🌶️ Sue’s After-Dark Diaries Episode 22 – Buzzing Through the High Street
🌶️ Sue’s After-Dark Diaries Episode 22
Buzzing Through the High Street – A Very Sue Christmas
Reader intro:
It’s Christmas shopping season, which means one thing… absolute chaos. Sue and Sharon hit town for what should have been a peaceful day of browsing, bargains, and baked goods… but when Dan the vibrator and Roger the supercharged rocket get involved, the high street becomes a battlefield, a news headline, and a story Sue will never live down.
Buzzing Through the High Street – A Very Sue Christmas
I hadn’t been into town for months. Not since the summer, when Sharon dragged me into that tanning salon that smelled like warm digestive biscuits. So when she rang this morning declaring we were going Christmas shopping, I thought… well. Why not? Surely I could handle a few shops, a coffee, a Gingerbread man, and a bit of Christmas cheer.
“I’ll be around in 20,” She said.
How dangerous can Christmas shopping be?
Idiot. I should’ve known better.
I had no idea what absolute carnage the next few hours would bring.
A Quick Tidy… and One Very Unfortunate Dan
Sharon was due at eleven, which gave me precisely twenty minutes to make my flat look less like a bomb site. I did the classic panic tidy, what every woman does when her nosey neighbour is on her way…. The fake tidy. Running around like a headless chicken, punching cushions into anything resembling square shapes, throwing random socks into the laundry basket, and flicking crumbs off the kitchen counter like I was dealing blackjack.
Then there was Dan.
Currently lounging right in the middle of my coffee table as if posing for a magazine. In full view. He looked extremely pleased with himself. Sharon has been known to pick him up and critique his speed settings like she’s evaluating a Dyson prototype.
I scooped him up and tossed him into my handbag just as Sharon hammered the front door like a tax inspector with a warrant.
“You ready?” she called.
“Two seconds!” I yelled back, stuffing Dan between my purse and a slightly sticky lip gloss.
And so the day began.
The Bus Ride of Doom
Sharon was already rolling her eyes at me when I opened the door.
“You look flustered. Have you been doing squats?”
“No, cleaning,” I said, grabbing my coat.
“Well that’s disappointing.”
“Girl, we’re getting the bus,” she announced, barging in like she owned the building. “Car park’s £3.50 an hour now.”
“£3.50?!” I screeched, my soul, leaving my body like smoke from a blown-out candle. “That’s daylight robbery.”
“And it’s the council’s Christmas present to us,” Sharon replied, rolling her eyes. “Come on. Bus stop. Now.”
We walked to the bus stop… as Sharon loudly and repeatedly informed me… and the two pensioners waiting there… that the car park now costs £3.50 an hour.
“Three fifty!” she shouted, outraged. “Just to leave your car there!”
The pensioners nodded with deep sympathy.
The bus arrived surprisingly on time. Our outing began… two women in winter coats, handbags filled with questionable objects (well, mine definitely was), and the kind of chaotic energy that should legally require supervision.
The bus smelled faintly of wet dog and questionable mince pies. We found a seat upstairs, where Sharon immediately launched into gossip mode.
“You won’t believe what’s been happening at yoga,” she began, digging into her handbag like a ferret after a flapjack. “Apparently Lucy’s been doing the downward dog with Paula.”
I nearly choked. “Lucy? Married Lucy?”
“Well, not happily. And apparently Paula’s very flexible,” she whispered.
I blinked. “Aren’t Paula seventy?”
“Age is just a number, Sue. And apparently a very bendy one.”
I laughed so hard the bus swerved.
Coffee, Cake… and Too Much Information
Naturally, before we could even glance at a shop, Sharon dragged me into a little café that smelled like cinnamon, coffee beans, and stress. A cute little place decorated with fairy lights and oozing Christmas cheer.
“I’m not spending money on presents until I’ve got sugar in me,” she announced. “Otherwise, everyone’s getting socks.”
We ordered cappuccinos and a slab of cake large enough to be considered obscene.
Sharon leaned in conspiratorially. “Right, you’ll never believe this one. You know Roger?” she said, biting into carrot cake like it had personally offended her.
Oh God. Her vibrator.
I nodded, bracing myself.
“Well,” she continued, “Roger has officially ruined me. I mean, in one position… you know the one… I can’t even tell you how he gets me to multi…”
I nearly inhaled the last of my coffee.
The waitress appeared beside our table so silently she may as well have materialised. Her facial expression suggested she was experiencing major trauma.
“Your drinks, ladies,” she said, placing down fresh coffees. Her eyes widened as if ready to pop out of their sockets.
Sharon, oblivious, continued, “…ple! Honestly, Sue, I was like a Catherine wheel! Had to open the window!”
The poor waitress… a young girl who clearly hadn’t encountered a friend like Sharon… blinked and fled. Honestly fled.
I sank into my chair and whispered, “I’m never showing my face in here again.”
Sharon was unbothered. “She’ll be fine. Coffee trauma is very survivable.”
The White Horse Hotel Bombshell
Sharon took a sip of coffee, smoothed her hair, and then dropped her next bomb.
“Sue… have you heard about The White Horse Hotel?”
“No. What now?”
“I think we need to be on our guard today,” she said, lowering her voice.
“Why? Because of your weaponised orgasms?”
“No, Sue! Haven’t you been listening to the radio?”
I shook my head.
“Well,” she said, leaning closer, “apparently Starmer and his lot have taken over the White Horse Hotel… you know, the nice one with the gin bar… and moved hundreds of migrants in there. Full to the brim. Completely taken over.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“That’s what they said. And apparently, the town’s gone to chaos. People have been getting robbed left, right and centre. Even the shops have had trouble. Apparently, some just walk in and help themselves.”
She paused dramatically. “And even the council isn’t saying a word.”
I stared at her.
“Sharon… this sounds like one of your Facebook groups again.”
She placed a hand on her chest. “I heard it on the radio! Not the internet. I may be dramatic, but I’m not completely daft.”
“You must have been living under a rock,” she added, sipping her latte like a scandalous queen.
Hmm. I wasn’t convinced, but I had absolutely no energy to untangle Sharon’s sources. Sharon has been known to hear one rumour and build an eight-part Netflix documentary around it…
We finished our coffees and headed into the high street, where reality… and absolute festive insanity… awaited. I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder like a paranoid meerkat.
M&S: The Scene of the Thong Incident
Christmas shopping had officially become a contact sport. We wandered through the shops picking up things, putting them back, picking them up again, sighing, groaning, checking labels, swearing quietly, swearing not-so-quietly…
Prices had skyrocketed. A pack of three baubles cost more than my gas bill. Sharon tutted at every price tag.
“Honestly,” she said, “even Santa would need Klarna these days.”
At one point I picked up a box of mince pies for £5.99 and said a quiet prayer for humanity.
Then came the moment.
We entered M&S, wandered towards the lingerie department, and Sharon’s eyes lit up like she’d seen Jesus.
A red lacy thong and bra set.
“Oh my god, Sue. Christmas party outfit. I am trying this on. I want to look dangerous.”
“Sharon… you could commit a crime in that,” I replied.
“I intend to.”
Before I could stop her, she vanished into a changing room, leaving me outside holding her coat, handbag and half her dignity. Seconds later, with zero shame, she burst back out, arms raised, prancing like she was auditioning for The Nutcracker… in the full red lace bra and thong.
“What do you think, Sue?”
What I thought was that half the store had just aged five years in shock.
One old man standing outside the cubicles, waiting for his wife, dropped his shopping bag and nearly swallowed his dentures.
“Sharon!” I hissed, trying to shove her back towards the curtain. “Cover yourself!”
“It’s festive!” she said, spinning.
“Festive doesn’t mean public!”
She finally retreated, leaving behind a trail of traumatised pensioners.
I attempted to buy a flat cap for my brother, a pair of slippers, and a slab of nut brittle for Gramps… thinking I must add a note, “watch the dentures”… but I couldn’t concentrate. All I could think was: This is my life. This is what I choose.
Sharon eventually reappeared, clutching her red underwear like a trophy and announcing it’s a winner, before marching to the counter where she picked up three boxes of mince pies before paying. “Emergency supplies.”
We left M&S feeling victorious.
Evergreen Madness and Candy Canes
As we walked down the high street, I noticed shop after shop had closed since I’d last been in town. Street vendors had popped up everywhere, selling everything from questionable sausages to handmade soaps shaped like testicles.
Then we saw it.
A sign reading:
EVERGREEN TREES FOR SALE
The word “Christmas” had been crossed out.
“What’s all that about?” I asked.
“Oh, Sue,” Sharon sighed. “We’re not allowed to call them Christmas trees anymore. Too offensive.”
“To who?”
“Well… someone.”
We both burst into chaotic feminist outrage noises and marched off muttering about traditions, trees, and people losing their minds.
“I refuse to live in a world where Christmas tree is a banned phrase,” I said.
“Same. They’ll be coming for mince pies next.”
We stopped at a vendor selling candy canes. I bought a handful because I’m easily influenced and they looked full of Christmas cheer. One popped straight into my handbag… right beside poor Dan.
“Oh, that could end up being a sticky moment.”
Dusk, Lights… and Trouble
By now it was 3:30 pm, the sky dimming into that winter bluish-grey that feels like someone has put a filter over your entire life. The Christmas lights had started to flicker on… soft fairy lights dangling between buildings, glowing stars above the shops, a giant Christmas tree (not evergreen, thank you) towering over the square.
For a moment, everything felt magical.
Then… of course… reality slapped us. Trouble had arrived.
From nowhere, a young man approached us. Hoodie up, hands twitching, walking too close.
“Give me money,” he said sharply. “Give me money now.”
“We don’t have anything spare,” Sharon replied firmly.
We stepped back.
“Now,” she said again. “Go away.”
But he didn’t. He kept following us. Matching our pace. Getting closer.
“Money! Give me!”
My heart thudded.
“Go away,” I snapped, louder.
He didn’t.
In one swift movement, he grabbed for my handbag.
And that… was his mistake.
Dan Awakens
The moment his hand brushed my bag, Dan exploded to life inside my handbag.
BBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTT.
So loud I nearly wet myself.
The man jumped back like he’d been tasered, eyes wide with shock.
Then I looked at Sharon for help and… oh my god…
She had Roger in her hand… and he was on FULL POWER. The sound echoed through the street like a small helicopter preparing for take-off.
Sharon held him out like a weapon, pointing directly at the man.
“BACK OFF!” she shouted.
He froze, staring at us holding vibrating devices… staring at our faces…
His expression said: What the actual hell is happening?
Then he turned and bolted, sprinting down the high street like the devil himself was after him.
The Viral Moment
Sharon and I stood there panting, hearts racing, vibrators buzzing in our hands.
Then we noticed it.
Phones.
Everywhere.
Dozens of people had filmed it.
Two women defending themselves with vibrators in the middle of the high street.
“Oh no,” I whispered.
“Oh YES,” Sharon said triumphantly, still pointing Roger like a Jedi.
“Put it away!”
“You put yours away!”
“Mine’s in my bag! You’re brandishing yours!”
People were laughing, clapping, and cheering. Children staring. Pensioners whispering. We must have looked like the world’s most inappropriate Power Rangers.
I wanted to DIE.
The Walk of Shame Back Home
We eventually got the bus home, both of us shaking, giggling, traumatised, and also slightly impressed with ourselves.
“Roger saved us,” Sharon said proudly.
“So did Dan,” I sighed. “In the most embarrassing way possible.”
We laughed all the way to my front door.
Aftermath & Mark’s Call
Back at mine, we collapsed on the sofa. Sharon was buzzing with adrenaline. Quite literally… Roger was still humming in her handbag.
“Tea?” I asked weakly.
“Yes. And biscuits. And that brandy from last year.”
We replayed the moment over and over, laughing, shrieking, crying.
At six, my phone rang. Mark.
“Well,” he said. “I see you had a fun day.”
“What?”
“Oh, Sue… you’re on the news.”
My stomach dropped.
“WHAT?!”
“There’s a video. Of you two. With the… devices.”
I sank into the sofa.
Sharon cackled like a witch.
“The 5 pm news bulletin,” Mark continued. “Video of Sharon waving Roger like a lightsaber and you clutching your handbag like it contains state secrets.”
“The caption reads: ‘Two local women defend themselves with vibrating gadgets after attempted bag snatch.’”
I covered my face.
“Sue,” he added, “you’re famous.”
“Please tell me my face isn’t visible.”
“Oh, it is,” he replied. “Full HD.”
“Don’t. Speak.”
But he was laughing too hard to stop.
And That… Was Christmas Shopping
Sharon raised her teacup.
“To us,” she said proudly. “Protectors of the high street.”
I sighed. “Sharon, we’re never living this down.”
“Good,” she grinned. “Next time, bring spare batteries.”
And that, dear diary…
This is how I became the woman whose vibrator made national news.
And people wonder why I hate Christmas shopping.
If Christmas wasn’t chaotic before… it certainly is now.
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Suggested Reading:
After-Dark Diaries – The Window Opposite
After-Dark Diaries – The Photographer’s Muse
🌶️ Sue’s After-Dark Diaries – Episode 18: Running from the Bull, Not the Heat
After-Dark Diaries -The Scent Maker
After-Dark Diaries – The Cabin
🌹 The Return of Slow Sex: Why Less Speed Means More Pleasure
📧 Drop Me a Line, You Naughty Wanderers…
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