It's blogger telepathy...or something.

My Least Favorite Phone Call

Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: (very irate-sounding female voice) Who is this?

Oh shit. I really, really hate it when this happens.

Me: Who's calling, please?
Caller: No, tell me who this is, right now!
Me: (in my very haughtiest tone) I think you must have the wrong number. Goodbye.
Click.

She'll call back, though. Ten seconds later -

Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Look, I found this phone number on my boyfriend's cell phone and I want to know who this is!
Me: I have no idea who you are or what you're talking about –
Caller: (interrupts) His name is Joe Blow – do you know him? Is he seeing you?

I don't recognize the name, or the number she's calling from, thank god. I'm glad it's not one of my regular boys. It's probably some poor guy who's curious enough to call me, but who got nervous and hung up when I answered. I get a lot of that. But my number got saved in his outgoing-calls log, and she's checking up on him.

Me: (slowly) I don't know who you are, I don't know your boyfriend, and I want you to stop calling me.
Caller: Why is your number on his phone! I want to know who this is!

Jesus Christ, she's positively shrieking into the phone. I hold it away from my head to keep my eardrums from being shattered. According to Caller ID, this call is coming from an area code in another state. That's a good thing: if this woman was local she'd probably start stalking me or something, the way she's going on.

I know other sex workers also get these type of phone calls. Several of them have techniques they swear by for dealing with it. One of them claims to be an insurance agent, another one pretends to work for a car dealership. If this was a call about a client I knew, I'd be more apt to start spinning some kind of folksy, non-threatening yarn, based on trivia I'd picked up about the guy. "Oh, a girlfriend of mine works with Joe down at the real estate office, and she gave me his number. My husband and I are thinking about buying a timeshare in Mexico, and she said ya'll had one. We just wanted to ask – have ya'll had any problems drinking the water down there? Because those salesmen, they won't tell you about stuff like that, and we don't want to be – you know – having a problem, especially with the kids and all…I'd left Joe a message and he must have tried to call me back."
But with nothing to build on, trying to concoct a plausible story seems like a real long shot. Besides, I hate lying. The minute you lie to someone, you become emotionally involved with them, and I don't want to get involved with either one of these people.

She continues to harangue me without seeming to draw breath, bouncing back and for the between demands for my identity and telling me what a low-life piece of scum her beloved boyfriend is. After about sixty seconds she notices that I've stopped speaking.

Caller: Hello? Hello?

I say nothing.

Caller: I know you're there! Tell me who this is!

I still say nothing. It seems like the best solution. If I hang up, she'll just call back. I could let it go to voicemail, but that'll give her more information than I want her to have – like my name, for starters.
This woman sounds rather young - not as savvy as other suspicious lovers who've called me. I remember one woman who called and asked, "Do you do incall or outcall?"
Her flat, hard tone of voice tipped me off. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
She wasn't fooled. "I know what you are. If I find your phone number on my phone bill again, I'll call the police and report you."
Report me for what? I thought. Being attractive to your partner? Lady, if you think the police don't know about me, you're crazy. They know about everybody. We have ads in the paper, for god's sake.

It's not that I can't feel some sympathy for a woman who, underneath the bluster, is scared. I do. But I don't break up couples. None of my clients who have wives/girlfriends has ever left their partner for me, and none ever will, because I wouldn't allow any of them to become emotionally involved with me to the extent where that would seem like a reasonable idea. I am not the problem in someone else's relationship, and I'm not willing to take the blame for someone else's fears, be they based on reality or imagination. If you're angry with your lover, yell at him, not me.

Are they cheating? Is it infidelity even if one doesn't have sex? I don't know. I know these boys are keeping their time with me a secret. They tell me their partners don't share their interest in BDSM, but they feel it's better to stay in the relationship, and satisfy their desire for kink elsewhere. I'm polyamorous, so I understand that while their partners don't fulfill this particular need, that doesn't mean they don't love them and want to be with them. I wish they felt they could be honest, but I have to respect their choices regardless. Who am I to judge? I haven't been hitched to someone for twenty-plus years, with kids and a mortgage and 401K and a shitload of shared history, both good and bad. I have no idea what I'd do in their circumstances. I'll leave the slick superficial snap-judgments to Dr. Phil.

This caller, though, is sounding more like a candidate for Jerry Springer. I lay the phone down on my desk and listen as her voice, rendered tolerable by distance, clicks and hisses on. Gradually it stops. The display switches from "End" to "Menu", indicating she's hung up. I wait to see if she'll call back.

She doesn't. Thank god. I pick up the phone and save the number into my phone book as: IRATEGF.
But the phone beeps admonishingly at me.
"IRATEGF" ALREADY EXISTS. REPLACE?
Christ. Okay, let's try IRATEGF2.
SAVED.
If only it were just that easy.

A Near Goddess Experience

You know you're a seasoned professional when conversations like this don't throw you.

Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Namaste, Beautiful Goddess.

I am deeply suspicious. I've taken yoga classes, so I know what "nah-mah-stay" means. But you see, gentlemen, when a potential new client calls me and we talk, what I'm doing is assessing him to see if he's going to fit smoothly into my system. So when I pick up the phone, and I expect the person on the other end to say hello, and instead they give me a Hindu greeting...Well, it makes me wonder in what other ways this person might not be what I expect – or want. The lesson is: do not strive to be unusual in your initial approach to professional ladies like myself. At this stage of the game, your manner should indicate to us that you will be a reassuringly familiar experience. Wait until later to start being unique.

Me: Namaste. Can I help you?
Caller: I have been reading your column and mediating about you for some time, Oh Goddess, and I wish to come to you so that our souls can be one.

Hmmnn, I don't recall "soul uniting" being on my published list of kinky specialties. I don't think this one's going to be a keeper. However, we'll keep an open mind about this for a little while longer. One would hate to throw out the pervert with the bathwater over what might be a purely semantic issue.

Me: Well, I'm not entirely sure what you mean by that. My name is Mistress Matisse. I'm a dominatrix. Is that what you're looking for?
Caller: You are the earthly embodiment of The Supreme Goddess. I wish to serve you.
Me: O-kay…So, if I saw you, exactly how is it that you would serve me?
Caller: I would anoint your feet and kiss them clean, Oh Goddess.
Me: That sounds nice. What else?
Caller: I wish to enter into a sacred space with you, Oh Goddess, and be purified by your whip. And then, when I have proved myself worthy, I beseech you to allow our souls to join together in ecstasy.

I consider what he's said. This "Goddess" thing he's into is not my usual style, but I might be able to work with it. There's that bit about souls joining together in ecstasy, though – that's worth clarifying.

Me: You do realize I am not a full-service escort, don't you?
Caller: Yes, Oh Goddess, you who are the source of all power, I know that I am but an unworthy slave who must never raise his eyes above your divine feet.

Well, he's going to have to raise his eyes above my feet at some point, or he may fall down my stairs.

Me: What's your name?
Caller: Clifford, Oh Goddess.

I have to hold the phone away for a moment because I'm giggling. Clifford? I mean, it's a perfectly nice name, I just would have expected something like – Ayodhya. Or Jafar. Something a bit more in keeping with this half-Eastern-spirituality, half-Goddess-worship kink he's got going on. But no matter.

Me: So, Clifford, you do know that my fee is $250 dollars for a one-hour session?

There's a pause. Oh, see, here it comes, I thought.

Caller: My Goddess, I wish to offer you tribute, but I am very poor.

Figures the religious type would be broke, doesn't it? This guy's problem is that he doesn't have his own television show. He's not the first one to call me and plead poverty in the hopes of a discount. However, these kinds of charitable donations are not tax-deductible.

Me: (in a pleasant but unencouraging tone) Oh, that's too bad.
Caller: Oh my Goddess? Your slave would ask you a question.
Me: Go ahead.
Caller: Does the Goddess permit her slaves to make their tribute by credit card?

I toy with telling him he could offer me cattle and casks of wine, just to see what he'd say, but he shows every sign of being dead serious about this Goddess thing, so I skip it. The last thing I need is some guy showing up on my doorstep with a heifer and a couple of cases of chardonnay.

Me: No, the Goddess requires cash.
Caller: Oh Gracious Goddess, would you be willing so allow your slave to visit you for a lessor tribute?

Part of me is strongly tempted to blast him with some Goddess-y indignation. "Offer ME lessor tribute, will you, puny mortal! For that, you shall be chained to a rock so that crows can pluck out your liver! Mwah ha ha ha haaa!"
Jesus, this schtick of his is infectious. Stay focused, Matisse.

Me: No, Clifford, I can't do that, I'm afraid.
Caller: (makes sound of distress) Oh Beautiful Goddess, I am forced to delay my visit to pay you homage.
Me: That's a shame. Well, Clifford, call me back when you're ready
Caller: Oh Goddess, may I meditate about you in the meantime?

Meditate, huh? I've never heard it called that before.

Not that it'll have any impact on US obscenity trials, but still, it's nice to see that someone's being reasonable about such things.
Canadian BDSM videomaker Steve Sweet is off the obscenity hook…

Hmmmnn, maybe I should be marketing my video more heavily in Canada.

(Note: In this essay, I am absolutely not talking about any of my very dear personal friends and acquaintances.)

News Flash: I'm Not A Guy

Now, don't get me wrong. I like women. (Why, I'm one myself.) But there's a certain breed of woman who really gets on my nerves, and it's because she treats me like a guy. By that I mean, she flirts with me like she would a guy, and she expects me to respond to her like a man would.

I remember one encounter I had with such a woman. She was a stranger to me, but it was obvious she was a sex bomb among the Y-chromosome crowd. We were having a casual chat at a party when she confided in me about her newfound interest in BDSM – specifically, BDSM with women. Hmmnn, I wonder why you're telling me this? Whoops, strike that. I know why you're telling me this.

It would have been difficult not to know. She was doing the whole routine: staring into my face and batting her eyes, trailing her finger around the (low) neckline of her blouse, running her hands up and down the sides of her body, and of course, the hair toss. When she talked, she spoke in husky tones and larded her remarks with double-entendres, and when I talked, she hung on my words and laughed immoderately at the faintest suggestion of wit in my remarks. She was damn good at it, I have to give her that. It was a picture-perfect example of a heterosexual mating call.

Only one problem: I'm not a heterosexual. More specifically, I'm not a heterosexual man. But clearly Ms. Sex Bomb expected me to respond like one, i.e., to jump at the chance to have intimate access to admittedly pretty body. I'm sure she was frustrated and confused when I excused myself and went to talk to someone else, but it seemed unkind to let her go with her come-hither poses and gestures when they left me cold.

(When I think about it, it doesn't seem very flattering for a man to be treated like a Pavlovian dog who'll drool at the first tinkle of a pretty woman's bell. It's certainly not a universal male response. But a lot of them do seem to fall right into it, as anyone who's ever been in a strip club can testify to. The power of testosterone, I suppose.)

I admit to a brief flash of temptation with Ms. Sex Bomb – but I doubt it would have been the kind of scene she was thinking about.

You see, I did a scene when I was quite young, and rather raw, that made a lasting impression on me. It was between me and two extremely hot lesbian women – one butch, and one femme. It was our first scene together - they would go on to become my Master and Mistress. (Oh yes, I've been there.)

I was quite attracted to them and I had been doing my damnedest to flatter and beguile them since we'd met. They were both very appealing – but the femme was an absolute knockout, with big green eyes, thick red hair and a finely boned face. On the night of our date, I remember looking at her and thinking, This is the first time I've ever been with a woman who, may, actually, be more beautiful than I am.

And she must have read my mind, because she leaned forward to where I was on my knees in front of her, grabbed a handful of my hair at the nape of the neck and held my face close to hers. "Now listen to me," she said. "Let's get one thing straight. I know that you're used to getting your way with butches and with boys just because you're a hot babe. But those games don't work with me, so don't go shaking your ass or pouting your lips or batting your big brown eyes at me. I know all the tricks – I do them myself. I know exactly what they mean, and they don't mean shit. So don't go there."

And I thought, "Holy shit, she's on to me. Oh, fuck, am I in trouble." Looking back, I'm sure I was exactly as unsubtle in my flirtations with them as Ms. Sex Bomb was with me. It wouldn't have taken a rocket scientist to see that I was very accustomed to manipulating people with my looks and charm. I learned a lesson that night: don't kid a kidder. And don't vamp a vamp.

I've given her speech a few times myself since then, to pretty, flirty women I was holding by the scruff of the neck. They all gave me back a wide-eyed stare of alarm – which is exactly what I wanted. And for the women I've chosen to be with, that warning was enough. They dropped the schtick.

But when I considered doing a scene with Ms. Sex Bomb, I thought: Even calling her on the act wouldn't be enough – she's a hard case. I'd have to go further. I could wash off her makeup, scrap back her hair, and make her wear a baggy, ugly smock – that might snap her out of that "sexy-babe" attitude. And who knows, maybe once I stripped away all those calculated poses and sexy lines, I might actually get to someone more real, someone who could truly interest me.

Or maybe not. I walked away.

I keep looking at various pictures of this charming contraption and thinking, "I've got to get one of those made." I tried one out once at a leather conference a couple of years ago, and it's quite the experience. The even, constant pressure all over your body - it's like being underwater. And you really can't move, either. It's trippy.
So one of my projects over the next few months is to talk to a local latex clothes designer and see if she can get me the rubber required. Then it's just a matter of getting her and my carpenter together to fit it to a frame. A specialty toy, to be sure, but I have to surprise my boys on a regular basis or they'll get complacent.

I got an email from some unknown guy today, with a URL in it. The sender wrote, (sic)

will U please treet me lik this?

Now, I hate one-line emails anyway. If you're going to email me – and you want an answer - do it in a proper letter form and for god's sake, sign a name to it. It doesn't have to be your real name, but give me something to address you by.

So there's no way I'm going to bother with someone who has managed to cram that many mistakes into just seven simple words. But I was mildly curious about the link, so I went and looked at the page.

It's an ad for a Mistress who does phone dominance. And to say that her style is rather…different from mine - well, it's like saying that rapper Lil' Kim has a rather different musical style than, say, Norah Jones.

This is a clip from the page…

"Prepare to be brainwashed and conditioned to the point that your every move and every decision requires MY APPROVAL. Once I get in your head, there is no escape from the evil that is Mistress (name removed). Without Me, you are nothing! At least giving Me every dollar you have will give your life SOME meaning. you're a worthless LOSER, a sick perverted PIG and I plan to exploit your weaknesses to get what I WANT. If you have to work as a fry boy at a burger joint for a second job then you WILL if that's what I command. I CARE ABOUT GETTING ALL YOUR MONEY, I DO NOT CARE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU OR YOUR FAMILY!"

This certainly isn't the first time I've seen this kind of ad copy for dominatrixes. There must be a market for this attitude, or else they wouldn't be doing it. (The sender of this particular email does not seem to me like a client with the potential to be terribly lucrative, but hey, maybe I'm being a snob.)

And doing phone stuff is obviously different than in-person sessions. I can see where you'd have to amp up the attitude a bit.

But….Eeuuw. When I read that, I feel like I image vanilla people feel when they look at any BDSM text or imagery. It just seems so profoundly negative to me. I could not do a scene where I was really throwing that kind of energy at someone. I'm not that good an actress, and if there was ever someone I really felt that way about, I would not see him as a client. To me, if I truly had the attitude towards my clients that's portrayed in the ad copy above, I wouldn't feel any better about myself than I did about them. How could I?

I've done scenes - at the client's request - where I pretended to be angry, although I suspect I wouldn't always win an Oscar for my performance. What works best for me is if my client and I structure the role-play around something I can tap into some genuine personal anger about. One of my favorites: The strict Human Resources Director dealing with a male employee who's been sexually harassing his female co-workers. Even though I know it's a game, the concept of sexual harassment pisses me off, and I can focus that generalized outrage onto this nasty boy in front of me who's been groping his unwilling cubicle-mate.

By that logic, if you really wanted me to get pissed, I suppose wearing a John Ashcroft mask during the scene would be the way to go.

So, the "righteous indignation" style of anger? Mmm, yeah, I can get there, if someone asks. But sheer vitriolic acid? Nope.

Verbal humiliation play certainly has its place in BDSM…How many times have I called some bent-over boy a "dirty little slut" and watched him wriggle in mingled embarrassment and excitement? But just as there are physical lines you don't cross in BDSM, I think there are mental and emotional lines that shouldn't be crossed, too.

Quick Professional Note: I have had a cancellation in my client schedule tomorrow. If you're one of the gentlemen I was forced to turn down for an appointment this week because there was no time left available, you're welcome to call back and try again...

Nostalgia Tripping on ITunes…

I am such a nerd when it comes to music – I just don't keep up very well with the hot new stuff. Like Blanche Dubois, I must rely upon the kindness of stranger (and friends, too) for good recommendations.
Unless, of course, you roll back the years to the '80's...Because as mildly embarrassing as it is, I know '80's music. (Not that my taste in 80's music is so exalted, either. But at least I know the bands.)

See, I have this theory that the music that's popular when a person is an adolescent is permanently engraved into their consciousness. It will be the standard by which they judge all future music, and the sound of it will always have the power to evoke memories of the past – you know: Young Love! Carefree Days! What the fuck was I thinking with that haircut? Why did I go to Prom with that loser? The kinds of things that are probably much better to look back at than they were to actually experience. But isn't that what nostalgia is all about?

So I'm listening to memories today...

Twilight Zone, By Golden Earring
Games Without Frontiers, by Peter Gabriel
Eye In The Sky, by the Alan Parsons Project
Modern Love, by David Bowie
Poison Arrow, by ABC
Rock The Casbah, by The Clash
Relax, by Frankie Goes to Hollywood
Fantasy, by Aldo Nova
Addicted To Love, by Robert Palmer
1999, by Prince
Smooth Operator, by Sade
And She Was, by the Talking Heads
Cars, by Gary Numan
Suddenly Last Summer, by The Motels

Tiresome Phone Calls - Variety # 129-B

Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, do you do phone sessions?
Me: No, sorry, I don't.

Now, what he should have said was, "Okay, goodbye." But you already know it's not gonna be that easy, don't you?

Caller: Why not?
Me: (A pause, to indicate that I find this question somewhat less than polite.) Because I don't want to.
Caller: I'll pay you.
Me: No, I don't do phone sessions.
Caller: But I can't get to Seattle, so I really, really want to do a phone session with you.

Now, I have a very complex and highly scientific theory about people who, when confronted with a limit, respond by saying, "But, I really, really want you to." My theory is: they're buttheads.

Me: (very slowly) No, I don't do phone sessions. Goodbye.
I hang up.
Ten minutes pass.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Um, I just called you a few minutes ago?

I am deeply suspicious.

Me: Yeeeees?
Caller: So, you only do in-person sessions?
Me: Yes, that's right.
Caller: So, if I came to Seattle we could do a session together?

I already think this guy is a twit, and I can't believe I'd be willing to book a session with him. But I generously give him another thirty seconds, to see if he'll be the one to disprove my theory.

Me: Well, we'd have to discuss that a bit. I'd have to make sure you and I were…compatible in our interests, as far as a session goes. What kinds of play are you looking for?
Caller: Yeah, yeah, right – we'd have talk about it. So, like, how about if we do it like this – how about if you sort of talk me through all the stuff you'd do to me in a session, and I'll sort of respond like I would if we were doing the session. Just so we can, y'know, see if we're compatible.
Me: Let me get this straight: you want me to describe, step-by-step, exactly what I'd do to you in a session, and you'll respond as if it were really happening?
Caller: Yeah, yeah.

Oh, this is nice - we've gone from his offering to pay me to his feeble attempt at tricking me into doing it for free. Charming. My theory is confirmed, once again.

Me: (gritting my teeth) No, that is a phone session, and I told you I didn't do phone sessions. Goodbye and don't call me again.
I hang up.
Five minutes pass.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Um, so I know you told me not to call you again, but I was wondering if you knew any other Mistresses who do phone sessions?

The Perils of Popularity

I was at a suspension-bondage class yesterday, but I was feeling lazy, though. So I went and sat at the back of the room and ate Tootsie Rolls out of the candy jar. And Monk of Twisted Monk came and sat down with me and we had a nice chat for a while.

 I've only seen him play once or twice, but he seems pretty good with his ropes. And he's also becoming more known in the community because makes his living by selling hemp rope for use in bondage.

It's funny, there are definite trends in BDSM play, at least among the community of kinky people that attend BDSM events. Seven years ago, I had never seen anyone doing Japanese-inspired rope bondage. Five years ago, I had seen it a few times, mostly being done by Max. (This was before we became involved.) Three years ago, I personally knew half a dozen "rope guys" – about three of whom lived in Seattle - and knew of another half dozen or so nationwide. Now, it's the hip way to play. Nothing against those who flog, pierce, whip, spank, whatever – but rope bondage is in vogue at the moment, and lots of people are doing it or want to do it. Rope bondage is in.

One could speculate on why this is so. It may just be that every fetish has its day, but I think there are other reasons as well. For example, rope bondage is a form of BDSM play that has a lot of flexibility. It can be mild, moderate or severe. Done well, it's esthetically pleasing. And suspension bondage – the flashiest, the most dangerous, and thus the sexiest form of rope bondage, can make both top and bottom feel a bit like glamorous circus performers.

This all being the case, I gave Monk a little unsolicited advice. "Since you are becoming known in the community as a rope top who does suspension," I said, "you will need to practice a certain skill, and that is - the art of the polite refusal."

Monk is, after all, the same guy who once said to me, "It's all about the rope. Chicks dig the rope." I believe him.

I continued. "I think women get more of a chance than men to practice tactfully declining…shall we say, intimate invitations? And I've seen tops get caught off guard, just because he's not so used to women he's just met making a real serious play for his attention. But it'll happen. You're going to get all kinds of women – and men, too – asking you to hang them up. And some of them – well, they just aren't going to be your type. So you should brush up on how to say 'no thank you' gracefully."

I was relating this story later to friends over dinner. One of them, who also a rope top, acknowledged the point, saying, "Yeah, and I'm not always so tactful about it." Now, I've never seen this guy be rude, but I pointed out the difference in the two situations. "You're not selling a product," I said. "Monk is. And the very people who are likely to want to buy his rope are also the people who are likely to want him to tie them up in it. He's a pleasant, friendly guy and that's going to help him in his business. But it also means that people are going to see him as accessible and so he's going to have to walk that line or risk offending some of his customers."

Can you tell that I relate to Monk's situation? While I'm not selling a tangible product like he is, I do want people to read my columns, and come to my workshops, and for those who are so inclined, I want them to be clients of mine. But I have to politely say 'no, thank you' to a lot of people who want more from me than that. Refusing someone's offer of something that's as personal and intimate as BDSM play takes delicacy, if one is not going offend. And offending people without considering the repercussions is a luxury you give up when you make your personal pleasure into your livelihood.

This is an article by a woman who's a dominatrix in one of New York City's pro dom houses. I've never worked in such a place, but it's an interesting piece and I like her tone of voice.

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...