Sadie? Check! Sexy? Double check!

If you don't know who Miss Sexie Sadie is then educate yourself. The short version: She's a fellow sexy Blogger who has funneled all of her determination and sexy "tales" in an eBook for us to enjoy. If you don't mind the f-word, detailed sexescapades, self awareness, and overall sexy cougar hunts then this book is for you. Two days, three hot flashes, and a whole lot of laugh-out-louds later I read her book cover to cover. Sadie takes you through the roller coaster she has called life, so strap in and get ready for one wild ride!

Sadie even had a brief encounter with's an excerpt:

I knew nothing about BDSM until we opened our marriage and I started writing about it a year later. Writing my own salacious experiences led me to a community that I didn’t even know existed. And joining that wide-reaching, sex-positive community enabled me to widen my lens to a whole new spectrum of experience. 

And after some time in the community, I thought that I’d seen, or at least heard about it all. But one night I was taken aback. I was left slightly bewildered. I might even say that I was stunned.

My stupefaction asserted itself at a place one might expect it to, at an S&M party I had attended with a friend. But it wasn’t for a reason that I would have expected. I was not distressed at all by the man who was dragging a sharp knife down the back of a naked woman as she giggled in delight. The guy in the corner with the torch, hovering over a bare-fleshed woman, gave me no pause. I was not bothered in the least by the sight of men on leashes or women bound in rope, or the announcement of waterboarding being the consensual cruciation in an upcoming scene. The concentrated, merciless slaps and the cries of anguish combined with resolute pleasure that emanated from each corner of the house didn’t leave the mark upon my psyche like the imprint of a couple whose discernibly precious adoration for each other transcended all of the sadistic, prurient activity that surrounded me.

As the woman stood facing a St. Andrew’s cross—her wrists shackled high above her, feet free from constraints—he beat her. Over and over again he beat her with implements of all sorts. With PVC pipe. With a rubber bat. With his fists. With stair treads. With a flogger. No part of this scene, neither his torture nor her apparent enjoyment of it, caught me off guard. This was what the party was all about, after all. But what did catch me by surprise was when, after he had been pounding her bare ass until it was red and welted and she was shrieking with both agony and felicity, he wrapped his free hand around her neck and pulled her face towards him so that he could kiss her—tenderly—in what might have been the most intimate display of caring affection and nurturing adoration I had seen in a very long time.

I turned to the person I was with, the friend who had brought me there, and whispered, 

Wow. He really, truly, loves her.

And it was true. I could see it. And with each crack of the bat that he struck against her backside after this sweet but brief interlude, I could also feel it. And it surprised me. Caught me off guard. Unexpectedly.

And I realized that it must take guts, lots of guts, as well as a strong sense of self and a heaping handful of respect, to be able to strap a person we love to a cross and beat the crap out of their ass simply because they want us to. Or because, it gets us off. Or both.

It was about then that I recognized a familiar feeling, one that completely stunned me.


And that was when I understood exactly what BDSM was all about.