Amusing Client Remarks From The Past Week…

I know, I know, other people tell cute stories about their kids - I tell cute stories about my clients. That's just how it is.

Featured Client #1 and I were sitting on the couch after the session, looking at digital pictures I'd just taken of him in some rather advanced states of stress and exposure. He studied one intently and then announced, "I think I may use this for my Christmas cards!"

Featured Client #2 is a faithful reader of my Stranger column and apparently found inspiration – or something - in this week's piece.

Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Client: Hello, this is the Silver Stud calling….

Luckily for him I have a sense of humor.

I was going to post something last night…but a pleasant languor came over me, and writing seemed like too much exertion. I had spent several hours with one of my favorite clients, who we'll call Milo. (Not his real name.) I like playing with Milo for all the reasons that I generally like playing with anyone - he trusts me, he's open to new things, and he's got a high tolerance for pain. He's also a physically big guy, and I enjoy that about him. I'm five foot five and I weigh a hundred and twenty pounds, and there's something deeply satisfying about making someone who's at least nine inches taller and ninety pounds heavier than me roar like a lion singing an opera.

But there's more to it than that. Milo is one of a handful of clients with whom I have a certain…connection. You see, in my sessions, one of two things can happen. The way it most often goes is that I create an experience for someone that sends them on a physical, emotional and psychological journey. Picture someone para-sailing – with me driving the boat. It's both an erotic and an artistic exercise for me, and I enjoy doing it.

But sometimes it's different. I'm still creating the experience – but something happens along the way – and the wind catches me and whoosh, I'm up in the sky, too.

Last night I hooked my electrical box up to Milo's most sensitive places and stretched out on top of him like he was my own private chaise lounge. And then I turned up the dial until he bellowed.
It's such an amazingly intimate thing, to hold someone close to you while they're writhing and hissing in pain – pain that you are creating. I rubbed my cheek against his as his body shook with the stress of the electricity, and I looked in his eyes and told him how beautiful he was to me. I could have dialed down the intensity. I didn't. Each time the wave of electricity crested over him, his eyes opened wide and his muscles went hard underneath me. I put my face kiss-close to his and sucked the breath from his mouth like it was nitrous oxide.

In other conversations, Milo has told me that he admires my self-discipline. I wonder if he realizes that this is the school in which I learned it. Sadistic pleasure is an intoxicant, and I have taught myself to only take carefully calibrated sips. So before I really want to, I turn the dial back down again. But as soon as he can speak, Milo whispers, "Let's do it again, Mistress."

How could I refuse?

The Thirty-Seconds Rule
There's an amusing scene in the 1983 movie "The Big Chill" in which actress Mary Kay Place is talking to Glenn Close about her experiences as a single woman evaluating men as potential boyfriends. She says, "It's gotten so I can tell in the first thirty seconds if there's a chance in the world."
Glenn Close reacts with mild disbelief, but I know exactly what Ms. Place's character means, because when I get a phone call from a potential client, I can tell in the first thirty seconds if there's a chance in the world.
Of course, some guys make it easy. Consider this fatuous ignoranus…

Ring Ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Well…good evening to you, pretty lady.

The caller is speaking in an extremely contrived "sexy" voice. It's the kind of voice you hear affected by radio DJs on "smooth jazz" stations – rather slow, and as deep and as resonant as he can possibly force it to be. Produces something of an I'm-a-totally-Caucasian-guy-trying-to-sound-like-Barry-White effect. I don't like it.
I wait to see if he's going to say something else. He doesn't. We're 5 seconds into the conversation, and he's off to a bad start. But I try again.

Me: Good evening – can I help you?
Caller: No, you can't. (meaningful pause) Because I want to be the one who helps you.

Now, what the hell am I supposed to say to that? He wants to help me? What is this, State Farm's sexy new telemarketing campaign?

Me: Okaaay…So, are you calling about my ad?
Caller: I'm calling because I think you're a beautiful woman, and I want to make something magic happen with you.

Great. It's not State Farm - it's David Copperfield! It's now been ten seconds, and I'm not liking this guy any more than I did five seconds ago. I still don't even know if he's actually a prospective client, or an obscene phone caller who likes to do a little foreplay. So I try the direct approach.

Me: I'm afraid I don't understand: are you calling me because you'd like to see me professionally?
Caller: What I'd like is to get together with you in front of my fireplace, put on some music, open up a bottle of wine, and just talk for a while. I think you and I should (meaningful pause) get to know each other. And then, I'd like to just (meaningful pause) see what happens.

I smother a snort of laughter, because I have an instant mental image of this guy lying hog-tied on the floor in front of a fireplace while I sit on the couch and drink wine with my feet propped up on his butt. I'd lean over and say to him, "See what happened?"
But as charming a fantasy as that is, I really don't want to do what it would take to make it come true. It's now been twenty seconds, and I'm quite sure this guy is not client material - at least not for me. It's time to wind this up, so I give him a gentle little tap with Mistress Matisse's clue stick.

Me: You know what, I think you've called the wrong woman. My name is Mistress Matisse, and I'm a dominatrix. It sounds like what you're looking for is an escort.
Caller: No, I'm looking for a lady to connect with, and I think you're the one. You're not afraid to try something a little different, are you?

'Afraid'? 'Afraid'? Oh – now he's done it. Now he's crossed a line, and now I know, for sure, that he is a complete asshole, and unworthy to be the recipient of my good manners. I really do not like it when people try to manipulate me so blatantly. Of course, I don't like when people try to manipulate me subtly, either - but at least it's not such an egregious fucking insult to my intelligence. It's time to mess with this guy's head a little, and his use of the word "afraid" has given me an idea.

Me: (in a sexy voice) Well, now that you mention it…
Caller: Yes, pretty lady?
Me: (still in the sexy voice) Can I tell you a secret?
Caller: Oh, yes - you can tell me all your secrets.
Me: I am afraid. (speaking louder and faster) Terribly, terribly afraid. You see, I have a bad case of agoraphobia. I'm afraid to leave my house. I haven't been outside for weeks. It's very sad, and I'm actually very depressed about it. Deeply, intensely depressed. Maybe if I could just talk to you for a while about it, I'd feel better. You see, I think it all started early in my childhood – (he attempts to break in, but I don't stop talking) – when my parents made me take ballet lessons instead of tap, but my brother, he got to take tap, and I just felt so –

Click. He's gone.
I laugh.

Okay, you all have to go look at this truly fabulous picture taken by Seattle photographer Kevin Hundsnurscher It's called Checking The Results. Kevin - who shoots film, god bless him – says, "This is what happens when you shoot digital all the time."
I cracked up laughing when I saw this. I think I may have to buy a print.

I had a delightful date with my ultra-fabulous secondary partner, Mike, last night. I swear, Mike has reaffirmed my faith in the idea that polyamory can be a happy, drama-free arrangement. It's been nearly a year that we've been getting together and it's always just as much fun as the first time. In fact, it's better - I love it when that happens.
The thing that continues to impress me about Mike is that he's fine with the fact I disappear and reappear at random intervals. I never get angsty emails about why I haven't called, there are no jealous scenes at parties, no moody posturing about my primary relationship with Max. He's always happy to see me when I'm with him, but there is no pressure on me whatsoever. We hang out, we have great sex, and then he feeds me rich, decadent pastries while we sit in his hot tub in the back yard. What a wonderful man.

Want to know a secret about Mike? Okay, brace yourself: he's not into BDSM.
Stunning, isn't it? Mistress Matisse has a vanilla lover. Only – it's not quite that simple. You see, aside from my well-publicized BDSM tastes, I have certain…fetishes. Now, some of you may think that "fetish" is just another word for BDSM-type stuff. Not necessarily. This is the actual definition of the word "fetish":

What is a Fetish? "In anthropology, a fetish is an object to which powers are attributed that go beyond its natural ones; when the term is extended to sexuality, it indicates an object not naturally connected with sexual reproduction that nonetheless causes sexual arousal for some people….Note that originally 'fetish' was used of the object itself: a particular artifact would be a fetish. But in its sexual use it usually means the propensity to be aroused by a certain object, as in 'Joe has a fetish for white cotton underwear', and the object is called 'the fetish object'. 'Fetishism' is the propensity to be aroused by a fetish object. "
~From: The Deviant's Dictionary

Anyway, it just so happens that Mike appeals to a very specific fetish of mine. So sex with him feels kinky to me, even though there are no restraints and floggers in the mix.

What’s the fetish? Oh, wouldn't you like to know. I could tell you. But if I do, then I'll get emails from a bunch of strange guys saying, "Hey, I can do that, too – can I fuck you?" And the answer is no, so let's just skip that whole exchange.

I have told Mike about this little fetish of mine, because I felt like I should. I was a bit worried, when I first talked about it, that he might feel I didn't like him for his own sake. I do - he's handsome and smart and sexy, and he talks as fast as I do, which always makes me feel bonded with someone immediately. He makes me laugh. He has cool tattoos. I like his hands. I like the way he dresses. And I like the way he fucks me.

"But I hope you don't feel like I'm just using you, sexually," I said, as I was sitting on his lap in the hot tub. He smiled at me for a few minutes, and then he allowed as how he did not find that thought to be troubling him overmuch.

He's been dating some other women casually, but he doesn't have a primary partner. That does make it easy for him and me to spend time together – but I find it rather surprising, since I think he's quite attractive. True, he seems pretty involved with his work these days, and he's also a part-time dad – that kinda slows down your social life. I told him last night that I should set him up on some dates with polyamorous women, so that even if he started a primary relationship with one of them I could still borrow him. I must admit, given that I was completely unsuccessful at finding a girlfriend for my brother, I'm not terribly optimistic about my chances here. But hey – if you're a pretty, poly, smart, articulate woman who'd like to share a lover with me, drop me a note and I'll tell you a little more about him.

A friend of mine recently asked me for some advice about a problematic client. (Yes, I actually get asked for sex-work advice quite a lot, so get used to reading that lead-in.)

"So what's the trouble?" I asked.
"Well, he wants me to do an outcall, for starters."
"But you have a place - I thought you didn't want to do outcall."
"I don't."
"Then tell him no. What's his problem coming to you? It's a nice apartment."
"I don't know - and he wants an appointment at midnight, and I don't want to be seeing anyone that late, and he wants me to do anal and I don't want to, and a bunch of stuff like that."
"So basically you're telling me he wants you to do the exact opposite of what you want to do."
"It seems like it."
I threw up my hands. "Then he needs to see somebody else. I mean, clearly you aren't a good match for him."
She shrugged uncertainly. "I told him that, but he told me he doesn't want to see anyone else and that if I'm going to make it in this business I need to learn to adapt to the needs of my customer."
"Adapt to the needs of your customer? What the fuck does he think you are you, a car manufacturer or something? Bullshit. Run your business the way you want to."

I haven't gotten any further reports on this particular situation, but I do bump into this kind of thing myself. I have a way of working - a system, if you will. When I talk about "my system" I don't mean what I will or won't do in my sessions. I mean my system of what days and times I schedule appointments, how I like to arrange the initial session, getting confirmations, giving directions to my place - details like that. If someone wants to see me, they're pretty much going to have to fit themselves into my system. Some people don't want to - to which I say: that's just fine. I wish you the best of luck elsewhere.

You see, everyone has a certain amount of emotional energy to give to what's important to them. For me, a chunk of that energy is labeled, "For My Clients". I have a crystal-clear understanding of the capacity of that section of myself. I know precisely how many clients I can see in any given week and still have an appropriate level of emotional energy for them all. I've calibrated this all quite carefully to ensure that I don't get burned-out. Since my system suits me so well, planning all the details of when/where/how really requires very little of that energy from me.

Unless...I start trying to incorporate one person's passel of "special-request" details into my work-week. That throws the whole balance out of whack. Doing that draws from the energy that I would normally devote to other clients. The result is either: I'm too drained to see my usual number of people, which means I don't make my preferred income. Or, I see the same number of clients - often because they're already booked - but I'm tired and I don't enjoy myself. That's not fair to the clients who make it easy for me.

Now, understand, I don't mean things like, "Would you wear black fishnet stockings?" That kind of request is easy. And I don't mean asking me for this activity versus that in a session.

No, I mean stuff like "I want a session at midnight" (Equally unlikely variation: "at nine am".) Or, "I want you to come to our house and be a surprise for my girlfriend." (Even if I wanted to do it, this is a very bad idea.) "I want to meet you in a bar with you dressed up all sexy and have you pretend to pick me up."

There is nothing wrong with these desires (except for that "surprising the girlfriend" one), but I don't want to deal with such requests, they're too much hassle. There a lots of boys who are both fun to play with and who fit smoothly into my system, and that's who I like to see. After all, I'm a dominatrix - having things my way is one of the perks of this profession.

I find this sort of fascinating, but also rather creepy, especially if I'm all alone in my office with the lights off...It's the costume, the weirdly domestic/suburban setting, and the uneasy idea (even though I know it's not true) that the chicken can see me, too.
The Subservient Chicken.

Busy girl this weekend...I'll do a real post later, but now, for your entertainment, I will present something a clever acquaintance of mine wrote. I thought it was hilarious...

A POLYAMORY->ENGLISH PHRASE DICTIONARY

Poly phrase: "I don't use primary/secondary terminology, since I don't see
my relationships as hierarchical."
English translation: "You're a secondary."
Poly phrase: "For me sex is about energy, so breathing and heart connection are more important than ejaculation."
English translation: "I'm more sophisticated than the guy over there,
please sleep with me instead."
Poly phrase: "I see polyamory as being more about relationships and intimacy, while swinging is just about sex, and sex without intimacy is
just not where I'm at right now."
English translation: "I'm more sophisticated than the guy over there,
please sleep with me instead."
Poly phrase: "The most important thing to me is keeping agreements."
English translation: "If you start seeing someone else and I'd feel
unsophisticated just saying that I'm jealous, then I'll reinterpret one of
our agreements until I'm able to say you broke it."
Poly phrase: "Even secondary relationships for me aren't just about sex."
English translation: "Secondary relationships for me are just about sex."
Poly phrase: "Right now the most important things to me are building poly
family and intentional community."
English translation: "I'm getting concerned that I won't always be able to
easily find new partners, plus I'm tired of driving from place to place,
and oh yeah, I'm more sophisticated than the guy over there, so please
sleep with me instead."
Poly phrase: "In our household the most important things are open
communication and open process."
English translation: "Expect to be abused with passive-aggressive 'I'
statements."
Poly phrase: "I don't feel that we communicate on the same level, and that
you aren't supporting me emotionally."
English translation: "I'm tired of you but it would make me seem less
sophisticated and hence reduce my opportunities for further sexual
relationships in this community to actually say that so bluntly, so I'll
make this about vague failings on your part instead."
Poly phrase: "I think we should each have veto power."
English translation: "I want to reserve the right to veto each of your
partners, no matter how much they respect our existing relationships, so
that you're de facto limited to monogamy while I play the field."
Poly phrase: "I think that we should focus on each other for a while."
English translation: "I'm having more trouble finding partners than you
are, time to clip your wings!"
Poly phrase: "I want you to always feel OK telling me what's really going
on in your life, and asking for what you need in this relationship."
English translation: "Ask for what you need, and express hurt feelings, at
your peril."
Poly phrase: "I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at myself, for not having
recognized sooner that we weren't right for each other."
English translation: "I'm angry at you for not making my life perfect, but
rather than taking responsibility for setting and meeting my own goals I
find it more satisfying to shift the blame to you while superficially
appearing to do the opposite."
Poly phrase: "Out of respect for our primary bond, we normally only see
other people together."
English translation: "MAYBE THIS TIME I'LL FINALLY GET TO HAVE SEX WITH
TWO WOMEN AT ONCE OMG OMG OMG THAT WOULD BE L33T!!!!! "
Poly phrase: "I think we need to process the end of our relationship and
get closure."
English translation: "I'd like to kick you while you're down."
Poly phrase: "We obviously need to work on our relationship."
English translation: "We're through, I just want to vent a little more so
that I can feel a little more self-righteous once you know it's over too,
OK?"
Poly phrase: "The idea of line marriage has always appealed to me."
English translation: "The idea of having sex with people younger than me
has always appealed to me."
Poly phrase: "So, which conventions do you like to attend, what kind of
books do you like to read, what are your spiritual beliefs, and what is
your ideal occupation?"
English translation: "Which science fiction conventions do you like to
attend, who is your favorite fantasy author, what form of neo-paganism do
you ascribe do, and where in the computer industry would you like to
work?"
Poly phrase: "I'm needing to do some inner work, and instead of dating
anyone would rather just work on my relationship with myself."
English translation: "I'm tired of you, but since I don't have anyone else
lined up right now I might as well get some mileage out of the personal
growth angle."
Poly phrase: "Well, I'm only theoretically poly, but I already have plenty
of firmly-held beliefs about how it could be done in real life!"
English translation: "Hi, I'm an idiot."
Poly phrase: "Swinging would be way too crass for me, I'm more about
relationships and emotional intimacy."
English translation: "I've always wanted to go to New Horizons, could
someone give me a ride there and guest me in, as long as I don't have to
ask publicly?"
Poly phrase: "All of my partners are equally important to me, and they're
all primary."
English translation: "I'd rather not explicitly spell out what the
hierarchy is, but trust me - you'll know when you run into it."
Poly phrase: "Our friendship is more important than anything else."
English translation: "Once you've told me that we're done fucking, you'll
never hear a word from me again."
Poly phrase: "I'm willing to take this slow as well."
English translation: "I intend to act like a SNAG (Sensitive New Age Guy)
and put as much pressure on you to put out as possible."

Way, way too funny...My thanks to the author, RDB, and contributor, Vamp...

I just had time to skim over this very interesting-looking post about types and levels of poly-ness in CosmicBabe's journal today. But I'm looking forward to reading it more thoughtfully later and seeing how it tallies with my own little categories. She has a lot of good things to say about the subject of multiple love relationships.

Love the phone, hate the phone: I'm spending a chunk of my day today on hold, or waiting for faxes, or waiting for call-backs…Sigh. Frustrating, because I can't get too involved in anything else, but I'm not really doing that much, either…So I'm writing mindless blog entries…

Books I'm reading; Non-fiction
Nathanial's Nutmeg, by Giles Milton. The book deals with the competition between England and Holland for possession of the spice-producing islands of Southeast Asia throughout the 17th century.
An Anthropologist On Mars: Seven Paradoxical Tales, by Oliver Sacks.
Neurologist Sacks presents seven case studies of people whose "abnormalities" of brain function offer new insights into conceptions of human personality and consciousness.
The Floating Brothel: The Extraordinary True Story of an Eighteenth-Century Ship And It's Cargo Of Female Convicts. This riveting work of rediscovered history tells for the first time the plight of the female convicts aboard the Lady Julian, which set sail from England in 1789 and arrived in Australia's Botany Bay a year later.
The Art of the Steal : How to Protect Yourself and Your Business from Fraud, by Frank W. Abagnale
Fiction
The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory. A vivid retelling of the story of Anne Boleyn.
The Many Lives & Secret Sorrows of Josephine B. by Sandra Gulland. A fictionalized account of Josephine Bonaparte's life in the form of diaries and letters.

You can see a trend there, hmm? I'm a popular-history fan. Not American particularly, more European and some Asian. Also, human-behavior stuff is fascinating to me..
Whoops, gotta go, someone's finally calling back!

I read one of those "human interest" news stories yesterday about prostitution. Purportedly an interview with a woman who'd been in the business, it was the usual bird-in-a-gilded-cage nonsense about the plight of the high-class (their phrase) call girl. Oh, poor girl – she was trapped by all that money and independence. Gah. I don't really want to link to it, because it's a stupid piece and it pissed me off. But I suppose if I'm going to rant about it, you should be able to read it. "Pity Me! I'm a Victim Of Myself!"

Look, I don't object to having this one woman's individual experience portrayed in the media, if they really think it's newsworthy. But the newspaper and the interviewee are not representing it as one individual's experience. They are saying: "this is the definitive experience of sex work." Fuck that, it’s not my experience! They never run the opposite side - a woman who says "yes, I did sex work and it was fine. No big drama, I made some money and now I'm doing something else..." That's not news, apparently. (Except that it would be to some people.)

The woman said things like,
"The reason I'm single and childless is because of the business…It also kept me from forming real relationships. Ladies who are in the business make a conscious decision to avoid intimacy."
No, the reason you're single and childless is because you chose to be that way. Lots of women in the sex industry have children – even in the middle of a sex work career. I myself don't want little rug-rats, but I do have a wonderful lover who adores me, and I certainly haven't made "a conscious decision to avoid intimacy" - quite the contrary.

It’s her insistence on assigning her experience and her choices to every other woman in the sex industry that bothers me. Would she feel okay about making such sweeping generalizations if she were in any other line of work? Or has she just bought into societal preconceptions about who she is?

She also trots out that "all women in the sex industry have been sexually assaulted" line. (The implication being that they became sex workers as a direct result of being assaulted.) Guess again, honey – I haven't been. And I know of several other sex workers who haven't been, either. But the fact is, approximately 683,000 adult American women are raped annually, and so, yes, statistically, some of those women will go on to become sex workers. And some of them will go on to work at Wal-Mart. But I don't think anyone's going to posit that being raped inevitably leads to working as an underpaid drudge at a soul-destroying corporate monolith. It's false logic.

Here's what I, personally, have observed about the sex industry: If, before she ever enters the sex industry, a woman is an emotionally troubled person with poor self-esteem and a history of bad decisions, she'll continue making bad decisions and suffering the negative consequences while she's in the business. But now, some of them will be sex-work-related decisions and consequences, so it's easy for people to say, "Well, obviously it's because she's a sex worker. See what an unhappy, damaging life it is?" And she'll probably agree with them, because it's easy for a troubled, low-self-esteem person to buy into the victim mentality. That way, she can then avoid taking any responsibility for her choices. So she's tucked neatly into the victim pigeon-hole, and everyone thanks goodness they don't have to examine any potentially unsettling ideas any further. Their pre-existing beliefs have been confirmed and they feel righteous.

Now, she could fuck up her life just as badly if she were a waitress at Denny's. But that's not as sexy, so no one writes newspaper articles about that.

You see, the work itself doesn't fuck you up - it just magnifies what's already there. If you love yourself, and believe that you deserve to be loved by others, when you choose to become a sex worker, then you'll probably be just fine. But if you don't, then you'll probably run into trouble.

Exhibit A: This woman details a conversation with her father in which he sounds pretty harsh. I'm thinking there's some bad history there that dates back to before her sex work career began. Clearly she learned some of her core beliefs about how she should expect men to treat her from an unloving man. That's a emotional time bomb waiting to go off.

Bottom line: If you don't already have a basic belief that you deserve safety, and respect from other people, in your working environment, you'll bring that mindset to your sex work job and you'll accept being treated badly. If you don't already have a basic belief that you deserve love and respect and safety in your intimate relationships, you'll attract people who want to treat their lovers badly, and you'll let them tell you that you don't deserve better because you're a whore.

To be a happy, healthy and successful sex worker, you have to be inwardly defined. If you accept external definitions, you will become filled with self-hatred. It's the same with most marginalized subcultures, like being queer, or kinky, or transgender. You have to be strong enough to throw off the shit that people would like to heap onto you.

Unfortunately, there are a lot of not-so-emotionally-healthy people in the world, and some of them become sex workers. So all of us get tarred with their brush, because society finds it convenient. And I personally get really tired of constantly picking the sticky black shit out from between my toes.

Okay, so it's not a new site - in fact, it's not even being updated anymore. But it's so funny I still laugh out loud when I read it. I need to buy his new book.

Today was one of those days where I really enjoyed myself at work. Two clients, both excellent regulars. The first of them was a very sweet man, over fifty, who has an infectious laugh and blue eyes that sort of twinkle when he's having fun. He's relatively new to me – meaning, less than a year – and I'm the first pro dom he's seen. But he's taken to it like a duck to water and he's become a fan of rope bondage. That makes me happy, because I like doing it, and I don't get to so very often.

So he was laughing that unmistakable "wow, I'm really endorphin-high" laugh while I tying him up in various positions, and it made me laugh, too. I'm sure that if you asked some random person to describe what a session between a professional dominatrix and her client might be like, they most likely would not say, "Well, they'd probably laugh a lot." But it's not unusual. I like people who laugh when I'm playing with them. I especially like it when I make them sort of laugh and wince at the same time. That's a favorite of mine. (Not to sound like a commercial, but if you'd like to see a great example of a laughing-and-wincing scene, buy my video and watch the second vignette, with Rose Algren. She laughs a lot, even though I'm doing some pretty serious stuff to her. Plus she's a flaming babe.)

My second client I've known for several years, and while he's also over fifty, he's kind of a health-and-fitness nut like I am, and he's so springy and muscular I think if you dropped him off a four-story building, he'd probably bounce. And he'd smile, because he's an unsinkably cheerful guy.

He likes intense sensation (pain, for those of you not up on this lingo) and we did some play with sounds. I'll now explain what "sounds" are, but if you squick easily, you should skip this next paragraph.

A sound is a medical instrument, a long slender metal rod that's designed to be inserted into the male urethra. Click on this link if you'd like to know more. This is advanced play; please don't do this unless you've been taught by someone knowledgeable, or you could really damage someone's body.

So there I was, sliding this metal rod into his dick, thinking, "What a magical thing this is." And that’s how it seems to me when I'm playing – like it's magic. Like I'm magic. I love that I can do these intense things to people's bodies, and somehow, through some alchemical transformation, it's not a bad thing. Instead, it's wonderful. That's where the power comes from, for me. Not in making people endure something nasty – that's just bullying someone. No, the magic is doing fierce things to people and making them like it. That's the magic.

I can do that kind of magic.

Preamble: Okay, let's get one thing clear: this is me venting. I'm explaining this because, apparently, some of you gentlemen who are reading me are a little sensitive. I got at least half a dozen plaintive/defensive emails in the wake of my post a few days ago about another woman's undesirable client. (Not even my undesirable client – someone else's!)
Good gentlemen, I completely agree with you that most would-be clients are nice people. I have said positive things about my clients here many times. But if you're going to read me, you're also occasionally going to hear about the minority of would-be clients who are not so nice, and you will have to learn not to take everything I say here about them so very personally. After all, one of the purposes of me having a blog is so I can vent.
So we're agreed, then, yes? You're a nice guy, I like you, this is about someone else. Great. On with the rant.

Let's talk about the annoying phone call du jour.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: (loudly) Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey! What's hap'nin, baby?
Me: (wondering if Huggy Bear has decided he needs a spanking) Hello?
Caller: Whas'sup, mama?
Note: it's fairly clear this caller is white. And rather young.
Me: (in a frosty voice): Can I help you?
Caller: Yeah, I wanted to see, you know, whatchoo were doin'?

Now, I know what I'm doing: I'm talking to a very irritating person with poor mental organization. But I don't think he'd understand that if I told him. So I try redirecting him, on the million-to-one chance that he might somehow metamorphose into someone I'd even remotely consider seeing. Besides, if I simply hang up now, he'll just call right back, I know it.

Me: Are you calling me about my professional services?
Caller: Your services?
Me: Yes, my professional services. I'm a dominatrix.
Caller: A domi-what?
Me: (heavy sigh) How did you get this number?
Caller: Oh, um, yeah, I saw an ad, you know…(trails off)
Me: Okay, you saw an ad for me, Mistress Matisse.
Caller: Yeah! Yeah, that's right, the ad.

Some days, I think Sisyphus had it easy.

Me: Yes – that's my ad, I'm a dominatrix. Is that what you're looking for?
Caller: Uh, I don' know….what d'ya do?

My patience has reached its end.

Me: You know what - if you don't know, then it's not what you're looking for. Goodbye.


This kind of phone call happens about three times a week, minimum. And it isn't only twenty-two-year-old boys pretending they're rappers, either. Grown-up men do this as well. I mean, hey – they called me. It wasn't like they didn't know the conversation was going to happen. (Yes, maybe they were expecting the voicemail. But I think if you're going to dial someone's phone number, you should first take a moment to prepare yourself for the fact that they might, actually, pick up the phone!)
My point is that if you were calling about an apartment for rent, or a car for sale, the conversation would go something like this:

Me: Hello?
Caller: I saw an ad saying you've got a car for sale?
Me: Yes, that’s right. It's Toyota Civic, blah blah blah.
Caller: Right – what are you asking for it?
Me: Oh, $$$...
Caller, Option A: Sounds great, when can I come by and take a look at it?
Option B: Thanks a lot, I'll have to think about it.

Now, is that so hard to do with me? Be polite but to-the-point when you call, have your questions more or less ready, and just generally regard both our time as a resource. Is that so unreasonable?

Thank you. I didn't think so.

Okay, the rant is now over…we will return to our regularly scheduled program.

There's this thing that keep happening to me where I'm talking to someone about my life – my life as a pro dom, my life as a kinky person, my life as a poly person, whatever. And they say to me, "You're so lucky."

This happens to me fairly regularly, either in-person or electronically. I know they don't mean to be rude – but it seems rude to me, and I really don't like it. I'm trying to figure out a response I can make to these folks that isn't nasty but expresses how I feel, which is something like this:

"This is not luck. I am very lucky in some ways – I'm lucky in the fact that I have two smart, healthy, pretty parents who got together and made a smart, healthy, pretty baby – me. That's sheer luck on my part, I didn't have a thing to do with it.
But luck has nothing to do with the fact that I have created the life I wanted for myself. I got it because I made a choice, I gave up the other, safer, options, and I did the work to get it. Nothing I have fell into my lap like a lottery prize. It was hard, lonely work - I hit a lot of dead ends, and I took a lot of wrong turns. Sometimes I met people who helped me, more often I had to deal with people who wanted to discourage me. But I kept trying because I refused to believe that I could not manifest what I wanted.
And I am not, by any means, finished. There is so much I want to do that I haven't achieved yet. There are ambitions that are still taking shape in me, goals I'm in progress towards, and some big, scary-looking shit I'm just flat-out not ready to tackle yet.
I know it would be easier to believe that you couldn't create your life the way I've created mine, but that's bullshit. You make a choice every single day about what kind of life you're going to have. Whatever you choose is okay – but don't tell yourself that you shouldn't bother to try to get what you want because you aren't "lucky". The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in your stars, but in yourself. Create what you want. Or else don't. But stop invalidating my power to do so by telling me "you're so lucky".

So, the bondage workshop went very well today....

Monk was also there selling his pretty hemp rope. I like hemp, too - it's just a different type of rope. I was kind of giving him the business because he sells (and plays with) 6 millimeter rope, and I think that stuff is too skinny. I like the 8 mil, which is bigger. "But 6 mil is traditional," he says, looking at me all innocent-like. Cuz, yeah, I'm such a traditional girl, Monk.

A post I saw on another blog reminded me of a conversation I had a few weeks ago with a friend who's an escort. She's been in the game for a few years now, but I've been in it longer and she likes to get my take on certain aspects of the biz.

"There's this guy," she began. "I saw him once and he was a total jerk. Not scary, but just pushy and creepy and a weird energy. He's been trying to make another appointment, and I was just dodging his calls for a while. But he kept on calling and leaving messages, and I know you've always told me sometimes it's easier to just tell them that you don't want to see them than keep trying to avoid them forever."

I nod, because she's right. Sometimes the jerks will give up and go away, but other times you have to be straight with them. It takes a little judgment to tell the difference, though.

"So, he next time he called, I picked up and talked to him and told him that he made me uncomfortable last time I saw him and that I didn't think we were compatible and that I was sure he'd be better off seeing someone who was a better match for him."

I nod again – this is exactly what I have told her to say in these situations. There's no reason to be nasty about it – it just makes them get defensive. Much better to be calm and polite.

"Well, he wanted to know what he did wrong, and then he said he really wanted to see me again, and would I give him another chance, and" – Wait for it – "that he'd give me a thousand dollars for an hour if I'd see him again." Yep, there it is. The number-one most common response of a jerky client to being 86ed: offering more money.

Not that offering more cash is an inherently evil thing to do. Like Madonna once said, we are living in a material world. And we are definitely material girls. There are some professional conflicts that can be mitigated by money. No-showing for a scheduled appointment, for example: money fixes that. As long as the client pays for the time, I'll happily make appointments with him again. But if you dislike someone enough to actually fire them as a client, it is always, but always, a bad idea to let them bribe you into reversing that decision.

So when she asked me, "What should I do? It would be nice to have a thousand dollars, but…" I shook my head. "Nope. Don't do it. Let me tell you why: you've told this guy "no" about something. If he convinces you to change your mind by promising you more money, what you've taught him is that your "no" doesn't really mean "no". That's a real bad precedent to set with a client."

"And," I went on, "I would be very surprised if you ever got that thousand dollars. Because now that you've taught this guy he can move you around, he's gonna start jacking that figure down. It's a thousand now, but if you say yes, he'll call you an hour before the appointment and say, 'oh, I can only get eight hundred from the cash machine, can he write you a check for the rest?' And then when you get there, it'll be 'whoops, I thought I had eight hundred, looks like I've only got five, and you are gonna stay two hours for that much, right?' I mean, he's not an idiot, he knows the market rate in Seattle and he knows there are other women around. Once he's got you there with him, why should he pay more? He's gambling that once you're actually there, you'll take the money and stay rather than walk out empty-handed."

"Shit," she said. "You're probably right."

"The only way I'd do it is this: number one, make him Paypal you half the money before you ever leave the house. Number two, do it as an outcall - he stays in a hotel, right? Have your boyfriend go with you up to the room, but stay outside in the hall. Go in and collect the other half of the money and discreetly give it to your boyfriend. Remember that there's probably a security camera in the hallway, so don't flash the cash, just give him a hug and slip it in his pocket. Then stay and see the client and have your boyfriend ring the room when it's time to go. And be nice, you know, be good to the guy. This isn't about ripping him off. I mean, you know you don't like him, but if you decide to do it, do it right."

She nodded slowly. "That sounds like a good plan."

"Well, it is, but I really doubt it'll happen, because I doubt he'll agree to the terms. I mean, looking at it from his point of view, even if he's sincere in his offer, he's taking a risk. If he gives you the half up front, how does he know you'll show up at all?"

"I would," she said. "Because taking his money like that and not showing up would be stealing. But I can see how he wouldn't know that I don't steal from people."

"Yeah, I agree – it's very bad karma. But my theory is that he isn't sincere and he doesn't actually intend to pay you any extra money at all, and that's the real reason why paying you five hundred beforehand isn't gonna fly with him." I shrugged. "I could be wrong. But I've just seen this too many times, and it always plays out the same. Test the theory if you want. Just be prepared to walk out if he welshes on the deal. Because if you let him talk you into seeing him again for less than what you agreed to, you're going to be so mad at him, it'll be an awful session, and you'll feel shitty about yourself afterwards because you compromised your own boundaries for nothing."

So – she made him the offer I told her, and he said he'd call her back. Thus far, he hasn't called. Score one for honesty and good boundaries.

Postscript: This guy didn't seem like a violence risk, but this conversation did remind me of my favorite reading suggestion for working girls: Gavin De Becker's The Gift of Fear : Survival Signals That Protect Us from Violence "In this extraordinary groundbreaking book, the nation's leading expert on predicting violent behavior unlocks the puzzle of human violence and shows that, like every creature on earth, we have within us the ability to predict the harm others might do us and get out of its way. Contrary to popular myth, human violence almost always has a discernible motive and is preceded by clear warning signs. Through dozens of compelling examples from his own career, Gavin de Becker teaches us how to read the signs, using our most basic but often most discounted survival skill - our intuition.

It's a fabulous book - fascinating to read and extremely helpful in learning to tell who the bad people are...

I'm sort of bummed...my brother is leaving Seattle to move back to Florida on Monday. He's been here about a year and a half and it's been nice having him around. Before that, I don't think we'd lived in the same city since I graduated from high school.
He moved here after living in LA and getting burned out working in the TV industry down there, and I thought Seattle would be a great antidote to LA - such a different energy here.
He gave it the college try, but...things just didn't jell for him here. The type of work he does (and the stuff he'd like to do) isn't so sought-after here. So he decided to go where the ducks are, rather than trying to create something from scratch. I can understand that. He's going back to Orlando, where he's got connections.
I will say that it'll be nice to have him be living nearer our parents - cuz, you know, they get older and stuff. It's not an issue now, but in ten years, well...
We'll be hanging out a bit this weekend - and then on Monday he drives away and I'll once again be the only only member of my family on the west coast.

I'll do a real entry later, but for the moment, a brief commercial reminder...my sweetie is teaching Japanese-style rope-bondage suspension classes this weekend at The Wet Spot. (That means, you tie people up and hang them up in the air. Big fun.)
You need not be a Wet Spot member to attend the class. For more info, check out his website...

I have dinner every week with my very best friend, Miss K. It's sort of a ritual – we go to Hana and eat sushi and teriyaki chicken, and a portion of our conversations will frequently revolve around stuff like, "So, this certain event happened, and I thought it was really weird, but I wanted to hear what you thought about it." Because Miss K and I are very much on the same wavelength when it comes to sensing what we refer to as "psycho behavior".

Right now, for example, she has someone in her life who's struggling to kick drugs, and I have someone in my life who's just…struggling, on a lot of levels. Both Miss K and I are having to work pretty hard to not get sucked into their struggle and try to rescue them, because we are both major control queens who think that if only everyone would just do as we say, then everything would be all right.

I mean, we don't really think that, because we know better. And we know it based on bitter and bloody personal experience, so it's not a fact we'll be forgetting, uh-uh. But that reflex is there, and we have both have to stop ourselves from trying to fix things, because we can't, and we'll just wind up frustrated and emotionally drained.

So I told Miss K about the latest chapter of my struggling friend's story, and she told me about the most recent installments on her end, and we both agreed that boundaries were really fucking difficult things to maintain sometimes. But I'm so blessed to have her as a friend, because she understands me so perfectly about these kinds of things. I can tell her all the un-evolved, bad-boundary-esque things I really wish I could do around my struggling friend and her various problems, and she knows exactly what I mean. And then - glory hallelujah - I'm over it. I stop thinking about it, obsessing over what's not mine to change, and that's wonderful, because I don't need someone else's life, that I have no control over, taking up valuable real estate in my head.