightly kiss and a bonk on your birthday.

She said she was a deeply sensual person, and wanted to experiment in every aspect of sex.

She said she had always been jealous of my freedom to play and wanted to join in.

I said maybe she’d prefer to have coffee at my place so we paid the bill.

It was a slow walk from the restaurant and although we giggled and window-shopped I felt I knew what was going to happen and my mind was racing.

I’ve fallen out with just about everyone I’ve fucked. My husband obviously, but also former boyfriends and most of the women who’ve got into my pants.

Why is this? It’s a question that haunts me a bit everytime I meet someone new and fanciable. Perhaps it happens to most people but then many of my girlfriends are still mates with former lovers.

I really, really didn’t want this to happen to Ms H.

But then she pinched my arse as we turned in St James Street and I forgot about it all.

Fuck the coffee. In the flat the first priority was to get her stripped down to her underwear.

(As I wrote before, as long as I keep her anonymity, she doesn’t mind that I detail our ‘socializing’, in fact, she says she'd like to write about us too )

I really wanted to take things slowly and relish every second of our coupling (nice old fashioned word eh?)

Off came her T-shirt and down came her jeans. She just let me do it, smiling broadly.

Oh fuck, her bra and knickers were rather fancy, black and white spots with satin panels – real pulling pants. So she’d obviously been planning to get naked with me.

She’s seen me nude many times as I’d rushed about the flat getting dressed for a lunch or night out. But I haven't seen much of her body outside of changing rooms and that night in my bed.

I let her slide off my T-shirt. I wasn’t wearing a bra and she reached out and gently cupped my tits.

“You’re stunning” she said ( the old bollocks that we all say at these times!). Then smiling she undid the belt on my jeans.

“Sorry about the pants” I said, “if I’d been more certain of this I’d have worn something sexier”

She giggled at my sensible black M&S’s - the kind that Ruth Kelly probably wears.

“Then they better come off” she said in a schoolmistress - like voice. And she yanked them down.

It was like some silly game you played as kids, pulling each other’s knickers down. The pants hung around my knees and I looked foolish. But we both giggled and she reached around and slapped my bum.

I slapped hers too and chased her into the bedroom yanking my pants off as I ran.

She certainly wasn’t shy. Not at all like me on my first girl-on-girl session in a tiny child’s bedroom in some house during a party.

I caught up with her and we embraced, deeply kissing each other and loving the intimacy.

My hands reached down and gripped her generous arse cheeks. I loved the feeling of her soft bum through her shiny sexy knickers.

Then my hand slipped under the pants and I stroked her velvety skin.

It was time to get her naked. I undid her bra and it fell away from her lovely big brown nippled tits. I kissed each one tenderly.

Ms H has the classic Englishwoman’s body – pear-shaped. But she’s fortunate in having a nice pair on top too.

I got my fingers under the elastic of her knickers and slid them down. As they descended I followed them down until I was on my knees.

My face was level with her pubes so I reached round, grabbed her bare arse and pulled her shaven mound into my face.

“Oh Sadie” I heard her gasp.

I was intoxicated with her amazing scent – a wonderful mixture of Obsession and fresh cunt juice – the perfect aphrodisiac.

I kissed and sucked on her as she groaned and grabbed my hair. After all I’m the expert and she’s the novice so I had to investigate any problems she might have with our intimacy.

We were near the bed so I gently pushed her back until she sat on it. Then I, just as gently, eased her legs apart until I had a perfect view of the centre of her femininity.

Ms H’s cunt was beautiful.

I personally think they all are, apart from mine which looks like an ordnance survey map of Mount Vesuvius.

Her labia was fresh and glossy and pink with purplish highlights and the skin around it was smooth and tanned (expensive work at the beauty spa no doubt)

I stroked my tongue around it and into it, teasing and tickling, and I could feel her body moving in response.

I looked up and she was in ecstasy, looking down at me in wonderment of how she was feeling.

It was her first taste of the powerful pleasure of lesbian love and my first taste of her delectable cunt – so we were both overjoyed.

She lay back on the bed and her cute little bumhole popped into view. I gently skimmed the edge with the tip of my tongue and she shuddered. But I didn’t go any further because, as I said, I was unsure of her limits.

Then I climbed up on the bed with her and we spent the rest of the afternoon exploring and celebrating each other’s bodies. Sucking on each other’s tits, running our tongues up and down each other’s bellies, biting each other’s bum cheeks and kissing, always kissing – because we weren’t just fucking each other, we were lovers.

Later in the afternoon, after I'd given her a couple of orgasms, she built up the courage to go down on me. I lay back watching her curly brown hair bobbing up and down as she kissed and licked my cunt.

But she knew what to do, it is intuitive, and minutes later I could feel a small orgasm coming on. Her tongue found my clit and I bled pure 100% Sadie Juice.

Ms H lapped it all up. It’s even better than Jack Daniels and that’s saying something.

Then, at about six o'clock, she got up, pulled her sexy knickers up, and said "Bye Bye". She hugged me, naked and vulnerable, and then walked out of my flat to continue her straight, looking after hubby, 4X4, school run, dinner party, shopping at Tesco's life.

And I lay there, my face and fingers full of her special scent. And, oh fuck, I'm so girly, I cried. Out of happiness that I had a new person who wanted me. And out of sadness, that once again she wouldn't be an everyday and night feature in my life.

That afternoon was the first time and there have been others. Not many because Ms H is married and has a job and can only come to Brighton occasionally.

However, although we’ve fucked, I haven’t fucked her off yet, which is good I suppose.

So one door closes and another opens (that isn’t a Chinese quotation, I'm sure). I have a sexy lover, I’m getting back to writing with Morgan and the flowers are out in the Brighton squares.

Life’s interesting – but then it always will be for me.

Love from satisfied Sadie