Various things...

I've added a "search" box to the blog, so now you can search archived entries for keywords. (Over to the right, under the list of archives.)

By the way, the "Cunning Linguists Journals" link and the black box that says "Clix" on it are toplist link-trades. That means, if you click on them, it moves my banner on that site closer to the top of the list. So if you come by here often, do me a favor and just click on one of those links occasionally. It'll make me look good in the world of sexy bloggers.

I'm probably not going to post tomorrow - I've got other writing I really need to be doing, and I generally draft my Stranger column on Sunday as well...But I thought I'd give you a few sneak previews of things I'll most likely write about here in the coming week.

* Why good manners are truly essential to the successful sex worker
* Ways in which I like to be hit on, and ways in which I don't.
* A conversation with Miss K in which she reveals an incredibly stupid thing a client said to her
* A telephone call from a man who claimed to be part of a secret SM club

And more!

And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go look at times and locations for the new Harry Potter movie...

Had another session with Milo last night…We always have a very intense time together. Playing with him is deeply satisfying to me, and I think one reason for that is that, even though I really unleash my sadistic side with him, he doesn't fear me.

That may sound odd to those of you who think that a Mistress would want her submissives to be afraid of her - but I don't get off on fear. A little nervousness – yeah, that's fine. It's natural, especially for new people. But I want people to receive what I give them with trust, and a certain kind of pleasure – even if it doesn't seem like pleasure to the uninitiated. Oh, I'll do role-plays where someone pretends to resist, saying, "No, no, stop!" - that can be lots of fun. But they'll have to have set that up with me in advance, and I'll have to be able to somehow feel that they truly want to be there.

Milo is quite clear about wanting what I give him. I love that about him. Last night I whipped his butt, hard – it's so nice of the Universe to be sending me all these boys lately who can really take hard impact play. Both Vermont and Milo take it so sweetly for me, and I so enjoy doing it.

I had Milo bent over at the waist with his arms tied tightly behind his back, which is a tough position in itself. I started with the soft leather floggers, but my sadism rather quickly got the better of me and I switched to the nasty rubber flogger. The tails on that thing are about an eighth of an inch thick – and I don't mean wide, I mean thick. When they made contact with Milo's ass – pow! - I could feel the vibration run up my arm and straight down my body to my pussy. Very hot.

But electricity is my favorite of favorites with Milo. His tolerance is increasing – I'm now having to use the nastier channels on the electrical box, whereas I used to use the nicer ones. (It's the wave pattern – certain ones are "sharper" and more intense than others.)

As usual, I staked him down the bondage table and lay on top of him. There really are not adequate words to express what deep and ferocious pleasure I took in feeling Milo's body shaking underneath me as I turned the dial up higher and higher and the electricity flowed into him with increasing strength. It was like having my own personal earthquake. It was like commanding a force of nature with a roll of my index finger and thumb. I was a storm goddess, throwing down bolts of lighting at him, and his shouts were answering cracks of thunder. It was completely intoxicating.

Love my life…

Hormones? Acting Classes? I don't know what, but something…

Ring ring!
Me: hello?
Caller: Uh, hi, is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: yes.
Caller: (very breathy voice) Hi, my name is Sherri Lynn. I saw your website and I was calling to see if you'd do a session with me.

Now, it states on my site that I don't see single women. But even aside from that, there is something about this caller that makes me deeply suspicious. The voice is very fake-sounding.

Me: Well, Sherri Lynn, I actually don't see single women, I'm sorry.
Caller: Oh, I saw that – but I was hoping you'd reconsider. I'm very beautiful – I have long…

Now I know why the voice sounds wrong. It's a guy. No woman would say "I'm very beautiful". It's a guy pretending to be a woman.

Caller: …silky legs and really nice firm breasts and –
Me: Sherri Lynn –
Caller:...a firm, round ass, and I want you to make me eat your pussy and -
Me: Stop! Stop talking, please.
Caller: But –
Me: I do not see single women – thank you and goodbye.
Click.
I hang up.
Five minutes later…
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, Mistress Matisse, I called you a few minutes ago?
Me: Yes, you did. And I told you I didn't see single women.

The only reason I'm even talking to this twit is because there's a very small chance that he/she might be a transsexual. By that I mean: she used to be a guy, but she's gone through gender reassignment therapy. That would explain the masculine voice – hormones alone won't change that, it requires a special surgery to physically shorten the vocal cords.
That doesn't mean I'd see her for a session, of course. If she is a woman now, then she falls under the I-don't-see-single-women rule, despite her tacky attempt to change my mind. But still, I'd be civil enough to try to refer her to someone else.

However, I really think this is just some schmuck trying to get free phone sex. He thinks if I believe I'm talking to a woman that I'll be willing to engage in sexy dialogue about cunnilingus. But his simulation of a woman's voice seems to be based largely on Marilyn Monroe when she sang "Happy Birthday, Mr. President". Offhand, I can't think of any women I know who actually sound like that in real life. (I don't think Marilyn even sounded like that when she wasn't singing to her illicit lover.)

Caller: So, if I could find a guy to come with me, then you'd see me?
Me: You know, I really don't think I would – I have a feeling that you and I just wouldn't be compatible. Let me ask you a question – are you a transsexual? I mean, have you had your penis surgically removed?
Caller: (in a horrified voice that's an octave deeper than the previous tone) No!
Me: Don't call me again.
Click.
I hang up.

Score another point for emasculation anxiety.

News Roundup…

Yes, I got a car, a hot red Saab 9-5. Very fast and just really nice – I'm liking it a lot already. But I feel a trifle guilty when I look at my old car. I've had that car for twelve years – it's a long-term relationship, and we've been though a lot together. It looks at me as if to say, Sure, use me, and then just throw me aside when I get old and start leaking oil. Get yourself a shiny new toy. I thought you cared about me!
I have a bad habit of anthropomorphizing… Since I'm going to donate it to charity, I have told my old car that some very nice people are going to come and take it to a nice new home where people will be very grateful to have it. Cross your fingers it doesn't do a "Christine" number on me before that happens.

And speaking of relationship changes…This will be mentioned in next weeks Stranger column, but ya'll get the sneak preview. Mike, the Worlds Most Perfect Secondary Partner, has come to me to say, in the nicest and most polite way possible, that he is falling for someone – as in, someone else. And he wishes to, at the very least, put our physical relationship on hiatus for awhile. It may be completely over - it's hard to say. I haven't yet gotten a clear picture of where things stand with the woman he's falling for. But we're going out to lunch Thursday to talk about it, so I'll know more then.

Am I sad? A little. He's a great guy and he's been lots of fun. But we'll stay friends, and my heart definitely isn't broken. It's not even a little chipped. Mike and I didn't get deep. (At least, not emotionally, heh heh.)

I'll miss lots of things about Mike – his silly humor, his wacko imagination, his house that looks like a set from The Nightmare Before Christmas, his amusing stories about his wild college days. But I must admit, some of my sadness is selfish. I mean, damn, where am I going to find another secondary partner who is as low-impact as Mike? The man was fabulous – he's smart, he's sexy, he's fun, and he never once created one iota of drama in my life. That's a completely unique experience for me with poly relationships. I loved it.

So, I'm not planning on starting anything else right away. But…there are two guys around town that I currently think are rather attractive. Actually, there a number that I think are attractive. But there are two particular guys that I feel just might, possibly, make appropriate secondaries for me.

One of them is married-but-poly. I don't know him, or his wife, ultra-well, so I'm not quite sure how I would proceed there. But he's as cute as all get-out, and frankly, his wife's kinda sexy, too. Based on past (bad) experiences, I avoid ongoing triad relationships like The Plague, and I'm not looking for a female partner right now. But I do enjoy her esthetically.

The other, who was also married-but-poly, is in the middle of getting a divorce. I can't decided if he's in the perfect place to appreciate some no-pressure fun and games, or if I should just leave him the hell alone and let him deal with his life. When I was getting divorced, I was definitely in the leave-me-the-hell-alone category. But he may be in a different place, who knows.

I'm going to be stepping carefully here. I have plenty of examples, quite close to home, of how I don't want my poly relationships to look, and what kind of energy and attitudes I don't want in my life. There are tons of people around who, though they look good and say the right things, actually have all the emotional maturity of, say, Aviril Lavigne. No, thank you.

So we'll just see what the universe drops in my lap…Meanwhile, I'm just driving along the road, playing the classic Queen song, "I'm In Love With My Car".

Dear Mistress Matisse,
In your blog, you only talk about how nice your clients are and what a good time you have with them. Isn't this a bit unrealistic? I'm a dancer, and I get a lot of asshole customers at my job. Surely you have clients you dislike, or who do things that annoy you?

Not for more than one session, I don't. I've danced myself, so I do know what that's like, and I agree, there's a pretty high asshole ratio there. But it's a whole different situation for me. I can pick and choose who I'm going to see, and I'm good at sussing out who I'd like and enjoy playing with over the phone.

However, there is one type of client who, in the past, has annoyed me – and in one case, seriously pissed me off. It took me longer to learn how to spot them early on. That's because what they do is more subtle - they aren't dangerous or blatantly disrespectful, they don't disobey the rules, or try to get me to do things I don't wish to do. But I hate dealing with them - so I won't. They are the guys I call Mr. Defensive. I've learned not to waste my time with clients like this. It's not that I've met that many of them - just a few, really. But having even one in the regular roster is too many.

Mr. Defensive's problem is that he's deeply conflicted about what he's doing. Getting off on being submissive doesn't fit his image of himself, and he's unable to let go of that and just say, "What the fuck – I don't know why, but it makes my dick hard, so I'm just going to do it and enjoy it. It's got nothing to do with who I am in the rest of my life. It's just for fun." Mr. Defensive hates himself for his desires. He brings all that self-hatred into the dungeon with him, projects his negative attitudes about what we're doing onto me, and then spends the entire session responding to them. He doesn't seem to be enjoying himself at all, he doesn't believe that I like what I do, and after the session is over I can feel him trying to psychologically distance himself from what he's just done as fast as he can. Usually he'll do that by making disparaging remarks about what freaky weirdoes my other clients must be. The subtext clearly being "I'm not one of those people". It's the kind of energy that makes me close the door behind someone and say to myself, "Thank you God that's over."

I'm always amazed when Mr. Defensives call me back for another session, because it's so clear to me that it's just not working. But they usually do. The urge is all the stronger for them trying to forbid it to themselves.

Ultimate Mr. Defensive moment: there was a client I'd been seeing for a year or so. He was so extremely defensive that it was impossible to have any kind of connection with him. (It was only barely possible to have a conversation with him.) But he kept calling, and I kept doggedly trying to create a scene with him that I, at least, could feel good about. I'm rather stubborn that way – too much so, really.

So I'd been working extra hard, trying to find the button to push in this guy that would let him have the experience he seemed to saying he wanted. I tried every toy, every type of sensation, every role play I could think of – and that's a lot. It never worked, and every time he left I swore I wouldn't book with him again. But a few weeks would go by, and he'd call, and I'd mentally vacillate for a minute and give in. He's not a bad guy – maybe he just needs more time to trust me before he can really let go. I'll give him another chance. Soft-hearted? Maybe – but I also just hate to lose, and admitting I couldn't really get this man to embrace the experience I felt he wanted felt like losing.

I was about three-fourths of the way through a session with the Mr. Defensive in question. I had him tied down to my bondage table on his back, and I was preparing to do some electrical play with him. He looked up at me and said, "Can I ask you a question?" This was a common ploy of this guy – he would try to try to regain some sense of control by asking me questions like, "Why do you think you like doing this?" It was his way of sabotaging the mood and the flow of the scene, and an attempt to put me on the defensive by making me explain myself. Usually I would say, "Let's talk about it later," and just go on with what I was doing.

But that day he said, "So, why do you think you hate men so much?"

I stood there and stared at him for a moment, and then I turned around and walked out of the room. I was so angry that for a moment, I could hardly see. Why do you hate men so much? This, when I've been knocking myself out trying to make something happen for this asshole, this is what he gives back to me? I pour my positive energy into these sessions with him, try to give him an experience that's good for him even though he's resisting it all the way, and he has the nerve to tell me I hate men? How dare he? How dare he! Fuck, I should show him what a scene with someone who hates men would look like. It was the only time in my career when I was really tempted, just for a second, to hurt someone in a non-consensual way.

I sat on the couch in my reception room and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Don't let him get to you, I told myself. Don't let him dump his shit on you. Get your boundaries up, girl. What he says, what he thinks – it's got nothing to do with you, and you know it. It's all about the bullshit in his head. Breathe, and let it go.

Through the curtains into the playroom, I could hear him breathing and stirring restlessly on the table. "Mistress?" he called out.
"Don't talk."
Now, the question was: untie him and kick him out immediately – or finish the session? My first impulse was to throw him out, pronto. Then I thought, But then he wins. He's trying to get control by making me lose my cool. He's trying to make himself feel powerful by emotionally manipulating me. I'm not going to let him make me react like that.

A few more deep breaths, and I walked back into the dungeon. "The Mistress has decided she doesn't like you talking," I announced. "So we'll just fix that right now." I took a large gag and put it into his mouth, and then I went on with the rest of the session I'd planned. I got him out the door without any conversation afterwards. And the next time he called, I refused to book with him.

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

I haven't forgotten you...a longer post will come later, but I'm totally taken up with car shopping, social occasions, and poly negotiations...

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

~dashing off...

Dinner with Miss K…

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

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

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

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

And This Would Be My Problem Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things I Do When Max Is Away Overnight

1) Come home and leave my stuff in a trail all over the house – my shoes, clothes, various bags I was carrying, my opened mail, my unopened mail; everything just gets flung down wherever I happen to be.
2) Turn up the heat, because he's always hot, and I'm always cold. Yes, even in June.
3) Play music he doesn't especially like very loud.
4) Sing along with music he doesn't especially like very loud.
5) Do a few of my old favorite stripper moves in front of the mirror to see if I still remember how.
6) Talk to my cat.
7) Eat ice cream out of the container.
8) Pet my bunny.
9) Hog all the pillows and covers.

So, anyone else see the freaky sky flash late last night? I was sitting in my office working on some writing stuff. There's a large window all along the wall to my left, and suddenly I saw the whole sky just light up. It was very weird. I thought we were being attacked or something, or that a large plane had crashed. Then I heard a few distant bangs - a bit like far-away fireworks on the 4th of July. I opened the window and sat there staring out for a while to see if it happened again or if I heard anything, but there was nothing else.
Apparently it was a small meteor...At least that's what CNN says. I'm sure conspiracy theorists in the area are already having a field day.

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

More car venting, skip it if you're looking for the dirty bits…

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

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

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

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

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

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I got a second-hand compliment while I was having dinner with a friend last night.
"Remember my ex-boyfriend Bob? You met him at that barbeque we had?" she asked me.
"Yes, I remember him," I said.
"So, I wanted to tell you - he just thought you were the prettiest thing. He was really smitten with you."
I smiled. "That's very flattering. He was a nice guy."
"The funny thing is, though…Well, you know he's not kinky, right?"
"Right."
"So he just really did not want to believe that you were. I mean, I told him – but he was kinda like 'oh, she's probably not really heavy into it'."
I laughed. "Does he know I'm a pro?"
"Yes – I mean, we all tried to tell him, but he just thought you were so sweet and nice that you must just be into the light stuff."
I laughed harder. "Oh, yeah - that's me. Just into the light stuff. I should ask him if he'd like to play with me sometime."

I've gotten this "But you look so sweet!" reaction before. It doesn't bother me. It just means I can lull people into a false sense of security…heh heh heh.
But people's ability to deny what they don't want to be true is sort of amazing. Yes, Bob, I'm sweet and pleasant and I can comport myself properly at a family barbeque. I am, also, a serious and deeply-dyed pervert. This juxtaposition of facts may cause the Bobs of the world a little cognitive dissonance, but I think they should consider it a shot across the bow. There are many, many unsuitable mates floating around who are far less forthright about their little idiosyncrasies than I am.

Some thought-provoking quotes on BDSM...

"These things don't come from our childhood; they come from our historic
past. They are the seductive and terrifying symbols of cruelties that were routine right up through the eighteenth century."
--Anne Rice

"After all, sexual fantasy and the things that thrill us are often dark and dirty, though we usually don't like to admit that out loud."
--Susan Wright

"Spanking is also a show. It's street theater or lyric opera depending on the circumstances. Some fear discovery; others revel in spectacle."
--Jean-Pierre Enard

"Leather is thicker than blood."
--Gayle Rubin

"To whip is also to caress."
--Valerie Steele

"There are really two kinds of submissives in the world: those who believe they don't deserve any better…and those who believe they don't deserve any less."
--Author Unknown

"It's your body; play with it."
--Fakir Musafar

"Bottoms are alchemists who magically transform pain into sex."
--Dossie Easton and Catherine A. Liszt

"Sadomasochism enjoys all the forms of religious piety--kneeling, praying, worshipping, sacrificing, invoking, and punishing."
--Terence Sellers

"The body is both a pleasure palace and a torture chamber."
--Charles Levin

"The best way of enlarging and multiplying one's desires is to try to limit them."
--The Marquis de Sade

"A fetish is a story masquerading as an object."
--Robert Stoller

"You can read a hundred books and cruise a thousand websites and chatrooms,
but it will not equal one hour of real-time BDSM experience."
--Sensuous Sadie

"Ultimately, the purpose of a flogging is to inflict pleasure."
--Mitch Kessler

"You are no one’s slave, dog, slut, or sub until you give them that right. Only you can give it. No one can take or assume it without your permission."
--Jack Rinella

Not So Much Annoying As Just Somewhat Puzzling

Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes it is.
Caller: Great. I've been looking at your website. I'm going to be in Seattle in about a month on a business trip, and I want to make an appointment with you.
Me: Ah. So, were you wanting to do that now?
Caller: No, no - I don't really know my schedule. I don't really even know the exact dates.
Me: Okay – do you have any questions I can answer for you?
Caller: No, your website's very informative. I just wanted to tell you I'll be calling you.
Me: Okay, that sounds fine.
Caller: Great. Bye!
Click.

It's not that I mind, really…But one does wonder what, precisely, the purpose of this call was. He called me to tell me he'll be calling me? O-kay, I'll certainly be waiting for that – except, of course, that I don't know what his name is, or what days he'll be here, or what he's looking for in a session, or even if he's someone I would want to see. But aside from all that, I'll certainly be looking for his call.

Annoying Phone Call #4,122,893

Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, I'm calling about your ad.
Me: Yes, that's right – what would you like to know?

I always ask this because I have no idea what information this person already has about me. There's no point to my launching into a spiel about fees, hours of availability, et cetera, if the caller already knows all that.

Caller: Could you describe yourself, please?

Oh, shit. I hate it when they say this. Now that we all have websites with photos, I don't get this question very often, thank god. Because what this guy wants me to do is describe the way I look in minute detail – my exact height, weight, age, measurements, including bra size, hair length, blah blah blah.
It's not that I don't think the guy's entitled to know what I look like. That's why I have pictures on the damn website. But the verbal run-down thing - well, I can't speak for everyone, but every sex worker I know personally really hates this. We all think it feels degrading to be asked to describe the way we look as if our attributes were the features on a used car. I've worked in places where the women all stood in a lineup for clients to choose from, and that didn't bother me at all. But this bothers me. So I won't do it.

Me: Did you see an ad of mine – is that how you got this number?
Caller: Yes.
Me: Okay, well, that’s a picture of me in the ad.
Caller: It's kind of a small picture. Would you say you were a C-cup or a D-cup?

I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.

Me: I also have an extensive website with a lot of photos of me, and I do ask that everyone read over it before booking a session with me.
Caller: Oh, uh…I mean, I can't afford internet access.

The Thirty-Seconds rule strikes again! Thirty seconds on the phone, and you'll know if there's a chance in the world. And let me tell you, if this guy can't afford internet access, then he definitely can't afford me. In fact, he can't even afford to hear me talk about myself.

Me: Oh, too bad. Well, I understand. Thanks a lot, buh-bye.
Click.
I hang up quickly before he can say another word. If you want to hear a girl talk about her tits, I think, you'll have to call somewhere else.

No nasty stories today, sorry. I'm still deep in car-shopping-mode. The update is on that is: I went to the Honda dealership yesterday and drove one of the new Accords, and…I wasn't really impressed. The doors and the dash are too high, even with the seat raised I felt like I was sitting in the bottom of a bucket.
This totally bummed me out, because I just want to do this and be done with it, but I'm not going to buy a car I don't like, even though it's technically the right car for me.
So the Accord is like the guy I know I should marry, because he's so nice and reliable and dependable and all. But we didn't have much chemistry.
And my mind keeps wandering to that sexy guy over there at the Mitsubishi dealership, the Eclipse. (Not the Spyder, you understand – owning a convertible here in the land of liquid sunshine has always struck me not so much as optimism as willful denial.)
Mr. Eclipse – well, his reviews are not as four-star as the Accord. Nothing one can pin down to a specific problem – but he's just not as bulletproof as Mr. Accord. I can't be sure how he'd handle a long-term relationship. But, ooooohhh, he's fast and smooth and fun…
Then there's the dark horse, Mr. Toyota Celica. I think he might be a little…young for me. I see him most often in the company of boys between 18-25, and frankly, he's usually a bit overdressed for my taste. But if I spent some time getting to know him, I might see that he's a great guy underneath it all.
I am firmly resolved to not think about this guy, because he's out of my league. But damn he's fine.

I am poised on the brink of buying a new car, and I have a feeling that process is going to command a lot of my spare time for the next few days, as I gather price quotes via email, visit dealerships, and get sales-pitched relentlessly by determined guys with silk neckties and Michael Douglas-esque hair.
But I know exactly what I want - a Honda Accord coupe - so it's just a matter of beating them down to a reasonable price. (One of my old lovers was a car salesperson and she gave me all the dirt on how this works.)
I'm armed with my Consumer Reports invoice quotes, a competitive bid from CarsDirect.com, and a cool assurance that I don't have to buy this car today, or any day, until I get my price. Listen for the sound of salesmen gnashing their teeth and tearing their hair in frustration. Mwah ha ha ha haaaa....