Monday, June 07, 2004

Ultra-brief car update: After a day spent getting the 1st choice vehicle vetted by a mechanic, (and doing some brangling with the dealer about price) survey says: it looks good. I haven't actually signed the contract yet, but unless something unforseen happens, tomorrow I will be the new owner of a sweet Saab 9-5. Zoom.
I'm off to the gym...
I haven't forgotten you...a longer post will come later, but I'm totally taken up with car shopping, social occasions, and poly negotiations...

But before I go - a big Happy Happy Birthday to to my darling friend Jae, who turns twenty-five (or something reasonably close to that) today!

~dashing off...

Saturday, June 05, 2004

Dinner with Miss K…

"So, I saw a guy the other day who said he'd seen you," she said.

This happens more often that you'd think. Guys who have had a good experience with one type of sex work are more likely to consider experimenting with other avenues. Thus, if someone I know well is curious about call girls, I'll tell him about friends of mine. (I do not make recommendations to guys I don't know, however, so don't call me up and ask.) And my friends are likely to nudge guys my way, if they seem right for me. Call it professional cross-pollination.

"Oh yeah? Who was that?" I asked.
"John," she says blandly.
I give her a look.
"What, you don't know immediately who I mean?" She's giving me a hard time. "You know, John, in his forties, five-ten, medium build, brown hair and brown eyes. That John." She looks at me all innocent-like.
"You think you're funny," I tell her. "But you're not." This description would fit at least one-third of all our clients – and of course, whenever someone calls who claims to know us, he'll invariably try to jog our memory by describing himself just like this. It drives us mad. If you've six foot five, or you have tattoos over 3/4s of your body, or you have eyes of two different colors, then sure, a physical description will help us remember who you are. Otherwise, save it for the DMV.
Both Miss K and I are much more apt to recall snippets of conversations, so it's better to say things like, "I'm from Florida, and we talked about how you grew up there, and how we used to go pick oranges off the trees, and now it feels strange to buy them in stores." That's the type of little detail that will probably help. What also doesn't help, by the way, is telling me something like, "We did some bondage and some spanking, and then you gave me a golden shower." Dear man, I do that several times a week. Unless I tell you, "Wow, I've never done that before!" assume it's SOP for me and thus will not be a useful mnemonic.

"Okay, okay…Yeah, John, in his forties – really! – kinda slim, he's from Oregon and comes up here on business, he's got straight black hair he combs to one side, kind of a nervous manner, and he never, ever makes eye contact with you. Ever."
"Oh, right! John!" I know exactly who she means. "Yeah, he is kind of the nervous type. I thought it might just be with me, though. So he's the same with you?"
"Yeah, and it drove me nuts. He was really quiet and still, and he wouldn't look me in the eye, and I couldn't tell if he was having a good time or not."
"Yeah, he is very…inward, with his energy. But I thought he was sort of sweet, I liked him."
She shrugs. "I'm not saying I wouldn't see him again. But if he comes back he's gonna have to loosen up some."
"Honey, he's Norwegian. I don't think he gets a lot more emotive than that. Remember Bill the Norwegian? He was the same way."
"Oh, right. Norwegians – oy." She shrugs, abandoning the idea of loosening up men from chilly climates.
"What's he like as a straight date?"
"Aside from the quiet thing and the no-eye-contact thing?" She considers. "Fine. Takes his weight on his elbows, and makes sure the condom is still on before he pulls out afterwards."
"What more can a girl ask for?"

Friday, June 04, 2004

And This Would Be My Problem Why?

Ring ring!
Me: hello?
Caller: Is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes…
Caller: Uh, hi, I have a question I was wondering if you could help me with?
Me: Okay – what is it?
Caller: It's sort of a problem, really.
Me: O-kay, what is it?
Caller: I don't really know if you're going to be able to help me at all.
Me: Well, my psychic powers don't seem to be working today, so we'll never know unless you actually tell me what it is.
Caller: Oh, right, okay. So, uh – I've been seeing this Mistress, right? I saw her a couple of times, and it was okay – I mean, not great, but she told me she was right about to get a really cool dungeon, with a lot more equipment, except she was in kind of a money bind, right?

Oh, I'm hating this story already. I bet I could tell him the rest of this sad little tale, and probably more succinctly.

Caller: So she asked if I would pre-pay for the next couple of sessions, and I said okay, and I gave her the money. But when I called her again, her phone number had been disconnected.
Me: Mm-hmm. Have you tried emailing her?
Caller: Yes, but it bounced.
Me: Okay, so what is it that you want from me?
Caller: Well, I was wondering if you could tell her to call me. Her name is Mistress FlimFlam.
Me: What? Honey, how would I tell her anything? I don't know this person.
Caller: She said she knew you.
Me: Well, she lied. I've never heard of her.
Caller: But she said she knew you!
Me: (heavy sigh) Look, I have no idea who this person you're talking about is, but it's entirely possible that she has been in the same room with me at some fetish event. It's even barely possible that she's been introduced to me by a different name. It's a small town for kinky people. However, she's no friend of mine, and I certainly don't have any information about her whereabouts.
Caller: But she's got my money! I pre-paid for three sessions – five hundred dollars!

Five hundred for three sessions? Apparently one of your cut-rate dominatrixes. Why am I not surprised?

Me: Well, you have my sympathy, but I think you're just out of luck.
Caller: But- but- can't you do something? Like, ask around or something?

He's taking an unattractively whiny tone here, and I don't like it.

Me: Honey, I'm a pro dom, not a private detective. No.
Caller: I thought, you know, you'd want to take care of this, since you're, like, a big deal around here and stuff.
Me: Uh - no. No, I can't say I have the slightest urge to "take care of this".
Caller: Because it will make you other pro doms look bad, you know. I thought you'd have some kind of code of honor about it.

Oh great, whiny and manipulative - my favorite. And this notion that pro doms would somehow be self-policing sounds like his wank fantasy. I can see the porn DVD box now - "Teaching The Bad Mistress A Lesson" or "Pro-Dom Gang-Bangers Enforce Discipline".

Me: No, it's your problem - you shouldn't have given her the money. Consider it an expensive lesson learned, and next time go see an established Mistress instead of some fly-by-night wanna-be.
Caller: But it costs too much money!
Click.
I hang up.

Thursday, June 03, 2004

Things I Do When Max Is Away Overnight

1) Come home and leave my stuff in a trail all over the house – my shoes, clothes, various bags I was carrying, my opened mail, my unopened mail; everything just gets flung down wherever I happen to be.
2) Turn up the heat, because he's always hot, and I'm always cold. Yes, even in June.
3) Play music he doesn't especially like very loud.
4) Sing along with music he doesn't especially like very loud.
5) Do a few of my old favorite stripper moves in front of the mirror to see if I still remember how.
6) Talk to my cat.
7) Eat ice cream out of the container.
8) Pet my bunny.
9) Hog all the pillows and covers.
So, anyone else see the freaky sky flash late last night? I was sitting in my office working on some writing stuff. There's a large window all along the wall to my left, and suddenly I saw the whole sky just light up. It was very weird. I thought we were being attacked or something, or that a large plane had crashed. Then I heard a few distant bangs - a bit like far-away fireworks on the 4th of July. I opened the window and sat there staring out for a while to see if it happened again or if I heard anything, but there was nothing else.
Apparently it was a small meteor...At least that's what CNN says. I'm sure conspiracy theorists in the area are already having a field day.

Wednesday, June 02, 2004

Brief car update:
The Camry-Solara - forget it, way too big.
The Passat - Way too soccer-momish! (Sorry, Lil!)
The Volvo - Ditto
The Acura - Cute. But they don't make the 200hp one in an automatic, and I won't drive a stick. The 160hp one was just a shade too wimpy. Goes into the "...but-no-cigar" category.
I didn't make it over to the Subaru place, but I intend to.
But I went and drove the Eclipe GTS. Oooh, it's fun. The instrument cluster is a bit plastic-y. But it really zooooms.
I looked at - but did not drive - some cute used Saab 9-3s and 9-5s. I may go back and drive one.
I am also going to go look at some more used cars: a Lexus SE 400 and a few others. Maybe even a BMW if I can find some in my comfortable price range...
And I must also say : I do really appreciate everyone being so sweet and helpful and supportive in the comments.(You like me, you really like me!) Thanks for being so chatty about such an un-sexy topic...
More car venting, skip it if you're looking for the dirty bits…

The car search rolls on, and I tell you, I'm feeling mighty petulant about it. I'm taking it as a personal affront to me that the damn Honda people built the Accord in a manner unsuited to my taste. What were they thinking? Don't they know how much they're inconveniencing me? I hate car shopping.

So, having rejected the Accord, I'm back to square one. I have no idea what I'm going to wind up buying, and it unsettles me when I have major decisions hanging. Thank god, I have Vermont coming to see me on Thursday, and I can take out my frustrations very firmly on his sweet behind. He'll like that, and so will I.

What I want is a coupe with automatic transmission and a leather seats. And it's got to be kicky, because slo-o-o-ow cars are just not where I'm at. Today I'm going to look at: A Toyota Camry-Solara, A VW Passat, a Subaru Impreza, an Acura RSX, and a Volvo S40.

Some of these cars are 4-door, and my general position on that has been, if I'm driving a 4-door car, well, I might as well just go ahead and have three kids and move to the suburbs and start voting Republican. (Note: I'm being facetious, in case you couldn't tell. Why, some of my best friends drive…et cetera.) But 4-door cars are like surrendering to practicality over style, and while I do actually do that in some parts of my life, I don't want necessarily want to be confronted by that fact every time I walk into the garage.

However, I perceive that my options in this matter aren't wide in the price range I've set for myself, so…okay, I'm going to go look at some 4-doors. Sigh. Wish me luck…

Tuesday, June 01, 2004

I sat down, a few days ago, to write an entry about just exactly how my friend Jae and I met, because it's a funny story. But you know, I kept thinking of more and more I wanted to say about it, and it got longer and longer, until it became not so much a blog entry as a short story. Thus, I am posting it in it's entirety over on my mostly-defunct personal site, FierceFetish.com.
(FF has been shut down for months now, because it got terribly stale and I lack the time to re-vamp it. I've been looking for a local graphic artist/web designer who wants to do some trade, but that's another story.)

So please enjoy the story of how I met the oft-mentioned Jae....