Friday, April 07, 2006

Last night Max and I went to see The Pillowman, a play at The ACT Theatre. It’s an interesting examination of the responsibility of the artist for his art. What I mean is: if I write about, say, piercing, and someone reads it and then sticks needles in themself, or someone else, what responsibility do I have for that? It's easy to say, "Why, none whatsoever." But is that really always true?
The performances by the actors were good, but the playwright painted his points in rather broad strokes. And it could have been thirty minutes shorter without sacrificing anything important. Definitely a bit self-indulgent.

Nothing like having a word count to keep one’s writing tight – it’s good discipline. Here’s the latest column and calendar.


Postscript: I just heard that Jan Lyon, one of the founders of the National Leather Association, died recently. I'm sorry to hear that. I haven't seen Jan in years, but once, oh, a very long time ago, when I was living in Tampa, she and I hooked up through the NLA newsletter (yes, the kind that came in the snail mail, this was pre-internet) and had....an intimate evening together. She was just in town for one night, and I didn't run into her again for a long time. But the baby kinkster that I was had a lot of fun with her. Godspeed, Jan.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

I got permission from my friend Rossi to link to her pictures and journal entry about getting huuuuuuge needles stuck in her at Kinkfest two weeks ago. I mean, I've stuck a lot of needles in people, but these thing looked like barbeque skewers. All who saw her were quite impressed. She's just a little slip of a girl, but she's high-capacity.

Of course, my partner Max, never one to let an opportunity go by, graciously volunteered to thump on the needles a bit - okay, a lot - while they were in. Rossi agreed to this. She's such a generous girl. I was there when Max took the needles out, and damn, they were pretty bowed. Talk about making paper clips.

Obviously, if needles squick you, don't go look here. (And kids, do not try this at home.)

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Ring ring!

Me: Hello?

Caller: Um, hello, I was ordered to call you?

Oh, damn, I hate it when guys do this. This caller, who has kind of a snarky, frat-boy sounding voice, is trying to draw me into a role play with him. I’m supposed to say something like, “Oh, you were, were you? Do you need to be punished?” Or something like that. Then he'd respond with some story about his wife or his secretary giving him this number because they were mad at him, and gee, he doesn’t understand what it’s all about, but they said if he was punished they’d forgive him, so…. Do I punish people? What would I do to him?

This kind of thing is fine as a role play once we’ve laid down a baseline negotiation. But that’s not how you start a conversation with me. If you call me up to talk about booking a session with me, you talk to me on the phone like a regular person, no games, no protocol, no “kneel on the floor while you’re on the phone with me” stuff. For one thing, I think BDSM is more piquant when you start out as equals - and then I tie you up and have my evil way with you. For another, a lot of time these guys are just looking for free phone sex, and I don’t provide that.

Besides, there’s the small matter of consent, and I haven’t consented to do a verbal role- play with this guy. Let’s see if we can redirect him.

Me: Are you calling about having a session with me?
Caller: Uh, gee, I was just ordered to call you.

He’s sticking to his line. We’ll try a different tack.

Me: Who ordered you to call me, and why?
Caller: (Pause) Someone gave me this number and told me to call.

He’s not really thought this out well, has he? I wonder what I’d have to say to get a different answer out of him.

Me: Look, if you want to talk to me about a session, then talk. Otherwise I’m hanging up.
Caller: But I was ordered to call you!

Click. I hang up. I am way too busy for pointless conversation.