Sadie Dark Places

Between the sheets

2011-08-15T15:38:00.002+01:00

I know the sheets I'm usually talking about are linen (if I'm lucky) or more likely from the IKEA sale. But the action this time is literary rather than lusty and so the sheets are paper. Yes, I'm on the last chapter of my book - at last...amazing...never thought she'd finish it..are those flying porkers etc etc. But it's true, I'm almost done. It has taken a long time that's for sure. But there's been those months when I was too busy earning a living or been ill or truthfully just given up.

There's always that feeling that writing a book is a bit of a fantasy (and everyone's got a half finished one in a drawer) But as I sit here all those chapters and all those "sheets" are on my Mac. Morgan (my co-writer) has been equally caught up doing other stuff but now he's a little less busy flogging crap on TV (that's advertisingese for out of a job) he can apply his humorous hand to our opus.

Now we need an agent. It's hard to know who'd be interested in promoting a no holds barred romp about the world of S&M. Is there anyone out there who could help? Otherwise we'll just trawl the interet for the right literary shark (in the nicest possible way of course)

I'm actually in France at the moment (at my friends). I really haven't been well recently and so my life has been full of trauma but free of sexual partners - boring!

I think it's time to get out into our late summer and make some hay! Or plough some bushy meadows! Or linger in lady gardens! See even my sexy metaphors are literary now!

Love & Kisses

Sadiexxxx

SADIE'S BACK

2011-03-08T23:24:00.003Z

OK so I've been a bit absent, OK so it's been a year and three months.Be honest has anything happened to you over the last 15 recession hit, war-torn, disaster- full months that has been worth publishing on a blog. Well has it? - not to me anyway! Still here I am ready for the off - so a hell of a hello to you all!

Love & Kisses Sadie xxxx

Here's to a little 20tenderness.

2009-12-31T19:15:00.005Z

Well the statuary six months has passed since my last posting and I'm sure sorry seems the hardest word for my blog friends to understand.

So let me get it out of the way: Brighton, sun, rain, sex, no-sex, France, rain, friend ill so Sadie's been a nurse* since September, not much book writing, family troubles, not much hot bed action, not much news - thank you and fuck off 2009!

* I can't believe many of my readers wouldn't have paused for a second or two at the nurse reference, dirty boys and girls. But yes, whilst I administered to my patient I naturally wore the standard nurse's uniform: a low cut,bursting-out blue top with watch hanging from my tit, a tiny frilly apron and a blue miniskirt. As I bent over to remove the chamber pot everyone in the room was rewarded with a view of my tiny white knickers and many a injection was mistakingly placed into a patient's arse. Oooooooh matron!

So what does the new year mean to me? Easy, I'VE GOT TO FINISH MY FUCKING BOOK!!!!!!

I'm actually almost at the end. I've been re-doing bits and that's held me up. Morgan's been phenominally busy and we haven't had much chance to meet up and work. The last chapters are supposed to describe "The fuck of the century". The century is only nine years old so this isn't a great overclaim but it is naturally taking some effort to keep out these pages out of the "Bad Sex Literary awards".

Speaking of writing and sex I recently read a piece in the Sunday Times that said lesbianism was getting more open. Well the writer has obviously never been to some Brighton pubs and clubs on a Saturday night. Talk about open - jean flies are gaping wide as are the pink lady curtains and naughty fingers are playing a girl's favourite game. But back to the article, it was suggesting that more famous lady lovers were making their preferences public. This included Alison Goldfrapp, Mary Portas, Jeanette Winterson and Susie Orbach.

Well Dear, we've all known about them for ages and there are several more famous actresses, writers and singers who haven't been quite as up front about their girly front bottom fun. I could name them but Blogger might disappear under the libel actions and, anyway, it's supposed to the time for good cheer to all men (and women).

So, apart fom my resolution to write a more regular blogs AND FINISH MY BOOK it's now time to wish you all a fantastic, fun-filled, fuck-filled New Year.

Love & Kisses Sadie

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Different strokes from different folks

2009-06-20T17:58:00.003+01:00

...now where was I? Oh yes that's right it was January and now it's June (sounds a bit like a song). But sadly the only song my lack of blog writing evokes is 'Sorry'.

I won't bore you with my usual excuses, time, book-writing, personal disasters etc etc but I ask for your forgiveness and request suitable punishment for my tardiness. In fact, I'll present my metaphorical bum to you, drop my pants and let you deliver a merciless metaphorical thrashing.

Feel better? Good. So now let's get on with revealing the dark places I've delved into over the past few months. Well, first there's my mind. Over the course of researching my book I've viewed and read about, but mostly I've experienced, some of the most extraordinary scenes of hanky panky with a lot of spanky added in. And now my head is overstuffed with images and sounds of what human beings will do for spiritual and sexual satisfaction. Most of this, I’m pleased to say is being channelled into my writing – but my god, is there nothing people won’t do for an orgasm?

When I started out on my ‘journey’ I was a recently divorced straight woman. Well, I was certainly divorced from the ‘scene’ (as us BDSM buddies call it). But now…!!

Well, you’ve hopefully read what I’ve got up to (and down to) over the past year or so. So briefly have I added any new ‘dark places’ to my pervy portfolio?

Nothing totally outrageous I’m sorry to report. I’m still ‘single’ with no permanent girlfriend, just the ones I meet in the café I mentioned in another blog.

I visit this once or twice a week. The form for Ladies who wish to Lunch on other Ladies is simple. You sit at a table on your own or go to a table with a single woman (of the right age etc) and you say, or the newcomer says “Is this chair free?” or something politely British.

Then you sit for a while before you speak (we aren’t Americans you know). Then you smile and she smiles and you start chatting. About 7 times out of 10 this is as far as it goes and the conversation is just a ‘girly chat’ that inevitably turns to what a bastard her boyfriend/ husband is.

But occasionally there’s something in the look she’s giving you and you try to return it. The conversation turns to clubs where girls go or she comments on your jeans in a frankly intimate way, or she gives you a rather sexual lookover when you return from the loo and you’re on. “ Let’s go back to my flat for another coffee/ look at my clothes/ books or whatever you’ve been talking about” you/she says and you leave together.

The last woman I met here was Christelle, early 40’s, black and very elegant. When we got back to my flat we kissed passionately as we sat on my sofa. She was married, wasn’t being ‘totally satisfied’, went on a training course for something or other and learnt what she’d been missing from a fellow student. As a ‘happily’ married woman with young kids she had to be discrete so it was perhaps unfortunate that she ended up with a blabbermouth blogger like me.

I’m fine with the kissing but there have been times that this is all my afternoon affairs have wanted. Kissing and cuddling, ahhhh, nice but well…it doesn’t quite hit the G spot for me. So to test Christelle out I slipped off my t-shirt and showed off my sexy black bra as I tongued her mouth. Her hands were all over my bare body and then they were unclipping my bra and then her kisses were all over my tits. That’s more like it!

It was time to reveal more about Christelle and I pulled her smart silk top over her head. She was wearing a white sports bra that looked amazing against her toned and polished skin. Off came her skirt and now I could peruse her pants. I always like this moment, it tells you so much about a woman. Her knickers were plain cotton, white and beautifully cut. She unhooked her bra as I slid off my jeans. Her tits were quite small but the nipples were huge (a great look I think) and I had a great look then a great feel and then I was sucking on them. Christelle gasped and her legs gaped in her excitement. Her pants stretched over and subtly indicated her hot spot and my fingers traced the sexy material.

Chistelle wasn’t a wild woman and our play was dignified. Well as dignified as two naked women rolling on the floor with their fingers up each other will ever be. She sweated freely in her excitement and I just loved the feel of her gleaming seal-like body. Her bum was generous – well it kindly let me do anything I wanted to it.

And then it was over. And she lay breathless on the sofa whilst I made a cup of coffee. We then sat thereon the sofa, two naked Englishwomen, smelling of sex, sipping coffee and talking about the shop where she’d bought her pants. Only in Brighton!!!

So life goes on. However there was one ‘dark place’ that I never imagined I’d be investigating and that’s in a man’s underpants.

I loved fucking men for the first part of my life, until it became ‘fucking men’. Or man in my case and then Act 2 has been ‘women only’. Not because I became a man-hater (some of my best friends etc) or didn’t get offers it was just what did or didn’t turn me on I suppose.

So when I was out one Friday morning running along the promenade I didn’t expect to run into a brief life-change. In fact, it ran past me, a man intent on doing man-like things jogged past, turned to look at me and then powered on up the road. He was in his 30’s, looked fit in his sweat shirt and shorts, nice smile, nice bum, nice legs and then nicely forgotten. Until I, now walking to relax a bit, turned a corner and he was standing, one leg on the bench, stretching his calf muscles.

“Hi” he said, mid-stretch, “great day for it”. Not the most promising opening line to a romance but actually true in an entirely different way to what he’d intended.

“Hi” I replied and walked on but now he was walking beside me.

Now, modestly (ha ha) I must admit I was looking pretty good. I’d lost several pounds at the gym, gained a good all-over tan on the beach and was in a nipple popping T-shirt and bum hugging latex shorts.

I love latex but it didn’t usually love my lumps and bumps. But now it clung to my newly fashioned curves like a lover’s hand. There was even a merest hint of cameltoe to complete the celebration of Sadie’s sexiness.

So, I wasn’t surprised that I’d got Rod’s attention (that’s not his name but I think it’s quite funny, I also thought of calling him Roger). We walked along talking about the weather, the promenade and, hey, he was very witty and charming and when he suggested stopping for a cup of tea it would have been a hard arsed old ladylicker who would have said no.

He was in town for a week long convention, he said. Then off we went again…blah, blah, blah, Brighton, blah, blah, blah my job, blah, blah, blah his job, blah, blah, blah, on his own tonight…then, a long lingering look at my latex sculpted bum as I went to the loo (I could see his reflection in the café window) and a careful attempt not to stare too hard and my tits and ‘toe as I came back.

Then he invited me to dinner and I said ‘yes’ knowing a fuck was definitely on the menu. So why? you’re thinking, if it’s so easy for a man to get into Sadie’s pants why has it taken this long?

Well like most things it’s a conjunction of elements. First, it was a spur of the moment ‘why not’ (he was fit and funny). Then, it was because I’ve come to the bit in my book where some good straight hetero humping is a plot necessity and I though I might be a little out-of-touch on cock culture. And then I have no partner so ‘why not’ again?

So, drinks, meal, chat, laughter, back to hotel for ‘nightcap’ and up to room.

I decided to play the straight women. So much so that when he unzipped my skirt and it fell to the floor revealing my best pants, I looked shocked when he jokingly said he was hoping I’d be in my latex shorts. “Ooooh kinky are you” I gushed (privately thinking that the last time I’d seen latex pants in a sexual situation they were unzipped across the cunt and the owner was getting a purple dildo up her arse)

Then Rod’s rod appeared and play began. He did all the modern man things, sucking me snd tickling my clit and then to prove he’d watched some porn on his conference hotel TV he bent my legs right back and fucked me from above. ( 9 out of 10)

We met up, went to films and fucked for the rest of his week. And then he fucked off saying he’d be back and I must see him in Birmingham (where he lived). But I expect he was going back to his wife so no “au revoir Rod”.

But life goes on. I have my inspiration for my book and when I’ve finished this I’ll be going back to the table in the café waiting for some women to say “Is this seat taken”. The answer is No and neither is mine yet.

Love and kisses Sadie xxxxxx

2009-01-01T13:46:00.003Z

Did I wish you all a Merry Christmas? Thought not - sorry.

Anyway 'Merry' is just about the most inappropriate word to describe anything at the moment. "Ho-Ho-Ho" isn't any better, it's probably only bankers who can manage this as they open their bonus envelope or maybe a stutterer trying to say "horrid"

No, like most of you I expect Xmas 2008 seemed a bit of a XXXXmas to me. However it's now 2009 and I'm determined to be optimistic.

We're hoping to finish the book. It's on its third revise but who knows. People (not publishers sadly) but Brighton litocracy have been kind about the bits we've let them read and a little shocked - so that's promising.

The weather's been brilliant. Icy cold but with an icy blue sky, perfect weather for walking the dog (a friend's). And stalking some pussy!

Sorry to lower the tone. But then that's what you're all hoping I'll do - and I never let you down. I'm still on my own, not even a card from my ex. So what does a modern single Brighton woman in possession of a fairly decent arse do?

Well she could do worse than drop into a cafe along Brighton's Prom, I'm not saying which to prevent any loonies showing up (not that I'm suggesting loonies read my blog) but it's better to be careful. In amongst the vanilla and gay male couples there are always a couple of women on their own reading magazines and lingering over a cup of coffee.

Because this cafe has become infamous on the scene as a bit of a girlie's gaffe, a dyke's diner or a babe's bistro. There's a couple of pubs that have the same 'pick-up' personality but they've always been a bit butch for me.

So I popped in, and guess what? Less than two hours later an attractive Swede was popping her tongue down my throat in a nearly hotel room. It isn't always like this, of course, sometimes you just don't fancy anyone or you just have a chat and leave alone. But it was first time lucky for me, Eva was an early Christmas present and she unwrapped beautifully.

We chatted, then flirted, then Eva, who was visiting friends in Sussex, suggested a proper drink at her hotel but I was hoping for a pink lady instead. I experienced that amazing excitement as we left the lift and she walked ahead of me. I was imagining her naked, my hands on her sexy bum and my lips nibbling her big tits - Eva was healthily built.

Eva liked foreplay. So she kept us in our underwear for some time kissing and fumbling. I find this cool for a time but I'm impatient to heat things up a bit. Finally Eva's knickers came off and I tasted Swede for the first time. We both knew that this wasn't the beginning of a relationship, it was a one-afternoon affair at most. So we didn't waste time on love we went straight to the chase. The object was to give each other as much pleasure as womanly possible.

Eva liked biting and being bitten - I could barely sit down for days afterwards. It was brilliant, very hot fucking on a cold December day. Later, we showered together, put on each other's knickers, and finally had that drink in the hotel bar. Then it was goodbye Eva.

So now once or twice a week I drop in for a coffee at the 'Come on' cafe. 2008 ended on a naughty note and lets hope I get on fine in 2009.

I also wish you get everything you're looking for in the New Year.

Love and kisses Sadie xxxxx

My reflections on climate change and the World recession…oh and a lesbian threesome too.

2008-10-26T16:00:00.003Z

What a fucking awful summer!

Fucking rain all the time…fucking people irritating me…fucking Gordon Brown and his woring bankers (or have I got the first letters the wrong way round) and to make 2008 preferably forgettable – very little fucking for Sadie!

Hello again by the way – usual excuses for absence (see blogs 2007, 2006 and 2005)

I’ll very quickly get through the high points of May to October – a couple of hours with Annie and Angie on the 21 July, Kristen Scott Thomas in “I loved you so long”, a sentence I really enjoyed writing for my new book and…and well, a fish and chip supper with Morgan (my co-writer) at the Blue Dolphin in Hastings. That’s all, folks!

Mentioning Hastings brings me to the low points. Yes you’ve guessed it, Ms Hastings and I are an ex-thing, we are no more, Ms Hastings has left to spend more time with her family and I’m left desolate.

Madonna, Heather Mills and little me – it’s been a bad time for a bitch, by which I mean, of course, Beautiful Intelligent Talented Charming Hell of a woman. I read that in some American self-help manual, bullshit naturally but it made me laugh.

And laughing, chuckling or even smiling is something I haven’t been doing much of since my lovely cuddly sexy woman walked out on me. It was my fault I suppose (how many times have I written that?). She said she didn’t mind my fucking around, after all she was married etc, but really she did. It was a nagging thing that hid it’s ugly head until other issues emerged then it popped up and frightened us both.

I think she felt guilty about being the prim mother of two in polite and proper Hastings circles whilst at the same time being the perverted, sensual bundle of decadent cuntiness with me. In the end she said that she felt a hypocrite while lecturing her children on right and wrong.

I took this calmly and in a considered manner of course…

…did I fuck!!!!!

I yelled, cried, slammed doors and slammed her husband a bit (big mistake). That nagging ugly truth I mentioned earlier then burst out and she was shouting now. SHE DID MIND MY FUCKING AROUND!!!! I was a thoughtless, selfish tart with loose morals, how did I imagine we had a future together? Did I expect she was going to leave her husband and lovely kids to join me in my sordid world…lesbians, S&M clubs, why we’d be doing threesomes soon…

…which brings me to the sexy bit. Oh good, at last you say.

One rainy night I was in “Charles Street” with Dolce & Gabbana, Ms Rude and several other friends. One of the friends of the friends broke away and came over to talk with me. She was called Angie, I didn’t know her but she knew of me. “I just had to say Hello” she said, “Jim there said you were Sadie Dark and I just love your blog” Well, of course, I’m a sucker for flattery…

..which is how I ended up sucking her cunt later that evening. Angie was late 20’s and her flatmate Annie was late 30’s. They had haunting eyes and beautiful mouths and both were very fit (lots of workouts). After Angie had greeted me, she introduced me to Annie and we sat at a table chatting about my blog and the things I write about. The conversation and the chocolate martinis flowed and I could see where this was leading, as could my friends at the bar who were smirking and making rude gestures at me.

Actually it lead to the girl’s flat. Then we were kissing and then I was topless and then my hand was down Angie’s knickers and Annie was nibbling my nips.

A threesome is special (as my sophisticated readers no doubt know from experience) – because it is so relentless. Tongues were tickling my tits and teasing my arse. Fingers were grabbing my hair and forcing themselves deep inside me.

It was almost unbearable. I was coming time after time and making my friends come too. Burying myself in their bums and tits with my fingers playing away like a concert pianist having a fit. The three of us became a sweaty, smelly, panting entity until physically and sexually exhausted we broke apart.

Then we lay there nude, giggling and touching and comparing bums, tits and cunts. I fell asleep warm and comfortable in all the female fleshiness.

Sadly I told Ms Hastings about this at some point. And the rest is harrowing history.

There were lots of other low points too. I didn’t write much, Morgan’s mind is much occupied with the recession’s effect on his future in advertising and so he’s not writing much either. My job is…oh this is getting too dull.

It’s a bright Autumn day and I’m determined to fall on my feet and into someone else’s bed…be in touch soon.

Love & Kisses Sadie

Sorry, I’ve been a bit tied up lately

2008-05-26T17:13:00.002+01:00

I’m virtually naked, I’m on my knees, it’s hot in the room, excited people are gathered around me and a trickle of sweat glides down my backbone and between my bum cheeks. My black shiny knickers are at half mast, and being a shy, modest woman, as you know, my first instinct is to haul them up to cover my embarrassment and my gigantic arse…but…

…but unfortunately my hands are bound in rope, as are my arms, and the whole upper half of my body. Even my tits are tightly encircled with rope and they stick out like rugby balls whilst going the colour of cricket balls. Then I sense Jemima close to my ear and hear her voice saying:

“Alright, are you Sadie…Great, well let’s get these off and Jacob can continue?”

Then she grips my knickers and slips them off. I now look at bit like the women in the pic (from the excellent site Dave Annis’s Rope bound Babes) I was looking straight at Jacob’s smiling face as his hand slides down my belly then the sensation of the rope being slid between my thighs, another hand reaches between my bum cheeks grasps the rope end and pulls it tight and upwards. I gasp as it chafes my sensitive bits, then gasp again as a large knot brushes my clit…

Yes, I’ve been a bit tired up in many ways over the past few months so, first, my apologies to my readers for yet another boring, inexcusable absence from this blog.

Yes, you’ve heard it before, sorry, sorry, sorry…writing my book etc etc…emotion problems, yawn, yawn…life too boring to blog, yea yea…too bone idle, yea that sounds more like!

But hey I’m back. It’s hotter in Brighton than Bangkok, but then, darlings, Brighton is always hot, whatever the weather. I’ve repainted my flat and refurnished it with the help of my gay friends Dolce and Gabbana, (they don’t wear their underpants above their jeans anymore, sooooooo 2006 but I still think the knickernames suit them). My spring-cleaning and makeover doesn’t mean I’m suddenly rich or anything. I’ve now got two jobs, which, partly explains my lack of blogging but are too mind-numbingly boring to mention here – but it does mean extra cash. So out went the shabby bed, rugs and sofa and out went Sadie to tour East Sussex’s auction room and antique shops with my expert homo designers.

I was sad to see the bed go. Ah good, my regular readers will be thinking, beds = shagging, that’s what we want to hear about, not shopping. Some very nice people from Age Concern came to pick it and a couple of cupboards up. As it was loaded into the van I wondered what sort of action it would see at its new home.

Lets not be ageist, the new owner may be in their 60’s but then so is Mick Jagger and he’s still getting satisfaction every which way with a succession of shag-tastic supermodels.

But I doubt it’ll receive as much girl-on-girl pounding. I got all nostalgic after the van has left with my memory filled (and probably stained) mattress. It had originally belonged to my friend Sue. She rented the flat before me and I took on the furnishings when I moved in. She had a steady boyfriend so they must have taxed the springs many times. I assume she bought the bed when she moved in but the thought just struck me that maybe the bed was there when she moved in.

Fuck, imagine how many other couples might have coupled in it throughout the 90’s? Or, this being Brighton, how many threesomes, foursomes, or even farmyard animals? A history dotted with DNA, a whole saga of sweat and semen, urrrrgggggg, it doesn’t bear thinking about.

So best to remember the last occupant (along with me, of course), who was the aforementioned Jemima. We bumped into each other at Coffee, Cake & Kink, the amusingly decadent dive in Covent Garden where the photos and books lining the walls are definitely hotter than the excellent coffee. Dolce and I were attending an exhibition of fetish fotos, looking fashionably fettled in leather. A couple of friends of Dolce were there with this slim woman in a white vest and black leggings. This was Jemima, and we chatted amicably about the images and then I got the “look”.

It’s hard to explain the ‘look’. Guys go on about ‘gaydar’ but I think it doesn’t quite work like this with women. I’m not sure you can spot a lesbian through some instinct because women are much more flirty and ‘touchy-feely’ with each other even if they’re ‘straight’ and only like bonking blokes. But the ‘look’ is different, it’s overtly sexual, direct and demanding, and it’s meaning is unmistakeable.

You can of course, ignore it, and then things go on amicably and you eventually say goodbye. But I chose not to.

Jemima’s flat was a 20 minute taxi away and our juices bubbled all the way. I hadn’t seen Miss Hastings (my bosom buddy) for a couple of weeks – half term holidays with the kids or something and I was feeling lonely and lustful. She was sexy in a handsome sort of way, her nipples teased me through her vest and her strong, businesslike manner fascinated me. I felt she was going to thoroughly dominate me and I was rather looking forward to the idea,

“Don told me you write the Sadie Dark blog” Jemima had said earlier, then she’d flashed one of her rare smiles. “ You like lots of kinky stuff don’t you – good!”

When we got inside her flat I expected the customary glass of wine then a kiss or two. But no, she led me into the bedroom and then said, “Do what I say”.

But she didn’t say anything, she just stripped me. Off came my shirt and bra, then down went my leather skirt, my black tights and even my knickers. There’s usually a little play in our knickers, because that’s what sexy underwear is all about, a little fondling and pinching as a foretaste of the fuck to come.

But not with Jemima. It was a bit impersonal in fact, just like removing the clothes off a shop window dummy. And then she pushed this dummy onto the bed, slipped off her vest and sank her fingers into my cunt. It must be what a prostitute gets from a ‘quickie’ client.

Fortunately the juices that had started flowing in the taxi were still bubbling so her entrance into my entrance wasn’t so rough. She knew what she was doing though and soon I was gasping and grunting.

Jemina had small tits and large tattoos. A whole pattern on thorny roses covered her back. There was a skull and crossbones on her belly and when she finally took her leggings off I saw more roses on her thighs and a single bloom on her tight boyish bum.

She vigorously fucked me and it was shockingly good. She then smiled at me again and produced some handcuffs. I let her cuff my hands to her metal bed back and I was now hers to play with.

Which she did relentlessly. I sucked her toes and stuck my tongue where the sun don’t shine as she crouched over me whilst she bit my tits, explored my arse, and did unmentionable things to me – oh sorry I’ve just mentioned them.

This was a new experience for me and, whilst a bit messy, was terrific fun.

Later, she mentioned Jacob her sometime boyfriend and ‘Master’. She showed me pics of her being bound and suspended and suggested I’d enjoy it.

We met up again in Brighton (in my late bed) and the play was just as rude and riotous. There was tying up and spanking and strap on action and a bit of pissing about – which I usually don’t mind, but this involved real piss!!

And a week later, there I was at Jacob’s little party, bound to please. It was pleasing Jacob anyway as he demonstrated his skill with the ropes. Fortunately I wasn’t going to be suspended, you have to be a bit more experienced (and fit) to survive hanging three feet off the floor.

Basically he hogtied me. I was on my knees, tits now turning purple with my big arse in the air. You can see why they named it after a pig. The other guests, men and women gathered around and peered closely at me. They made out they were studying the knots but I guessed it was my naughty bits.

So there you have it. What Sadie’s been getting up to over the past few months. Still, it’s all research for my book. Oh sorry I promised I wouldn’t mention my boring book.

Knots and Knots of love

Sadie xxxxxx

Lesbian lunches and a spanking New Year

2007-12-31T16:31:00.000Z

I’ve just been listening to Woman’s Hour, a very tweed skirt, 4x4 and sensible knickers radio programme for ‘ladies’ that runs every day on Radio 4. Now, I know this isn’t a very promising start to a sexy blog but hey, don’t just go straight to ‘Girl with a one track mind’ stay with me, at least while I make my point. And it was because they were doing a feature on Mistresses, mainly Royal ones from Nell Gwyn to dear old Camilla. Actually I find her a bit of a turn-on, those tight jodhpurs, that cocksucking mouth, that haughty manner, wow I bet after a few whiskies she’s anyone’s, man, woman or beast (with a mane of course). But sorry I digress, although a horsewhipping and a romp in the hay with the dirty Duchess would be any sensual woman’s dream.

But, ahem, back to my point. They were all men’s mistresses, and I’m a woman’s mistress, Ms Hastings (my lover) is fairly happily married and I’m the bitter bit on the side. Because Christmas is a notably sad and lonely time for the world’s mistresses, now, all you boring married people will say “well dear, you made your bed so lay alone in it and wank yourself silly you treacherous cow”. But Woman’s Hour asked for sympathy for us mistresses, we provide a sexual service, we often keep marriages together and one of us will be the next Queen and if they say that you should listen.

Not that I care this Christmas. A cool lady, I’ll call Fiona, got in touch with me in the Summer after I moaned about being not very high but considerablely dry (between the thighs) when Ms Hastings went back to Mr Hastings. She’s in the same position as me, under or on top of a married woman for a couple of nights a month, so we kept in touch.

Apropos of lonely Christmas’s she suggested a Mistresses Lunch on the 25th. So Fiona, me, a woman I’ll call Charlie and another woman, I’ll call Camilla (well a girl can dream) met up at a restaurant called ‘Vanilla’ in Hove (I think this might have been Fiona’s joke).

Three of us were girly but Charlie was a bit of a boi (more masculine in styling for those not in the know). In amongst all the couples and families celebrating not having to cook the fucking turkey we probably stood out a little. We’d all scrubbed up for the occasion but we clearly looked like 4 women who weren’t long-time friends and it was all a little formal. But then Fiona suggested a bottle of Bolly and after several glasses whilst looking at the menu, I suddenly remembered something I’d read in my research for my book.

“If we are what we eat then all lesbians must be cunts” I volunteered, so we toasted this and ordered another bottle. Our mood grew more and more bubbly, the food was ok but our reminiscences were very tasty and some of them extremely spicy. My, my, what the middle class women of East Sussex get up to on those hot and sweaty afternoons while hubby is holed up in London!!!

And why not? I so surprised that most women don’t try a little lady love on the side. It is different, it is sensual (yes we do know exactly which bits to work on) and it’s remarkably safe. No unwanted bumps, no violence (unless that turns you on) and we are completely discreet. Although, after listening to my three new mates I wonder if the men wouldn’t be actually aroused if they found out what their other half’s girl-on-girl action.

By now, our laughter was getting a bit loud and we were getting ‘looks’ from the other dull diners. Fuck’em, we were having a brilliant Christmas. When all the boring people had left to return to their yuletide rows and Dr Who on TV we ordered another drop of Bolly and sang carols with the waiters. They were all in their twenties and I noticed them assessing us lasciviously, four pissed females up for fun. I imagined them thinking that we might fancy a bit of extra pudding – sorry boys, you picked the wrong girls.

If this had been my book we’d have all ended up in a hotel room as a naked, frolicking foursome finding amusing things to do to each other with our bolly bottles. But this was life so we kissed, swore we’d do it again and parted to our lonely nights. Although Charlie squeezed my bum so it wasn’t all sad.

I wasn’t actually alone on Christmas night. I spent it with Dolce & Gabbanna, who are my gay chums. We sat with a couple of their friends watching a dvd of ‘West Side Story’. And as usual when I’m a bit miserable, I ended up snuggled between them in bed.

So that was my Christmas, probably not much like yours but typical for me. It’s weird that because of my blog people think I lead a permanently promiscuous existence. But, hey as I always say I only write about the ‘dark parts’ and I probably spend more time than you seeking them out.

The majority of my days are spent earning a living, cleaning the flat, shopping, watching the news and going to the loo. And you don’t want to read about that do you?

You don’t want to hear about me watching TV, you want to read about me watching a TV whip a naked man in a Kent S&M club. There she was, with the best body there, in a blond wig, black bra, thong and long leather boots taking great pleasure in viciously thrashing the man’s arse then tenderly massaging his flaming cheeks and cupping his balls. (A hint of this world can be found in the pic I chose for the top of this blog. It's a rather seasonal shot of one of Santa's little helpers being a little tied up. It's borrowed from costumecuties.com, a great bondage site featuring woman in various fetish uniforms)

The S&M evening was last November, and I’m looking forward to more of it in 2008. And spanking, I love doing it and found that I rather liked it being done to me. And I’m not alone, just put ‘spanking’ into Google. There millions of us, watching the movies and appearing in them. There are clubs like Northern Spankers that do movies and also ‘party nights’ when you can spank the bums of the girls who appear in the movies. Mmmmmm, tight knickers caught up the crack then pulled down to reveal plump girly gluts. Then the slapping and squealing – I can’t get enough of it.

Finally my best wishes go out to Ms Hastings, Pretty Polly (my pantyhose pal) Madame Madge (my delicious French delicacy) and Ms Strict (who toned up my bum muscles) - and of course all of my lovely sexy readers

Here’s to a happy, slappy New Year

Love & lashes Sadie xxxxxxxxxx

Sore feelings in my heart and bum

2007-11-25T14:23:00.000Z

It’s Saturday afternoon and Ms Hastings has just left. She’s going back to her husband and kids and, at last, I’m going back to my blog. I can still feel her warmth in my bed and smell her scents. The sheets are still ruffled, thanks to our furious activity and there are sexy indentations caused by her beautiful body.

Hey, it’s just wonderful to be back in Brighton on a grey November day. My Mac is resting on the pillow into which Ms Hastings pushed her squirming and gasping face as I relentlessly fucked her arse with a saucy pink strap-on. As I bucked my superbly toned, tight and tremendously firm buttocks (I wish) and the cock stretched her matching pink hole, I leant forward and cupped her soft fleshy tits. I think I mentioned before that my lover is a little on the big size but I just love every generous inch of her.

Thinking of her bust sadly reminds me of our bust-up which is why I haven’t been up to being amusing on my blog. I’ve eventually fallen out with every one of my lovers including my husband. We never part amicably and stay ‘friends’ like all the smug people you read about in the papers. No, I always get written out of the story and they go off to get creative with someone else.

So, although she’d visited me occasionally during my long stay with friends in France, we haven’t seen much of each other (in the getting naked sense) for most of the Summer. Now, because she has her family I always imagined I had my freedom when we weren’t together. We’ve discussed this, and she said she was ok with it – and with me writing about our fucking and my fetishes.

But I was proved wrong when she took acceptation to my interludes with Madame Madge, the jodhpur wearing, Madonna lookie-likie who gave me intensive riding lessons of the non-equestrian type.
Ms Hastings decided that Ms France stepped over the line that separated overnight fling with on-going fuck.

So she said some things, and I said some things that I regretted. Then I said some things that I really regretted and then I said some things that would have appalled Saddam and Mugabe. So she walked out of my life. And I walked into the flat of my Brighton friends Dolce & Gabbana and cried and cried. This is a familiar scenario for them so they poured Jack Daniels down my throat and nodded sagely whilst I talked bollocks. And talking of bollocks they also took me into their bed so that, naked, I lay between their naked bodies in a comforting, non-sexual but naughty bit touching, very 21st Century way.

I couldn’t believe I’d screwed it up again. I found I couldn’t concentrate on my writing of erotic fiction when the real facts of my life were so appalling. Morgan, my co-writer, tried to help but I behaved in an ignorant, destructive manner that he coped with easily because he’s used to working with advertising clients.

Now, I must admit I did enjoy a few cunt enthralling canters with Madame Madge. She made my Summer in France very sensual but she had a boyfriend and I had Ms Hastings so the relationship was very prescribed. She still emails me and I respond but that’s as intimate as it gets these days. But my too explicit blog had fogged Ms Hastings judgement and I was alone again.

I sat in the flat as the Autumn rains hit Brighton. The general greyness highlighted the colours of France that I was missing so much. The rich yellows of the sunflowers, the deep purples of the lavender and the warm tan of Madame Madge’s derriere and thighs as I pulled her jodhpurs down. How I missed it.

I also missed the slap that had been part of my happy days with Ms Hastings. I think I’ve mentioned that she liked to be spanked. Now I wasn’t into this madly but was content to play along because it generally led to the kind of sex that whipped my senses. The usual scenario had her saying something mildly insulting (in a schoolgirl way) like “Sadie, your bum is eating your jeans”, I’d get cross and put her over my knee. Her skirt was pulled up, her Prada sheer panties were exposed and I’d attack her ample arse. She got really turned on by this and although we’d agreed never to mention her husband I had to know whether spanking has been a favourite fetish during her marriage. So I asked her and the fact that her face went the colour of her bum cheeks suggested the answer was “yes”.

It was probably dwelling on this that got me in correspondence with a woman on Informedconsent.co.uk. Now fetish fans will be familiar with this site. It’s a guide to fetish and BDSM clubs and also runs personal ads for pervs to meet other pervs. I was prowling around it because writing erotic fiction when you are celibate is much like writing recipes when you are hungry – and I was absolutely famished.

Perusing the F4F section led me to many subs into caning with frankly unappealing pics of cuts and bruises, And then I happened across this lady’s site. She wasn’t a professional domme; she did it for fun. And her fun was OTK (over the knee) spanking with an emphasis on big knickers.

Well, it was late on a cold damp evening and I wanted to be hot and damp so I emailed her. We chatted and it was very stimulating, I sent her a pic to prove I wasn’t a bloke and we agreed to meet. So a week later and a long train ride found me on her doorstep in a skirt wearing pants my mother would have approved of.

However Mummy wouldn’t have liked what happened next. After tea the getting-to-know-you gossip quickly turned to gussets and it was time for play. Ms Strict was in her early 40’s, quite attractive in a handsome sort of way, had a good figure which she emphasised in a very tight skirt and black stockings, and was very, very into discipline, spanking women and underwear. She also quite liked caning but this was a no-go area for me. After all, as fashion writers say, stripes can make your bum look big.

Ms Strict became very strict. “After this moment, whatever I ask you to do, you must instantly comply” she said, and then she asked me to bend over and touch my toes.

This I did with a bit of effort and I sensed her behind me. I tried not to giggle in a schoolgirlish way (but, of course this was probably just what Ms Strict wanted) Then I felt my skirt being lifted and my bum being revealed. She just waited, surveying my big white knickers. It was an odd sensation knowing she was inspecting my crack and whatever else my tight cotton pants were revealing but it was a rather sexy one. The intimate attention of strangers is something I found rather attractive when I’ve been investigating fetish clubs for my book and this was no exception.

Then I felt her hand on me and I tensed but she just caressed my cotton-clad rear following the curve of each cheek. So I relaxed because this was rather nice – and then she struck.

Thwackkkkkkk! I gasped but the sting soon wore off leaving a warm glow. She gave me six more and my bum and my desires caught fire.

She then asked me to take off my skirt and led me to the sofa where she put me over her knee. She pulled my knickers up into a wedgie and then spanked each bare cheek. In between the painful slaps she would lovingly massage my bum, she was a lesbian and made it clear that this was pleasure not business. Then after I’d squirmed and moaned a bit she pulled my knickers down and really punished me. It was as bit like the pic above, courtesy of spankedcheeks.com, a tingling site you should all visit.

As my flesh got hotter so did I. I now understood why spanking was so special to my lovely Ms Hastings. It’s thrilling and humiliating and sexual – what’s not to like?

When the slapping stopped I wondered what would happen next. There I was bare-bummed with exposed bits, so maybe a sly finger or two would rummage about or something. Actually, horny old bitch that I am, I was rather hoping the spanking might lead to a little wanking.

But there was no overt sex, I just pulled my knickers up and sat on the sofa. We talked pants and Ms Strict seeing I was a fan, slipped off her skirt and showed me hers. She was in a suspender belt and stockings and her big panties were covered in embroidery at the front but see-through at the back. I’m now getting used to these clothes fetishistas, what with Pretty Polly my occasional pantyhose sex partner and now Ms Strict. Maybe there are big-boned bra supporter and even pop sock perverts out there. Please get in touch is you are.

Then over a glass of wine Ms Strict sat close to me and was fairly explicit about what she found exciting about my undercarriage as revealed by the thin cotton – cunny creases, cameltoe and crack lines etc. It was weird but rather wicked. I’m convinced that we miss so much if we don’t travel to the outer reaches of sex.

And, on the subject of reaching out, I’m delighted to report that two days ago Ms Hastings contacted me. We talked for hours, I was sorry, she was sorry, I was sorry I’d made her sorry, it was all girly stuff until she admitted she missed the fucking. That’s my girl, I thought and we made up for weeks of lost opportunities last night and this morning.

So now life hopefully will go blissfully on, my book will be finished, my boring part-time job (which you don’t want to hear about) will just about support me and I can still lose myself in Ms Hasting’s soft sexy body.

Happy-slappy times!

Love & Kisses Sadie xxxxxx

Rude riding breeches and jodhpur japes

2007-09-12T01:46:00.000+01:00

Bonjour, here I am, still in France and living on le pain et l’eau as my money is running out. I can’t even afford new clothes so that’s why I sitting here bare-assed naked in the lovely September sun whilst I type this on my mac. I’m alone, of course, my friends in France are absolutely lovely but a little straight so whilst they’re out for the day I get them out for the day, so to speak.

Their garden is beautiful, heavily scented and all greens, greys and orange autumnal blooms. And I’m lying on a blanket making revisions to my book and desperately trying to keep my blog up-to-date. The scene could an impressionist painting by Monet or Manet – ‘Le jardin et la femme avec la grande derriere’.

So what’s happened since my last post? Well, I (and Morgan, my co-writer back in England and hopefully fully clothed as he edits my stuff) have revised and refined a few chapters. As one of the book’s themes is sex I think it is important for authenticity that without my lover Ms Hastings I still keep my hand in.

And currently I’ve been keeping my hand in Madame Madge, my jodhpur-clad, Madonna–ish lookey-likey, chum. After our first afternoon of unbridled (gettit!) fun and games she went very quiet. Ah, that sensational sex with Sadie side effect, I thought…complete revulsion. But no, I got a phone call saying she’d been in Paris with her boyfriend and now she was back and did I fancy a ride.

She meant on a horse, you dirty-minded people. So I turned up at the stable looking forward to some healthy excise astride a filly. I mentioned in my last post about the effect of my first sight of her bum in her skin-tight jodhpurs. Well, breeches buffs that’s exactly what her lower half was thinly encased in when I showed up at the stables.

We rode off, and because she was an owner I was allowed out on a subdued beast with her and without the usual riding school line up. Well, my pervy friends, I trotted along behind her watching her behind bouncing in the saddle. She knew about my ‘jodhpur thing’ and occasionally she’d look around and give me a sexy smile – teasing tart that she was.

It was a hot day and after a sweaty gallop she stopped at the top of a hill and tied her horse to a branch. This was obviously a familiar place for her and was, actually, a perfect place to get familiar.

She turned and smirked at me. I secured my horse and then secured my hands around her waist. We kissed, my hands moved inevitably to her arse and I gave those jodhpurs a little jigging.

Her shirt came off easily and her big nipples rose in the autumn air. She was a little nervous as this was a popular bridle path but the tension was a stimulant and she didn’t protest as her jodhpurs were jerked down.

I finger fucked her there in the September sun with her breeches round her knees and her boots splayed and her mouth gasping.

This is the joy of lesbian sex. I’ve discovered it fairly recently but Madame Madge has known the secret though one marriage and, now, an engagement with her man in Paris. It’s sexy, it’s very, very satisfying but above all it’s safe.

I’m her latest lady lover. However, I know my place, which is under her, on top of her or on her face but, most importantly, completely out of the way. It’s an unspoken understanding and we both enjoy it totally.

After our fun the jodhpurs slipped up over that delicious bum and we rode back. Since then, I’ve been invited around to her house for tea and sensuality and naked in her bed, I’ve enjoyed every aspect of the ‘entente cordial’.

Although I think the J-thing is a lot of fun I’m not really into sexy clothing (apart from knickers). However on putting 'jodhpurs' into ‘Google’ I was surprised by the abundance of breeches sites. Ridingboots.net is a British site that is hilarious. Sturdy county girls at shows in bulging breeches are secretly photographed and are unaware that their arses are being admired on a pervy sites. However the best site is one who’s name I’ve forgotten and I can’t find again (old age and masturbation effecting my memory I expect). However on this site typical porny females in breeches and boots pretend to be English ladies and have extraordinary names like Lady Camilla Windermere or the Honourable Arabella Wellington. These aristocratic fillies then whip men or ride them around their ‘grounds’. Only in England – trust us to mix class with arse.

Speaking of which mine is getting burnt. So au revoir from my blog aand back to the book.

Love & Kisses Sadie

Oh dear, I’m about to use The F-word several times.

2007-08-20T22:50:00.000+01:00

Just recently my life has been full of F-words. Ok, you’re saying, so has mine, fucking work, fucking weather, fucking government, fucking world, fuck, fuck, f-u-c-k, FUCK!

But although my life includes that particular word – in its sense as a verb I’m delighted to say, it also includes several other words beginning with F.

F-irst of all, my I thank the delectable Vamp for including my blog in the world famous but extremely exclusive Jane’s Guide. Vamp, who I’ve never met but I’m sure is a sensual beauty who combines utter sophistication and a rare sense of humour with formidable but exquisite breasts, a pert, sculpted arse, a belly to die for and thighs that could crush a man or woman’s innocent objections. Well, the voluptuous Vamp was extremely nice about my stuff, and this is what she wrote:

Original & Quality
Sadie Dark Places
Sadie is a woman who writes erotic fiction in the UK. She has had a blog since about 2004, so there is a history here. I think I would sum up what you'll find here as smart, rude, and raw. I think that writers always like to talk about the writing process, and Sadie is no exception. If you can identify with the angst of trying to sort out how to write your novel, you'll enjoy Sadie's comments about the process. If that isn't your thing, you'll still be interested in her naughty stories. – Vamp

F-ank you V (so many lovely things begin with V) if only I could find your email on your fucking site I could actually thank you personally.

Ok, next F-word…France.

For that is where I am. Summering, (if that is the right as its pissing down as I write) in this glorious country. After working through winter and enjoying the largesse of my delicious Ms Hastings I’d saved enough for a few months off in France. So here I am, in my rather unstylish and unseasonable T-shirt and knickers sitting on my friend’s verandah writing my book and this blog…and its fucking freezing.

Next F-word…Fetish.

Yea, that’s the one I’m really getting to grips with. As I write I need more information, so I get onto Google and the more I learn the more I want to experience – so I do. I must admit that on my own and without my horny Ms Hastings I’m getting soooooooooooo randy. She's visited me for a couple of wicked weekends, but mostly it's just me and my imagination. I had a weekend in Paris with a couple of friends who, sweetly tried to alleviate my randiness in the sweaty environment of a sauna on girls only night. We sat around in towels, swigging chardonnay, then the towels fell off and I found myself trapped with two turned-on teenagers, all tanned and wet and shiny like slippery seals. One in front, one behind and she was totally focussed on my behind – wow, fuck, mmmm, who could imagine an intimate examination being soooooo intensely in-tim-ate? Weeeeee-owwwww-oohhhhhhh! Fantastically fabulously fun – but not strictly fetish, so ok, here’s the tight riding breeches bit.

Yea, jodhpurs,(oooh, just wait for the Google references, it could just beat Penny Smith’s arse). I’m talking tight fitting, bum caressing, crotch dividing, thigh defining, stretch fitting breeches.

And this is the best bit, their owner looked a bit like Madonna. Just a bit but enough for me who’d lusted over the Lady’s jodhpur-clad limbs in her amazing Wembley show,

And here was her looky-likey in a local French riding school. I had gone to take my mind off the hassle of hack-writing with a bit of hacking. The school horses were ok, a bit lazy but fine for people like me who hadn’t ridden since schooldays. I’d been out on a hack and was nursing my strained thighs and sore bum cheeks in a soft chair whilst enjoying a Coke Lite when Madame Madge swayed into view.

Her derriere was exquisite. A bit boy-like but all the better for it. Nice firm cheeks and a delicious crack caught in the fit of her second-skin like breeches. She passed me once, then back again, then the bum paused as she talked to some other horsey type then it was off again. Her crack tightened then relaxed in a beautiful pattern of pervy joy. God, I fancied that fucking French arse…and its owner.

She was obviously an owner as she carried water and food backwards and forwards to the private livery stables. At one point she caught me staring, I waited, I’m not a great believer in gaydar but she had a sexy, mannish manner and I was sure she might fancy a little female fun – there’s another F-word for you.

But nothing happened. If I was making this story up, I’d have approached her, seduced her, led her into a vacant stable, kissed her whilst exploring her blessed bum and then bent her over a convenient hay bale and thrashed her wriggling bottom with a springy schooling whip.

But this was real life and sadly, in this reality, people smile at each other and then part forever. But now Madame Madge was back and she was taking a Coke Lite from the school’s fridge. I smiled at her…and waited…and waited…and then she smiled back.

‘Hot isn’t it” I said, stupidly in English, because I was in France.

She gave me a cool "Madonna' like smile. “Yez..it izzz” she replied and I felt a tingle between my thighs that wasn’t due to bouncing about in a solid saddle.

She came over and stood by me. Her English was perfect and so attractively delivered. We talked about horses and my holidays and her house (but not any husband) and, all the time, I couldn’t ignore her crotch that was at my eye level, a hint of cameltoe that was etched in the tight fabric and constantly hinted at her lush femininity.

She then sat down and stared into my eyes. She’d have had to have been blind not have noticed me drooling after her. She checked out my tits, assessed my ass as I went to the loo and put her hand on my thighs to emphasise a point about the cost of horse management in France.

She had a boyish figure as I’ve mentioned, small tits, an enviably slim waist, neat cunt ( the breeches fitted that well) and that arse. Oh God, God pleaaaaaassssse make her fancy me.

Next F-word/s…Francophile Fucking.

Jodhpur fetish aficionados will be disappointed. I didn’t get my hands on that beautiful lycra enhanced butt then and there. I watched it sway off into the dusk…but I had been invited to her house next day to see her ‘orses and also, I hoped, a bit of ‘orseplay.

I drove over in my friend’s little French car. Would she strip me and saddle me with a bit between my teeth and her whip tantalising my tushy? Would I have to kiss her shiny leather boots as she stood nude and aroused above me? Would I be a pony girl, naked and harnessed to her cart with a long horse’s tail shoved up my arsehole? God, what a pervy little princess I’ve become since I started my book!

But, I was in a Zara dress and my best underwear (this was France after all) and when she opened the door she was in a simple white shirt and and beautifully cut cargo pants. So sorry breeches buffs, but welcome knickers and female fucking fans.

It was raining so viewing the horses was out but she offered me tea or wine. Frankly, all I wanted was her whining with lust but I asked for Earl Grey (as French tea is shit).

We sat on the sofa and talked, then we held hands, and then we kissed…and kissed and then her hand was slipping up my skirt.

She lifted my skirt away to reveal my pants. Was this the first hurdle? What if they'd been pastel Primark or mingy M&S? Would she have kicked my ass out of the door? However, cleverly I was in my best cream Coco de Mer’s and these seemed to pass her strict French standards. Her hand slipped around my mound and squeezed and now it was time for the next F-word…fireworks.

I slipped her shirt off, the tits were small but the nipples were thrusting out, unashamedly signalling that Madame Madge was hot for it. Down came the pants to reveal an exquisite pair of grey silk knickers, I just stared in admiration – they were that sexy!

My dress was off and her hand was down my Coco's. She handled me as firmly as she would have treated her horse and I instantly responded. Her eyes were fixed on mine loving my involuntary gasps and moans. Her fingers expertly felt out my most sensitive spots and I began to lose control. France 1, England 0.

In an instant I grabbed those silky grey bum cheeks. She felt brilliant, I just loved the sensuous cling of her knickers. My fingers buried themselves into her crack. All that lusting yesterday and now I could do anything with her. We kissed and kissed and she worked my cunt lips. I pulled her pants down, sucked my finger and slyly slipped it up her cul.

She gasped. Perfidious Albion had caught her unawares and stormed her from behind. She relaxed and my finger slipped in. She gasped again and I smirked at her. She looked furiously at me then smiled and I felt her little hole tighten sensuously around my delving digit. France 1, England 1

Then, we were both naked and aroused and we had all afternoon. I told her about my jodphur fantasies and she laughed and promised me that next time she’d dress to please me. And we fucked and sucked and fucked and…

And that was several weeks ago and I haven’t had the jodphur japes yet, she’s always busy and I’m writing my books and well, women have one night (afternoon) stands too.

I still get slippery thinking about Madame Madge and I’m in France for a few more weeks so maybe I’ll get to whip that tight little derriere.

And that’s my last F-word…fantasies.

Enjoy yours and I’ll be back soon. Well not quite my last…

Farewell. Love and kisses Sadie xxxx

A woman’s bits and pieces.

2007-06-21T23:39:00.000+01:00

Hi, remember me, woman from Brighton, used to write a blog called Sadie Dark Places, bit of a potty mouth? No, you’ve forgotten because it’s months since I filed anything. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

So what can I tell you? Well, I’m ok, Brighton in the sun and rain is ok, Ms Hastings is ok, Pretty Polly the pantyhose perv is ok, Morgan, (the co-writer of my book) is ok. All my Brighton mates, Ms Rude, Dolce & Gabbana etc etc are ok. But my writing is not fucking ok! It’s just that that stimulating my creative juices is getting harder however vigorously I finger my Mac. All the effort to finish my book is diverting me from my blog.

So what can I tell you? Well how about some Lesbian Mud Wrestling? Yea, fuck the scene in my lovely city, fuck the crisis of New Labour, here’s some new labia smeared in sticky substances. And it all took place at The Candy Bar in Brighton.

Ms Hastings and I naturally couldn’t keep away after reading about it on that brilliant andv essential site Realbrighton.com (from whom I’ve borrowed the pics, hope they don’t mind). The Candy Bar isn’t our usual haunt as we both feel a bit old when we’re amongst the baby babes who pack the place and it’s a tad butch with short hair and boy’s boxer shorts peering over baggy jeans.

However, trying not to look too much like the Fat Slags from Viz, we entered the club and were immediately hit by feminine pheromes. A bunch of leering lezs were cheering on a couple of girls in shorts and knickers who were actually wrestling in mud. It was everyman’s dream but that night only us ladies were realising it.

The participants in their pants were rather jolly, like those healthy girls at school who always volunteered for things. It was so different from my last few bouts of this popular sport. That was in Amsterdam on a business trip in my days as a married marketer. We were taking time off from an immensely dull conference and so took some clients to a club. Here the wrestlers were Pamela Stephenson look-alikes and the audience were predominately pissed men. At the time I thought I was firmly hetero, but I can remember being quite diverted by the dirty girls. Those wet thongs disappearing up toned bums were strangely attractive and I think I rather enjoyed it more than I’d expected.

It was very different at The Candy Bar and, I must admit, just a bit embarrassing – too much like girls desperately wanting to be macho. It’s not a good look.

So what else? Well, with the title of this piece in mind here’s something in the ‘only in America’ category that I spotted on the web:

I quote…

…The Big Coloring Book of Vaginas
30 pages of illustrated vaginas with games such as word search, connected the dots, and an "all about my vagina" section

Psst... can i tell you a secret?
(Every woman has one!)

Vaginas are a fingerprint. Captured in this book along with fun puzzles and games is the uniqueness of the vagina beautifully illustrated. From the compact smooth vagina to a coiffed vagina with full lips. Some are pierced, some are tattooed, some are soft spoken and some are in your face! Illustrate these beautiful vaginas with your imagination and show your love for what makes your world go round!

The Big Book of Vaginas
ISBN:
978-1-4243-4035-4
Price: $10.95

So, goodbye from now from my soft spoken vagina. I’ll try to be back a bit sooner.

Love & Kisses Sadie

Blog off but strap on

2007-05-10T23:24:00.000+01:00

Oh God, months pass and my blog is blogged down. Ignored and unloved by me as I desperately try to finish my book.

How I admire (and hate) those smug bluggers who manage to write something new every day. Where do they get the time? Whilst they sit polishing some amusing paragraph I’m desperately trying to stay awake and concentrate on my plot lines.

To keep my hand in I wrote some stuff for UKAuthors but then I had a bad conscience thinking that instead of parading my talent on other sites I SHOULD BE FINISHING MY FUCKING BOOK.

So I ignored UKAuthors and the chance to write some filth for a sexy American site that actually pays you!!!!! – and chained myself to my Mac.

Of course, Morgan (my co-writer and provider of wit) helps but he’s just about submerged in a torrent of shit call Reckitts. They’re a huge company that markets Nurofen, Strepsils, Vanish, Lemsip and Calgon. And when I tell you that the ranting wanker on Chilit Bang is one of their more sophisticated ads you’ll understand why Morgan, whilst deeply busy, is also deeply depressed. He calls them Wreckitts after what they do to his scripts.

However my debts and his need to escape from Wreckitts should be a great incentive to finish our tome. It’s just a matter of time – or the fucking lack of it.

Talking about fucking (and now some of my readers will suddenly start paying attention) it’s been a very active month or two.

Thinking about it, maybe if I’d spent as much time bent over the computer as I have been bent over the bed/kitchen table/somebody’s knee, I might have been more productive in a literary way. But there you are – tempest fukit!

I’m still with Ms Hastings. I’m amazed after my past relationships record but she seems to be still in lurrrrrrrve with me. Of course, we can only be together occasionally – but when we are they are definitely occasions.

She loves sex as much as I do and is keen to experiment. And as Hastings (where she lives) has the World’s Greatest Family Sexshop she often turns up with little turn-ons.

But lately she had been unfaithful to her home town’s wicked wares and has taken to ordering stuff from knickerdrawer.com – a site for women by women.

It’s a fun site and I only wish, on behalf of my sex, that they were as painstaking with their spelling and punctuation as they are with the choice of products. Here then, are a few that caught my eye (I’ve left the copy unchecked):

How about Blueberry Cheesecake flavoured lube? I quote…

“…O'My favoured lubes contain all the trusted ingredients of a natural lubricant, but add a succulent and fruity twist to your sex play! Flavoured lubruicants are ideal for intercourse and oral sex - and of course a little of both and then some... O'My Flavoured lubricants contain no artificial flavours or colours, just good clean yummy fun. If that wasn’t enough they're low calorie and sugar free too.”

Or what about the Ecstasy Lounge.

This has to be seen or rather sat on to be believed. It’s a large pink plastic cushion with a 6” vibrator. I quote:

“Unusual but great fun. This inflatable cushion comes with a built in, 6"multi-speed vibrator for the ultimate in bouncy castle fun. The two handles mean that you can really get to grips with it. Think of it as a space hopper for grown-ups.”

Of course, in Brighton on a sunny Saturday you see plenty of pink blobby things with cocks attached. But most discerning women wouldn’t want to get to grips with them and I’d be surprised if any of them could offer a 6” multi-speed, especially after a few lagers.

However what Ms Hastings had in mind was a simple strap-on. Now I’ve never felt the need of a strap-on. Like just about every woman I’ve got a Rabbit burrowed away for those special moments but even then I still prefer the personal touch at these times – and my fingers are well practiced.

As for being fucked by a strap-on, if I wanted a cock up me I’d be having affairs with men – it’s that simple.

But my delicious lover was keen to try one for size, so together we chose one. We considered the Xtra vibe strap-on (pictured above), I quote:

“Like a normal strap-on but better. this one has it all. The jelly shaft contains rotating balls for a lovley internal massage. On the top of the shaft is an independantly controlled vibrating egg, designed to stimulate the receivers cliterous. If that wasn't enough the wearer also gets a treat in the form of her own vibrating egg attached to the inside of the harness”

Hmmmm, a bit technical for us, and I, for one, couldn’t fuck with one without falling down laughing – so no points for the Xtra Vibe.

Instead we invested in a plain old pink jelly cock attached to a crotchless latex thong.

She had first go and that why I’ve been bent over to many things. I’ve had it jiggling around in my cunt and I’ve had it up my bum and, I’m afraid, it hasn’t made much of an impression. I still prefer my lover’s fleshy digits and tingling tongue

Then I had a go myself. I strapped it on and looked down at the rather obscene looking pink jelly cock, dangling below me.

Ms Hasting big bum is always enticing and as she leant over the bed I naturally felt excited whilst I directed the lubbed cock towards her. Which hole first, oh decisions, decisions. I spread her tanned cheeks, surveyed my pink playground – and plumped for her arse.

The cock pressed against her ring, I pushed and it easily slid in. Ms Hasting gasped and twitched. I waggled my bum and Ms Hastings gasped even more – it was certainly hitting the spot for her

And, well, I felt a bit of power as I hung onto her cheeks and pumped away. Oh god, penis power, not at all (so please no more insults from rabid feminists) but just a strange and rather pleasant feeling of power over my lover’s emotions. Of course I get it when I fuck her normally and naturally. But that stupid bit of wobbly plastic just seemed to amplify the feelings.

Odd but strapping good fun, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Love & Kisses Sadie

Pantyhose passions part 2.

2007-02-26T12:22:00.000Z

Well well, the pantypost still goes on. After my little piece about having my gusset gobbled by pretty Polly one January afternoon, so many 15 denier devotees have been in touch. By the way the pic sadly isn't me but I like to dream that it is the view Polly had of me.

Several writers suggested getting into deep discussions on the subject in Brighton hotel rooms – naughty boys! But a couple actually wrote interesting emails about their love of lycra and where it had taken them – kinky!

That time with Polly was a bit of a surprise for me I must confess. Like just about every woman I’ve always had a bit of a thing about knickers and their sexual effect. I think it started when I showed my Ladybird briefs to Martin Parsons. I was six then but I’ve been flashing them, one way or another, ever since.

I’ve always loved sexy lingerie and have recently added latex to my repertoire. But, tights?

Like most women, I sniff for freshness than put on and eventually take off my tights daily without thinking about their sexual possibilities. It's a bit like men suddenly finding out that women are madly turned on by grey M&S socks.

But now I completely understand their attraction and so, I find, does most of the world, just put the word ‘pantyhose’ into Google and see how many sites there are.

But don’t do it yet because I want you to read my two correspondents.

One is a 23-year old woman who was as surprised as I was and another is from a man who’s been into tights (literally) for many years and now combines them with World War 2 gasmasks for total sexual pleasure – imagine it, Mum’s Aristocs meets Dad’s Army?

But, ladies first…

Dear Sadie,

I love reading your blog and your stories because you’re so sexy and so brilliantly funny at the same time (I left that bit in because I’m a sad praise addict but now for the serious bit)

Like you I never associated tights with sex, in my sexual relations with either men or women. I suppose I’m rather conservative in these matters but that’s the way I am.

So when I had a drink with X after we’d been working in the same office for nine months I thought it was just a normal start to a relationship. She made it very clear to me that she found me attractive and she complimented me on my office clothes. I found this odd because they were nothing special. The office dress code is fairly formal so I was wearing a black suit and white blouse, as was she.

She then suggested a club nearby, now I knew this was gay, and that it had lesbian nights but I welcomed the freedom to explore our affair. The only thing was I didn’t feel that my boring office clothes were right for this but X was insistent.

Later, at the club, we sat in the dark amongst women who were getting very friendly, we kissed but I was surprised when without warning X put her hand up my skirt. Now men have tried this and I normally feel rather insulted but it was such a surprise that I did nothing. X’s hand started feeling around my thighs and then between my legs. She then whispered about her love of tights and how sexy I was in my black tights and that was the beginning.

I’m now a dedicated tight fanatic thanks to X. It started with just the two of us at X’s flat. Like you, we were both topless but our lower halves were covered by our sexy tights. It’s a wonderful sensation isn’t it Sadie. I just adore my bum being stroked and X licking me through my tights.

Later, I sucked and licked X. We both had amazing orgasms.

We did this for weeks and then X tore up a pair of tights and put one piece over my head. Initially I panicked but then when I realised I could breathe I found the restriction very sexy.

Then X suggested tying me up. I trusted her so she tied me and covered my face with tights. Then she made me suck her off through the material.

X would push her finger wrapped in the tights into my vagina and it felt really good. Then she pushed her tight wrapped finger up my bum and I was amazed how great it felt.

I now felt I couldn’t enjoy sex if tights weren’t involved. I even feel sexy at the office wearing my tights without knickers. Do you think this is strange Sadie?

X belongs to a Yahoo ‘pantyhose’ group and regularly contributes to the forum. She read of a ‘meet’ in a motel sort of place near Birmingham and suggested we go. It would have normally been the last thing I’d have even considered – but I said yes.

We all gathered in this large bedroom and there were about 4 couples, 6 women and 2 men. We each disappeared into the bathroom and came back naked but for tights. We were all shapes and sizes but some of the women were quite attractive.

One couple, a man and a woman, put some music on and then they lay on the bed and started to fondle each other. Maybe it’s because X and I had enjoyed several drinks in the hotel bar but I found it very arousing. The man was rubbing the woman between her legs and she was sucking on his cock that was prominent under his tights.

X started kissing me and feeling my bum and I kissed her nipples. Then I felt another hand on me and looked round. It was the other couple, and the man was stroking my thigh but his partner, a woman was looking on approvingly. I guessed that this was meant to be a group event. X manoeuvred me around so the man could get more intimate with me and X could get more intimate with the woman. In seconds, the man had his hand between my legs, X had one hand on my bum and the other between the woman’s legs and the woman was stroking my breasts.

As you might imagine Sadie this was very exciting and my crotch was soon very damp but I didn’t care because so was everyone elses. We swapped partners and stimulated each other for hours. At one point I had a woman sucking my nipples, another woman sucking my vagina and another woman tickling my bum with her tongue. We all got very stimulated but our tights stayed on because that was the sexy part really.

Eventually the two men and woman couples had sex through torn tights on the bed and in front of us. X then tore my tights at the crotch and brought me to orgasm with her finger and tongue. And, you know Sadie, I just
loved doing it with other people watching. A couple of months ago I would have been horrified at the thought. But now I can’t wait to go to another group meet.

Then, we got dressed, had a chat and left.

She then wrote some stuff about my blog but it was so flattering that I’m too modest to share it with you. I love the last bit however, I wonder after getting dressed what the group talked about? Being Brits it might have been about the weather or considering the afternoon whether Wolford tights rip better than Aristocs.

Now it’s the turn of a very nice guy with some interesting interests:

Dear Sadie

I’m very happy to tell you more about my ventures into BDSM. I’m a closet fetishist and know that my deep, furtive desires would horrify my long-term partner. Our relationship is great in all but the erotic realm, and I agonized for ages before taking the plunge to act out my urges. And now, telling you, it’s also quite cathartic to be able to spill the beans.

Who knows where such yearnings come from, but ever since I became aware of my sexuality, I was fascinated by dominant women. Generally, I’m a strong and assertive person, but wanted to be overwhelmed sexually. While I was a student, I found a couple of sympathetic girlfriends who came to share my bondage and domination kinks. These involved the liberal use of tights, worn conventionally (by both of us), as restraints and gags, and (this took a little persuasion at first) as masks.

The mask thing really caught my imagination, and stayed with me. One day, I saw a gas mask for sale in an Army Surplus shop and realized with a jolt of lust that it could be used as a prop in my preferred bedroom games. I especially liked the thought of my female partners concealing their faces behind a grotesque respirator before doing what they wanted with me. I tiptoed round the topic with a succession of girlfriends (even one of the stocking-mask wearers), but only met with disgusted rejection.

Now, to move on a few years and cut to the chase…I wanted to realize my erotic dream of being dommed by a gasmasked mistress. The first couple or so I tried reacted in a similar way, though not quite as shocked, as my former girlfriends when I mentioned my special needs. Then I rang X. She was a part-time lifestyle mistress who did sessions for pleasure and (as she put it) ‘pocket money’ and was totally unfazed by my unusual request.

Come the day, I found myself tapping timidly at the door of a purpose-built BDSM studio at the bottom of an extensive wooded suburban garden. Mistress X opened up and asked me in; she was a self-confident woman in her early thirties with an easy manner and a nice line in self-deprecating humour, and I took to her instantly. She had below-shoulder-length brown hair and her wide-hipped, hourglass figure was encased in a skintight mini dress in black latex. The front of the dress was open to show some cleavage, but I noticed that it could zip right up to a high neck. Her legs – o joy! – were encased in sheer tan tights. We chatted for a bit, and then I showed her the mask from my collection that I had brought along. It was a World War 2 ‘elephant trunk’ gas mask.

She loved the look of it, turned it over in her hands, and made appreciative noises. We agreed to play out a scenario where I was a burglar and she had caught me trying on her hosiery.

I was told to go into the main room of the studio, strip, and pull on a pair of her tights that she had laid out for me. After a couple of minutes of waiting, the door slowly opened and X. made her entrance. Or rather, it was a new version of the pretty, long-haired woman I had been speaking to earlier. She had done her hair up in a topknot before pulling a sheer stocking, tan to match her tights, over her head. Her dress was now zipped right up to the neck and she’d tucked the stocking under the collar. Across her chest, she’d strapped the canvas army bag containing my mask.

Head to toe, she was covered in nylon and rubber. Clutching a riding crop in a gloved hand, she advanced on me and brought her stockinged face close to mine. Her delicate features were now blurred and distorted by the tight nylon skin, which pulled the end of her nose and eyebrows up and flattened her lips. This sinister figure ordered me to kneel. Circling round me, V whacked me across the buttocks with the riding crop before turning her attention to my cock. “How pathetic” she hissed in my ear, “let’s see if we can make it bigger before the end of the session.” “But first,” she went on “if you like women’s tights so much, let’s see how you fancy being strangled and suffocated with them. Lie down!” I did as she commanded, and X straddled my chest, her rubber dress stretching taut across her thighs as she rested her weight on me. The bank-robber face leered down at me as she picked up a spare pair of hose, dragged them roughly over my head, and slowly tightened the legs around my neck. She knew what she was doing and released them in just enough time for the strangulation to be exciting but not downright scary. She repeated the game several times, all the while insulting me and yelling at me how she could easily kill me. Next came the suffocation; she kept the tights on my head but dragged a stretched surgical rubber glove over them. From inside my rubber prison, I watched the glove inflate as I gasped for air.

“I don’t think I look frightening enough” V suddenly announced as she released me from the glove. Opening the poppers of the army bag, she out eased the black, corrugated rubber hose and the face piece of the vintage gas mask. “This’ll scare the shit out of you if I put it on, won’t it? Or maybe you’ll just be turned on by it, you perv.” With this, she stretched the straps of the mask and, smiling wickedly at me, pulled it over her stockinged head. The effect was electric; this attractive young woman had instantly transformed herself into a nightmarish, insect-like apparition. Her voice was muffled and deep as she bent down to speak to me. “I wish I had some poison gas here. I’d asphyxiate you, you worm.”

We played a few more games, with V striding around still wearing the respirator, tying me up to a hanging beam, clamping my nipples, and whipping me. Eventually, I was made to kneel at her feet as she sat in a chair, massage her tights-clad legs up to just above the knee and stimulate myself to orgasm while looking at her gas masked face.

Well! All this makes me feel like the Country Mouse – very innocent. As I mentioned to my male correspondent I’ve had several lovers during my life for whom tights over the face would have been an improvement but I’ve never thought about it as a turn-on during fucking – just where have I been???

Are there any more lycropaths out there who would like to introduce my readers to new 15 denier delights? Well, get in touch.

Love & kisses (through tights) Sadie xxxxx

Pantyhose passions

2007-02-17T13:08:00.000Z

I get loads of emails (and to answer most of them ‘No I couldn’t possibly do that without pulling a muscle in my back’). However, I often get them from people I’ve mentioned in my blog and that’s ok. But I recently got one from Polly with whom I enjoyed a little January jiggling.

She was very upset about the tone of my piece ‘What to do in a tight situation’ . I was about to write ‘she’s got her knickers in a twist’ but I better not now, as it’s a very serious subject.

So here’s her email. Please read it then think: Is snogging a snatch through lycra weird or not? The decision is yours.

Dear Sadie,

Hello, how are you? Thank you for the saucy note you sent after you got back to your flat. I am ok and now XXXXX and the kids are back life is normal and pleasant, if rather unexciting.

You did mention that you might put our afternoon together on your blog. But, well I didn’t expect you to write it in such detail.

You asked me to tell you what I thought about your ‘reportage’. Well, in general, it was very accurate and I actually found myself quite turned on by it, is that strange? But I have two criticisms.

First, how dare you say I have a big bum. It’s no bigger than yours which I see in your past writings you’ve described as ‘sexy’ and ‘curvy’. I certainly thought it was, especially when it was encased in your black ‘Close Encounter’ tights with your white knickers underneath. I can still imagine you bent over the sofa offering your bum to me and allowing me to do anything I wanted to. You say in your story that you quite liked it but I remember you being very enthusiastic.

But, more seriously, although you say you’re not surprised by anything anymore I note a hint of criticism in the words you use. I quote:

‘She was almost ignoring me as a person by now’

‘How she met up in a hotel outside Birmingham with fellow tight-sniffers’

‘No what amazed me was that this respectable, pillar of the community, on the school board, happily married mother of two, harboured such extraordinary sexual longings. It was sheer madness.’

I’m afraid I detect that very conservative English emotion that is summed up as: “I have exciting sexual desires but you are a pervert”. I believe I have a normal sexual life that includes a desire to occasionally share it with women and also to use items of clothing to increase the sensations. What do you find weird about that?

All the women I know ‘in the community’ and even on ‘the school board’ have a healthy interest in their underwear as an item of fashion. And surveys in magazines suggest that women all over the United Kingdom share this interest.

We all know that wearing sexy underwear in the bedroom is a remarkably common prelude to sexual activity and is practiced by many ‘ happily married mothers of two’.

So why did you think it was ‘extraordinary’ that I was turned on by you wearing tights and knickers and that I wanted to express those feelings by kissing your sexual parts and exploring them with my tongue. The feel of lycra encasing legs, thighs, bums and stomachs is extremely sensual and I really don’t think this is some perversion carried out by ‘tight-sniffers’. It is just a case of underwear creating a great atmosphere that leads to sexual intercourse – and that is a very ordinary happening.

But the bit that hurt me most was ‘She was almost ignoring me as a person by now’ How could you write this Sadie? I think that over our few hours together I never forgot that you were a person and I demonstrated this by my constant and active efforts to give you sexual pleasure. I talked to you all the time and asked you whether you liked what I was doing and did you want me to do anything else? I remember you being very vocal and crude about your desires but that’s one of the things I loved about you Sadie.

I’m sorry to go on but I resent the impression you left in your blog that I was some kind of ‘in-human pervert’. I expected you to be worldlier about sexual matters, just because internet sites feature a sexual activity doesn’t automatically make it weird – there’s a lot of heterosexual sex on there isn’t there?

However on a happier note it would be great if we could meet up again to chat, discuss my criticisms or do anything you like – just wear tights :)

Love XXXXXXXXXX

Well, I did reply and apologise, I try to write amusing stuff in my blog and sometimes the jokes set a tone I didn’t really intend. I’d hate her to think I thought she was pants!

However, I might just take up her tempting offer. But, at the moment my lovely Ms Hastings is back in my life and we’re hot when we’re together. Last night, she kept her tights on…just a little longer why we played.

They were black Wolford Velvet De Luxe 50, for your information Polly, and they made her bum feel like a big luscious peach. Mmmmmmmmmm!

Love & kisses Sadie

What to do in a tight situation

2007-02-03T13:17:00.000Z

When you dive into deviancy and leave the safe shores of married heterosexual shagging I suppose you should expect to wash up in some weird places (and run out of watery metaphors).

I mean the sexy dark places I like to write about. Over the past couple of years various women have offered to wrestle me, go naked hiking with me, brand me with hot irons, shave me, and cover me in chocolate, But although I was very curious and not a little titillated by some of these suggestions I only agreed to one. Guess which? Here’s a clue: yum, yum!

So I suppose I shouldn’t have been shocked by what happened the week after New Year’s Day. My occasional girl friend Ms Hastings was off skiing with her husband and I was moping around at various parties on my own. Ms Hastings is very relaxed about this, when she’s with hubbie I’m allowed to pursue temporary liaisons (nice word) if they are offered.

That’s the fascinating thing about gays. Unlike straight couples who mostly need to lap up a couple of dinners and a bit of culture before they lap up each other, we often find ourselves in each other’s pants just hours after we’ve first met.

Especially women as, I suppose, we sort of trust each other, the sex doesn’t have to be one-sided and penetrative and you won’t get pregnant.

So, to get to my shocking tale, I started talking to this woman at a lunch party. I’ve promised to keep her totally anonymous so no details of where or when. However I’ll call her Polly, after Pretty Polly (you see why soon). It was pretty dressy so I was in a skirt and fuck-me heels and so was she.

I’d met Polly a couple of times before at similar do’s, she wasn’t part of the Brighton muffia but she seemed to like to hang out with us and she was apparently very happily married with kids. Ah ha, you think the plot deepens!

Well, at least, our conversation did, we started by discussing Little Miss Sunshine, found we both liked Amy Winehouse a lot and so on and so forth. Then, after several glasses of cold white wine we got on to hotter personal matters, I talked about Ms Hastings and her frequent absences from my bed and she confessed that, nice as hubbie and kids were, there was a bit of excitement missing.

Ah, the signals – I’ve learnt them pretty fast and they definitely suggested that Sadie might be in for a little New Year nookie that afternoon.

Then it was time to go and she offered me a lift. We chatted aimlessly while I checked her body out as she drove, nice legs, full but sexy thighs, big bum, big tits and an attractive face with a rather dirty looking mouth. She turned to say something and caught me looking at her. We grinned at each other.

Then, just before we hit Brighton Polly hit on me. She pulled into a lay by and stopped the car.

“Look Sadie, you know I find you very sexy” she said nervously. Then she placed her hand on my knee and gently stroked it.

“My house is just over there…would you like to come back with me?”

Well that was direct. No excuse of a cup of tea or to see the new kitchen. Just, why not pop over for a fuck, I liked that.

And so then we were on the sofa in her smart living room kissing each other in the French manner. Mr Polly and the little ones were walking in the Lake District for a couple of days so the house was ours. She’d said she didn’t want to go into the bedroom because it would seem unfair to her husband and I understood that.

However, I wanted to move things along a bit so I stood up and looked down at her.

“Well” I said.

At this, she placed her hands on the back of my legs and then slowly moved them upwards. She pushed my skirt up and squeezed my thighs and then her fingers were massaging my bum.

This was nice but I was a bit puzzled by her next comment.

“Sadie, I find you so sexy like this, but, look I don’t want to put you off, but there’s something, I errrrr, there’s something I like doing”

Oh oh I thought, flagellation, fisting, dressing up as Cheri Blair – you just don’t know these days.

“Look, Polly, anything goes babe” I said in a hopefully cool way.

Her hands gripped my thighs and pulled me towards her. She rested her face against my disarranged skirt and looked up at me.

“It’s just that I’m really turned on by you in…these tights”

Ahh, I hadn’t met one of these before but I’d read about them on the mucky sites I watch at 3am in the morning. She was into my tights. They were nothing special - ‘Close Encounters’ from M&S, but actually the name was rather appropriate. She was a pantyhose fan, yea, this rather twee American word for tights was all over the internet. Pantyhose Fun, Lesbians in Pantyhose, Men in Pantyhose, Pets in pantyhose (fuck, saying it four times means I’m going to get so many mentions on Google now)

I said nothing but just stroked her hair so she took this as a ‘go ahead’. She unzipped my skirt and slipped it down. I was now just in my blouse, tights with a white thong underneath and my fuck-me’s.

She buried her face into my belly and then, after a moment, looked appealingly up at me.

“Oh Sadie” she said. “Can I do…anything”

I nodded and her face was now in my crotch. Not just resting on it but actively burrowing into my mound. Her hands were on my arse pulling me even tighter against her exploring nose. I imagined she was getting a subtle whiff of sexy sadieness.

Then she stood up, I stood watching her wondering what was going to happen next. She slipped her skirt down and I saw she was not wearing knickers under her tights. Polly’s trimmed pubes faced me defiantly.

She took my arm and led my around the sofa. Then, by pressing her hand on her back she indicated that I was to bend over the back. Once in position with my arse in the air, I suddenly felt her hands all over my cheeks, patting, smoothing and squeezing the thin shiny material that covered them. Wow, she loved lycra!

Then her face was in my crack. She was actually rubbing her cheek against mine and even kissing it.

For minutes, she brushed my bum with her face. I could hear her breathing growing more intense and then she was up my arse in the nicest possible way.

If someone had come in they would probably have assumed from my position and her attention that we were just two members of the Advertising profession but it felt strange to me.

It was an odd sensation owing to the material tights are made of. There is some feeling of covering but otherwise you seem naked. But then I felt her tongue pushing against the springy fabric and a slight damp feeling. As I said, weird.

Equally odd was me, later, with my legs in the air while she grazed on my gusset. She was almost ignoring me as a person by now. She was manoeuvring me into position and then tasting my tights. It felt that her tongue was trying to force its way through to my cunt. Then she was biting me gently, her teeth nibbling away and pulling on my thong. And then she was pressing her mouth and nose into me and I suddenly began to like it. My tights and thong were damp – and so was I.

She sat up on her knees panting gently. I decided it was time I got involved so I sat up, opened her shirt and slipped it off. She was wearing a classy looking bra which she opened at the front and her big tits fell out.

“Now you’ she said and in seconds my nipples were perking up in the cool air. But she hadn’t finished down below and she lifted my legs and pushed me back so she could have unrestricted access.

For minutes she tantalised me thought the thin material. I was getting those feelings and so was she. With my head on the carpet I could see her gusset and her hand was in there and her fingers were working hard.

Finally she must have cum or something because she stopped and sat back looking at me blissfully. I let my legs fall back and we both relaxed.

“Fancy a snack darling before we…carry on?” she said. Well, I thought, you’ve already had yours.

We both got up. My tights were soaked through but I left them on. They obviously excited Polly and I wanted her totally turned on.

Polly came back, set a small table, lit a candle then, put two interesting looking salads out with a bottle of wine. We ate, an odd sight I expect, two 30 year olds topless in tights. Now that would make a great website name!

After we’d finished the meal Polly started on me again. This time I knew what to expect and I allowed myself to be used like a lycra covered sexual organ. She sucked me, stretched me, and tried to split me open.

Then, being a Brit she practiced fair play and I found my face in her silky snatch. Later I tried her arse for size but I found the whole experience a bit frustrating. The material was a barrier to my pleasure not a boost.

But she was so excited. So I took her in my arms, our tights finally came off and we finished ourselves off with a good old - fashioned fuck.

Later, as I got dressed she told me about her fetish. How she chatted to groups across the world, how she’s met up in a hotel outside Birmingham with fellow tight-sniffers. Pantyhose Orgy, I said, (wow, google will now go mad!)

We kissed, said we must do this again, and I went outside to the comparatively sane world of a cab driver’s banter all the way to Brighton.

At the beginning of this I said I was shocked but it wasn’t the gusset snuffling. I’ve seen and expect I’ll experience even odder things than that. No what amazed me was that this respectable, pillar of the community, on the school board, happily married mother of two, harboured such extraordinary sexual longings.

It was sheer madness.

Love & kisses Sadie xxxx

Cold nights and hot porn

2007-01-31T00:38:00.000Z

Hey, January is supposed to be the most depressing month of the year but I must disagree with this.

For me this January is the most depressing month in the Millennium.

Why? Well. I’m missing my lovely girlfriend Ms Hastings. She and hubbie have gone skiing. I imagine her in her tight fitting ski pants slaloming around mounds and crevices that aren’t mine.

Then, there’s the weather. When my book makes me rich I’ll be somewhere warm about now. Florida maybe, perhaps Spain, or will South America twang my thong? Who knows but I desperately want to be somewhere sunny, bright and oh so warrrrrrmmmmm! Instead I’m freezing my arse off along the Brighton prom. As you know I love this sexy city but, at this time of the year most interesting things (apart from my nipples) shrink in the cold.

One thing that is sadly decreased is my enthusiasm for doing any work. So although I dream about what I’ll do when the book’s finished all I’m doing at the moment is dreaming.

I really hope Morgan (my co-writer) is burning the midnight oil (at least he’ll be warm) but the last time I spoke to him he said he was busy writing ads for the worst client in the world. Now, most advertising clients are bastards so these suckers must be really special. Apparently they’re big on lavatory cleaners – write your own jokes!

Speaking of being creative I have done one positive writing thing, I’ve posted two of my short stories on a site called UKAuthors. You can find them by going to www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=18295. Yea, it looks confusing but it works.

They are in the erotica section, naturally – why, did you think I’d be in Romance? You put them on the site and other writers comment on them. I thought it would be interesting to see whether my idea of erotic writing rocked people or repelled them.

Actually everyone was very cool and sophisticated and I was encouraged by their fairly enthusiastic response. My critics were more concerned by my misuse of commas and semi-colons than my character’s misuse of cunts so I think we might have the right balance of prose and porn in the book.

You move up a chart based on how many people read your piece during the week and I got to number one. How about that, Sadie’s on top for once?

I'll be in France when you read this. Hopefully my writing abilities will be re-charged in the land of Hugo, Verne, Sartre and the Marquis de Sade. Certainly my spirits will be as I’m holidaying with my very good friend Monsieur Jacques Daniel.

Au revoir

Love & kisses Sadie xxxx

Sugasm #61

2007-01-04T22:10:00.000Z

Sorry Vixen, am I the only cunt on the web who can't post your lovely picks with links that can be opened? Women eh!!!

Editors’ Note: This week’s Sugasm was delayed 48 hours due to domain issues. They’ve been resolved and we’re back on schedule. Thanks for your patience!

The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #62? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the linklist within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Me, Her, and Him 3 (http://erotischism.blogspot.com)
“But as sexually satisfied as he kept Kendall — or as satisfied as one man could — she was yearning for another kind of action.”

Polyamory vs. Polyfuckery (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)
“I admire Rachel’s altruism, despite her saying it’s a practical matter of what it takes to get her wet.”

A is for Abandon (http://redvelvetropeburn.com)
“The hands pressed into her lower back and she wanted to ask Him if He had felt them but her orgasm overtook her and she lost all conscious thought for a few moments.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
The Best of SugarBank 2006 (http://sugarbank.com)

Editors’ Choice
Lovely Contradictions (http://pick-up-pieces.blogspot.com)

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

BDSM and Fetish
B is for Bondage (http://lafillemariee.blogspot.com)
The Big Tease (Part Four) (http://orgasmdenialstories.blogspot.com)
Happy Holidays (http://masterenigma.blogspot.com)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
2006 Dark Odyssey post roundup (http://viviane212.blogspot.com)
The Dirty Mistress (http://dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com)
Making Myself Come (http://plum001.blogspot.com)
A Night at the Opera, continued. (http://junohenry.wordpress.com)
The Night Turned to Morning (http://www.betweensheets.net)
The Return of Lost Love http://eroticjournals.blogspot.com
The Road to Hell (http://sexandtheivy.com)
Simply Ambrosial (http://randisexadpoetry.blogspot.com)

NSFW Pics
Hardcore for the Holidays: Photo and Video (http://www.taratainton.com)

Sex News & Reviews
Adult Marketing, 2007 Style (http://fullfrontalpolitics.com)
Half-Nekkid Tribute (http://www.tarasnaughtyshop.com)
Welcome to “Smack Yourself” by Sensei and Pet (http://sexblogwelcome.blogspot.com)

Sexy Humor
All hail the Mighty Vagina! A request for Submissions (http://sexdriver.blogspot.com)
Santa’s coming but Sadie isn’t (http://www.sadiedark69.blogspot.com)

Slippery MetArt beauty courtesy of The Erotica Journals.

Santa's coming but Sadie isn't

2006-12-24T13:29:00.000Z

I ate my Christmas pudding on Saturday…

…and she was lovely. Yes, my cuddly lover Ms Hastings and I had a fantastic day. We did a bit of festive shopping, then some festive swigging in Charles St then it was back to my place for a bit of festive fffffff- (ok I’ll call it frolicking as it’s Christmas)

But now she’s back with her husband for the next few big days and I’m on my xxxxing own for Xmas. Ok, ok, I know that’s what happens if you choose to get mixed up with the married but such smug lecturing doesn’t make me feel more guilty or less desolate.

Of course, I’m having Christmas lunch with friends, but most of them are couples (of all genders) and, at the finish of the day, they go home together and I end up watching the fucking Snowman or something on TV with just my imagination for company and my fingers, of course. But in a time of love and giving, that doesn’t feel very appropriate – you can’t imagine Bing singing, “I’m dreaming of a wanking Christmas’ can you?

Perhaps I’ll get on with my book, a bit of angst never did most great writers any harm I suppose. I bet Ibsen and Graham Greene and Saul Bellow got pretty pissed at Christmas time so I too will channel my pain into my pages.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have drunk so much red wine today it always makes me gloomy…

Shmmmerrry Christmurrrrrrrrrse

Sadie xx

Sadie's XXXmas appeal

2006-12-22T19:47:00.000Z

I suppose I ought to do a Christmas message. Why not, because everyone else has a go? The lovely Liz does hers on Christmas Day TV and Channel 4 apparently has a Moslem lady in a veil as a cool but still rather spooky alternative.

I’ve even got another Queen’s message for you from my pals Dolce and Gabbana (named after their knickers that peep out from their jeans) Is that still fashionable or are they just turning into geriatric flashers?

Anyway their message is: Have a horny Christmas and a sexy new year. Not very original I’ll give you but at least a lot shorter and rather more desirable than the one from Windsor.

I’m hoping for a successful 2007 as we’re on the last laps of our book. Then we’ll show it to agents…and then??????????????????????????????????????????

In fact, it’ll need a final polish. Which I expect we’ll do in early January. I read of these authors who knock out 10,000 words before a long and liquid lunch. Can this be true or is it just literary bullshit. I personally find it hard work and so does Morgan (my co-writer) in spite of him being a professional writer.

Remembering everything about our characters is complicated and making sure they all keep their individual voices is almost impossible. So we’ll be going through the entire manuscript to sort these and other things out. Doesn’t manuscript sound posh for our naughty little volume?

I must admit, it is a bit rude, but then what else could it be with me involved? There’s lots of kinkiness and perversion and nudity, and people do absolutely eye-watering stuff to each other but true love wins through at the end. Sorry I lied about that last bit.

However, as we write we suffer, because both of us are rather penniless this Christmas. Let me be clear, we’re not down to selling the Big Issue, we respect these guys and always give them something although it’s a fucking boring read. No, we are both a bit lightweight in the £££££’s sense.

My job is now part-time because people in Brighton won’t part money for books and Morgan has hit hard times in the Advertising world, my God he’s now having trouble filling the tank of his Ferrari.

So we’re both rather relying on the book for a more secure next 12 months. In fact, having mentioned Hard Times, I’m sitting here like a Dickens’ heroine warming my icy hands over a candle and hoping that a kind literarrrrry gennulmun will take pity on a poor soul like me, gord bless you!!!!

Sorry for that, but it’s very Victorian in Brighton tonight. The fog is drifting through the streets and (just for my American friends) I can hear the Hanson cab drivers clip-clocking along. However to be serious for a second, we do have Jack the Ripper style killings in Ipswich – so some Dickensian stuff doesn’t change.

Second over, now, at last, for my Christmas message.

OK, hmmmmm, right, ahhhhhhhh, hey how about, noooooooo, well what about?

Ok something simple: Love and peace to all the truly witty and nice people who communicate with me – and pleasssssssse buy the book if it comes out.

Love & seasonal hugs and kisses all over Sadie xxxxxxxxxx

Famous fanny fanciers (and other jokes)

2006-10-19T20:33:00.000+01:00

A regular correspondent emailed me last week and chided me for not writing more about lesbian issues in this blog.

I'm not sure I'm aware of any to be honest. It seems to me that ladies-who-lunch-on-ladies are doing pretty well these days.

But I'd like to see some lesbian issues of Vogue or maybe Heat.

We’re quite fashionable actually. People like the stunning supermodel Kate Moss and/or actress Sienna Miller (allegedly) are reported in the red-tops as mutual rug-munchers. More seriously, Sarah Waters, the writer of Fingersmith etc was a hot favourite for the prestigious Booker Prize for her novel about lesbian and straight love in the Second World War.

In the USA, Christine Aguillera and Drew Barrymore have shown some enthusiasm for getting close and personal with women (late as always compared to the goddess Madonna who was apparently ‘Into the groove’ of Sandra Bernard years ago) and The L Word (which I despise) is very popular.

So, no obvious prejudice here. Plus lesbians are also getting ‘married’ in public ceremonies (like my gay friends a couple of weeks ago).

In fact, life is very laid-back for us lady lovers at the moment. Any fuss about females in the Daily Mail is currently aimed at rather sweet Muslims who choose to wear veils. Or Madonna’s adoption issues.

I’m putting some hot sweaty lesbian lurvvve into my book so no surprises there! But I’m not expecting an outcry – the stuff with the margarine and the goat will probably achieve that.

Just joking. Which gets me neatly to some supposedly witty lines that an American friend emailed me – who says we don’t have a cunny bone?

1. What do you call a cupboard full of lesbians?
...A licker cabinet.

2. What do you call an Eskimo lesbian?
...A Klondyke.

3. What do you call 100 lesbians with guns?
....Militia Etheridge.

4. Why can't lesbians diet and wear make-up at the same time?
…Because they can't eat Jenny Craig with Mary Kay on their face.

5. What do you call two lesbians in a canoe?
…Fur Traders.

6. What is a lesbian dinosaur called?
…A Lickalotapuss.

7. What do you call a lesbian with long fingers?
…Well Hung.

8. Did you hear that Ellen DeGeneres drowned?
...She was found face down in Ricki Lake.

9. How can you tell a tough lesbian bar?
...Even the pool table doesn't have balls.

10. What do you call lesbian twins?
...Lick-a-likes.

11. What's the definition of confusion?
...Twenty blind lesbians in a fish market.

12. What's the difference between a Ritz cracker and a lesbian?
...One's a snack cracker,the other's a crack snacker

13. What do you call an open can of tuna on a lesbians coffee table??
…Potpourri

Ha ha ha, gosh my sides are splitting!

Love Sadie xxxxxx

Bizarre mating rituals

2006-10-14T12:37:00.000+01:00

I’ve been to two weddings recently.

The first was rather unusual because there wasn’t a bride (well, not in the accepted sense) and the only thing white was the faces of some of the shocked passing Brighton shoppers as we posed for photographs on the pavement.

The second, however, was far more bizarre with strange rituals, weird clothing and a night of lustful and drunken celebration.

You’ve guessed it. The first was a cool and civilised gay getting together and the second was a family affair in East Grinstead.

The guys were a couple that my friends Dolce & Gabbana knew well (probably in the biblical sense too if I know my boys). They’d been sharing a flat for years and decided to formalise things – and why not I suppose?

Well I could list some reasons but I’d probably cause Blogger to crash.

My marriage was a dream. By which I mean a series of uncoordinated events and surreal happenings that might have been imagined by Hieronymus Bosch. So I’m a bit jaded about the overall cost of a diamond ring.

Mention of rings gets us back to the chap’s ceremony – well I can never resist an obvious joke. It was just like Elton and David’s, except we had the reception in someone’s flat and there were no talented millionaire celebrities attending. Although I had one woman pointed out to me whom I was told had been an extra in Eastenders.

The registrar managed to keep a straight face throughout. Which I suppose was impressive when you think of the sexual inclinations of the majority of the wedding guests. But to be serious for a second, it was all rather touching and I’m sure I detected a tear in Ms Hasting’s eye.

Right, a second’s passed.

The couple looked blissfully happy. They wore similar Oswald Boateng suits with little differently coloured carnations in their buttonholes – some gay code I imagine but sadly I forgot to ask.

At the reception we drank pink champagne and tucked into mini versions of junk food – little hamburgers and tiny fish and chips in teeny newspaper cones. All a bit twee I suppose but then this was a gay wedding. The guests, mostly happy homos and laughing lezzies behaved impeccably, we chatted and networked and finally left quietly into the Brighton night.

All in all totally different from my other event – which was a decidedly queer wedding.

For a start it was a family affair, and, as you might imagine, being a foul-mouthed, tartily dressed, pervy, enthusiastic lover of lady’s bits means I’m somewhat estranged from my church-going, Conservative voting relatives.

I invited Ms Hasting’s with some trepidation. She may have seen some terrifying things like the inside of a BDSM club, girl’s night at the Revenge club and my fanny – but nothing would prepare her for my family enjoying themselves en-mass.

A cousin of mine was getting hitched to some bloke. I watched his face steadily falling as my uncles and aunts filed into the church looking like they were attending a casting session for Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3.

I really get on well with my cousin. She was in virginal white which was sweet and faintly ironic because, I’m pleased to say, she has had a few intimate casting sessions herself before selecting her leading man. The dress was, in the great tradition of these things, totally hilarious. It billowed so she looked like a Victorian shepherdess caught in a hurricane. I asked her what was old, new, borrowed and blue. She proudly admitted that she’s combined three of these in one, by wearing an old blue thong that she’s borrowed from her sister.

The ceremony was old and ritualistic. The priest intoned, we called out in response and I was amazed we all didn’t dance in a circle around the sacrificial victims.

I stood at the back trying to be inconspicuous. However one or two of the women present would occasionally look in my direction and whisper something like “that’s her’ to their companion who’d then give me the once over. They seemed disappointed that I’d forgotten to bring my thigh boots and whip.

But, bizarrely, later at the reception in some big country hotel Ms Hastings and I were the best behaved. The married couple had left for their honeymoon and everyone else had left their senses. We’d sat through a heavy dinner and even more stodgy speeches that the gallons of warm white Chardonnay had failed to lighten.

But all this juice has certainly lightened the inhibitions of the guests. Old uncles danced too closely to young bridesmaids and lots of boozy blokes tried to prove they were the best man with the smashed female smashers.

Ms Hastings and I sat, like staid Brighton matrons, watching this bacchanalia. And then I thought, WHAT THE FUCK! I’m letting myself and my reputation down here.

I’d have preferred to have stripped her there and then and ravished her over the dining table but I didn’t want tiramisu stains on my Prada pants. So I grabbed my comely companion and led her to one of the many rooms off the ‘ballroom’.

She was the tastiest thing I’d enjoyed all night. I was really hoping an aunt would peer in and see me on the sofa with my arse in the air and my face between Ms Hastings thighs – but then I’m kinky that way.

When we left my cousin’s parents sniffily bid us goodbye. He gave me a peck on the cheek as if he’d catch something and she pointedly shook my hand. They always liked my ex-husband and, possibly correctly, blamed me for screwing it up. In that moment, they really made me feel a twat.

But I had the last laugh as our hands parted because I bet she never guessed where my fingers had just been.

Love and kisses from sticky Sadie xxxxx

Wot I did this summer

2006-10-07T12:12:00.000+01:00

Ok ok, I know what’s the use of a fucking blog if months pass without any news? It’s supposed to be a log – a daily sort of thing – you know Captain’s log Stardate whatever and all that. So I’m going to attempt to squash 120 days or so into a few paragraphs.

First, Brighton. Hot, v hot for most of June and July, no surprises there and none on the nude beach either. Ms Hastings finally stripped off on sands scattered with gaily-coloured beach balls.

That’s right, she dropped them in full view of 100 disinterested blokes in brightly hued speedos. It’s still a mystery to me why the majority of hunky homos keep their knickers on. Hey guys, its…a…nude…beach, and you are supposed to be free-thinking, convention-breaking exhibitionists. Otherwise you’d be up the other end of the promenade with your baggy shorts, complaining wife and screaming kids.

Second, concerts. I saw Madonna, I’ve always loved her music and rather admired her, but it felt like my duty to be there, considering my relatively recent change in sexual preferences.

In fact, on the night we were there, there must have only been about three straight couples in the entire Wembley Arena. The rest of us wore our trashy but hideously expensive T-shirts and stupid cowboy hats and low slung jeans and howled for our kinky goddess. It was her birthday too and several muscled guys celebrated this by wearing singlets bearing the slogan ‘Birthday Bitches’

But us real bitches weren’t disappointed either. Madonna in riding gear with totally revealing skin tight breeches pole dancing and ‘riding’ a mechanical saddle….mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmoist or what?

I also saw the Stones. I like the rock but not the wrinkles, so I wasn’t that keen to go but Morgan (my writing partner) was going to see them with his advertising partner and he was very enthusiastic.

So we went to Twickenham Stadium. In my advertising days I accompanied clients to rugby matches there. It was fun to watch but what with the banter and the boozing it wasn’t long before they were trying it on with me and going for a tackle. But none of them scored, I’m pleased to say.

But it was different at the concer because Ihave to say the Stones were fucking fantastic. Jagger is extraordinary and thoughts of zimmer frames and bus passes immediately disappear when he appears. I was dancing around and punching the air and I really did ‘get some satisfaction and girl reaction’ from Ms Hastings later that night. So thank you boys.

Third, my book. We’re three-quarters of the way through and its still hard work. Of course, I’m not being ‘arty’ about this, you know…that ‘writing is like giving birth to a pineapple in a raging storm’ sort of shit. Farmers and firemen do hard work while we’re just press the keys of the mac but it’s still ‘hard’ to be satisfied with what we’re doing.

Other writers do an outline and a couple of chapters and try to sell this to agents and publishers. We, or rather Morgan, thinks that just an outline might suggest we’re writing pure porn and miss the point about the laughs and, of course, the high literature. So we’re putting the whole thing together and, by the way, I lied about that last bit.

Lastly, I’m still amazed about the number of Penny Smith posterior fans (or fanny fans for my US chums) who are constantly accessing my site because I’ve mentioned her. I wonder if the gamine GMTV presenter realises how many men out there are going berserk over her buttocks. Maybe she should do a special 2007 calendar with a different shot of her bum for each month. A furry thong for January and bare and tanned for July, for instance, and how about a bit of holly shoved up it for December. Great idea eh, but I’m sure all her admirers will still be checking in to my site whatever I say and imagine the increase in volume if I also mention the words ‘ Carol Vorderman’s bum’.

Bottoms up

Love and kisses Sadie xxxxxxx

My vagina monologue

2006-07-18T00:13:00.000+01:00

Am I the only person with one who thinks ‘The Vagina Monologues’ is the pits?

I was sitting in the theatre last week and, as a night out, it was a special treat from Ms Hastings my amazingly, ‘still-around’ lurvver. So I was determined to enjoy myself – and show it, because normally I’m not a laugh-out loud sort of person.

But…please! All around me middle-class Brighton women, pumped up on a few Bacardi Breezers from the theatre bar, were pissing themselves laughing, hooting like an American sit-com audience and shouting “cunt” at the top of their voice whilst generally behaving like one.

On the stage, that old slapper from ‘Birds of a Feather, some vague kid’s show host and a reject from a ‘Sugarbabes’ tribute band were delivering this mawkish trash as if it were Ibsen or Stoppard.

‘Twat’ they said, and the audience almost stormed the stage. “Cunt’ they repeatedly exclaimed, as if they were breaking some extraordinary taboo and the Brighton police might close the show down.

To be fair, some the serious stuff was well written and quite touching.

But that, I felt, wasn’t why the majority of the women were there. They had come for some sort of intellectual ‘hen night’ party. A chance to lose their inhibitions, shock their friends and say ‘tee hee’ rude words…in public ‘tee-hee’.

It’s rather sad. I can imagine this stuff working in New York where almost everyone is sewn-up about sex and their bodies and some people are positively puritanical. Look, they actually think ‘Sex and the City’ is pushing back the boundaries but it’s really as staid as Joanna Trollope compared with the ‘Wednesday Plays’ on BBC in the far off 70’s that my parents didn’t want me to see (and we giggled about at school next day).

But this was Brighton in 2006 and well…harrrrummmphhhh!

Plus what is all this ‘liberation’ shit about saying ‘cunt’? It’s what I’ve called mine ever since I first connected the word with the place. I think I, blushingly, said ‘vagina’ to my male doctor when I was very young but now I’ve got a female GP, it’s the C-word for me at all times.

I mean, is you don’t say cunt what do you call yours?

I felt like yelling this at the gurning girls in the Theatre Royal. But I didn’t because I’d already upset Ms Hasting by sitting their obviously not enjoying myself, with a mouth set firm like an unstimulated vagina.

Still next day we went to see ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ and that was great. I snorted and hooted like…like…well like a Hove lady at a well – known play. We both love Johnny Depp and (done up like a sailor) even Keira Knightley would swing our hammocks.

However, I wanted to end this piece like I began it, with a reference to a cunt. But that would be extremely unfair to Orlando Bloom’s performance.

Love & Kisses succulent Sadie

At last, something else from that lazy cow

2006-07-12T22:44:00.000+01:00

The sultry, pouting editrix of Rocks Magazine (you must read it by the way, it’s great fun and very informative) recently described me as having a ’crazy sex life’.

I was shocked. Is having a relationship with one other person crazy? It used to be blokes now it’s babes, and that’s all that’s different.

Maybe it’s the ‘one’ person that’s crazy. Ask Bill Wyman, the ex-Rolling Stones guy, he slept with over two thousand women, sometimes several at one go (or so he says). Still something must account for those bags under his eyes. Julio Ingleses apparently bedded several thousand more and, today, Colin Farrell appears to be grinding away to get the record back for the British Isles.

As for the girls, Grace Kelly apparently slept with every leading man in her many movies (although she did the leading I expect). Then Catherine the Great, the Russian Queen, allegedly, had rumpy pumpy with every man and officer in one of her regiments but, I‘ve heard stories about Jordan that makes that sound like a one knight stand.

Still those are just numerical. I still don’t think they rank as very ‘crazy’, unless you count the health implecations.

No, if you want crazy how about a woman I met when I was doing research for my book in a BSDM club (and yes it was research, my bum remained totally unlined)

This woman slipped off her cloak to reveal that she was naked. Ok, you might think, that’s just being polite in a BDSM club – but she wasn’t completely naked.

Her tits were clamped between two pieces of wood and her areolas had needles threaded through in a pretty circular shape – arrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggghhhhhhhh!

That wasn’t all. She had needles inserted in the skin of her groin in a ‘feather’ pattern too.

Why the fuck did she do this you might be sensibly wondering? Well, it’s because she loved her man.

She let him do this to her as a demonstration of how much she adored him. What – was – she – thinking – of?

Answer – she was thinking of him and his funny little ways. Plus she told me proudly that recently she got her kicks from him kicking her - and punching her.

She had a secret, soppy but rather smug smile when she told me this.

NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL A CRAZY SEX LIFE!

But, like Ester Rantzen used to say on ‘That’s Life’…if you know better please get in touch with me?

Love & Kisses Safe and boring Sadie

Penny Smith's bum and other rounded topics

2006-06-06T00:35:00.000+01:00

Oh dear, how fucking embarrassing, this time its more than 2 months since I wrote my blog. What a tardy tart I am.

And what have I been doing that has tempted me away from sharing my mind and body with you? Well…

I’ve actually been trying to complete my book with Morgan, my advertising copywriter co-author. I work on chapters and then he shows up and inserts his magic in the lines (well that’s what he says)

We’re making slow progress as it’s amazing how little you write in a day when you’re thinking about every word and trying to remember things about the various characters. I’m shit at this and although rich and successful authors say you should cover an A4 sheet with character notes, we don’t the time to do this as we’re trying to finish the fucking novel.

I’m often asked what’s it’s about. Well obviously, as I’m involved, it’s a delicate and rather poetic little piece about unrequited love between middle-class literary folk in 19th Century Finland…

Yea, like fucking fuck it is. Actually it’s rude and riotous and raunchy and raw and anything else sexy that begins with “r”. Frankly, if it makes me moist then it’s in…no doubt the working method of many distinguished lady writers from Austen to Bronte to Jordan.

All those r’s naturally lead me to the arse that’s kept me from my Dark Places – namely the one that belongs to the delectable Ms Hastings.

Yes, God be praised, I haven’t frightened her off and she’s been gracing my flat, my bed and my face many, many times since I last wrote about her.

She’s actually taken to this lesbian business with enormous enthusiasm. The sex bit most of all, because up until now she’s hasn’t shaved her head, got her flaps pieced, started reading me pieces condemning men in The Guardian or ordering pints in Charles St.

Oh god, that’s probably offended some humourless member of the Brighton muffia but I think I do my bit for the cunny cause. Lesbian is one of keywords in referrals to my site. I know this thanks to my sitemeter that lists everyone who visits Sadie Dark Places and often what they put into the search engine.

And, guess what, there are a lot of Penny Smith fans out there…hi if you’ve just joined me. In fact, just putting the blonde bosomy breakfast babe’s name here has probably guaranteed dozens more readers…add the words Penny’s bum or knickers and Blogger will crash under the rush.

Rather more disappointed searchers who came to my site recently included the ones looking for ‘well used male arses’ and for ‘naughty Nati to cover my face’. Sorry guys, (it had to be guys) I hope you found what you’d come for in other sites.

But now I’m distracted from my blog again. Ms H has just finished her bath and is standing all pink and naked and smelling of Jo Malone in front of me.

I’d love to tell you in detail about what’s been happening in Brighton recently but………mmmmmmmmmmmmm!

Love from slobbering Sadie

Sugasm #31

2006-04-24T23:04:00.000+01:00

Sun 23rd Apr, 06

The best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Categories shift around and change between editions depending on what you send in, and you can get in on the next one by using this form. Participants, repost the linklist by the end of Wednesday night and you’re all set.

This is one of the few online spaces where people from all aspects of the sexual spectrum, vanilla or kinky, amateur or erotic artist or adult professional, can come together and grow, network, and explore sexuality. Thanks for being a part of this!

Erotic Writing

Back to the Beach (luvsicpup.blogspot.com)
Bliss (sexblogthis.blogspot.com)
Closings and Openings (sadiedark69.blogspot.com)
The Delight Of Sexual Tension (thetastetester.com)
The Driver (pleasinglydebauched.blogspot.com)
First Time - Steaming the Windows in the Backseat of a Car (thestoryofrose.blogspot.com)
Five Minutes (barbiebaby09.livejournal.com)
How Would It Be? (easilyaroused.co.uk)
Illicit Liason (gentlygently.blogspot.com)
Low-Carb Foreplay (realadultsex.com)
masculine/Feminine (damnjezebel.com)
Stairs (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)
Tara’s Private Diary: Sucking Him Dry (taratainton.com)
Taxi Cab Confessions (bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com)

Thoughts on Sex: Sex Advice, Sex Commentary, Sex News, Reviews, Interviews, Sexual Politics

Burning Rubber Interview (sin.typepad.com/shauna_by_night)
CockBlogging Wednesday 22 + A Guest Review (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)
The Future’s So AdBrite, I Gotta Get Paid (sugarbank.com)
Hand-Jobs: Things You Need To Know, Part One (cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com)
High-Frequency Masturbation (onaniajournal.blogspot.com)
Maenads’ Mantra (sexeteria.blogspot.com)

More Sugasm…
Join the Sugasm

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

Sex in the News - Holla Back at Street Harassers (seskuality.com)

BDSM and Fetish

All Tied Up (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)
C is for Cookie (redvelvetropeburn.blogspot.com)
Dire Caning Technique (adelehaze.com)
Identity Crisis for a slave (masterenigma.blogspot.com)
Tease and Denial with pastorpaul (goddessjaguar.com)

NSFW Pics

Allie Sin, Naughty Nati Dichotomy Exposed. Plus nekkid pics. (internetisforporn.com)
Crystal Klein (pspporn.com)
Cute Spring Babe Cody Milo in Full Bloom (thesexblog.com)
Exclusive - Justine Joli, Ball (tgp.com)
Front Seat Sexy (eroticandy.blogspot.com)
Hair Goof (seska4lovers.com)
Marathon Progressive House Party… revisited in pictoral (danni654.blogspot.com)
A Saucer of Cream Please (shaysotherspot.blogspot.com)

Experiences (and a Funny)

Cock & Dumplings (nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com)
Dick’s Sauce (janeluvsdick.com)
My first wank (wanklog.blogspot.com)
Sean luvs goths: Part 2 (seanandmel.blogspot.com)

Closings and openings.

2006-04-12T10:57:00.000+01:00

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

How beautiful is your backdoor?

2006-02-23T20:32:00.000Z

I recently signed up for a service that counts the number of people who read my blog.

Sometimes it's 100's of readers in a day who explore my dark places - AND NONE OF YOU FUCKERS EVER SAYS 'HELLO'!!!.

Sorry about that, I haven't been well. But what is real fun is I can check out the site or search engine you found my name on. In this way I discover other sites too. And one I found recently really amused me.

It's called puckerup.com and it's about anuses or is that anui? And it's written by a woman and this is a bit of her biog:

"TRISTAN TAORMINO is an award-winning author, columnist, editor, and sex educator. She graduated Phi Beta Kappa with her Bachelor's degree in American Studies from Wesleyan University in 1993. She is the author of three books: True Lust: Adventures in Sex, Porn and Perversion (Cleis Press); Down and Dirty Sex Secrets (ReganBooks/HaperCollins); and The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women (Cleis Press), winner of a Firecracker Book Award and named Amazon.com's #1 Bestseller in Women's Sex Instruction in 1998

She lectures at top colleges and universities including Yale, Brown, Columbia, Smith, Vassar, and NYU, where she speaks on gay and lesbian issues, sexuality and gender, and feminism".

Tristan is the dark haired lady in the pic closely examining her favourite subject. And I hope she doesn't mind if I reprint one of her articles in full ( as it's very funny and my illness (bottom-related ironically) has curbed my creativity. So here it is:

Britesmile for Bungholes
Investigating the latest craze in bodily beautification: anal bleaching
by Tristan Taormino

Is there one perfect shade of ass?

LOS ANGELES—"Is there any way of making my anus more pink or lighter in color? Mine is dark and I hate it. Any suggestions?" I received this question from a female reader of my Anal Advisor column in Taboo, and believe it or not, she's not the only one pining for a pinker pucker. I've gotten letters from dozens of people asking how to make their buttholes better looking. Until recently, I couldn't give them much help, because based on my research, no product or procedure existed to lighten that place, which spends a lot of time in the dark. Then, this year, an episode of Dr. 90210 on E! featured porn star Tabitha Stevens visiting a salon in the San Fernando Valley to get her asshole bleached. I was flooded with e-mails alerting me to this cosmetic procedure's television debut. One came from Crappers Quarterly (crappersquarterly.com), a website dedicated to "public toilet reviews around the world," whose anonymous reporter investigated the treatment and interviewed someone from the salon over the phone. I was curious to see for myself just what this, the equivalent of BriteSmile for bungholes, was all about. So I made my own appointment for an anal bleaching at Pink Cheeks.

Pink Cheeks is a Sherman Oaks salon that specializes in all types of body waxing; in fact, it offers seven different pussy-waxing options, from the Brazilian bikini wax to the Playboy (bikini line, labia, and butt crack waxed with a thick or thin V of hair left on top). It is also the place that has pioneered the ass-whitening procedure and was featured in the E! segment. After waiting an hour (apparently there were a lot of parts to be defurred and/or bleached that day), I was directed to a small room with a massage table covered in a blanket and that sheet of thin paper that shields doctors' exam tables. A hand-painted pink wooden sign hanging on the wall read, "NO WHINING."

A few minutes later, I was greeted by Pink Cheeks owner Cindy Esser-Thorin, a cheery woman who floated into the room and peppered our discussion of backdoor beauty regimens with "honey" and "sweetheart." "Ask me why the butthole is dark to begin with," she suggested. I obliged, and she proceeded to tell me about genetics, pigmentation, and when a zygote splits to form an embryo. OK, so you've done some homework on the subject, I thought to myself.

She told me that she would wax the anus first, then apply Pink Cheeks Amazing Anal Bleaching Cream, a product the salon developed, to the area. I scanned the label: The active ingredient is hydroquinone (4 percent), a substance used to lighten dark skin, commonly found in products used by African Americans to even out skin tone. "We just tried it on some buttholes and realized it worked," said Esser-Thorin.

After the procedure, she explained, she would send me home with the jar of cream, a brush, and instructions: Use it each night until you achieve the desired lightness. You should see results in one to two weeks. If you experience burning, tenderness, or discomfort, decrease applications to every other day or stop altogether. She handed me a sheet with "before" and "after" photos and noted, "This girl's butthole was so white in the 'after' shot, the flash bounced off it!" When she looked ready to spread beeswax back there and get going, I revealed that I'm a writer and just wanted information for a column. "So we're not going to actually do it?" she asked, looking a little disappointed. You know I'll usually try anything once, but the truth is I really like the way my ass looks as it is.

As far as Esser-Thorin knows, there is no one else in the U.S. offering this service, which costs $75 (according to Crappers Quarterly, an Australian salon called the Bees' Knees offers a similar procedure). She estimates that in the less than four months since Pink Cheeks has made it available, she has lightened the brown eyes of about 170 customers, including visitors to the salon and those who've ordered the product over the phone (818-906-8225). "We've gotten a lot of orders from Texas," she says. "We've been bleaching lots of Texan winkers." Notably, about one-third of requests come from men, and she said it has become very popular among gay guys. After our session, she hugged me. I've never been hugged before by a person I could have paid to remove the hair from my genital region. I got the feeling she hugs a lot.

We bleach our teeth and the hair on our heads and bodies, so why not lighten up wherever else we want? Well, when it comes to our privates, the personal parts are very much political. Vaginal cosmetic surgery—in which plastic surgeons trim and reshape the labia and make them symmetrical—supports the notion that there is such a thing as a normal- or typical-looking pussy. Likewise, anal bleaching is based on the idea that there is one perfect shade of ass. If you've seen as many cunts and rumps as I have, you know that this is false. Every person's nether regions have their own unique look (and personality, for that matter). I'm not interested in all of us having identical coochies! Plus, the butthole has gotten a bum rap to begin with, being characterized as dirty, private, asexual, and taboo. Now it needs a makeover too?

I support people modifying their bodies in whatever ways they wish in order to feel better about themselves, but I'm wary of putting chemicals into the hands of folks, especially women, who have body confidence issues that bleach cannot fix. Coming to terms with your negative feelings about your butt and learning to accept and love your body as it is could be a lot less expensive and uncomfortable. In the end, that seems like a rosier option. But who I am to judge? If it's not dangerous and it gets you more dates or more videos (for adult performers), then it may be no different than coloring your hair or getting dental veneers. This I know for sure: The pinkest, happiest buttholes I've ever seen are those that have been stroked, licked, and fucked till they couldn't help but blush with contentment (lots of blood rushing to the area helped too). And each one looked perfect to me

Thank you Tristan. Fascinating stuff and a perfect subject as a conversation-starter at that dinner party or pub chat.

Pucker. Pucker. From Sadie

It’s been a shit time for Sadie

2006-02-20T01:04:00.000Z

I have a rather unsociable habit of ‘disappearing’ when times are bad. My friends have now either understood this or learnt to cope with it. And everyone else must think I’m just rude (who me?). Sorry, but that’s why there’s been no blog, stories or replies to your kind e-mails.

The last week or two has been a crap time for me as I’ve been producing so much of it. In fact, it’s been a copraphiliac’s dream.

I’ve had some fluey, feverish, stomach-loosening, generally sweaty and very unattractive sort of bug – but I’ve lost a bit of flab around the belly and bum so it’s not bad.

However, I’ve taken to my bed and shut the curtains and moaned quietly and generally shunned contact with human beings. Fortunately Jane my girlfriend has been a perfect little Florence Nightingale (she was gay too according to some recent book, but then that hairstyle gives it away really)

Jane has always been a good nurse – she’s so expert at taking my temperature with just her finger! But it must have been hellish dealing with this moaning lump under the duvet or on the loo. But hey, that’s love.

I’m not that much better so that’s why this is so short. When I’ve finished it I’ll be back in bed snuggled up with my favourite guy – Jack Daniels.

Love and groans. Sadie xxx

Women pleasuring themselves

2006-01-31T21:51:00.000Z

A woman’s position in the sexual world used to be pretty straightforward - under a man and deciding the ceiling needed a new coat of paint.

But in two thousand and sex that’s all changed. Sisters are doing it for themselves, doing it for other sisters (and brothers), and, as I recently discovered, doing it for massed audiences.

Just type ‘doggers’ into google. There are so many sites with so many women displaying themselves as candidates for a good lay in some suburban lay-by.

Now to be honest, most of them look like Bob Hoskins with bigger tits and rather more body hair, but you’ve got to admire their guts. Actually you can’t avoid them in their legs-wide-open poses.

But relax, my choice of liberated ladies is much cooler.

Which explains the cross looking lady with the whip, I don’t often post a pic (as I’m a technical twat, can anyone explain to me in simple English how to post a pic on my profile – what’s all this URL shit?)

Back to Mistress Moody, I bet that zip is chafing her arse, no wonder she looks so petulant. But seriously she’s here because I’ve been popping into some pervy clubs for some background for my book.

Here I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. But that’s for another time perhaps and make sure you haven’t eaten anything before you read it.

So here’s Sadie’s Short Study of Modern Female Sexuality:

September. 2005. South London.

She looks like that rather quiet girl in Accounts. She’s got neat shortish hair, light make-up, and a faintly demure expression. She’s wearing a duck egg blue cropped top and a mini-skirt. Just the sort of thing a 20 year old might wear for clubbling except…except…

…except it’s vinyl. Ok, the more fashionable amongst you will say that this is exactly what the young folk are wearing these days but wait and see why this is important.

She’s got two men friends. And frankly, I’m not sure her mum would think they are suitable company for a nice young girl.

One is an old bloke, easily in his 50’s. His head is shaved, he’s in a well-used white t-shirt (which comes off later), but he’s lean and muscled and he’s wearing a battered pair of leather trousers.

Nothing surprising here, I suppose, especially as that description would fit just about everyone in the “Bulldog” pub in Brighton on a Saturday night.

But, actually, it’s the other chap who hints at abnormal behaviour.

He looks like one of Def Leopard’s more indulgent roadies. In fact, the guys would have probably fired him for giving the band a bad name. He’s wearing a cowboy hat, several bone necklaces, he’s stripped to waist and has bigger tits than most of the women there each adorned with nipple rings and he’s unpleasantly hairy. He’s also lavishly tattooed, and wearing leather ‘cowboy chaps’ but what singles him out comes in pairs – namely his balls.

These are huge (and I’ve seen some big un’s in my time!). They are barely contained in a rather disgusting pair of black underpants. There’s probably a grotesque cock in there somewhere but fortunately tender souls (like myself) are spared this nightmarish vision.

So you suddenly worry for the morals of Ms Accounts.

Particularly as Baldy starts tying serious looking ropes around her waist. Ingenious knots are produced and the whole thing is strung from the ceiling.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that this is happening at a new BSDM club – so maybe she isn’t as innocent as she looks!

The two guys pull on the ropes and our lady swings into the air.

A quite large audience has gathered to see the fun and we are all shocked to see that on dressing to come out tonight Ms Accounts seems to have forgotten to put her knickers on.

Her undercarriage swings before us and we are all given a gynaecologist’s and then a proctologist’s view.

I look around and see that the majority of the gawpers are female. Thinking about this later I decide it’s probably because most women (particularly straight ones) don’t see many vaginas (apart from their own) and are keen to compare.

Let’s face it, you don’t see any in photos, apart from men’s magazines, and they have been retouched to look like pink candy swirls. What women really want to know is: is mine abnormal or does everyone’s untrimmed minge look like Bill Oddie sucking a lemon?

So we look at Ms Account’s Accunt, which by now is facing upwards as she’s hanging upside down.

Baldy is tightening the ropes but Ballsy pulls her legs apart, looks down and licks his lips in an unseemly manner.

He then produces a plastic funnel and plants it in her pussy. She squirms a bit as this is done, as you would! He twists it roughly and, in the audience, dozens of cunnies contract in sympathy.

Then, Baldy produces a jug of cream and pours it into the funnel. It overflows and cream trickles down her arse crack and onto her skirt – so now you see why it’s vinyl.

They then haul on the ropes and she’s twirled back onto her feet. She then ‘pees’ the cream back into the jug. And we all applaud.

So who says variety is dead on the London stage?

I don’t get a chance to talk to her but a colleague at the club who knows her reports that Ms Accounts does this and other ‘acts’ because she loves the attention, the buzz of exposing herself (literally and theatrically) and the thrills not found in ‘normal’ like. And who can blame her?

Later, Baldy and Ballsy bang nails into their flesh. Baldy attaches himself to a plank via the skin in his arm and Ballsy secures his scrotum to the same piece of wood.

I’m not there to see this (do you think I’m fucking mad!) but I bet in Ballsy’s case the nails were at least six inches long.

August 2005. Kent

I’m having a chat about Marrakech with Amanda. She’s got a quite posh accent and looks like she could be in PR. Her yellow jacket and skirt look the business and you can imagine her talking complete bollocks at some sales conference.

We’re just on to favourite ‘riads’ when a man in a black shirt and trousers taps her on the arm. She looks apologetically at me and says, “Sorry, must go, see you later”

They go off together as if they are about to dance.

But instead Amanda walks up to a huge wooden frame and leans over it. The man then shuts her head and hands in a set of stocks.

He pauses as she shifts herself to get comfortable then he flips up her yellow skirt to reveal her big bare bum.

Not totally bare actually, Amanda’s wearing a black thong that’s stretched along her crack.

The man, obviously a perfectionist, reaches over and hooks his thumb under the T-bit of the thong and pulls it upwards to ensure that all of her cheeks are exposed.

Amanda’s arse is jutting out and the shape that her body makes at this angle is rather pleasing. From her high-heeled shoes up her toned legs with glossy black stockings to her two expensively tanned bum cheeks the overall effect is extremely sensual and I bet I’m not the only voyeur who’s affected.

The man then picks up something that looks like one of those fly swats that African Leaders carry.

He teases Amanda’s tushie with it and then lets fly. The lashes hit her skin with a dull ‘thrwack” but Amanda doesn’t move.

He gives her six on each cheek and then brushes his hand over her arse to massage it and relieve the pain.

Still not apparently satisfied he produces something that looks it is left over from the Spanish Inquisition – a flogger.

This, like some super-size 'cat o' nine tails' has very long lashes and he swings back with a vengeance then brings it brutally down on Amanda’s botty. The ‘crack’ echoes around the club and I flinch instinctively.

“It sounds much worse than it feels”, says a large 30 year old man next to me who’s naked but for a tiny black backless pouch.

But he’s nothing special because I’m in a BSDM club and just about everyone, especially the women, is semi-nude.

Amanda isn’t an ‘act’ she’s just one of the many singles and couples being attended to by the Doms and Dommes. Arses are being spanked and whipped, nipples are being nipped, cocks and balls are being tortured and bodies are being bound with ropes.

I tear myself away from Amanda’s back view and wander round to watch her face. Her eyes are closed but she doesn’t react violently to the violence that’s being administered. In fact, she has a blissful look, fuck she’s really enjoying this.

Now I’m as partial to a playful spanking as anyone but this is Mutiny on the Bounty stuff – it must hurt like hell!

But later, Amanda cool and calm with skirt re-arranged talks fondly of, yes, the pleasure of exposing herself (literally and theatrically) and the ‘thrills’ not found in normal life. In fact, she's a regular here.

She also confesses that although her partner doesn’t share her taste for BDSM he certainly likes it when she returns from a night like this hot bottomed and as horny as fuck.

Oh my dear, such larks!

Summer 2005 Kent

I’m with a couple of friends at a nudist club on one of the last warm days of the year.

We’re relaxing around the pool on a lazy Wednesday. My friends, two gay blokes, are members and they’re telling me that the club, which used to be rather famous for rather naughty parties, is now trying to attract the local ‘swingers’.

Nudists are, perversely, rather conservative about sex, (perhaps it’s all those ‘carry-on’ films and seaside postcards that, in the UK at least, make naturalism a bit of a dirty joke) and many members are rather upset.

I always think that being called a ‘member’ in a nudist club is rather funny – but then I have a rather childish sense of humour.

Our dozy conversation is interrupted by the loud voice of a woman. I look over and see a blonde girl in her 20’s standing on the edge of the pool taunting some guy in the water. I give her the lookover.

Slim toned body, smallish tits, tiny nipples, nice pert bum, couple of tattoos and shaved. OK, but nothing to ruffle my flaps.

She goes back to the seat and gives us a flask of pink as she leans over and kisses another man.

The guy in the water gets out and joins the two. They all bicker and joke and the Blonde screeches with laughter. But my friends and I forget them and get back to snorting about the swingers.

Some time later, one of my friends looks up. “Hey we ought to go and see this” he suddenly says.

I look and see that the threesome have gone and one or two of the single ‘gentlemen’ that nudist clubs attract are leaving too.

I follow my friends over to the woods that surround the Club’s open tanning acres.

I then see a circle of scrawny male arses around a little clearing in the trees.

Feeling a bit ‘out of it’ I dawdle on the perimeter but then my natural voyeuristic tendencies take over and I move closer.

There in the centre of the circle is the blonde girl. She looks around at the audience and with a rather bored expression on her face rests her hands on a log so that she is bent towards us.

The two men stand next to her visibly aroused. One, who seems to be her boyfriend, then moves forwards, grabs her arse cheeks and spreads them.

He then places his face on her front bottom and licks her like an eager spaniel.

She wriggles and moans quietly. He then stands up and thrusts his cock into her.
At this she starts to talk:

“Oh shit, oh shit, shit, shit shit” she says, her voice rising along with his increasingly rapid movements.

Disappointingly, there’s no satisfying crescendo of orgasm (as you always get in a Literotica story), instead he just pulls out.

Then he indicates to the other bloke who now takes over, cock in slot.

He rams a bit faster causing her voice to rise.

“OH SHIT, OH SHIT, SHIT, SHIT” she rasps. It’s not exactly love poetry but she seems to be getting stuck in – or rather the bloke does.

As all this is happening, the male chorus around them are busy themselves. Hands cup cocks and move up and down in what appears to be synchronised wanking – it could all be set to music.

Suddenly, the man stops and pulls out. The boyfriend then steps across and spreads her cheeks again. He manipulates her cunt lips back and forth and I wonder if he’s going to do a ventriloquist’s act.

But sadly, he’s just offering her to any of the assembled throng. There are no takers surprisingly and then he spots me.

He yanks her apart and nods his head at me then back to his girlfriend’s bits. I’m sure he’s hoping for a variety act to finish the show. But I disappoint him.

Like a good “News of the World” reporter I make my excuses and leave.

But, as I go, the girl looks up and sees me. She then gives me a really empowered woman to woman smile. And I get the full meaning.

I’m sure if instead of showing her my retreating bum I stopped and asked her why she did it, she would have had a familiar explanation.

Something like, the pleasure of exposing herself (literally and theatrically) and the ‘thrills’ not found in normal life.

And all this is happening in rural Kent, not a mile from home-going commuters, mums picking kids up from school and conventionality.

Cool Britain, anyone?

Love to all my stunning sisters

Sadie xxxxx

Happy Nude Year

2006-01-10T01:03:00.000Z

I don’t know how you spent New Year’s Eve but I was in Malaga in Spain celebrating in a Chinese restaurant with some English friends and the waiter presented us with a carving of the Eiffel Tower – now that’s weird!

The rest of the time I bared my soul (and everything else) on the roof whilst trying to move my book along. It was amazing weather for January and I got a decent tan.

My skin looks so smooth and is such a great colour that I reckon you could skin me and upholster a Ferrari.

Hey, my arse would easily cover the two front seats.

But, of course, I’m exaggerating. Along with my Mediterranean tan I indulged in a Mediterranean diet so my bum would hardly cover the gearstick sheath.

But, of course, I’m exaggerating – well you get the picture. My friends did and they’re now threatening to blackmail me with their photographs.

They could always post me on those BBW sites. That would stand for Big Boozy Writer in my case.

I’m waffling now because the weeks before and after New Year had me naked in another sense. My emotions were definitely exposed as my (ex) g/f and I tried to work out our problems.

It was simple from her point of view – I was the problem. My personality combined with my commitment, my writing, this blog and my bizarre friends.

I had to strongly disagree with her about everything – apart from my friends. Fuck, they really are bizarre.

I went with Dolce & Gabbana to see Bareback Mountain.

Sorry, I think that should read Brokenback, but as it’s about two gay cowboys who knows?

My two friendly cowpokes were really affected by the movie. Later they wore high heels and slipped into a pair of chaps.

Boom Boom! Or should that be Bum Bum! Sorry for the cheap jokes, I’m saving the expensive ones for my book.

Anyway back to the movie. It’s very beautiful and very sad. Afterwards they had manly tears in their eyes but all the shit in my life meant I just blubbed and blubbed.

John Wayne would have given me a slap but they tried a more modern approach. They took me to bed.

We lay naked together. Nothing sexual happened but it was so sensual. I was the meat in the sandwich, in crude terms, but this wasn’t crude in any way.

Once again it proves we can do more than just fuck with our bodies, our skin is an organ for love and affection too.

Hey, I’m getting a bit Californian but it worked for me.

I felt a bit more confident. And well, this weekend my g/f and I did a lot of making up and making out.

My fingers are crossed for the future. But, at least, my thighs aren’t crossed as well.

Love from The Naked Novelist

Sadie xxxx

Hope you unwrap someone sexy on Christmas Day

2005-12-22T10:09:00.000Z

Thanks to tasty Tich for the pic. Love & seasonal kisses all over from Sadie

That moist feeling

2005-12-18T17:38:00.000Z

I’ve not been feeling myself lately.

Although in one respect that sentence isn’t quite true as with no girlfriend around I’ve been doing rather a lot of it actually. However, in the other sense, that of mood swings I’m afraid I’m swinging lower than a bulldog’s balls.

I’m feel so bad that I’m even beginning to like Coldplay’s songs for Christ’s sake. Yes, it’s getting that suicidal!

So my concerned friends are rallying around in their own particular rally styles.

My two special Christmas fairies Dolce and Gabbana decided a big hairy alpha male would perk me up (and we’ve all tried that, haven’t we girls?). So they took me to see King Kong.

I don’t know which of us cried more. I started blubbing at the Central Park ice scene and by the time Kong and Naomi were staring into each other’s eyes on top of the Empire State we were all in a right state. In fact, I can't remember whose eye make-up ran more.

Still a touch of dampness around the eyes does wonders for your spirits and I felt much better afterwards in Couch 33. Fuck Coldplay let’s have another cocktail.

My good friend Ms Rude prescribed dampness too - but at the other end of my body.

Her vast experience suggested that what I needed was a good seeing-too so she set up a blind date (and what with my puffy eyes and sallow complexion they’d have to be blind)

“A contented cunt means a contented soul”, she said sagely.

My, what a beautiful thought for the human race. Set it to music, have it crooned by James Blunt and it could be a surprise Christmas No 1. “A con-ten-ted cun-t…” yes I can almost hear his girly voice.

Sadly the evening itself wasn’t a hit. My date turned out to be an avid reader of my blog and my stories so I expect she imagined I come in the pub door on a sled pulled by polar bears wearing a white latex thong, thigh boots and a 12 inch strap-on and then proceed to shag her over the snooker table.

In fact, the only bending that night was of the ear variety. We talked, and talked about love lost and found. And later at Ms Rude’s flat the promised fuckfest became a kiss and a cuddle although remembering that I was 'Sadie Dark' I did slip my hand down her knickers.

Sadly though, whilst my finger was definitely into it, my heart wasn't. We parted soon after promising to ring each other.

(It’s not your fault Darling D – I was absolutely hopeless that night)

All this sorrow has put out the fire in my writing a bit. So when I got snappy with Morgan (my co-writer) over his comments about some of the jokes appearing a bit forced he decided to humour me.

He turned up one beautiful, crisp, blue-skied morning in his Morgan sports car and off we went for a country pub lunch.

Our arrival at the ‘Goatshagger’s Arms’ or whatever it was called, was great. A group of sheepskin coated male and female drinkers drawn outside by the winter sun just gawped.

If we’d turned up stark naked in the Queen’s State Coach we wouldn’t have created more interest. The Morgan, (a 1930’s style racer) is a star - all the men nodded approvingly and moved over to make envious comments.

The women hung back so I decided to show them some more shapely superstructure.

Out I got in my tight black pants, my knee high boots and Morgan’s flying jacket.

I got a flash of the women’s lined faces – each with a disapproving mouth like a cat’s bottom. So I decided to give them a flash.

On the pretext of reaching in for my bag I gave everyone a long and lingering look at my upturned bum.

As I straightened and turned, I noticed the men’s car chatter had briefly stalled, Morgan was smirking at me, and the women…the women. God those boozy bitches hated me.

The meal was brilliant but then it’s amazing what a seasoning of self-confidence can do to bangers and mash.

I felt like my old self (and I like my old self – she’s a spunky minx). I laughed so much with Morgan that there were actually tears in my eyes. At one point I felt like spontaneously breaking out into a rendition of “I’ll Survive”.

But I didn’t. I wonder if the pub realised how lucky they were.

Love & Laughter Sadie

Happiness is a warm bum

2005-12-14T10:42:00.000Z

When I started this blog I intended to comment on the dark side of sex and Dark’s side of sex. That’s right, I also wanted to discuss my personal experiences of social shagging.

But, decorum prevailed. My g/f seriously didn’t want her legs-apart action taken apart. And even my friendly licentious Brighton buggers and fuck-bunnies desired anonymity. So what could a gabby girl do?

Well, I gave my friends nicknames and ignored my personal pantings (but not in some of my other writing though). But now it’s all changed.

My g/f is in London and out my life. And I’ve had some fun with a close acquaintance who doesn’t mind if I blog my bedtime goings-on.

She’s Ms Hastings. I’ve mentioned her before and if I was absolutely accurate I’d call her Mrs Hastings.

That’s right, she wears a slave ring on her left 2nd finger. But, as she says, she’s Mrs when she’s with HIM but a Ms when she’s with me and other pals.

I’ve known her for a couple of years. We met when I worked at a gym and she was a customer. It wasn’t love at first sight – because it wasn’t love, just a friendship.

I’d worked in marketing and that’s what she did. We also just clicked like women often do. Chats became chats over coffee became lunches became regular phone chats.

I can’t pretend I hadn’t checked her out in her lycra exercise pants but I didn’t want to get into them.

She wasn’t part of my Brighton life, my friends didn’t know her at all and that was great. We’d meet every two months or so and have a laugh. She loved my gay goings-on and I was sympathetic about her pathetic husband. After all I’d been there too.

So, she rang me, as she does most weeks expecting the usual gossip and smut, and got the ‘mygirlfriendsleftmeandI’msoupset with added boo-hoos’ rant instead. This, she quickly realised needed special treatment.

Being a sensible little nurse she prescribed alcohol and so on Friday night we hit the hot spots of Brighton.

And seven hooch-filled hours later she was guiding me back to my flat whilst I held passionate conversations with lampposts.

She told me this later because, well, I was out of it at the time. But, suddenly, in the early hours something suddenly awoke me. I was in bed and in my best underwear and Ms Hastings was next to me.

However, the alarm bell was my bladder and quickly I staggered off to the lavatory. I sat there gushing many, many, many cool cocktails into the Brighton sewer system. Fuck, I bet the rats were really raving down there.

I wandered back and saw myself in the mirror. A hung-over woman in a hung-over bra was just too depressing so off it came. And now bare-arsed naked I climbed back into bed.

I lay there, suddenly focussing on my companion. She lay there huddled up but the sight was soooooo sexy.

Don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t that special. For most of my adult life lots of my female friends occasionally slept over in my flat and I did, in theirs. And, if there was just one bed we shared it (innocently, like Morecombe & Wise)

On lifting the sheet I looked down on her smooth tanned body and her pricey pants and bra. She was wearing a thong in fact, a coffee coloured shiny sexy piece that, all too quickly, hid itself in between her bum cheeks.

These were special. Ms Hasting is a generous girl and her bum overflowed in a particularly grabbable way.

Our state of undress wasn’t unusual. I’d seen her underwear as we chatted while she’d changed earlier from her business stuff into her party gear. And she, like all my male and female friends, had seen my ass and tits many times as I’m not over particular about wearing anything as I wander around the flat.

So a typical early hours scene in the Dark place. What wasn’t typical was the way I was feeling. I’m afraid I’d pissed all my high spirits way along with the booze.

In the cold light of dawning realisation I suddenly remembered my g/f was gone and I felt totally shitty.

I looked down on the warm body of Ms Hastings. I loved the way the bobbles of her spine pressed against her skin as they flowed down to her arse crack. I wanted to be comforted and she could do it. So I carefully edged my way across the mattress until her bum pressed into my belly in classic ‘spoons’ fashion. My knees slid up against her legs and I buried my face into her hair.

Her warmth and nakedness instantly began working on me. But it wasn’t feelings of lust just a longing to be cuddled and told everything was going to be fine.

Her hair smelt a bit smoky to be honest – all those low Brighton bars. But her body smelt wonderful to me – that close, fleshy, warm, sleepy scent.

I ran my hand down the edge of her body and over her hips and she moved languorously in her sleep. Was I taking liberties of my friend, possibly, but I didn’t care? My hand reached her bare bum and I gently stroked it. Again she moved in her deep sleep and she moaned gently.

I pressed my groin deeper against her. And the warmth finally worked and I dozed off.

Later, I woke again. My tits were rubbing against her back, with the nipples gently grazing against her bra strap.

It took seconds to realise this wasn’t my girlfriend next to me and I instantly felt sad. It was a deep and upsetting feeling

But then I remembered when I was young and upset. My mother would hug me and I’d press my face into her breasts. I needed this kind of comfort now but could I really expect Ms Hastings to give it too me.

Well, I thought (still a bit pissed I’m sure) there’s only one way to find out.

Her bare bum cheeks were hard against my naked thighs and the heat had caused my skin to get slightly damp. The sensuality of a woman’s unknowing body in such erotic circumstances excited me. I should have been happy to leave it that way. But I was dying for comfort.

So I reached over carefully and cupped her tit in my hand. Her shiny firm bra shielded her natural softness but even in her sleep her body responded to my touch and I felt a nipple pressing against the silkiness of the fabric.

She moaned softly…and her eyes opened. I froze, suddenly petrified at how she’d react. We were just friends after all and, for all I knew, she’d be horrified at my, well, groping hand. I could see her angry face, hear her horrified voice and imagine her furiously getting dressed and going home to her husband.

She spoke. “Saaaaadddddddieeeeeee” she said in a mock-shocked voice. Then she giggled, sat up, reached behind her back and unclasped the bra.

It fell away from her plump tits and her big beautiful nipples rose to greet me.

She reached out and placed her hands behind my neck. Her voice was as encouraging as her nipples, “Oh Sadie” she said, “why have we waited this long?”

With that she pressed my face into her soft warm breasts. And I…I…I…I started to cry.

I sobbed for myself, my fucked-up life and for all my regrets. She hugged me closer and her fingers gently massaged my back.

When I’d stopped crying I focussed on what I was feeling.

And I was feeling better. So I kissed her silky skin, then I kissed her nipple, just holding it between my lips for the briefest of time.

And now she was aroused. She kissed me full on my lips. Then our tongues met and they were wet and almost animal-like.

I whispered her name. And her mouth was on my nipples. She sucked me like a baby and I wondered if this was the first time she’d felt the wonderful tactile sensation of a woman’s strange rubbery nipple in her mouth. Her tongue licked my bumpy brown circles relishing the feeling of wet sensitive skin again dry oh-so-sensitive skin.

Now it was my turn to moan softly and try to pull away as her teasing tongue sensually tortured me.

But her mouth hung on – what a little slut she was. I kissed her passionately and she released me.

If this was one of my erotic stories then suddenly all sexual hell would break loose. My tongue would be tickling her tonsils via her arsehole and her orgasmic screams would be terrifying the seagulls on Brighton Pier.

But this was real – so we just kissed, and kissed. I squeezed her bum a couple of times but our hands and fingers never went further southwards. Instead I sought out that space between her breasts and buried my head in there, away from all the troubles and pain.

That sweet stretch between her tits smelled of Miss Dior, her favoutite scent and was soon wet with my tears as my emotions overflowed again…and then we must have both fallen into a contented sleep.

My personal alarm woke me again and within seconds I was sitting on the loo gushing pina coladas into the pan.

I wandered into the kitchen to put some coffee on and when I got back to the bed she was sitting on the edge – getting dressed.

The thong lay discarded on the floor and she’d put more sensible knickers on. But sexy too, cotton and white – my favourites on other people.

She smiled up at me, in I felt, a rather embarrassed way, and fastened her bra, the clasp firmly holding her breasts and also firmly locking me out.

I stood there,not knowing what to say and unashamedly staring at that tantalising spot where her knickers divided into those delicious creases that would suggest her cunt – Christ I’m so obvious!

To give her credit she didn’t slam her thighs apart. Instead she gave me her mock-shocked look and spoke with love and affection.

“Look Sadie” she said, “you’re fucking wonderful but this has all gone too fast for me”

I looked up from one set of lips to another and these spoke again

“ Give me a bit of time…I do find you soooo sexy”

I walked over and kissed her as a friend. As she dressed we chatted more, it was more like our normal banter but somehow different. But then we’d crossed the line between friend and lover – not all the way but enough to change the way we reacted to each other.

Later I walked her to the ugly car park where she’d stowed her company runabout. As no one was about so we kissed languorously, enjoying each other’s taste.

“This is making me dizzy Sadie” Ms Hastings said – and then she joked. "If you write about this, make me sexy"- and then she was gone. Back to Mr Hastings and normality.

I strolled along the promenade with mixed feelings in my head - what the fuck did I think I was doing?. And strong feelings in my cunt - I really didn't have to make her sexy, she was Ms Hot!

Then I bumped into Ms Rude (now my only ‘you think they’re doing it – but they aren’t’ friend).

Over hot chocolate she told me a long story about a party where she’d almost seduced one of the shapely but brainless elves from Santa’s Grotto in that hideous Shopping Mall. I wasn’t surprised, after all green tights and red pixie boots would always do it for Ms Rude.

So it was back to normality for me too.

Love & Kisses Sadie

Dark spirits

2005-12-01T11:11:00.000Z

I’ve taken to riding a bicycle along the promenade.

I borrowed it from one of my male friends who now prefers boxing as exercise. It’s the latest gay thing apparently and I must admit the image of poofy pugilists slogging it out is a fascinating one – I expect the satin shorts have a lot to do with their enthusiasm. Still it does give a new meaning to ‘taking a blow’ and receiving ‘a right hander in the ring’!

But, back to my bike. It’s a great way to see amazing Brighton on a winter day and as it’s a sports bike it’s also an amazing way for Brighton to see my great arse on a winter day.

On this subject, I’m reminded of the answer a famous poet gave to the question of what he would like to be re-incarnated as.

His reply was “the saddle on a ladies’ bicycle”. But then this was John Betjeman and apart from being a witty and evocative writer he was also a randy old bugger.

In the last months of his life he was asked if there was anything he regretted. “Yes”, he replied, “I wish I’d had more sex”

I’m rather sympathetic at the moment as my girlfriend and I have split up again and the bike is the only action I’m getting between my thighs.

It’s a big split I’m afraid (and no I’m not still talking about what’s between my thighs). It’s pretty bad, we’re not speaking and I think she may be with someone else.

Like all couples we’ve had a problems. One is me being in Brighton and she being in London for most of the week. This is compounded by my writing as I think she imagines I live out my fantasies when she isn’t around.

This is of course ridiculous as I haven’t got the energy or the time. To paraphrase the ‘Essex Girl’ joke it would mean the answer to the question: “Why does Sadie Dark wear knickers?” would be “To keep her ankles warm”

So I’m in the bizarre position of having a silent and unforgiving former lover imagining I’m here in Brighton forever fucking whilst in reality I’m sulking about and sleeping very, very alone.

There’s a poster campaign for that unpleasant drink Tia Maria around at the moment. Its end line is “The Dark Spirit”

And that’s what I’m going to need to get me out of my present wintry mood. I’ve heard of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) but SADIE is even worse!

Love & sobs Sadie xxxx

A woman’s tastes

2005-11-11T12:16:00.000Z

“So you say you’re an erotic writer?” people say or write accusingly to me “so what kind of stuff do you write?”

Depending how nicely they ask, I direct them to literotica.com, indecentblog.com, bigirlz.co.uk etc, etc or alternatively I direct them to kiss ma ass.

But I’ve been thinking maybe it’s time to publish a short piece on here. So I have.

However, before you read it let me kill off some of the usual preconceptions. First, not everything I write as fiction is about me, my friends, or anyone real. I make the story up and the characters.

Second, I’m a writer and I imagine things. But I don’t necessarily agree with them or do them myself. People who meet me are often surprised at the difference between shy sadie, Brighton resident and bookshop employee and SADIE DARK - foul mouthed, lascivious lady-licker of blog fame.

After all (and please, I’m not comparing myself in any way) Evelyn Waugh and Kingsley Amis were two of the funniest writers of the 20th Century but in private they were humourless, moody old buggers.

So here’s an example of wot I rite…

A woman’s tastes

by Sadie Dark ©

This is a love story - Jenny loves Julie. Or to be absolutely accurate Jenny loves Julie’s body.

Jenny lives in the city and can only see Julie at the weekend so she gets a bit frustrated and when, at last, she gets to Julie’s flat things can get a bit passionate.

Julie loves this and gets excited just thinking about it. Often her knickers get a bit damp but that’s fine because she knows this will make her even more attractive to Jenny.

She doesn’t change them because they are her best ones and, anyway, she ‘s been wearing them for a couple of days.

This is exactly what Jenny requests, in fact, she’d be happier if Julie wore them all week. She’s also asked Julie not have had a shower since Tuesday .

Julie’s waiting in her flat on an extremely hot day and, although the windows are open, the living room is airless. Even though she’s just in her bra and knickers she’s sweating, and her face and back gleam. She’s opened a bottle of icy Sancerre and is sipping from a large frosted glass that she then brushes against her face.

The coolness refreshes her and on an impulse she places the glass against her left tit. The sudden chill makes her nipple grow. She looks at it dreamily.

But then she hears Jenny’s car pulling up and without any need of cold glass both nipples thrust against the black cotton. And she feels a sudden yearning sensation between her thighs.

Jenny’s footsteps on the stair have Julie up and moving towards the door, the sudden movement causing her knickers to get trapped in her generous arse crack.

And this is what greets Jenny. Her lover - glistening with sweat, nipples aroused and arse exposed. The sight excites her but she keeps control. She kisses Julie on the lips and walks past her and into the bedroom because she knows there’s plenty of time and plenty of Julie to enjoy.

When she walks into the bedroom she’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans but minutes later when she comes back into the sitting room the jeans have come off and she’s just in the T-shirt and a pair of grey silky ‘boy short’ knickers.

She sips from the offered glass of wine but, however nice the Sancerre is, this isn’t the taste she’s been desiring on the journey from the city.

She puts the glass down, reaches out, puts a hand behind Julie’s neck and pulls her face towards hers. She kisses Julie’s lips then her tongue forces its way in to Julie’s mouth. She explores the wetness and the tastes, her tongue seeking out the corners and crevices.

As Jenny sucks on Julie’s fleshy tongue her hands explore her lover’s ample body. They go straight to the plump, damp arse cheeks cupping and squeezing them. One hand is playing with the edge of the black knickers and the other is gripping the bare skin. Now both hands gently pull the bum cheeks apart so the knickers slip into the crack. Then she gently pulls the knickers upwards until most of the damp material is trapped.

Her sucking action draws Julie’s tongue out of her mouth but then in a moment Jenny has moved down. Her hands move up from the bum to the bra straps and she unfastens the clasp.

The bra lazily slips off Julies’ big pendulous tits. It hangs for a second on a engorged fleshy brown nipple then falls to the floor. Julie has great tits with sexy white tanlines tracing the shape of her bikini bra. Jenny sucks on the nipples enjoying the faintest hint of Julie’s sweat.

She is about to enjoy Julie like a fine meal and she likens this part to the savoury snacks that prepare the palate for the tastes to come.

Her tongue slips under the left tit and traces the fold where the tit meets the chest. The salty tang of sweat is addictive and she must have more. Her tongue explores the right tit and then she moves sideways to Julie’s armpits.

The hair has trapped even more tiny globules of salty sustenance. She licks the concave sweep of one armpit then moves to the other, her nose relishing Julie’s smell.

She must have more sweat before she seeks further tastes. She turns Julie around and laps at her glistening back whilst her hands greedily squeeze the tits and her finger’s twist and pull the fat nipples.

Her tongue slips down Julie’s backbone and over the soft and silky flesh. She pushes Julie slightly so that her lover’s body bends over the sofa.

Then Jenny moves down, ignoring for a moment the temptingly bared arse with the inviting and shadowy crack. Jennie needs more sweat and she knows she’ll find it on Julie’s feet.

She lifts a foot, unbalancing her lover so that she falls slightly over the sofa. Jennie looks up for a second, loving the sexy sight of Julie’s arse cheeks seen from below. And to make it a perfect view, the gusset of her knickers is taut, clearly defining the outlines of her cunt, like a relief map in black cotton. Jenny reaches up and slowly runs her fingernail along the lines of the fat lips and Julie’s body shudders in delight.

But Jenny’s attention is now on the toes and her lips clamp around each of them as she relishes the taste. She sucks and tongues the toes as if they were tiny cocks and she senses Julie’s excitement.

It’s a great feeling because the more turned-on Julie becomes the more juices her body produces and the tastier she becomes. A woman's body is a source of so much gustatory pleasure to Jenny and she knows she can over-indulge on Julie.

Jenny has now feasted on both feet and she’s moving upwards, her tongue seeking out sweat on Julie’s legs and thighs. Finally she reaches the place where the twisted black cotton is jammed tightly up the fragrant crack.

She’s now ready for the second stage of her meal that she calls her ‘liquid lunch’. This name might be a joke but she’s very serious about enjoying this course to it limits.

But first she reaches out and grabs the waistband of Julie’s knickers, pulling them down and out of the bum crack.

She stands up and the, now, totally naked Julie turns towards her. She kisses her trembling lover then steps back holding Julie’s knickers to her nose. She breathes in enjoying Julie’s stale and fresh scents.

Jenny loves even the most basic of Julie’s smells and she presses her nostrils to the damp and stained gusset. Then she slowly and sensuously licks it and sucks on it in front of Julie’s blissful face.

But now it’s really lunchtime and she moves down towards the source of Julie’s pungent knickers.

Julie sits back slightly on the sofa edge and her thighs spread. Jenny’s hands force them further apart until most of Julie’s cunt is exposed.

The fat purpley pink lips glisten invitingly but Jenny stops.

She now teases her lover by taking time to slip off her T-shirt exposing a toned and tanned body with small but pert tits and big erect nipples. She then slides her hand down into her boy shorts to feel her own cunt. She relishes the slippery wetness knowing a dark stain will soon be spreading across the grey silkiness.

Julie' s eyes are closed, her tongue flits across her pouting lips and her fingers are twisting her own gorged nipples because she knows what's coming next and she wants to be ready.

And then Jennie's face is pressed into Julie. Squashing itself into the cappaccio of cunt meat.

Her nose is forcing itself deeper into the damp fleshiness seeking out the strong aromatic cunt smells. After two days of no washing Julie is ripe and Jenny is entranced.

Once her nose has been given a treat it’s time for her tongue. As she licks and laps and explores the crevices and crannies she tastes the thick white traces of snatch soup. Julies' juices seems special to Jenny and she feels she can never have enough.

The tip of her tongue rapes Julie’s hood until it uncovers the clit. Now the cunt shifts and shudders as Julie starts to go into orgasm. And the cum seems to flood into Jenny’s mouth.

Julie sighs, she’s satisfied - but Jenny wants more.

It’s time for pudding and so Jenny turns Julie around and bends her right over the sofa. Julie’s big arse juts out provocatively and Jenny kneels down to face the spread crack.

She grips the big hot cheeks and spreads then further revealing the tip of the cunt and Jenny’s target – Julie’s big brown arsehole.

She leans forward and runs her tongue up the seam of the bum until she reaches the puckered hole. The sweet smell stimulates her impulses and she plunges the tip of her tongue into the hole.

The tip meets some resistance, then Julie relaxes, and Jenny’s hot pink tongue sinks deep into the arsehole. The tight elasticity sucks on her tongue as if it was alive.

She gently fucks Julie, in and out, deeper and deeper and feels the big bare body tremble with ecstacy. Julie grunts and moans like a trapped animal.

She finally pulls out, the pinky brown skin slips back and Jenny fondly kisses the damp hole.

She then slides her fingers deep into her own cunt and, in second, she too is lost in a strong and sensual orgasm.

She sits back now she's satisfied - the feast is over for the moment and she calmly surveys her lover’s naked, vulnerable and now totally washed body.

Jenny loves the tanned skin, the white bits like tantalising targets, the quite shapely legs, the strong thighs, the grabbable soft cushions of the bum with the deep crack, the ever available arsehole and cunt, the smooth back with the dark hair falling on the shoulders, the generous tits, the tarty nipples, the soft belly and plump squeezable mound.

She loves the fleshiness and the femininity and the different flavours this produces. For her this is a love story.

But what about naked, exposed, explored Julie?

She lies over the sofa in an aftergow of varied sensations. But this is just the start of Julie’s sexy weekend and her mind spins forward.

Jenny and her will have breakfast naked – then she’ll be fucked and sucked and spanked and wanked throughout the hot humid morning and afternoon – and Jenny will always be with her – on the floor – on the bed – on her face - and even when she’s on the lavatory – when Jenny will giggle and say ‘who needs loo paper?’- and then after several total body washings and several orgasms it’ll be time to go drinking and clubbing with their girlfriends – and she’ll wear the outfit Jenny loves her in – the tight silky top into which she forces her naked tits and which enhances the outline of her nipples and the low-cut tight silky pants that she wears without knickers that displays her cunt slit at the front and her bum crack at the back as she sits down – the clothes that inspired some catty cow to say “you might as well be nude” and then pissed and high they’ll go back to the flat for a good sound all holes fucking with some of Jennie's favourite toys that'll make her moan into the night ..and then tomorrow…tomorrow?

So what of Julie? Well, after so many Saturdays and Sundays she’s absolutely confident that she loves Jennie's sexiness, her attitude, her sense of fun, her friendship, her protection and she wants this love to last. And she knows that Jenny loves her body.

She’s just not very sure about whether Jenny loves her. She rather worries that she may just be the flavour of the month.

And this means that her love story could have a rather unhappy ending.

Sadie Dark©

Hope you like it...tell me what you think.

Love & kisses all over (but not necessarily like Jenny!!!) Sadie

Whatya cock!

2005-10-30T23:17:00.000Z

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.

The world according to Yafro

2005-10-16T13:33:00.000+01:00

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

Weighty thoughts (and the usual smut)

2005-10-09T18:58:00.000+01:00

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)

Whipping up a party in New York

2005-09-18T00:03:00.000+01:00

To get some research for my book I recently visited a local-ish BSDM club – well that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. A bit like the latex bustier stuck to me!

It was fun but in a terribly British way. And it was sooooooo different to the fun I had on a trip to the USA last December. You’ll have to wait for my book launch (am I dreaming???) for the English stuff but here’s a brief report on the spanking good time I had in NY.

*******************

I don’t know how you would spend your time in pre-Christmas New York. Watching the skaters at Rockefeller Centre or in Central Park? Watching the animated windows at Lord & Taylor? Or watching a naked woman taking it up the arse? Especially as she’s being fucked by a muscular tattooed lesbian with a strap-on.

Yes, I did all the usual festive things but it was the fetish things that made the trip memorable. An old friend of my girlfriend mentioned that it was the December party at her “lesbian BSDM club” and would we like an invite.

Oh yes! Which is why we were in a cab on the way to the venue in Queens dressed (under our long coats) in just skintight black jodphurs, rubber boots and our skin. We obviously hadn’t packed any fetish gear for a Christmas business and shopping trip to New York so a visit to a sportswear store supplied us with a cheap alternative.

At the ‘club’ female bouncers (with great bouncers, as a matter of fact) checked our invitations, which were sexy masks, peeked under our coats to make sure we’d followed the dress code and let us through.

Having lost the coats we looked around. It was a dyke’s dreamland. The party was packed with trimmed, toned and tanned New York girls in the minimum of clothing possible. Their interpretation of ‘fetish wear’ was varied. Some were authentically kitted out in leather basques and thongs with studs and straps. Some were in sexily ripped ‘boys/boi’s’ clothes. Others just used it as an excuse to strut around in fantasy wear. Many were naked. But who cares when you can’t move without brushing against some truly awesome tits and arses.

The ‘dungeon’ was anything but. No bare walls, no grubby floor, no chilly damp smell, no fat white Brits – this was the Bergdorfs of BDSM. It was a nightclub some nights, a gay club on others, and a couples BDSM and Swingers Club on a monthly basis. Tonight was girls’ only and very popular it was too.

We mingled in the bar area. My girlfriend’s friend was there with a group of mates. She came over to greet us. The last time I’d seen her she’d been in a conservative black Donna Karan number. Now she was in a purple satin basque and her tits spilled over it. They were obviously enhanced but stunning none the less. Big and brown with very pert nipples framed in silver ‘jewellry’. She kissed me and our nipples clashed, she knew it and licked her lips suggestively, she then kissed my girlfriend and grabbing our hands led us over to her friends. Her purple satin knickers full at the front, were cut away at the back revealing her big brown arse cheeks swaying sexily as she walked. Was it etiquette, I wondered, to grope your girlfriend’s friend’s bum without a formal introduction.

Her friends were equally elegantly undressed. One wore a black rubber catsuit with holes cut out to reveal her nipples, cunt and buttocks. Another wore a severe white top, starting from her neck and covering her arms and small tits but it all changed at waist level. Below she was naked but for a pearlstring thong dividing her cunt lips. The other two were obviously a team. One wore a leather ‘domme’ outfit consisting of basque, thong and thigh boots and the other was naked but for a rubber face mask and also a leather collar and chain that was firmly in the grasp of the ‘domme’. We all wore our sexy masks.

As a group we must have looked like an illustration from one of those ‘60’s’ lesbian soft porn novels. Including us Brits because although when compared to our American friends my girlfriend and I were overdressed but we were certainly causing an effect.

I haven’t worn riding breeches since Pony Club so I’d never noticed how sexy they look and feel. Because ours were cheap and thin they appeared glued to every curve on our bodies. The American girls spun us around and stared. Their tightness acted like a sort of ‘bum bra’ so even my womanly cheeks were pulled tightly together whilst displaying a fine crack. My arse felt great and I noticed my girlfriend’s smaller butt looked pretty cool too. We also both displayed amazingly defined ‘cameltoe’ around our crotches - I could have held a book in my slit! The breeches gripped my thighs like lover’s hands, and the elastic material massaged my cunt as I moved. And then, to complete the look, above the waistband we were both completely naked. A coating of St Tropez made us blend in a bit with our tanned colleagues but we both severely lacked toning. My tits were natural I’d like to think (translation: droopy) and my girlfriends’ are virtually non-existent but we were obviously Brits so this was excused by our cosmetically assisted colleagues.

Our group’s sexy clothing and nudity was echoed throughout the bar. It was pervy by Prada, and the girls were hot and excited but the atmosphere was very unthreatening. I wondered how many authentic lesbians there were in the room and how many were just straight girls out to dress sexy and have a laugh.

It reminded me of ‘Cake’, a ‘straight’ club in London where posh girls show their panties and let lapdancers sit on their knees. I mentioned this to the woman in the catsuit and she just grinned, reached round, squeezed my arse and said ‘wait and see until we get into the playroom”

Our New York friend had cautioned us that “outside rules don’t apply in the club – anything goes, if you want it”. So rather than just be two sloppy Brits self-consciously slapping each other’s bums in public we agreed to separate and ‘play’ with other women. My girlfriend admits she’s a bit possessive so this was an early Christmas present from her.

In keeping with the spirit of the place we made our parting kiss extreme. What started as a bit of a piss-take became a bit passionate. Our tongues snaked into each others’ mouths, darting in and out dripping with spit. My fingers greedily prised her arse cheeks apart and she cruelly twisted and tugged my nipples. I was getting sweaty - it was certainly setting me up for the night ahead.

The girls nearest us were appreciative too. Unlike the English, Americans express their enthusiasm loudly “Hey” they yelled, “Go for it girl”, “fuck her ass babe”. Later, I thought, as we giggled, kissed and parted.

I walked through the bar and through a curtain into a corridor. It suddenly got dark. My eyes adjusted and I saw on the right a room marked ‘playroom’. I peeked in. A suggestive low red light gave the place a sexy atmosphere but there was no sex as unfortunately the beanbags and the huge bed were unoccupied. I’d cum too early I expect.

The next room had a door marked “dungeon’ and a notice said “Enter here and leave your inhibitions behind” But don’t forget your ibuprofen gel, I grimly thought. I don’t do ‘pain’. I’d rather do oral on Osama Bin Laden than be whipped or flogged and as for ‘nipple torture’ I’m a definite ‘no clamping zone’.

But I’ve occasionally got moist sensations from subbing and light bondage and I’m a voracious voyeur so I entered. It was a bit brighter in here and better attended.

A naked woman was tied to a ‘cross’. Another woman was lashing her with a ‘cat o’ nine tails. I walked over to watch. The whipper was a muscular latino. She just wore a black thong that disappeared between her amazing arsecheeks. They were luscious like tanned leather cushions you could bury your face in and doze off. She’d either built up a ferocious sweat or she’d been lightly oiled. She had long black hair that almost reached her waist and it whipped against her rippling golden back as she soundly lashed the offered arse. A huge ‘American Eagle’ tattoo across her shoulders gave her biker chic. But it was her cheeks that really caught my interest and I just stared.

She turned and noticed me. She had a completely ‘dirty’ smile and she swayed over. Along with her lips I noticed her nips. Her tits were smallish but she had huge round rippled aureolas with nipples like a baby’s thumb

She looked me up down teasingly. “Want some of this sexypants?’ she purred. “Mmmmm, sexy pants”, her conversation continued - not very witty but making her point. To emphasise her feelings she slid her hand into the waistband of my breeches. ‘Want me to whip your ass, sexy” she added as her hand slipped down. I guessed she was one of the club’s domatrixes, a ‘pro’ in punishment.

“Ah thank you but not really” I stammered, sounding like a silly schoolgirlish Brit. “British, are you hun?” she replied, unnecessarily. “You guys like the kinky shit”. At this she slid her hand down inside my breeches and fingered my cunt lips. It was over in a second, then she kissed me, grinned and spinned way.

“Hey, you fucking slut” she yelled at the tethered nude, “don’t think you can fucking relax” At this she skilfully and brutally lashed the woman down between her, already striped, arse cheeks. Oh my god, I bet that stung, my eyes almost watered in sympathy. The woman’s body shuddered with the pain and her scream would have been echoed round New York if a ball-gag hadn’t reduced it to a gasping moan.

I moved on. Another naked woman was doubled up in a cage, two women, not ‘pro’s’ I guessed were teasing her through the bars. One was sliding a large black cock into the trapped ones mouth. ‘Suck on it, babe’ she called enthusiastically “cause it’s going into your cunt”.

Ahh, I thought, how so different from those family Christmas parties I used to enjoy.

Lashings of love from Sadie xxxxxxx

P.S. A little glimpse of 'Sadie's pants' - things that take my breath away. The latest is a website called Bi-girlz. It's Britain's (and possibly the world's) only female bi-sexual dating site and itz zo zexy!

You can place a pic or two or three (clothing optional), leave some interesting stuff about your little fancies and wait for the girlz to call. You can read some naughty stories (mine included) and if you're feel like getting warmed up on these chilly September nights you can just check out other member's portfolios - I especially recommend the many views of Flirtibabe. But to see if her bum is all it's cracked up to be you have to visit www.bigirlz.co.uk. Go on - you're worth it!

Foreplay for my imagination.

2005-08-12T22:09:00.000+01:00

Well, I’ve been writing my stuff and yes, it’s not easy. I’m reassured by a quote that Ms Rude offered me for encouragement. Some 19th Century wordsmith wrote it and it goes “The only people who think writing is difficult are writers’ and, yes, its true.

In the past, I watched creative people at various advertising agencies crash their heads against the wall when thick arseholes of clients turned their imaginative and inspiring words into leaden un-involving shit. It was so easy for them, they didn’t care about originality and literacy and they paid the bills.

But at the moment I’m on my own (with Morgan, of course) and I’m trying to put ideas on the page that surprise and amuse people.

Occasionally, no make that very often, I wander outside my flat for inspiration and I’m so lucky. Within minutes I have everything I need.

If I need intellectual stimulation I drop into Yagnash Newsagents. Nothing kick starts the imagination like other writers. The Independent does it for me daily, (brilliant words provocatively presented) but then so does weekly Heat (ego’s successfully pricked) and monthly Vanity Fair (immaculate yet sleazy journalism).

With brilliant ideas buzzing around my head I stagger several feet to find a totally different kind of stimulation. My belly gets neat little taste orgasms via the Cherry Tree Delicatessen where everything is so naughty but nice.

As for food sex where better than Geo Watts & Son, proper fishmongers, (after all my gay men friends go on about us girl’s fishy taste – but how do they know I wonder). I don’t notice Geo or his son, as rather forbidding women serve up my plaice and cod. But it’s even tastier than a juicy cunt and that’s praise indeed.

I’m just a few minutes from my Mac and I’ve got Cardome cards with some really witty (and rather rude) one-liners about gays, lesbians and also those really perverted people who believe in sentimental birthday, wedding and Christmas greetings. It’s virtually impossible to make me laugh out loud these days (since I’ve stopped looking at bloke’s cocks) but the cards at Cardome do it everytime.

We’re still a stones throw from my flat and, if I want to surround myself with the stimulating beauty of nature, there’s Jane Greenwood for stunning flowers that add to my personal fragrance (say what you like about me but I always smell soooo nice) and Planted, where the wonderful guys offer up the most arty green things – proof that nature creates perfect sculpture.

On the subject of fragrance, the St James Centre laundry ensures that my over and underwear are fresh and inviting, although this will disappoint two of my most persistent correspondents who are keen to save me the cost of laundry on my knickers by taking them off my hands (and into theirs).

My final point of call has to be Dragons Gate. Every local neighbourhood needs its magic shop and this is one of the wickedest. As a trainee witch (black so suits me) I welcome their assistance with potions and spells. My enemies (you know who you are) better watch out – Sadie has her evil eye on you.

So there it is, one street, so many stimulating opportunities. If the terrorists struck and Brighton was cordoned off my various appetites could be totally satisfied within minutes of my home. I must include Brighton Rocks and Couch 33 for their inspiring cocktails. And I have to add Clone Zone with their eye-opening (and other parts, of course) selection of dildos and butt plugs.

Where else would you find all this but in the UK’s most amazing city?

With all this foreplay for my imagination lets hope the writing lives up to it. Now back to the book…

Love & Kisses from Brighton Sadie xxxxx

Sadie's back again.

2005-08-01T11:55:00.000+01:00

Well, fuck, it was springtime when I last posted a blog and we were all looking forward to a heatwave summer. Well, weather forecasts now join the famous lies like 'the cheque's in the post' and 'I promise I won't cum in your mouth'. I actually feel I've spent the last few months in Rainedon rather than Brighton. It's been damper than Jordan's drawers after a three-on-one session in a sauna bath.

What have you been doing since April? I tell you what I've been up to - I've been trying to write a book. Yes, ha ha, I know, everyone's got one book inside them, write it and shut it away, bullshit bullshit. But it's true. I've been tapping away on the mac and the pages are slowly appearing.

I say I but actually it's we. You've certainly forgotten what I wrote when Spring was sprunging forth and we were young and gay - but I mentioned a bloke with a Morgan, the 30's style sports car.

Well Morgan (as I'll call him) and I knew each other years ago in the ad business when he was a successful copywriter on glamorous accounts and I was a newbie account bunny. We flirted like mad, but he was married and I was Susie Bright, nice girl, so nothing naughty happened but we had some fun lunches. He really made me laugh and then he left/got fired/whatever and we lost touch.

I met him again last year at a mutual friends house and we clicked again. Our friend's mentioned my writing, I confessed to now being licentious leather clad lady licker and told him my book plot.

We started larking around (like the old days) and suddenly the ideas flowed or maybe it was the Sancerre.

So that's what I've been occupied with, writing stuff, e-mailing it to Morgan, getting his re-write and working on that. I think it's really coming together. It may not be Zadie Smith or JK Rowling but I hope the reader will end up moist, either through sexy thoughts or pissing themselves giggling.

As to Sadie's Pants.

Well I'm still with lovely Jane, my g/f, pant pant! I'm still very in love with Brighton and in the rare bursts of sunshine I've been toasting my tush on my favourite beach. So everything's kind of OK.

I've been to London a few times (fuck the bombers!) and visited a few fav places including Coffee, Cake & Kink, where I let an old gentleman fondle my tights on a 'stocking night' - oh what a slut I am.

That's it for now I'm afraid, sorry it's so short and unrevealing but I'm so exhausted by my hours of writing (puts hand to brow and looks tortured). On the other hand it may have been the hours at Charles St with the usual suspects.

However I promise I'll write more blog. Promise! Promise! You know you can trust me. Would I lie to you?

Love & Kisses from Sadie (pale and spent) xxxxxx

Giving my body an MOT.

2005-04-13T00:04:00.000+01:00

Yes that’s right it’s T&A time - the moment, usually after an unexpected bit of sunshine, when a woman stands alone in front of her bedroom mirror and bares her arse and soul.

After a winter of comfortable clothes cover up, a future of heat–inspired exposure beckons. So a critical eye must be cast over one’s bits and measures must be taken to improve measurements. I wish I could say I did this voluntarily – but this year it took a little gentle persuasion.

Like your g/f declaring, during a moment of sensual delight: “Christ Sadie your bum is getting fucking huge”

Thanks love, Jane Austen couldn’t have put it better! And my beloved (who’s built like a boy) likes and is always praising my cuddliness so I must have hit Jade Goody proportions round the rear end.

Which is why I’m studying myself closely. It reminds me of when I had a company car and used to take it to the Volkswagen dealers for a yearly MOT and check over. I wasn’t much of a car-lover and didn’t take much care of it. Darren the mechanic used to walk around it, shaking his head and sucking his teeth.

I can imagine him now, in my bedroom, walking around me with his clipboard and reciting his familiar litany.

“Oh Sadie, you really haven’t been looking after the bodywork have you?”

He leans closer. “I mean just look at the ripples on the surface, down here and right over the back end, it’ll take some work to get rid of them”

He nods sadly, grabbing my arse cheeks and pressing down. “Look at the play in these, that’s not right, they’ll need really tightening up”

He moves round to my tits. “And bloody hell, Sadie look at this, your suspension’s absolutely knackered – what have you been doing to yourself”

He gets on the floor to inspect underneath. “Tch Tch Tch!” I hear him sigh. “Those flaps are loose…they’ll need to be screwed up for sure!”

He gets up and stands by me, checks his clipboard and speaks sadly. “Well I’m afraid I’ve got to fail you Sadie. I know you’ve got a few miles on the clock and have given rides to several owners but I can’t pass you in this condition”

He tries to be helpful. “Tell you what, bring your chassis down to the works and I’ll give you a quick touch-up and a good service…”

I stop this stupid fantasising but the observations are correct. It’s gym’ll fix it for Sadie and I’ll sign up today.

But honestly, the nipples aren’t pointing downwards, the belly’s manageable and the thighs are ok – so it’s not all bad news. Actually I look fine nude, everything seems in proportion - it’s an odd fact that we often appear worse in clothes than we do naked. Squeezing into that tight fabric is a bad look.

I often muse on this when I’m on our famous nude beach. Whatever age or sex we all look quite cool (it’s probably the Brighton breezes)

Sure there’s the usual suspects, scraggy old men like used condoms, women with backsides you could park a Harley Davidson in and enough cellulite, beer guts and love handles to keep Hannibal Lector in snacks for a month – but there are also some really sexy tits and arses.

Unfortunately they’re mostly on men. Gay men make up the majority of the sunbathers. Of course, there are quite a few couples and, occasionally, women like me. But it’s definitely cocks on the rocks at Brighton.

But hot sun and hot bodies seems a world away on this cold April evening. So I stop the sag-survey and start to write this. I might be sitting on my fat arse but I feel optimistic.

The Volkswagen with the battered bodywork still got around a lot. And so will I!

Love & cuddliness. Sadie xxxxxx

Guess who’s in Sadie’s Pants tonight?

2005-03-11T12:07:00.000Z

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

Dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians

2005-02-25T10:45:00.000Z

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'

2005-02-15T13:18:00.000Z

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.

2005-02-14T17:08:00.000Z

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.

2005-02-07T09:07:00.000Z

Yes it is, so watch how I seemingly effortlessly link my theme between several disparate items that have happened to me since I last posted, which is ages and ages ago (thanks Laura).

First I was at a Brighton party. It was some sort of Burns Night celebration…and a woman put her hand up my kilt. Ok, I wasn’t actually wearing a tartan pleaty skirty thingy but you get the point (I certainly did). We’d met, we’d drank wine, we’d chatted, we’d flirted, we’d drank more wine, we’d kissed, we’d drank more wine and…suddenly…my M&S ‘Truly you’ lingerie was getting a tactile examination. And, to add to my dilemma, the finger’s owner was suggesting that we adjourned to another, less public, room in the flat.

So what should I do? (By the way I’ve shared this drama with my g/f who took it surprisingly well). Right, what to do? My first thought was that old stand-up joke: a girl describing an encounter with a chap says: “ so I’m with this guy and he puts his hand up my skirt and I say: “ ‘ere tits first, what do you think I am – a slut?”

My second thought was a bit deeper (as her finger was getting). Back in the old days when I dated blokes there were set rules. What was happening to me this January night would have been described as ‘heavy petting’ and was therefore perfectly ok. Penetration with an erect cock was different and suggested some sort of commitment – if not marriage for life!

My third thought was: “So was this basically ok? Could we move into the spare bedroom and play around without endangering my steady relationship? It had taken my two long-term g/f’s a couple of dates and a good dinner before they literally got into my pants, so was I cheapening myself?

My fourth thought was: how would she react when she discovered that I wore M&S? God, and Sir Bob thinks he’s got problems with world poverty!
My fifth thought was: “you’ve done this before”
My sixth thought was: “mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm”

Seriously, it’s odd with gay sex. Mostly it isn’t about penetration, it’s much more about mutual masturbation (this applies to guys too, so I’m told). So how important are random encounters and what is a proper relationship?

Questions, questions! But what really got me thinking was how different my attitude to life and sex was after my exposure to the Brighton effect. I used to be much more hyper about this sort of situation and now I’m comparatively relaxed. I really do act and think differently now which is why…

…my attendance at a media/marketing/advertising party with my g/f seemed so strange. After an hour I truly believed that the room was full of damp, flappy pink things in human form. And yet I used to work in marketing (until a couple of years ago) when I was Susie Bright, the cheery chirpy ‘suit’ networking the room.

Now, I’m Sadie Dark and although I’d made an effort to dress and act in a suitable manner no one was fooled. Something’s happened to me and I’m sure that the ‘business bunnies’; my g/f’s colleagues, clients and friends could sense it. My g’f’s a bit vague about our relationship and I don’t blame her. Her world is very straight in spite of a few gay guys coming out and being revealed as a rug-muncher wouldn’t help her climb up her career ladder (although it’s me who tends to be on the rug and she’s on top, but sexist marketing jocks don’t discriminate)

So I stood lost amidst the loud “Hallllooooooo’s” and “where are you nows?” and talk of WPP, BBH and GREY, all those names that were important once but shadows now.

At times like this I get amazingly mad urges. When asked for the 100th time which company I worked for I was desperate to shout out “actually I write rude stuff about facesitting and strap-ons”. Then drop my sensibly tailored trousers, bend the party host, (a particularly offensive financial exec called Melanie) over the sofa, investigate her ‘bottom line’ then introduce her to full on dirty girl lurrrrrrrve.

But, of course, I didn’t. What I said was ‘actually I used to be in marketing but now I’m a writer in Brighton” And I’d watch them instantly lose interest.

The best fun all night was when a bloke hit on me. This was going well (ok, not very seriously girls) but then I saw Susie Bright. Yes it was me, working the room, laughing at the crap jokes and brown-nosing the partying arseholes. That was me 4 years ago…urgggg!…appalling! It shook me up – what a twat I was. I focussed on the guy again.

Sorry Brighton muffia, he was quite fanciable and I realised I still had a taste for meat, as well as fish!

Talking of lady’s bits, (and yes, here comes the next link) I was having a drink with my great friend Ms Hastings, who was singing the praises of that seaside town. We get on really well, she, like my other best friend Ms Rude, is a kind of “fuckfree buddy’ – we look like we’re doing it but we aren’t.

So she’s singing the praises of Hastings. As well as the renovated prom, the new bars and cafés near the fishing sheds she (knowing my interests) also mentions that she read in the local paper that the town hosts the largest family run on-line ‘sex toys’ shop in the UK – and it’s their 20th anniversary.

Family-run!! I loved that bit, imagine the conversation around the breakfast table:

“How many times do I have to tell you? You’ve ordered a delivery of 10-inch dildos when you know we need 12 inch!”

“Sorry Mum”

Well a 20th birthday is something to celebrate so on getting back to the flat I opened wide my Mac and stimulated the little button that always leads to an orgasm of porn.

So say hello to Magic Moments on www.sextoyshopping.co.uk . Amongst the usual stuff of vibrators, anal beads, cock rings, clitoral stimulators and sexy bunny and devil outfits in un-natural fibres that give you rashes in delicate places, my imagination is caught by the offer of vibrating panties.

I read: Cleverly designed 100% Polyamide thong with concealed vibrator unit and attached control box. Vibrator is multi speed and thong is available in black or red.(I know where the vibrator goes but where do you conceal the control box???)

Well, and I thought my life was full. But my decision between black or red was postponed when I spotted ‘realistic vaginas’.

I had to look and I wasn’t disappointed. Here’s Barbie`s Fanny, a realistic real feel vagina, that will easily fit into any pocket, so that when the mood takes you, off you go! Has a lovely receptive entrance with enticing latex nodules inside to give added stimulation…all this and its just £10.99

Latex nodules, so that’s what we’re missing girls! And to make us all feel even more inadequate there’s a selection of ‘porn stars realistic Vaginas and Asses’.

Ok they’re perfect, no spots, moles, stubble or flabby bits - in fact they truthfully are a bit shiny and unreal. However, and trust me on this, they’re actually not as plasticy as a porn star’s real V&A.

First we had Crystal’s Salsa Shaker vibrating ass. I quote - here is Crystal’s (who she?) ultra soft, tight fitting vibrating ass. Fantastic Value! So tight you will think it’s the real thing! Some satisfied users say it is better than the real thing! (how would you know unless you were very, very close to Crystal? But I’ll take their word for it)The special cyber skin type material is soft just like real skin. If you enjoy the feeling of a tight anus(and go on admit we all do, don’t we) then you will be delighted with the satisfaction that Crystal can give. The multi speed control allows you to choose the level of pleasure you want.

Or there’s the Hustler Honey Buns pussy and ass, modelled on the Porn Star Kristi Myst (I’m not familiar with Ms Myst’s body of work either) Cum Taste The Honey!, it says. Two deep satisfying holes waiting for an eager cock!

Or there’s Penthouse Pet Alexus Winston’s dual Entry V&A, modelled directly from Alexus the gorgeous Penthouse Babe’s pussy and anus. Made in Cyberskin to give the ultimate experience in stimulation. Cyberskin is like real flesh(apparently), once you`ve tried the Cyberskin feel you won’t want anything else!

I bet. Hey, these must be really popular because the family behind the olde sex shoppe in Rock Close, Hastings claim over 1,250,000 customers a year. It got me thinking, there’s a real market here but you’d need a gimmick.

So how about the Sadie Dark realistic but practical V&A? You can use it to satisfy your most disgusting perversions, then after a quick rinse under the tap hang it on the kitchen wall. Here it’ll do sterling service as a handy kitchen roll holder and beer bottle opener.

What do you think?

Love & miaow Sadie

Oh bugger, I haven't written anything for almost a month!

2005-01-21T23:29:00.000Z

There goes my first fucking New Year Resolution. I'm pissed, naked and alone on a Friday night in Brighton - so there goes my second. I'm going to keep this bit of writing short because (1) I'm legless and (2) I need to keep my fingers rested for later.

Sweet dreams Sadie

Greetings from my yule blog.

2004-12-23T17:49:00.000Z

Some kind people have noticed I haven't posted much for a month or two. It's an odd thing but when you aren't doing much that's worth writing about you've got loads of time to compose blogs and when you're up to all sorts of blogtastic stuff you are too busy to write them. I've recently been to New York, a trick I achieved through the generosity of Richard Branson in regard to his airline's fares, the 'two dollar pound' and being a dynamic marketing executive's fuck. She was in town to smooooze some clients and I was there to shoppppp! But retail excess is not this blog's territory so let me tell you about a trip we made to an up-market lesbian BSDM club instead.

You have to know a member then ring a number to get the location. A seductive voice also asks you to follow the dress code: fetish or naked. Now this was a problem, because unfortunately I hadn't packed the handcuffs, whip and leather thong that I always take on international trips. On the other hand did I want to flash everything including my cellulite to tanned, toned and cosmetically trimmed New York babes? Nooooo!

The answer was Brit ingenuity. My finger did the walking through the NY phone book, found the place, then we took a cab ride. So on the night two English ladies arrived at the club topless in black jodphurs, rubber riding boots and whips - the girls loved us.

The action was as cosmetically enhanced as the tits and arses on display. Still the other members were cunt-throbbers compared to my visit to a UK BSDM 'dungeon'. Here in chilly, faintly smelly surroundings fat white wobbly women bursting out of basques and thongs whipped fat white wobbly bald men with tattoos - you could believe a human being might have treble bum cheeks!

The NY dikes were so thin but really up for it. My girlfriend was diverted by the bondage whilst I dallied with a tattoed and pierced commodity broker from Soho. I looked in to see g/f bare-arsed naked and a bit 'tied up' so I let the broker handle my assets.

I realise this isn't especially Christmassy. Sorry but you've chosen my 'Dark Places'. Perhaps I could tie it all up by wishing you all a spankingly good Xmas, or mention whipped cream on your Christmas pud. Instead I wish you all a brilliant time and a sex-filled 2005.

Lashings of love Sadie

Things got hot in Brighton last night.

2004-12-22T15:54:00.000Z

They 'burnt the clocks' on Brighton beach. This is a recently revived ritual in which flaming torches are carried through the streets by flaming drunks and then a huge pile of paper clocks is set alight. It was all curiously sexy. It's apparently to do with druids and the shortest day but this gets all forgotten as the flames leap and the mob gets frenzied. The spirit of Saturnalia overpowers the spirit of Santa Claus and things get pagan. It certainly worked for my girlfriend and I. We rushed back to the flat and made love by candlelight. You may have noticed I wrote 'made love' when I could have used the more f-f-f-familiar expletive. But that's what we did, beginning with a sensual massage, thanks to some sensationally slippery massage oil and a little book we'd bought in New York. Then, we locked and unlocked, explored and experimented, the candlelight glinting off our naked twisting bodies - pure paganism. God it was good!

Merry Saturnalia Sadie

Turned on by old guys.

2004-11-18T10:37:00.000Z

The best party in Brighton last night was the Beach Boys gig at The Brighton Centre. It wasn't promising, a cold night with icy sea breezes hitting the hideous nuclear bunker that is our 'concert hall' and the people! my dear, the people. it looked like the local old folks home had been burnt down and they had all gathered here for shelter. It was grey hair and grey shoes as far as you could see.

I turned up in Hawaiian shirt and white pants with Tommy and Calvin, both in gaudy gay shirts, and ready to surf. Then, the lights went out, the MC shouted "...direct from Southern California" and the music started. For two and a half hours they filled the hall with sunshine and sound. I danced and shouted and sang along. It's such a happy sound, it slices into your brain, tingles down your spine and good vibrations cruise through your cunt. Amazing!

I, temporarily, left damp Sussex and arrived in Surferville USA. It was Fun Fun Fun, I danced away and, as usual, fell madly in love with Tommy and Calvin - I'd be the jam in their sandwich, all they had to do was ask. The young people surrounded the stage, 40 year old music sounded as fresh as the girls and guys dancing around me, tits shook, arses twitched and all the oldies rocked too, the disco lights flashing off their bald heads. Heaven!

Then they sang God only knows and the line "God only knows what I'd do without you" in that plaintive voice had tears welling in my eyes. A fucked-up marriage, a failed affair and all those men and, now, women who I doted on, gave my body and my mind to, and who I left or they left me. All these people plus the the amazing friends and lovers I have now came into my mind. So I cried for lost opportunites and the hope of a better future. My emotion fuelled by several Jack Daniels and a couple of spliffs really got the better of me.

And what did my dancing partners do? Did they give me a huge gay hug and girly sympathy? Did they fuck! Tommy reached out certainly but only to grab my arse and tell me to stop blubbing and start bopping. Then they played California Girls and the sun came out again.

I for one, wish they were all Brighton girls. Here's to a warm bed this winter.

Love & Mercy. Sadie

Here are two lips from Amsterdam.

2004-11-15T21:45:00.000Z

And they're hot and damp with pleasure. Yes, I've just spent a few days in Holland's horniest haunt so expect plenty of 'finger in the dyke' type comments. The centre of Amsterdam is as cool as people say. Great 'brown cafes' (there's a gay guy joke there somewhere), full of atmosphere and smoke - the dutch don't do no-smoking! Lots of them, in fact, broken up by interesting antiquey-type shops and restaurants. You can wander along the canals, have a few beers and watch life and little Dutch girls pass you by.

In fact they're not little at all. They tower over you, apparently the Dutch are, on average, the tallest people in the world - it must be all the milk and cheese. It's true, they actually drink a glass of milk at lunchtime - it's disgusting but I suppose v healthy. Then they go out in the evening and get v pissed.

The blokes are mostly very good looking and the older ones often have great style. And the Dutch dolls are mostly stunning, tall slim, plump milk-fed tits and tight bums - hate them! Not really, they're very friendly and have a great fashion-sense. There are hundreds of fashion shops in central Amersterdam and they make Brighton look like Bognor! But they are walllet-achingly expensive.

I tried on a pair of embroidered jeans (since I was ill I don't have to lie on the floor to get them over my arse) They looked fantastic and I posed a lot in front of the mirror and admired my bum - even the gay owner flashed a look. Unfortunately I could wear the pants but not the price tag and so they got left on the hanger.

I'm staying with old friends in Amsterdam and they've been here for years. It's spooky but the last time I was here I was married and straight (but leaning a bit, if you know what I mean). I was on a business trip attending a client's conference - a real business bunny. I was young, comparitavely innocent and optimistic. I was Susie Bright, rather than Sadie Dark.

Susie was married to Brian, a man who she quickly discovered was a complete arsehole but she coped. She wore smart black business suits, talked seriously about consumer profiles and media reports and laughed a lot at the client's boring jokes. She didn't complain when she was fondled by the pissed client Brand Director and she smiled sportingly as she accompanied her clients to a seedy live sex-show. But she found the lesbian act a bit more interesting than she had expected. Today I would like to kick her into one of the canals.

Speaking of sex shows, there's the 'banana bar' in Amsterdam where men pay to watch girls eat bananas.....yes, yes, I know you're ahead of me! The lips that grip and consume the banana are not the ones you normally whistle through. Although I expect those girls could do that too, and blow a trumpet and propel ping pong balls across the room. It's all to do with having powerful vaginal muscle control and you can get them strong by exercising them at any time of the day. I'm doing it as I write this.

Whoops, I think I've gone too far - I can't find the cat anywhere!

Love & get great grip Sadie

I'm lying in bed and I'm hot and sweaty

2004-10-31T23:29:00.000Z

Yea, and it's for all the wrong reasons. A virus travelled down to Brighton. got off at the station, made it's way down Queens Road, passed all the shops without buying anything, turned right at the clock tower , ambled along North St, then minced down St James St and finally decided to impregnate a curvy brunette in too-tight jeans.

So here I am, on my own, with 15 days lost out of my fascinating life. I've also lost weight (good) and writing time (bad). I sent my lover away because shivering, damp and infectious is a bad look.

Tommy and Calvin visited me because gay men understand pain and rejection. They brought lilies, champagne and dope to cheer me up. They wrinkled their elegant noses at my sweatiness and shabby creased T-shirt. They pretended not to notice my bare arse (they've known me too long) as I dashed from bed to loo.

Ms Rude, another occasional visitor, did comment on the arse. "Sadie" she said with an expert air, "Enjoy this moment, I think you're actually your jean size". So there you are, even in a crock of shit you can find a vein of gold!

I've been overdosing on ibuprofen and porn. My fav site Daily Nude Blog.com never lets me down. Even if my temperature wasn't at boiling point, these naughty bunnies would blow any thermometer. I've also become addicted to Watchersweb where ordinary women (ie. not models) strut their stuff for their boy/girlfriends camera. It's just like the brave babes on Gaydargirls.com who bare all - they are sooooo sexy. Boring women (even gays) tutt and criticise but they miss the point. To expose yourself is a real turn-on. OK, you won't be seeing my intimate bits on the internet (not yet anyway) but I hope I reveal myself in print.

I'm actually feeling a bit better now. I still look the same, imagine Tracy Emin painted by Francis Bacon! But, hey I've written this - so I must be improving.

The difference between men and women.

2004-10-17T23:30:00.000+01:00

There are lots of cliches about sex. One focuses on lesbianism and prescribes that 'only a woman knows what really gives pleasure to a woman'. And the reason this is a cliche is that cliches come about because everyone repeats them. And in this case it's been repeated because it's absolutely, totally fucking true.

Now, I can add my humble experience to the motion 'only a woman etc etc'. I'm bisexual so I've enjoyed and been enjoyed by both sexes.

So, take part one of my sexual life - men. Like most women, (particularly the ones reading this I'm a'guessing) I'm MAC-literate. That's Mouth, Arse and Cunt, yes I've had a cock in all the usual places. In fact, if only my nostrils had been more elastic the dear boys would have shoved it up there too.

Part two of my life cuts off the cocks for a while and replaces them with feminine ingenuity and skill. And, I must admit, I'm in horny heaven.
So, I appeal to all the women reading this (OK, perhaps not, but I do appeal to a few women in Brighton). I'll try again, I ask you all to consider sex with another woman. What's stopping you?

I can sort of understand why straight men are not so attracted to gay sex. They are used to 'hiding the sausage' not having it thrust into them. But for us women penetration is most of the deal. And if the fleshy item that's seeking out our secret places is attached to a female what's the problem?

Face it, women are just better bed buddies. We all know the three 'F's' in a straight relationship: your guy fucks,farts and falls asleep! Well, take my word for it, girls make the pleasure last soooooo much longer. For a start they know exactly what buttons to press, as opposed to many men for whom clitoris might be an inaccessible Greek island. And because they've had so much experience stimulating their own cunt they are experts at exciting yours.

Another fact is that female bodies are just so much more interesting, go on admit it, there are so many more bits to play with. Compare our squeezable tits, our big suckable nipples, our plump pubic mounds, our teasable clits, our gorgeous delicious cunts, our pinky girly arseholes, and our soft, cushiony bum cheeks. And I still haven't included our elegant necks, grabbable hips, strong thighs, and lickable toes. And then there's our skin, so much softer, pliable and silky. And our lips, so satisfying to kiss.

And we're so huggable. You can really cuddle up to another woman feeling all her soft sensual parts interlocking into yours (and, no, trust me, a fat guy just isn't the same)

Even our underwear is more sensual. Admit it, does your man's baggy boxers or crusty Calvins really turn you on. Men's parts spoil the look of pants but women's bits just make them more beautiful. Just the thought of tight white knickers skimming over a sexy mound and slipping up a tight arse crack is enough to get us all moist.

My name's Sadie Dark, and I'm a femanolic. Cocks just aren't enough to satisfy my thirst, I need a feminine fix. And I'm soooooooo satisfied. So, come on girls what's holding you back. They say I - in - 13 women are lesbians. You know 13 women I'll bet, so look out for that special one and connect.

You have nothing to lose, apart from your conservatism, your inhibitions, and (I can promise you) your total fucking mind.

A bit of french, greek and BDSM

2004-10-12T21:42:00.000+01:00

I've just got back from France, the country where all women are 'femmes'. However I wasn't on the prowl, quite the reverse in fact. I was actually taking a short vacation from vaginas in the very straight world of two old friends and their stunning farmhouse. Having left the pace and pressures of Brighton far behind, I could drop any pretensions and indulge myself in baguettes, a drop or two of bordeaux and big pants - it was very relaxing. And I really felt I needed it because as I've mentioned before I'm finding femworld a bit fraught.

When I was into men (or, more correctly, they were in me) girlsex looked very attractive. Simple, uncomplicated and "no one understands a woman's body like a woman bla bla". I suppose it was a case of the arse on the other side of the fence looking keener.

And to be honest, since I nipped over the fence, the arses have been great - it's the other end I've been having trouble with. You can't believe the complicated mind games that I've been having with women I've met or been in contact with. Maybe it's me or maybe all the males I've known were pushovers. My emotional life is like a maze and I'm finding so many wrong turnings... Whoops, getting serious and this isn't one of those 'who am I, bollocks' blogs, I'll leave that to our American cousins!

So, on roughly the same subject I have to confess some recent queerish goings on with women. (Don't get too excited) In fact, I thought I was pretty well in touch but I'm constantly being astonished by what turns us on.

Thanks to this blog and my entry on Gaydar I get a few e-mails, most are cool but some are verrrrry strange! One of the saner ones was from Sue. She just moved to Bournemouth (of all places) and she's opening a wrestling club for women. It's true, she tells me it's a very popular activity and that she used to be a member of the North Manchester Ladies Wrestling Club. I'm not sure what's happened to it but she sent me some pics. And yes, there are several luscious lasses pulling some muscular moves which all seem to end up with them sitting on each other's faces. They're watched avidly by an audience of (entirely male) wrestling experts.

Sue hopes to recruit some local wrestling enthusiasts. In case, the noble and ancient sport doesn't quite grab you, she also proposes some special nude wrestling nights. She supports this by saying that it's an old Greek tradition, Olympics and all that. I hate to disillusion her but it was guys only in ancient Greece. Still who'd want to pay to see men wrestling nude when you can see it for free most Summer nights on Dukes Mound near the Brighton Marina.

Sue invites me over for a few rounds in her front room. She's very serious but she's also a bit of a gorgeous grappler, very curvy in her lycra leotard and displaying a generous 'toe.

I must admit as I sit alone in my flat on a dull rainy afternoon, stripping down to my trollies and going a few rounds with Sue seems rather appealing. It's my fixation with unaware sexuality, I know, but fortunately for my fragile bones sense reigns and I just wish her luck. Her website should be up soon, I think it's www.wowrestling.net if you're interested, but don't harrass me if I've got it wrong.

So, from one strapping girl to another. The weirdest (and most worrying) e-mails I've been getting are from a domme in Birmingham. Now, I've been in contact with another domme and she's rather sweet. She sends me pics of her in just a leather corset dancing on a grave and talks of 'getting me into her bed'. In these crude days that almost Jane Austen!

But the brummie broad is very different. She makes it clear that all she wants to do is take all my clothes off, hang me up in a leather harness and beat the shit out me. Not literally, of course, the butt plug would prevent that - nothing pervy like 'scat' for this masochistic miss.

Fortunately, I can erase her e-mails but I sometimes think it's a pity I don't have a 'delete' button on some other aspects of my life. Alarm! getting heavy again, why, oh why am I wrestling with my conscience when I could be putting a 'cross buttock' on Sue?

J'etaime Sadie

Hello from a Brighton byke

2004-10-03T11:28:00.000+01:00

Since joining the Brighton Cliterati, I've been called all sorts of names, from 'hey you' to some choice examples from my fellow sisters that I can't repeat on a Sunday. In fact, there's a whole new language you have to learn when you depart from the straight and narrow.

And, as many of my readers haven't yet tasted the delicious flavours of gay lurrrrve, I thought I might share some definitions with you.

The idea occured to me when I was looking at www.pinkuk.com. Now it's a great site but I haven't really been that tempted before as I've always thought it was a man thing. But I was told someone was slagging off a favourite bar of mine so I signed on to add my comment. Actually, it is mostly about Brighton manhole locations and see-through knickers (what about us girls eh?) but it had a fun item about gay slang. Here is my, very select, selection:

Bulldozer: An extremely butch lesbian
Drag King: A woman dressed like a man (just go to the Candy Bar, they even pencil a moustache under their nose)
Dyke: A lesbian - the term derives from the nineteenth-century slang word dike, which referred to male clothing, and when it was first used to refer to women, it carried a derogatory connotation of masculine appearance or behaviour (why male clothes though?)
Dyke Bite: Refers to a straight woman using lesbianism as a feminist argument or a way of insulting men
Dyke Dog: Refers to a male, straight or otherwise, who enjoys the company of lesbian women or a straight woman using lesbianism as a feminist argument or a way or insulting men
Femme: A lesbian who acts and dresses effeminately (that'll be me then)
Fluffy: Term used by lesbians to mean a woman who is turned on
French Embassy: Any location, especially a gym, where gay sex is readily available (love this)
Frig: Sex between two women, often involving one rubbing the genitals of the other with her fingers; probably derived from friction ( Ok, but why has frigging become the pc word for general fucking?)
Honeypot: A woman's genitals (buzzzzzz!)
Lemon: Another word for Lesbian (haven't heard this before but like it: Lemon squash (busy night at the Marlborough), Lemon aid (helping a girlfriend stagger home). Lemon juice (mmmmmmmmm tangy!)
Lesbro: The male equivalent of a fag-hag
Lilies of the Valley: Piles. (Brilliant,eh?)
Lipstick Lesbian: An effeminate lesbian (me again but sometimes I'm more of a Dipstick Dyke!)
Luppies: Lesbian urban professionals, or lesbian yuppies
Soft Butch: A butch lesbian with a soft side and gentle demeanour ( where are you, babes?)

I also checked Google, here are some American definitions that tickled me:

Byke: A contraction of bisexual dyke (yeaaaaa!!!! ride me baby)
chapstick lesbian: a lesbian who is very into sports, a sports dyke
Dykon: A lesbian icon, such as kd lang, Melissa Etheridge, Ellen Degeneres (what about Cherie Blair? Oh! you didn't know!)
Gold-star lesbian: A lesbian who never has had and never intends to have sex with a man. Sometimes they also get points for never sleeping with bisexuals. Entirely too many of them get terribly self-righteous about it and look down on bisexuals and lesbians who have had sex with men. (Don't I know it, fuck u all)

So endeth today's lesson in simple Sapphistry,(another definition)

Love from a lemon tart , Sadie

Women eh! I've had them up to here!

2004-09-28T21:40:00.000+01:00

And it's true, I have. But then you can't see what part of my body I'm pointing at - clue, it's not the top of my head. But seriously, most of my troubles lately have come with a pair of tits. In my former life, women were my friends and it was blokes who messed my emotions about, but now it's often the reverse.

Take the weekend. A little burst of unexpected joy led to a lot of grief and I found myself seeking out my mates, Calvin and Tommy. Frankly, what they know about women could be tattooed on their cocks, and it would still leave room for the Brighton Telephone Directory. However they're great listeners and, as we're all a bit girly, we bond.

After much conversation and cosmopolitans we agreed that women were odd birds. Think about this, for instance. Imagine you were a gay bloke (easy, if you live in Brighton) and you were walking down the street. Amazingly, every man you see is dressing sexily - little lycra shorts, tight white T-shirts, leather pants, painted-on jeans - imagine that? You wouldn't believe your luck or that tent in your pants! But,sadly, it's a fantasy, because one guy in a 100 may be hunky, but the rest are in baggy jeans/slacks/shorts/shirts/football tops/suits and are decidedly un-sexy.

However, imagine you're a healthy, average, pert-buttocked woman, like me for instance. And you're walking down the street, any street in Brighton or any other town for that matter. What do you see? Well, if they are under 30 you see porn-stars. Almost every woman has a tiny top - nipples proud, a tanned belly, and low slung pussy-hugging jeans like denim knickers with legs. It's true isn't it? Almost every young woman (str8 or gay) this summer has been a dyke's dream.

But, and here's the twist, how many actually knew this. I'm sure every woman knows what she's showing but do they understand the effect? My Lord, I suggest not!

And then look at the women who are totally unaware of their sexual allure. First, our gallant girls in blue.

If you've noticed a sudden increase in your area of chaps in stripey pullovers with bags marked 'Swag' over their shoulders it's because every police officer in the UK is in Brighton this week.

It's the New Labour Party Confer...sorry I fell asleep at my Mac. Anyway the whole city is buzzing with bill. We were watching some female officers harressing the hunt supporters and someone suggested that although the boys have come out, with Dep Ass Com Paddick leading a Pride parade, the girls stay in the community closet.

But, it follows that gay girls would fascinated by the fuzz just as they make up a large proportion of our female armed services. And let's face it, a PC with a pussy is verrrry attractive,

First, they wear a uniform: bum-hugging skirt and a tight blouse and tight leather belts and black tights and shiny buttons. And how about the rough gaberdine trousers and big leather boots? They'd go down (and come down) rather well at the Candy Bar. Then, there's the new double-ended 'truncheons', wow! Anne Summers could really penetrate the gay market with them!

And what about the handcuffs? Or the strip-searches and the tight latex gloves? - "Bend over Ms Dark, we believe you're hiding an elicit bottle of Jack Daniels"!

No wonder they're called the filth! But cops aren't alone, have you clocked the traffic wardens? Or, on the subject of unaware sexiness - the business bunnies.

They are about when you're just getting back from the club and I'm out jogging to the newsagent. That's right, business women on their way to work.

But,look at their executive suits. They may be conservative and dressed for success but the jackets are cut short and the material's lycra so they display a cute bottom line.

Case proved.

Final cheap cop gag: Sexy PC: "OK, Ms Dark, may I warn you that anything you say will be taken down and used in evidence against you"

"Knickers"

Love & it's hard being lez Sadie

Have you got Cameltoe?

2004-09-24T23:47:00.000+01:00

After a downer of a week it's the monthly dyke nite at the pub I work for and guess what's coming down? Well it wasn't my lycra sports shorts this time because on looking in the mirror I decided I looked too much like a crack sportswoman. Yes, I had serious case of cameltoe. This is a ladies' complaint that has had much coverage in the USA. TV shows and websites like Cameltoe.com and Cameltoeworld.com are devoted to it. I hadn't thought about it until I saw it mentioned in one of the men's mags we have at the health club where I also work. Frankly it's caused by tight fabric over your pubic mound with your labia creating a notch in your pants so forming a 'cameltoe' shape. Many of my readers are probably suffering from it at this moment and most of Britain's women innocently display it every day. I must be flashing my 'toe everytime I workout at my gym or go for a run. It's not a great look although I bet there many who think it's kinda sexy (I've met several women who are convinced men are turned on by VPL) But, considering the audience tonight, I dropped my shorts and wore sweat pants instead.

These would have been a safe choice except they carried the word 'juicy' written over my bum and this rather excited the muffia mob. However I received less attention than last time thanks to Deb, as usual, looking stunning in her naughty nurses outfit and the fact that my boss had hired a stripper.

She was great, waving her arse and tits in the customer's faces and sitting on their laps. She had the trick of handling the crowd without letting them handle her. I chatted to her in our breaks, sitting in the pub kitchen, with her wearing an open beachwrap, totally relaxed in her nudity. "Women are the worst" she testified, idly tweaking the hair on her tiny pubic strip, "blokes rarely cross the line but pissed women think anything goes".

I haven't had the chance to cross-examine a stripper before. So I asked lots of questions including the obvious one - does she even get turned on when exposing herself to an audience?

"Not at all" she said, but then she thought again "some nights maybe, when someone in the crowd looks fanciable". She admiitted however that interaction with women now gave her a bit of a thrill.

"You a lezzie?" she asked. "I am now I think" I replied. "Do you miss the pricks?" she inquired. "No I said, I'm still surrounded by them" Bitter I suppose, but then I'd just had my sweat pants pulled down while I was holding a trayful of drinks.

On a happier note two American readers have e-mailed me both puzzled by my reference to 'snogging'. This British term is unknown from them and I'm afraid I probably disappointed them with the correct definition. I think they expected something far more sordid. For a minute I imagined exciting their imagination in my fictional style:

...her eyes grew fearful and she gasped as I withdrew the Snogger from its rubber case. "Assume the position slut" I snarled as I carefully lubricated it. Her orgasmic screams echoed across Brighton as we snogged all night...

Love & watch out for that cameltoe. Sadie

Today I've seen more arseholes than a proctologist

2004-09-22T13:57:00.000+01:00

Sorry short blog today. I've just got back from the pub - it's been a long day and I seem to have lost my sense of humour along the way. If you find it treat it gently as its had a bit of a spanking. I awoke, my usual stunning self, it was a normal day, I'd forgotten to close the curtains so my neighbours got a flash of my dark places - still they're mostly gay guys. I had a snappy, bitchy phone conversation with my new best friend (sorry) - more of this in a future blog. Then I opened my post, and found a letter from the bank/overdrawn/£25 charge etc etc. I stopped off for a recuperative hot chocolate at Cafe 22 and bumped into Anus 2, one of the muffia who gave me a hard time about being bi. Words were exchanged, I left, went to bank and faced Anus 3, a stupid cow who seemed to think I was responsible for my overdraft. After that Brighton seemed to become a rectal nightmare - people in the streets and serving in the shops becoming all pink and puckered.

Then it was showtime behind the bar. For some reason it was packed and stifling. I love getting hot and sweaty (haw haw) but not because of rude people, shouted orders and lost tempers. Thank you and good riddance Tuesday 22nd!

Back home I was a bit brisk with three lovely sexy people on GaydarGirl (sorry) and so to cool down (and heat up) I naturally hit the porn button. Tonight I saw a bit of Captain Stabbin and his Anal Adventures.

The salty old seadog invites curvy ladies onto his boat and talks them out of their bikinis. He does a quick tour of their superstructure and then commentates whilst a crewmember takes them up the poopdeck. There should be a joke about seamen somewhere but I'm a bit tired.

Love & roll on tomorrow Sadie

Why the thong approach is right.

2004-09-21T21:23:00.000+01:00

You know that woman you saw sitting on a barstool in her too tight jeans with her shirt open to her waist and a really irritating laugh? Just who did she think she was? Well, for the last week or so she's been me. Thanks to a collision of circumstances I've been annoying people in bars all over Brighton.

One reason was my lack of Mac. Nothing to write on, or e-mail with, so I deserted my flat. Another reason was extra cash for overtime thanks to a staff shortage at work - it's amazing how infectious health clubs can be. Main reason was plain randiness - no-one's got into my pants for months.

So there I was with various friends. Since I started this blog they've all requested that I change their names - amazing! this bunch of freaks and pervs don't want to be associated with me. So my best friend is now Ms Rude and so on, I've called my two best male friends Tommy and Calvin after their underwear which is frequently displayed about their Seven jeans.

Which neatly gets me on to a pissy discussion that Ms Rude, Ms Take, Tommy, Calvin and I had at the top of our voices in Kruze last week. Tommy made some typically annoying gay observation (ie.witty) about the amount of thong that we girls had on show. I must admit we did look a bit like three sumo wrestlers on our barstools.

Knowing I was on the pull (hopefully!) he added that maybe mine was some sort of come-on to really desperate women. This got us thinking about sending signals to ladies on the lookout. You know that gay guys are supposed to have some code involving hankies in back pockets? Well imagine a thong code!

A green thong would mean go!!!!, I'm up for it you slut.

An orange thong would mean caution! move carefully and you might end up parking in my slot

A red one would mean stop! I'm a smug fucker in a perfectly balanced one-2-one relationship or I've got a period, sod off! On the other hand it could just mean I'm the sort of easy slapper who wears red underwear.

It's amazing how philosophical you get at 12am. But thong signals or not I have pulled and I'll spill the beans in another blog.

My encounter however proves that not every gay woman is prejudiced against bisexuals. And after my rant a few blogs ago I got a bit of support from lots of nice people and a lot of shit from the Brighton Muffia.

Still someone showed me an article in GScene, a gay Brighton mag. I don't always look at it (it's very boysie with lots of pics of unfortunate men who've had to turn up at parties in just their underpants - which seem to have shrunk in the wash, poor dears!) However this article was quite encouraging. A group called Brightonbothways for Brighton bisexuals has been formed. There are now about 40 members and they meet at The Queens Head on Thursdays.Their treasurer Susie says it's about people being allowed to express their true feelings (I'm all for that!) And they mention clubbing, walks and a five-day camp with riding (not bareback I trust!) and skinny-dipping so it sounds like fun. Contact Susie at shuangxinglian@hotmail.com.

Bye bye from a bi-bi

Love - at last! Sadie

A threesome with Richard and Judy

2004-09-20T09:55:00.000+01:00

Hey, I'm still Macless but have access to a friend's machine for a few minutes. Without my Mac I haven't been blogging or writing my stuff or viewing porn - so how have I been entertaining myself?

Well, I've been entertaining myself. My daily wanking workout to keep my creative juices flowing. I tend to do this in the afternoon before I go to work. I'm far too shagged after an evenings' bartending to shag myself at night. For stimulation I only have my imagination and my TV and at this time in the afternoon I find myself lying on the bed, finger on the button, waiting for blast off - and watching Richard and Judy.

(For my American readers R&J is a chat show with married presenters - a bit like Regis and 'whoever' - blondes on US TV all look alike to me)

So I'm watching our charismatic presenters and try to turn myself on. I imagine Richard and Judy naked...no doesn't work for me,fucking then...no...doing it doggy-style with Richard rampant and ramming Judy, her screaming in ecstacy as he slaps her awesome bum cheeks...no..nothing I'm afraid.

A threesome then. Me shafting Richard with a 10 inch dildo. Me shafting Judy with a 10 inch dildo...whoops I've lost it up there somewhere! But no luck...my muff remains unmoved. But then they introduce Joanna Lumley as a guest ...and bingo!

Love & can't wait for my Mac Sadie

My blog is buggered!

2004-09-13T18:31:00.000+01:00

And I'm pretty blogged off. I'm typing this brief apology on a friend's computer because my Mac is unwell. I rang the Mac mender and he said bring it in, he then said "I think it's the hard disk, I can replace it but you'll lose everything - of course you've backed up haven't you?" Whoops, my silence told him that this was not the case. I think I heard his glasses steam up and his spots explode. Shit, all my writing is on it. My friend offers assistance and red wine. Be back soon

Love & prayers Sadie

2004-09-08T22:10:00.000+01:00

It was an evening of two halves. Round 1 took place in Charles St, I'd gone in expecting a quietish drink with friends - I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition! (nnnnno-one expects the Spanish Inquisition etc etc)

First, my friend Ms Hap was with another group of people who I only vaguely know. We all said hello, talked about the sun, the Sopranos etc, then suddenly one of them started on me. She'd read my blog and found my advert on GaydarGirls.com and her bitch (fuelled I expect from an overdose of Barcadi Breezers) was that I call myself bisexual. "What was this all about" she demanded, "was I only interested in 'bicpl4sex' ads ?". There are a few on Gaydar (rather dull looking blokes and foxy ladies I think, and one Brighton girl has a particularly shapely bum).

But I denied this outright. "Not at all" I blustered, "I call myself a bi because until relatively recently I was into blokes but attracted to women and now it's women who do it for me, but I'm not a man-hater and I admit that I still find some of them fanciable" Whoops, the sisterhood around the table glared at me. If I'd impaled myself on the nearest prick and sung 'Love to love you baby', the effect couldn't have been more negative.

Everyone had an opinion: "You're either gay or you're not blah blah", "people who call themselves bi are denying their sexuality blah blah" "I bet you're not getting any responses from proper gay women on Gaydar blah blah", " you should be burnt as a bisexual witch" (I made that one up)

Enough, enough. I left them all feeling righteous. So I like meat and fish! That's me, that's what I am, take it or leave it. As I was about to leave I literally bumped into Ms Hastings (not real name obviously, she just comes from that fair town). We'd chatted at a Christmas party and got on famously. So I sat down again and Round 2 began.

Much, much more fun. Ms Hastings and I caught up with life, ex-girlfriends and the universe. She's what you might call full-bodied - she says she's cuddly. And she is, in both curves and manner. She's very open and enthusiastic whilst I'm a bit... well 'dark'. Strangely we were almost dressed alike, silky jackets, jeans and pointy boots. We both fancied a bop so went next door to Envy. We danced, then cuddled (I told you she was cuddly). Then we snogged. Then, I ripped open her filmy blouse and my hungry lips feasted on her....

...No, that's what I write during the day. What actually happened was, we snogged..then...then I burst into tears. Memories of my 'ex' flooded me and my eyes. What a twat! Ms Hastings was very sweet and drove me home. We pecked cheeks and vowed to meet again. Ho hum. Still a good snog's better than nothing and..and to make me feel even better I've also been getting signals from a customer at the gym over the past couple of weeks.

Fuck the gay muffia. I'm a bi-bi and proud of it.

Love from a beautiful, intelligent bi.

Birthday zut alors!

2004-09-06T16:25:00.000+01:00

Two French couples, in stylish T-shirts and shorts, are standing staring on the edge of the nude beach. They've obviously been taking in the sights of Brighton and now they're confronted by another sight - me, like a sweaty starfish, legs akimbo as I catch an all-over tan.

Do I slam my thighs together like a vapid virgin? Never, I spread them wider, giving my audience an even better view of one of Brighton's lesser known lanes - take that you cheese-eating, voyeur monkeys!

It was packed on the beach. I expect, like me, most people thought such stunning days were going to get rarer. As usual, the sun-lovers were predominately gay males. Why-oh-why I wonder, did so many of the hunkier homos keep their Speedos on whilst so many of the elderly ones unfortunately didn't? I'm not a cock expert but I've seen more attractive things pickled in jars.

There were a few women, several on their own and some in couples - I was there with a friend. Most were cool and relaxed and enjoying the feeling of sun and air on your body but some displayed some bizarre Brit prudishness. They went to extraordinary lengths to maintain cunny concealment. One had a scarf artfully tied around the naughty area. Another woman had a thin strand of her thong carefully positioned between her thighs. Another sunbathed naked but immediately slipped her knickers on to take a walk. Two young girls with great bodies settled down near us. One looked Brazilian or something and cheerfully stripped off completely but the other kept her pants on. Why did all these women worry when their bits wouldn't bother at least 99% of the beach.

However the last girl's pants had 'Make me purr' written across them so I could forgive her anything. So ends the Brighton Nudes Update.

Love and no white bits. Sadie

2004-09-02T16:32:00.000+01:00

Hey ho, back from beach and relaxing before bartending tonight. While I was 'off air' it was August Bank Holiday (a public holiday, for our American cousins, when it traditionally rains a lot on traffic jams). Brighton is, of course, a magnet at these times. The streets, lanes and bars are packed with visitors looking for liquor, life and lurrrrve.

Naturally I was also pursuing these attractions. One thing I noticed was that almost every woman under 30, and many who like me believe 35 is the new 25, were identically dressed. The colours, fabrics and cut may be different but the basic elements are the same - a short top, a bare midriff and low-slung pants.

Fashion is reputedly individual but in reality it is always sheeplike. We really don't want to stand out, we'd much rather fit in with everyone else. But apart from this my overall reaction was how laddish ladies are becoming.

On show over the weekend were unembarrasingly displayed beer bellies, love handles and builder's bum. I was doing overtime in the bar and couldn't believe how much time I spent looking down women's bum cracks. What are they thinking about? - I saw everything from tiny gaps to the Grand Canyon.

Now, I firmly believe that every woman is aware of what she's showing but possibly not how much of it is on display. I did a bit of bending in front of the mirror to check my crack display. Ok, there was a tiny, tiny bit but that's just being provocative - well that's my story anywy.

However my overall impression of the situation is how much sexier and sexual women in general are becoming. And that's good news for us all.

But on that subject I've got an hour or two to spare so I'm going to catch a bit of Daily Nudes.Com on my computer. Even a dirty old woman needs a mac!

Love & naughtiness Sadie

2004-09-02T10:33:00.000+01:00

Whooops! My friend Ms Rude read yesterday's post and wasn't sure it was very flattering about her - she doesn't know whether to sulk or sue! Oh dear, I better make amends, so here goes: Actually Rudy is a witty, erudite, elegant chanteuse whose unmistakeable fashion sense, sparkling eyes, pert nipples, firm, toned buttocks and luscious pouting lips (all of them) are the envy of Brighton's cliterati. Is that ok, rude girl? Fine I'm off to the beach.

Sadie's back.

2004-09-01T17:20:00.000+01:00

Hey, I'm blogging again and after the rain pissing down for weeks it's a beautiful sunny day in Brighton. I was really tempted to get on down to the nude beach, stretch out and catch Summer's dying rays. But, on second thoughts, I decided that the coastal sun can be deceptive and I didn't want sea breezes flapping my curtains.

So I joined my friend Ms Rude for lunch at Boardwalk. She not only picked up the bill (flogging paintings pays) but she also almost picked up the waitress. But that's Ms Rude, I'm not telling secrets because she admits to anyone that she's horny. In fact, that's underselling herself, actually she's hornier than a hornet's horn section playing the hornpipe in Hornchurch.

When people ask "what do lesbians actually do?" they should address this to Lady Rude. Then, if they've got an hour or two to spare, she could catalogue what she's actually done and who she did it too. Some day soon I must share a few of these insights into female behavioural patterns in my blog. However I will have be careful as I don't want Blogger prosecuted under USA obscenity laws!!

As the sancerre flowed so did our laughter. Rudy is also one of the funniest women I know. We get on so well that people assume we're lovers. But then most straight people, particularly the ones who wonder what we get up to, assume that gay people go at it like randy rabbits whenever we get the chance.

I blame gay blokes. I know most live discreet ordinary lives (apart from the fisting and nipple clamps!!) but they're not the ones on the gay dating sites, in clubs, or in the mags that personify gayness as one long search for a surreptitious shag. You get the impression that on meeting someone for the first time they shake each other's cock rather than hand.

As for us lezzy ladies, well we're pretty normal too. Ms Rude and I are definitely friends not lovers, in spite of getting pissed together, dancing together and, of course, her seeing me stark naked countless times...ah yes, that'll be the reason then!

Love & cellulite Sadie

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

2004-09-01T10:15:00.000+01:00

I've been locked out of my blog since Thursday and people tell me they haven't been able to access my site. I bet this doesn't happen to bleeding Belle De Jour!!!! Imagine all the three-in-a-bed lesbian sex romps you've missed. Imagine the disappointment all my hundreds of fans will feel - not! However, now it seems ok so I'm going to post this, see what happens and have a drink with my friend Ms Rude. Then later I'll slip on my silk pyjamas and compose a few bon-mots.

Love & kissy kissy Sadie

2004-08-26T23:59:00.000+01:00

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.

2004-08-25T23:58:00.000+01:00

Short one tonight as I've just got back from working my arse off in the pub. Suffering for my art with backache from serving, earache from listening, and heartache from falling in love with a tall blonde. A saucy piece in jeans and a black 'Fcuk' T-shirt - got my Cnut all excited! However she didn't even notice me.

So how to get over the rejection? Some would reach for a hot cup of Bournville but I choose the hot taste of pornville. Lots of sites in my favourites but I try a new one: dailynudesblog.com, I came across it (har har har) whilst viewing my fellow bloggers. A nice looking chap (looking more like a young professor than a pornographer) offers lots of pics and some free movies - just a couple of minutes but strangely satisfying.

It obviously very sunny in the USA as nobody is wearing anything at all. Some ladies have dropped something and are bending over looking for it on the floor whilst other ladies seem to have lost something extremely important to them and are seeking it deep in the orifices of other ladies. On the movie (in a tribute to the Olympics) a lady pole-vaulter bounces up and down on a chap making noises suggesting she's about to sneeze. It's all very stimulating.

I lie in bed having sex with the one I love...as Woody Allan so perfectly put it.

Love & moistness Sadie

2004-08-24T11:05:00.000+01:00

My grandmother read Woman's Weekly, my Mum devoured Prima but my mag of choice today is called G3. It's bi-line (what an appropriate word I think) is: the Free Monthly Magazine for Gay + BI Urban Women. Inside the only knitting is that of hot naked bodies, the recipe is about adding a touch of Arginine to ID Pleasure, a new silky soft sensual lubricant and the advice column is about ensuring 'the right fit' for a dildo. No Barbara Cartland short story sadly but I'm sure she'd have lapped up a review of a new book, 'Box Lunch- the layperson's guide to cunnilingus'.

The ads are different too. Where Mum would have be tempted by Yardleys and plates with painted kittens from the Franklin Mint I'm exposed to something far more practical - the Feeldoe Slim, an extraordinary thing like a melting, purple, policeman's truncheon that I quote:"combines the excitement of strap-on sex and the pleasures of mutual penetration without the hassles of a harness" Well, girls, that's one hassle we can all do without isn't it?

Still, at least, gay and bi women admit to an interest in fancy female fucking and playful porn - the rest of our sex stay well in the closet. I'm referring to the 'Daily Mail' sisterhood who frown on such things openly but, I notice, take long lingering looks at the bodies in the underwear and swimwear fashion features. C'mon, we love looking at each other, always have, always will - it's the built-in bisexuality that makes women special.

On this subject I was surprised to be accused of having a knicker fetish by a very interesting woman who I was chatting to on a web-site message line. She's read my blog and formed the opinion I have an over developed interest in underwear.

I plead guilty but then what woman isn't partial to pants? Maybe some women thoughtlessly buy a pack of three in M&S but the rest of us take time and care in building a versatile drawer - I shall save my theories on Knickerology, Sexuality and the 21st Century Woman for another blog.

Maybe G3 will review it

Love & elastic Sadie

2004-08-23T23:38:00.000+01:00

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

2004-08-22T22:30:00.000+01:00

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!

2004-08-21T01:20:00.000+01:00

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

2004-08-20T06:56:00.000+01:00

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

2004-08-19T23:50:00.000+01:00

Sadie Dark Places