Listening To Messages
Every Monday through Friday, after I get done with my morning activities – which, depending on the day, may mean I've been extremely busy, or may mean I slept until 11:45 – I turn on my phone and listen to my messages.

YOU HAVE 9 NEW MESSAGES. PRESS 1 TO HEAR MESSAGES.
Beep!
"Hey Matisse, it's me, Bob. You know, Bob from Microsoft, I saw you about three weeks ago? Listen, do you have any time Wednesday? Like around 4? I'd love to see you. Call me back at 206-XXX-XXXX…"
END OF MESSAGE.
Oh yeah – Bob. Nervous first-timer in a Hawaiian shirt. He was nice, I'll call him back.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Oooh, uh, you sexy bitch, I wanna lick yo-"
MESSAGE DELETED.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Uh, yeah, like, call me back as soon as you can, 206-XXX-XXXX"
END OF MESSAGE.
Sorry, if you don't leave a name, I don't call you back. Especially if you sound like you're stoned and you have very loud rock music blaring in the background.

NEXT MESSAGE:
Hello, Mistress Matisse, my name is Barbara, and I'd like to tell you about our exciting new adult advertising website, www.HereTodayGoneTomorrow.net. Text advertising rates start at only fifty dollars a month prepaid if you sign a five year contract and –"
MESSAGE DELETED.
It's a sad day when even sexual outlaws like me get rip-off telemarketing calls. What is the point of living on wild side if the tame side insists on following you around?

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Oh, uh, hi, I'm calling for Mistress Matisse? My name is Quentin, and I've been thinking about calling you for a couple of years, but, you know, I'm just pretty nervous, because I don't have a lot of experience, and I was wondering about a couple of things. See, I've been interested in spanking ever since this little girl next door - well, she wasn't really next door, she lived down the street, but we used to play house together in this little playhouse she had, and she used to spank me and I didn't really understanding it then, but now looking back I can see that I really liked it, and I used to wonder about trying to find her, but you know, that was so many years ago, and she might not feel the same way anymore, but anyway I was wondering if you've met other guys like me that got spanked when they were little kids and liked it and how you sort of handle that and –" Beep!
END OF MESSAGE.
Oy. Quentin here might be a perfectly nice guy - once he gets over his unfortunate case of verbal diarrhea. It's not uncommon for people to be nervously chatty when they call me, and I can be patient with that. However, if they continue blathering nonstop all the way into the actual session, well, that's a mood-breaker I don't permit. But it's nothing a good inflatable gag won't fix. I'm guessing I'll get another message from Quentin somewhere in this string where he actually gets down to business.

NEXT MESSAGE:"Oh, Mistress, I wanna be your slave-slut, can I please be your slave? I want you to fuck me in the –"
MESSAGE DELETED.
Interesting how quickly they jump from, "be your slave" to telling me what to do. Seems like a rather loose interpretation of the word slave. But I never do get obscene phone callers who say, "Oh, Mistress, I wanna be your little Do-Me Queen." That would actually be rather refreshing.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"John. 253-XXX-XXXX."
END OF MESSAGE.
Oh, now what am I supposed to make of that? He's one of those my-phone-company-charges-by-the-word types. Would it have killed him to say, "Hi, my name is… Please call me back at… " ? He just sounds rude, and I don't like rude boys. He goes to the bottom of the call-back list, and you know, I just may not get around to calling him at all.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Hey Matisse, it's Marty. Call me, let's get together."
END OF MESSAGE.
Yes, if you come see me twice a month for four-plus years, you can leave me that kind of message, too, and I'll put your name right at the top of the call-back list. But there is no line-jumping in The I-Don't-Have-To-Leave-My-Number-Because-It's-Programmed-Into-Matisse's-Phone Club. Certain things take time.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Oh, um, hi, Mistress, it's Quentin, sorry about that, I guess I talked too long on the last message, but, um, so I was wondering about a session? Because I had a kind of special request and I don't know if you do that or what, and, you know, it's kinda personal and all, but, I was wondering…Would you, um, be willing to wear, like, sort of a kind of a girlish dress, and pretend that I'm a naughty little boy? I mean, if that's okay, because I know your website says you do domestic discipline and stuff, but I don't want to offend you by asking you for that, so if you're not okay with doing that then that's fine too, but it's a really big fantasy of mine and stuff…Oh I guess I should give you my phone number before I get cut off, again, it's 206-XXX-XXXX. So, I'm looking forward to talking to you, I should be home all afternoon, except if I run out for a few minutes, that might be around three, but I will be right back, so –"
END OF MESSAGE.
Quentin gets cut off before he can give me all his potential movements for the next eight hours. Perhaps I'll do a scene with Quentin where I only allow him to speak one sentence, of ten words or less, every three minutes. Hey, I've got an egg timer.