Legend In His Own Mind

Ring ring!
Me: hello?
Caller: Is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes it is.
Caller: I'm calling about your ad, but I'm not a submissive. My name (dramatic pause) is Master Ryker Blackstar.

Now I've met enough pompous twits in my time to know one when I hear one. "Master Ryker Blackstar", my ass. I live to stick pins in people like this.

Me: Are you calling to sell me long-distance service?
Caller: No!
Me: Oh, I'm so sorry, I must have misunderstood. What is it I can help you with?
Caller: I wanted to ask you some questions. How long have you been in business?
Me: Several years.
Caller: And who did you train under?

Who did I train under? Oh, give me a break. I'm really tempted to say something like, "Well, I worked with Ah-nuld on the weight training, but Jane Fonda advised me on my cardiovascular routine."

Me: Why are you asking me this?
Caller: Well, it's just that we've never heard of you.

We've never heard of you? Am I speaking to someone with Multiple Personality Disorder? Great. At least one of his personalities must have heard of me, though. Otherwise, how would he know to call me?

Me: Who is "we"?
Caller: A group of us…So, who trained you as Mistress?
Me: No one person trained me, I'd been in the community for years before I became a professional.
Caller: Ah. So you're not affiliated with anyone?

"Affiliated with anyone"? What am I, a fucking credit union or something? I have no idea where he's going with this.

Me: No – and again, why are you asking me these questions?
Caller: Well, as I said – we've just never heard of you.
Me: That's okay – I've never heard of you, either. I still don't understand why you called me. What is it that you want, exactly?
Caller: Do you give tours of your dungeon?
Me: No. (Not to people who annoy me, anyway.) Why do you want a tour of my dungeon?
Caller: We're just wondering what kind of facilities you have.
Me: Okay, who is this "we" you keep talking about?
Caller: There's a group of us.
Me: Yes, you said that already. Are you some kind of BDSM organization? Because if you're looking for a dungeon to rent for parties, I don't do that, sorry.
Caller: No, no, no. We're not that kind of BDSM organization. We have our own dungeon. You see, I am the head of a very private and selective BDSM house. It's called "The House Of Blackstar".

Oh, no. He's one of those "House of…" people. You run into this in the BDSM world occasionally. When someone says "I'm part of the House Of Joe Bob", what he means is he's part of a group of leather people who've declared themselves to be something like a family or a small clan. They may or may not actually live together, but they usually have a single authority figure –"Joe Bob", in this case - and they usually have some kind of formal structure and hierarchy. And they're usually a bunch of pretentious, self-important jackasses.
Not always, now, not always. I've meet some cool people who had a chosen leather family and who called themselves the "House of…" whatever. (And the fabulous "House Of Gord" people are great.)
But in this case, my sense is that it's sheer self-aggrandizing crap. I'm betting that "The House Of Blackstar" consists of Ryker – whose real name is probably Eugene – his pet iguana, Frodo, and several plump, shy, "cyber-submissive" girls who live in very small towns at least five hundred miles away from here. Call it a hunch.

Me: I'm going ask you one more time - what do you want from me?
Caller: Well, we'd have to check you out more thoroughly. But provided you meet with our standards, I'm prepared to offer you an affiliation with our house.
Me: No, thank you.
Caller: What? But –
Me: I don't want to be affiliated with anyone. So if that's all, then I'll say goodbye.
Caller: Wait a minute, I think you're making a mistake. The House of Blackstar is connected with some of the best Houses in the world.
Me: Really? Like, The White House?
Caller: (huffily) No, I mean some of the best secret European Houses!


Oh, God, no - not the "secret European Houses" thing. This is like the Loch Ness Monster of the BDSM community. The basic storyline of the fable goes something like this: There are secret "Story of O" type places in Europe where mysterious people train slaves in some brand of BDSM that's more pure and true than ours. Then they sell these slaves to other members of this secret society, where they have many erotic adventures. (Sounds just like a porn novel, doesn't it?) These houses have been in continuous existence since the late nineteenth century or even earlier, and lots of very famous and important people belong to these secret societies - as Masters and Mistresses. They can do that without fear of exposure, you see, because these houses/societies are very, very secret. Nobody knows about them.

Except, of course, all the pathological liars who claim to be connected with them in order to get laid and look important, and the people they tell their lies to. And, of course, folks like me, who tell other people what a flock of bullshit it is, and laugh at those who try to spin me this story. That all amounts to a pretty large group - so it's hard to imagine it's really much of a secret anymore.

So, just for the record: there ain't no such thing. There are plenty of very kinky people in Europe, there are some great events and organizations there, and I'm sure that there are people forming "Houses" of their own. But there are no ages-old secret European societies that keep and train slaves in some magical method of BDSM. Trust me, I'd know.

Caller: If we were affiliated, we could send you submissives for training. You see, I'm forming my own secret House here.

And he's calling up people he claims not to have heard of to tell them about this secret House of his. Hey, it's good that he's getting a head start on this – you don't want to be like the Europeans, they had to wait for a hundred years before people started talking about their secret Houses. This is what makes America great.

Me: No, I don't want to be affiliated with anyone.
Caller: I could really send you a lot of business.

Apparently it's going to be a rather large and busy secret House. Oy.

Me: No, I'm not interested, goodbye.
Click.
I hang up.

I wonder if Europeans talk about "the secret American BDSM Houses"?
I bet not…