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
Exploring the dark places of the body and mind.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
My vagina monologue
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
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
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
At last, something else from that lazy cow
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
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
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Penny Smith's bum and other rounded topics
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
Monday, April 24, 2006
Sugasm #31
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)
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)
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Closings and openings.
Hey, it’s quite some time since I filed any news on my blog.
But then, the Chinese have a curse: “May you live in interesting times”. Well my life has been quite interesting lately which is why I haven’t written anything.
My health hasn’t been so good, what with my stomach and all, but it’s my love life that has gone completely down the toilet.
My girlfriend and I have completely, totally, absolutely parted. Our relationship was always give and take (yes, you guessed it, I gave and she took) but finally Jane really took off.
She’s now living permanently in London giving someone else a sore cunt…and a sore head. I admit it, she could do wonderful things with your body but she was also an expert at fucking up your mind.
So for the past month or so my brain cells have been totally shagged. This hasn’t been great for my writing or my other relationships.
My dear lovely gay guy friends have had their worst fears about women confirmed as I’ve snapped and snarled and snivelled.
A chap would have pulled himself together and then pulled another chap and a good fisting would have taken his mind off slushy things like lurve.
But weak complicated women sit around in three day old knickers saying things like “ Jane just wasn’t prepared to accept me for what I am” and other bollocks.
Oddly lesbians aren’t as good at the stupid girly stuff either. When my boyfriends left in the long distant past or my marriage broke up I remember my straight girlfriends not being straight at all but gathering around spouting stuff that even chick-lit writers would regard as sick-making.
Maybe gay girls, like gay blokes, have to live in the real world to survive. Whateve, I haven’t had a lot of sympathy from my lezzie mates just a lot of ‘get on with life you pathetic cow’ sort of advice,
Admittedly Ms Rude offered to fuck the arse off me to cheer me up but I didn’t want to spoil a perfect friendship for an hour or two or three of country matters.
So as Spring came to Brighton the dark clouds hung around my little flat.
Morgan, my co-writer of our postponed novel, would turn up with ideas, then have to listen to my re-runs of why my life was so fucked – up. But then he’s straight so he, unfortunately for him, was the next best thing to my past girly sympathisers.
However, if you’ve read this far, don’t despair, this isn’t going to be all emotional.
The hand wringing and making a clean breast of things stops here and the hands on breasts stuff starts now.
Because Ms Hastings who was a permanent feature in my life has become an occasional feature in my bed.
You may remember her. As a friend she’s appeared occasionally in my blog and then a couple of months ago we spent a (fairly) innocent night together.
I remember it well as I lay, dry of mouth and damp of thighs, admiring her cuddly and very sexy body.
We parted, slightly embarrassed in that middle-class English woman sort of way, and I worried that I’d screwed up our friendship even if we hadn’t screwed.
We chatted on the phone, making slight references to the night, but she got on with her married life in Hastings and I got on with my mucked-up life in Brighton.
She was very supportive about my break-up and then suggested that we had lunch on the next Friday.
I was a complete mess at the time and was desperate not to frighten her off in any way.
So I put any thoughts of a shag behind me. To prove it to myself I turned up at the restaurants in jacket, jeans and a pair of M&S ‘£6 for 5’ black briefs. Those pants wouldn’t have pulled Boris Johnson pumped full of Viagra so I felt Ms Hastings was safe.
Ms H was in jeans too, nicely stretched over her grabbable bum.
In seconds it was just like old times. I forgot my bad memories, she told me the horrors of her marriage and we just laughed. Then, after a bottle or two something completely unexpected happened.
Ms Hastings started coming on to me.
She said ‘that night’ had opened her eyes. But not her legs I thought at the time but then I was a bit pissed too.
She said she had always been fascinated with my life. After all, I had been just like her, an apparently straight married woman, but I’d discovered that there was more to enjoy in the world than a nightly kiss and a bonk on your birthday.
She said she was a deeply sensual person, and wanted to experiment in every aspect of sex.
She said she had always been jealous of my freedom to play and wanted to join in.
I said maybe she’d prefer to have coffee at my place so we paid the bill.
It was a slow walk from the restaurant and although we giggled and window-shopped I felt I knew what was going to happen and my mind was racing.
I’ve fallen out with just about everyone I’ve fucked. My husband obviously, but also former boyfriends and most of the women who’ve got into my pants.
Why is this? It’s a question that haunts me a bit everytime I meet someone new and fanciable. Perhaps it happens to most people but then many of my girlfriends are still mates with former lovers.
I really, really didn’t want this to happen to Ms H.
But then she pinched my arse as we turned in St James Street and I forgot about it all.
Fuck the coffee. In the flat the first priority was to get her stripped down to her underwear.
(As I wrote before, as long as I keep her anonymity, she doesn’t mind that I detail our ‘socializing’, in fact, she says she'd like to write about us too )
I really wanted to take things slowly and relish every second of our coupling (nice old fashioned word eh?)
Off came her T-shirt and down came her jeans. She just let me do it, smiling broadly.
Oh fuck, her bra and knickers were rather fancy, black and white spots with satin panels – real pulling pants. So she’d obviously been planning to get naked with me.
She’s seen me nude many times as I’d rushed about the flat getting dressed for a lunch or night out. But I haven't seen much of her body outside of changing rooms and that night in my bed.
I let her slide off my T-shirt. I wasn’t wearing a bra and she reached out and gently cupped my tits.
“You’re stunning” she said ( the old bollocks that we all say at these times!). Then smiling she undid the belt on my jeans.
“Sorry about the pants” I said, “if I’d been more certain of this I’d have worn something sexier”
She giggled at my sensible black M&S’s - the kind that Ruth Kelly probably wears.
“Then they better come off” she said in a schoolmistress - like voice. And she yanked them down.
It was like some silly game you played as kids, pulling each other’s knickers down. The pants hung around my knees and I looked foolish. But we both giggled and she reached around and slapped my bum.
I slapped hers too and chased her into the bedroom yanking my pants off as I ran.
She certainly wasn’t shy. Not at all like me on my first girl-on-girl session in a tiny child’s bedroom in some house during a party.
I caught up with her and we embraced, deeply kissing each other and loving the intimacy.
My hands reached down and gripped her generous arse cheeks. I loved the feeling of her soft bum through her shiny sexy knickers.
Then my hand slipped under the pants and I stroked her velvety skin.
It was time to get her naked. I undid her bra and it fell away from her lovely big brown nippled tits. I kissed each one tenderly.
Ms H has the classic Englishwoman’s body – pear-shaped. But she’s fortunate in having a nice pair on top too.
I got my fingers under the elastic of her knickers and slid them down. As they descended I followed them down until I was on my knees.
My face was level with her pubes so I reached round, grabbed her bare arse and pulled her shaven mound into my face.
“Oh Sadie” I heard her gasp.
I was intoxicated with her amazing scent – a wonderful mixture of Obsession and fresh cunt juice – the perfect aphrodisiac.
I kissed and sucked on her as she groaned and grabbed my hair. After all I’m the expert and she’s the novice so I had to investigate any problems she might have with our intimacy.
We were near the bed so I gently pushed her back until she sat on it. Then I, just as gently, eased her legs apart until I had a perfect view of the centre of her femininity.
Ms H’s cunt was beautiful.
I personally think they all are, apart from mine which looks like an ordnance survey map of Mount Vesuvius.
Her labia was fresh and glossy and pink with purplish highlights and the skin around it was smooth and tanned (expensive work at the beauty spa no doubt)
I stroked my tongue around it and into it, teasing and tickling, and I could feel her body moving in response.
I looked up and she was in ecstasy, looking down at me in wonderment of how she was feeling.
It was her first taste of the powerful pleasure of lesbian love and my first taste of her delectable cunt – so we were both overjoyed.
She lay back on the bed and her cute little bumhole popped into view. I gently skimmed the edge with the tip of my tongue and she shuddered. But I didn’t go any further because, as I said, I was unsure of her limits.
Then I climbed up on the bed with her and we spent the rest of the afternoon exploring and celebrating each other’s bodies. Sucking on each other’s tits, running our tongues up and down each other’s bellies, biting each other’s bum cheeks and kissing, always kissing – because we weren’t just fucking each other, we were lovers.
Later in the afternoon, after I'd given her a couple of orgasms, she built up the courage to go down on me. I lay back watching her curly brown hair bobbing up and down as she kissed and licked my cunt.
But she knew what to do, it is intuitive, and minutes later I could feel a small orgasm coming on. Her tongue found my clit and I bled pure 100% Sadie Juice.
Ms H lapped it all up. It’s even better than Jack Daniels and that’s saying something.
Then, at about six o'clock, she got up, pulled her sexy knickers up, and said "Bye Bye". She hugged me, naked and vulnerable, and then walked out of my flat to continue her straight, looking after hubby, 4X4, school run, dinner party, shopping at Tesco's life.
And I lay there, my face and fingers full of her special scent. And, oh fuck, I'm so girly, I cried. Out of happiness that I had a new person who wanted me. And out of sadness, that once again she wouldn't be an everyday and night feature in my life.
That afternoon was the first time and there have been others. Not many because Ms H is married and has a job and can only come to Brighton occasionally.
However, although we’ve fucked, I haven’t fucked her off yet, which is good I suppose.
So one door closes and another opens (that isn’t a Chinese quotation, I'm sure). I have a sexy lover, I’m getting back to writing with Morgan and the flowers are out in the Brighton squares.
Life’s interesting – but then it always will be for me.
Love from satisfied Sadie
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
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Monday, February 20, 2006
It’s been a shit time for Sadie
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
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
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Women pleasuring themselves
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
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Happy Nude Year
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
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
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Hope you unwrap someone sexy on Christmas Day
Thanks to tasty Tich for the pic. Love & seasonal kisses all over from Sadie
Sunday, December 18, 2005
That moist feeling
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
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
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Happiness is a warm bum
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
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
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Dark spirits
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
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
Friday, November 11, 2005
A woman’s tastes
“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
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
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Whatya cock!
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.
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.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
The world according to Yafro
Often when I finish writing my blog I hit the next blog button at the top of the page. This reveals a fascinating world. Or not!
Sadly, more often than not you get a 14 year old girl writing at tedious length about her extremely dull life and even more boring friends (OK I was 14 once and just as ass-achingly irritating).
But occasionally you get a really thought provoking review of today’s world. My favourite pen-pal (if that is the appropriate term in this on-line environment) is Hip Liz. You’ll find him on hippolyte.blogspot.com and his blog is full of carefully considered writing and commonsense.
Inspired by him and the other brainy bloggers I was determined to ignore my usual mucky nonsense and write something important this time. The threat of bird-flu perhaps, or the gripping contest for the leadership of the Conservative Party, or the worrying escalation of the Iraq Crisis…but then I discovered Yafro!
Yea baby www.yafro.com. It’s a site where people (predominately Americans) can post pictures. If you hit the ‘no adult content’ button then you get a reassuring view of the US. Nice pics of beautiful landscapes, of which there are plenty, smiling family shots – a kind of sweet visual blog, and although I haven’t looked, I’m sure, lots of Mum and apple pie.
But can you imagine me hitting ‘no adult content’? Sooooooooo…you won’t imagine what I uncovered.
Sure, all the usual stuff. Boys proudly presenting their pork swords. Girls bending towards the camera giving us an intimate view of their flappy bits – Kingsley Amis described it like looking at a close up of a giraffe’s ear. And yes I can see what he meant.
Yea we’ve all seen that before. The really interesting stuff on Yafro tells us quite a bit about the USA today.
How about ‘young girls on the toilet’? Believe me, the barriers have come done on what you can see on the internet. And in this case, the barrier is the ‘engaged’ sign on the loo door.
There are several ‘clubs’ featuring the startled faces of attractive females caught ‘knickers down’ on the pan. As their arses are as tanned as their faces they must be Americans and as the photography is a bit haphazard they must be real.
I might be wrong, but the ‘oh my god’ rather than the “get out of here you fucking pervert’ expressions suggest that it is their snappers are female friends. I know girls have a fairly relaxed view about peeing together but to then post it on the internet. Dear reader, I’m shocked!
So, from pulchritudinous pissers to saucy swingers. “Women over 50 being fucked by black guys” tells it like it is and is just one site amongst many showing white middle-aged women with a taste for black cock in one set of lips or the other.
These rather sexy shanigans seem to happen with the permission and, often, assistance of their husbands. The pics suggest that these are organised parties and ladies you expect to see at the Shopping Mall or on the golf course are portrayed, naked, arse in the air being drilled by a dark dork.
Is this a common activity in suburban America? If so, at weekly coffee mornings, “I prefer mine black” must take on a completely different meaning.
Cocks, black, white and cappuccino - coloured feature prominently in another very popular set of clubs. Transexuals or TS’s are men who’ve had some impressive cosmetic surgery.
“Chix with Dix” and Slutz with Nutz” are just a couple of the names of these clubs and the ‘girls’ are stunning.
They all boast tits we’d all love. Nice big firm bouncers with perky nips. And arses to die for. Am I jealous?…oh nooo of course not!
However, they’ve hung on to one important thing and there it is, in pic after pic, hanging down in front of them. And some of them are extremely well hung! (sorry, that’s enough ‘hung’ puns)
“MMMMMMMMM!” I thought. A sexy ‘women’s’ face and hair, a beautiful woman’s body…a nice fat cock. What more could a bi-sexual beauty like me want?
And then I thought again. All this also comes with a man’s brain. Sadly the surgeons haven’t discovered the skill to feminise this important bit. So, on second thoughts…No!
Well, so much for seriousness although most of these pics are seriously arousing in one way or another. Once again my blog’s a bit blue. Sorry, I promise, next time not to talk about ‘tackle’ but to actually tackle vital issues…like the euro or global warming.
Promise!
Now back to Yafro. What’s this…My God, I don’t believe it…
Love from Sadie xxxxxx
Sadly, more often than not you get a 14 year old girl writing at tedious length about her extremely dull life and even more boring friends (OK I was 14 once and just as ass-achingly irritating).
But occasionally you get a really thought provoking review of today’s world. My favourite pen-pal (if that is the appropriate term in this on-line environment) is Hip Liz. You’ll find him on hippolyte.blogspot.com and his blog is full of carefully considered writing and commonsense.
Inspired by him and the other brainy bloggers I was determined to ignore my usual mucky nonsense and write something important this time. The threat of bird-flu perhaps, or the gripping contest for the leadership of the Conservative Party, or the worrying escalation of the Iraq Crisis…but then I discovered Yafro!
Yea baby www.yafro.com. It’s a site where people (predominately Americans) can post pictures. If you hit the ‘no adult content’ button then you get a reassuring view of the US. Nice pics of beautiful landscapes, of which there are plenty, smiling family shots – a kind of sweet visual blog, and although I haven’t looked, I’m sure, lots of Mum and apple pie.
But can you imagine me hitting ‘no adult content’? Sooooooooo…you won’t imagine what I uncovered.
Sure, all the usual stuff. Boys proudly presenting their pork swords. Girls bending towards the camera giving us an intimate view of their flappy bits – Kingsley Amis described it like looking at a close up of a giraffe’s ear. And yes I can see what he meant.
Yea we’ve all seen that before. The really interesting stuff on Yafro tells us quite a bit about the USA today.
How about ‘young girls on the toilet’? Believe me, the barriers have come done on what you can see on the internet. And in this case, the barrier is the ‘engaged’ sign on the loo door.
There are several ‘clubs’ featuring the startled faces of attractive females caught ‘knickers down’ on the pan. As their arses are as tanned as their faces they must be Americans and as the photography is a bit haphazard they must be real.
I might be wrong, but the ‘oh my god’ rather than the “get out of here you fucking pervert’ expressions suggest that it is their snappers are female friends. I know girls have a fairly relaxed view about peeing together but to then post it on the internet. Dear reader, I’m shocked!
So, from pulchritudinous pissers to saucy swingers. “Women over 50 being fucked by black guys” tells it like it is and is just one site amongst many showing white middle-aged women with a taste for black cock in one set of lips or the other.
These rather sexy shanigans seem to happen with the permission and, often, assistance of their husbands. The pics suggest that these are organised parties and ladies you expect to see at the Shopping Mall or on the golf course are portrayed, naked, arse in the air being drilled by a dark dork.
Is this a common activity in suburban America? If so, at weekly coffee mornings, “I prefer mine black” must take on a completely different meaning.
Cocks, black, white and cappuccino - coloured feature prominently in another very popular set of clubs. Transexuals or TS’s are men who’ve had some impressive cosmetic surgery.
“Chix with Dix” and Slutz with Nutz” are just a couple of the names of these clubs and the ‘girls’ are stunning.
They all boast tits we’d all love. Nice big firm bouncers with perky nips. And arses to die for. Am I jealous?…oh nooo of course not!
However, they’ve hung on to one important thing and there it is, in pic after pic, hanging down in front of them. And some of them are extremely well hung! (sorry, that’s enough ‘hung’ puns)
“MMMMMMMMM!” I thought. A sexy ‘women’s’ face and hair, a beautiful woman’s body…a nice fat cock. What more could a bi-sexual beauty like me want?
And then I thought again. All this also comes with a man’s brain. Sadly the surgeons haven’t discovered the skill to feminise this important bit. So, on second thoughts…No!
Well, so much for seriousness although most of these pics are seriously arousing in one way or another. Once again my blog’s a bit blue. Sorry, I promise, next time not to talk about ‘tackle’ but to actually tackle vital issues…like the euro or global warming.
Promise!
Now back to Yafro. What’s this…My God, I don’t believe it…
Love from Sadie xxxxxx
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Weighty thoughts (and the usual smut)
Well, the weather here in Brighton has been unsettled – and so have I.
Today was hot and I should have been happy but then you start thinking, is this the last hot day of the year? Is it all over? Is there any meaning to my life? Are Franz Ferdinand actually crap? Yes, the big questions.
Which gets me to yesterday morning’s big question. Will my bum slip into this season’s slim cut jeans? My g/f was quite vocal on this subject as she took a close look at the subject in question.
I heard the threatening tone in her voice as she paused in doing what good girls do to their chums on Saturday mornings (or bad girls if you’re a Daily Mail reader).
Her chilling words echoed from below. “ You know Sadie you’ve really put on some weiggggggggggg….urgggggggggggggggg!"
Funny what happens to the human voice when it gets sat on. But her pressing problem was also mine – something had to be done.
So if Brighton residents woke to a strange damp slapping noise this morning I can reassure them. It wasn't two sealions fighting on the beach it was just the sound of my thighs coming together as I jogged along the promenade.
As I swayed along frightening the seagulls I was troubled. I might get rid of some of my subcutaneous fat but I couldn’t get rid of my sodding misgivings.
I felt that changes were just around the corner.
Actually, what was just around the corner was a café where they do the most amazing bacon sandwiches. But still the thoughts weighed heavily on my mind.
I’ve actually enjoyed the most tranquil period of my recent life – and it feels strange. I’ve got a steady relationship (most of the time) and now a steady and respectable job. I left the gym ages ago and then I finally gave up my role as a pub slut, thank God!
I now work part-time in a bookshop and I’m just getting used to having the female (and male) customers more interested in probing my mind than my behind.
Normally this wouldn’t have been ‘dark’ enough news to feature in my blog. But actually I’m having dark thoughts about this blissful time.
“When everything’s settled, is when you get restless Susie!” my ex-husband used to yell at me years ago. He said things like that because he liked a steady life, always knowing what lay ahead, same food, same holidays, same three positions, absolutely no surprises and all that boring bollocks.
Oh, and he called me Susie …because, at the time, that was my name!
“I get restless because of our boring life together” I seem to recall replying snappily (I’m trying to write better dialogue in my book)
And then I stormed out of the room because that is what women do in these circumstances – and because, fuck it, he was right.
Given a dazzling mirror-like pond reflecting a perfect sunset most people would just gaze lovingly at its inspiring surface and perhaps compose a little poem - I have to chuck a stone into it.
I don’t know why, it’s just my nature.
In the past when I faced a placid future, I lobbed my stone. It could have been extra marital affairs, chucking in a great job, a particularly painful divorce or even leaping into lesbianism, but it did the job!
Now, I’m older and, I hope, wiser (otherwise these wrinkles would be even more fucking unwelcome). So you can see why I feeling a bit gloomy.
Tracy Emin looks like a bit of a stone thrower too. She came to mind because (1) I was reading about her in the Daily Telegraph Magazine (my g/f's I hasten to add, do I seeeeemmmm like a Telegraph reader???) and (2) people say I'm quite a bit like her.
Well, if us both having brown hair, three holes and a tanker-like capacity for booze is all that counts then we're identical twins - but truthfully I can't see any similiarity. However I rather admire her and the article plus some of her writing confirmed my positive feelings.
Other feelings were aroused by the photograph of Tracy on the rooftop of her loft. There she stood with that quirky but oh so sexy smile in a tight skirt, slinky shiny tights, tanned fit body and just an amazing bra-top. It was green with silver stars and cupped Tracy's Turner Prize-winning tits.
Well, I thought, I definitely would...given the chance. I bet Tracy would be up for a bit of going down too. In fact, I'd be surprised if she hasn't tried a bit of rug-munching along with all the other things she's dabbled in.
I got quite imaginative about what exhibitions Tracy and I might create. As a porn pedlar my imagination has had many good work-outs and so is very, very lively. And as my thoughts got more rude so I got more moist. However I still don't expect my knickers would fetch what Tracy's did (along with her bed) at the Saatchi Gallery.
Sad about the artistic world isn't it. You can labour starving in garrets for years perfecting your skills and then see skidmarks valued at a hundred grand.
Still Tracy has suffered for her art. From childhood she's been upsetting everything and every one with her occasionally well-aimed but mostly haphazard 'stones'.
However, I’m hoping my writing will be the ‘stone’ this time and, because of this, the bits of life that I cherish won’t have to change. It would be nice to achieve a bit of recognition, a little more money and maybe a Bentley Continental GT. I not sure what the last thing is but that’s what my co-writer Morgan dreams about.
Morgan and I are beavering away. That sounds rude I know, but our relationship is strictly professional. I even put some clothes on when he comes round to compare re-writes.
On the subject of writing, ‘Sadie Dark Places’ got two mentions in the outside world recently.
The extremely perceptive, talented and, no doubt, strikingly beautiful people at the Brighton Source, an essential ‘what’s – on in the sexy city’ magazine picked my blog out in the September issue.
In an article it selected ‘the finest local blogs’ described as ‘the gems in an ocean of turds’. Hardly a ‘Booker Prize’ style of recommendation but gratefully received by me – thank you very much guys!
The other mention is a total mystery to me. There’s some American website called ‘Blogshares’ and they appear to invest in blogs. When I found the site (it was mentioned on Google) it stated that Sadie Dark Places was number nine and valued at $1,982.00. What the fuck is all this about? (if anyone knows please, please leave a comment or email me)
Comments! Ah yes, please comment on my stuff, because it’s fun to have some intercourse (oohhhh Mrs). However, thanks to some boring bastards who are latching onto blogs through some automatic server (or something), you now have to type a number in – sorry. Apparently this prevents the automatic thing automatically placing ads for dull Russian sex sites into my comment folder.
So carry on with your provocative comments – they’re just the thing to snap me out of my mood.
Love and moody kisses from Sadie (gazing into the distance in a moody sort of way)
Today was hot and I should have been happy but then you start thinking, is this the last hot day of the year? Is it all over? Is there any meaning to my life? Are Franz Ferdinand actually crap? Yes, the big questions.
Which gets me to yesterday morning’s big question. Will my bum slip into this season’s slim cut jeans? My g/f was quite vocal on this subject as she took a close look at the subject in question.
I heard the threatening tone in her voice as she paused in doing what good girls do to their chums on Saturday mornings (or bad girls if you’re a Daily Mail reader).
Her chilling words echoed from below. “ You know Sadie you’ve really put on some weiggggggggggg….urgggggggggggggggg!"
Funny what happens to the human voice when it gets sat on. But her pressing problem was also mine – something had to be done.
So if Brighton residents woke to a strange damp slapping noise this morning I can reassure them. It wasn't two sealions fighting on the beach it was just the sound of my thighs coming together as I jogged along the promenade.
As I swayed along frightening the seagulls I was troubled. I might get rid of some of my subcutaneous fat but I couldn’t get rid of my sodding misgivings.
I felt that changes were just around the corner.
Actually, what was just around the corner was a café where they do the most amazing bacon sandwiches. But still the thoughts weighed heavily on my mind.
I’ve actually enjoyed the most tranquil period of my recent life – and it feels strange. I’ve got a steady relationship (most of the time) and now a steady and respectable job. I left the gym ages ago and then I finally gave up my role as a pub slut, thank God!
I now work part-time in a bookshop and I’m just getting used to having the female (and male) customers more interested in probing my mind than my behind.
Normally this wouldn’t have been ‘dark’ enough news to feature in my blog. But actually I’m having dark thoughts about this blissful time.
“When everything’s settled, is when you get restless Susie!” my ex-husband used to yell at me years ago. He said things like that because he liked a steady life, always knowing what lay ahead, same food, same holidays, same three positions, absolutely no surprises and all that boring bollocks.
Oh, and he called me Susie …because, at the time, that was my name!
“I get restless because of our boring life together” I seem to recall replying snappily (I’m trying to write better dialogue in my book)
And then I stormed out of the room because that is what women do in these circumstances – and because, fuck it, he was right.
Given a dazzling mirror-like pond reflecting a perfect sunset most people would just gaze lovingly at its inspiring surface and perhaps compose a little poem - I have to chuck a stone into it.
I don’t know why, it’s just my nature.
In the past when I faced a placid future, I lobbed my stone. It could have been extra marital affairs, chucking in a great job, a particularly painful divorce or even leaping into lesbianism, but it did the job!
Now, I’m older and, I hope, wiser (otherwise these wrinkles would be even more fucking unwelcome). So you can see why I feeling a bit gloomy.
Tracy Emin looks like a bit of a stone thrower too. She came to mind because (1) I was reading about her in the Daily Telegraph Magazine (my g/f's I hasten to add, do I seeeeemmmm like a Telegraph reader???) and (2) people say I'm quite a bit like her.
Well, if us both having brown hair, three holes and a tanker-like capacity for booze is all that counts then we're identical twins - but truthfully I can't see any similiarity. However I rather admire her and the article plus some of her writing confirmed my positive feelings.
Other feelings were aroused by the photograph of Tracy on the rooftop of her loft. There she stood with that quirky but oh so sexy smile in a tight skirt, slinky shiny tights, tanned fit body and just an amazing bra-top. It was green with silver stars and cupped Tracy's Turner Prize-winning tits.
Well, I thought, I definitely would...given the chance. I bet Tracy would be up for a bit of going down too. In fact, I'd be surprised if she hasn't tried a bit of rug-munching along with all the other things she's dabbled in.
I got quite imaginative about what exhibitions Tracy and I might create. As a porn pedlar my imagination has had many good work-outs and so is very, very lively. And as my thoughts got more rude so I got more moist. However I still don't expect my knickers would fetch what Tracy's did (along with her bed) at the Saatchi Gallery.
Sad about the artistic world isn't it. You can labour starving in garrets for years perfecting your skills and then see skidmarks valued at a hundred grand.
Still Tracy has suffered for her art. From childhood she's been upsetting everything and every one with her occasionally well-aimed but mostly haphazard 'stones'.
However, I’m hoping my writing will be the ‘stone’ this time and, because of this, the bits of life that I cherish won’t have to change. It would be nice to achieve a bit of recognition, a little more money and maybe a Bentley Continental GT. I not sure what the last thing is but that’s what my co-writer Morgan dreams about.
Morgan and I are beavering away. That sounds rude I know, but our relationship is strictly professional. I even put some clothes on when he comes round to compare re-writes.
On the subject of writing, ‘Sadie Dark Places’ got two mentions in the outside world recently.
The extremely perceptive, talented and, no doubt, strikingly beautiful people at the Brighton Source, an essential ‘what’s – on in the sexy city’ magazine picked my blog out in the September issue.
In an article it selected ‘the finest local blogs’ described as ‘the gems in an ocean of turds’. Hardly a ‘Booker Prize’ style of recommendation but gratefully received by me – thank you very much guys!
The other mention is a total mystery to me. There’s some American website called ‘Blogshares’ and they appear to invest in blogs. When I found the site (it was mentioned on Google) it stated that Sadie Dark Places was number nine and valued at $1,982.00. What the fuck is all this about? (if anyone knows please, please leave a comment or email me)
Comments! Ah yes, please comment on my stuff, because it’s fun to have some intercourse (oohhhh Mrs). However, thanks to some boring bastards who are latching onto blogs through some automatic server (or something), you now have to type a number in – sorry. Apparently this prevents the automatic thing automatically placing ads for dull Russian sex sites into my comment folder.
So carry on with your provocative comments – they’re just the thing to snap me out of my mood.
Love and moody kisses from Sadie (gazing into the distance in a moody sort of way)
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