Not a long post today, as I have a photo shoot soon and I need to get ready for it. (I’m the model, not the shooter.)

Kudos to Monk for winning the "Iron Chef" sushi-making competition last night at the Wet Spot. Not only was the sushi just right, he had a cool presentation and a great-looking back-up crew.

Speaking of modeling, does anyone but me think Cameron Diaz is acting like a spoiled brat? Years ago, she made a rather silly-looking pseudo-SM film legally, and at that time, she presumably got paid and signed a release.
But now, she feels it might tarnish her image, so she's trying to block it's distribution. What did she think was going to happen – the producer was going to keep it in his closet? Of course it's going to get seen by lots of people. That's the purpose of films, even tacky sexploitation ones – and this one looks pretty tacky.
I really don't like it when people try to dodge the consequences of their actions. I'd have a lot more respect for her as an actress if she said, "Yeah, I was nineteen, I needed the money, I thought it might be a way for me to get into better movies, so I did it. Now I find it embarrassing and I wish I hadn't, but – what's done is done."
I don't mean that celebs should have no privacy. Paparazzi hanging out of trees and shooting through windows to get nude pictures of an actress/model/rock star is a whole different thing. But that isn't the situation here.
So suck it up, Cameron. The fuss you're making over this is only going to inflate and prolong the scandal. And who knows, maybe that's what you want. I'm told that in Hollywood, one spins absolutely everything to get the maximum media coverage.
Meanwhile, I'm going get ready for my own close-up…

It's been a crazy week - and no end in sight. The client line won't stop ringing, I still haven't done my pre-Thunder fetishwear shopping, and my weekend is already booked solid. It's fun stuff, though, a photo shoot – and high time for some new pics, too – and a date with Jake. I've also discovered a new addiction: Jones sugar-free Black Cherry soda. Yum.

The theme for the week, work-wise, has been "Boys In Skirts". Tuesday I had one of my favorite fancy-dressing guys. I'll call him Pretty Boy, and I say that affectionately. PB is a damned handsome man, and he's got a trim, attractive body that looks quite sexy in little numbers from Victoria's Secret. We've been playing for a couple of years now, and I really enjoy him.
Wednesday I had a new client, a cute, lean Brit with a penchant for heavy corporal punishment – yay! – during which he wanted to wear a sheer little thong and stockings and a black satin skirt. "Corporal just feels so much better through satin," he said passionately. We had a delightful time.

"Boys In Skirts Week" will come to an abrupt end today, though. Milo is coming to see me, and he doesn't wear high heels. A good thing, too – he's already six-four or thereabouts. He'd bang his head on my ceiling.

But I actually don't have a whole lot of cross-dresser clients, and that's not an accident. In my observation, there are several distinct categories of (male) clients who want to put on women's clothes. They are:

1) Guys who like it because it's an extra-naughty and forbidden thing to do.

2) Closely related: Guys who like it because women's lingerie is silky and satin-y and it just feels good, tactilely.

3) Guys who are seeking the "erotic humiliation" experience of being "forced" to dress up in women's clothes. For these guys, the mistress cross-dressing them is a punishment, or a demonstration of her cruelty and dominance. Frequently referred to as "Forced Fem", or "FF".

4) Guys who truly want to explore their gender issues. They may or may not be transsexuals, but for these guys, this goes deeper than just the clothes – it's about gender identity.

I'm all down with Categories One and Two. Yes, I was hot for Tim Curry in Rocky Horror. Men in garter-belts can be quite sexy. Not something I'd want every single day – that would rob it of its zing. But charming on an occasional basis.

Category Four – well, I certainly support the idea, but facilitating it isn't my area of expertise. A lot of these boys want me to do a "full-transformation" on them, supplying wigs, makeup, and complete outfits. Sorry, I don't have the skills, and it doesn't particularly turn me on, so I don't do it. (A message to all the local aspiring Mistresses: Category Four boys are an underserved market in general. Acquire the equipment and the techniques to make this your specialty, and you'll own this particular demographic.)

It's Category Three clients I'll have nothing to do with. The whole concept pisses me off. It always has, really, although I try to be polite about it when I'm around other pro dommes who do it a lot. But think about it: the idea that I would punish or humiliate a man by making him resemble a woman – like me! - well, I find that incredibly misogynistic.
I get callers telling me they want me to dress them up and "treat them like a woman". Oh, what does that mean, exactly? You want me to pass you over for promotions and pay you less for doing the same job? You want me to deny you birth control options?
(Note: I know exactly what they mean – they mean they want me to fuck them up the ass. But I think if I'm going to dress someone up in stockings and a corset and fuck them, they should take it like a man.)

So am I being too literal about the "forced feminization" thing? Maybe. It's a fantasy, and it's a mistake to equate what we do in fantasy-play with reality. I've done age-play with other grownups, for example, and nobody involved was a real-life child molester. It's a game.

But fuck it – I'm long past the point in my career where I have to indulge people's fantasies even if the fantasy bothers me. And the idea of "punishing" a man by dressing him up in women's clothes definitely irritates me.

Fleshbot is conducting a Google bombing on the so-called "war on pornography", and I think thats just great, so I decided to be a Foxy Freedom Fighter, too...

Another go-read-other-people's-stuff post today, because I'm busy writing an extra-long "Control Tower" and tomorrow is deadline.

Conrad James of Death, Sex and Hunger writes feelingly about his relationships with sex work and sex workers...

The rougher side of sex work - Two exotic dancers punctured a third dancer's breast implant with a broken wine glass...
I saw plenty of catfights in my time as a dancer, although I managed to avoid being involved in any. But I can say that the one time another woman threatened to kick my ass, I told her if she tried I'd punch her right in her store-bought boobs and rupture them. And she backed off.
(Link snagged from Daze Reader.)

And the prettier side - an absolutely gorgeous photo of my friend Rose Algren, as taken by well-known fetish photographer Ken Marcus. (I'm so jealous she got to work with him!)

Last night I stood on a balcony overlooking Lake Union with a group of friends and watched a great fireworks display. We could see the ones over the waterfront in the distance, too. I used to be kinda "yeah, whatever" about fireworks, but the technology of that stuff is so amazing these days, it's pretty cool. So I still hate the insane traffic on the 4th of July, but I do like everything else about it.

I'm going to work out, and then go see "Fahrenheit 9/11", so I'm off. But meanwhile, for your reading pleasure…

From the You-Go-Girl Department: Woman Fights Off Rapist By Biting His Penis

Monk makes note of my bruise fetish...

And a interesting discussion about polyamory, with a set of definitions, from Lilith, the Cosmic Babe.

A somewhat disturbing personal essay about one woman's masochistic desires.

Sometime this summer, in a high-rise condo looking out over the city, I will be given something I've been wanting for a long time: a black eye.

Let me preface this by saying: the author is a grown woman and she can do what she likes. I respect her right to make choices even if I don't agree with them. And I can't really make a bullet-proof judgment about her based solely on this article.

Still, if she was a friend of mine, and she told me all this and asked for my opinion, I'd tell her she should be working with a kink-friendly therapist.

It's not the physical intensity of the play that bothers me. I've participated in some very extreme scenes, and I loved it. It's the way she sees herself, and the way she feels about her behavior. Anytime that someone says, "I have strong sexual urges that lead me to actions I later regret. More than regret: I hate myself for them."- that's a problem. The author says she's seen therapists and taken medication, and that it doesn't help. My answer – not the right therapists, not the right medication. They say cigarette smokers try to quit an average of eight times before they're successful. Get back on the couch, and get back to the pharmacist.

And I tell you what - I would never, but never, want to top someone like this. It gives me the creeps just thinking about it. I've met people who I think were something like this woman, and I can remember thinking, They're looking for a monster and they're hoping it's me. Fuck that, I don't want to play with someone who's hoping to bring out my inner serial killer.

SM is not, in and of itself, a pathological activity. But there is such a thing as doing SM for all the wrong reasons. That's what this looks like to me.

Master and Commander

Ring Ring!

Me: hello?
Caller: Uh, yes, hello, is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes it is.
Caller: Fine, fine – I, uh, have a question.

This guy is speaking in a quick, nervous, reedy sort of voice that makes me think of Woody Allen. I picture him making a lot of jerky hand gesticulations as he talks.

Me: Okay, what is it?
Caller: So you have that column in The Stranger, and you've talked about your submissive, Jae.
Me: Yes...
Caller: And that's the same Jae who's an escort, right? I've seen her ad.
Me: Yes, that's right.
Caller: Well, I've always been, uh, very curious, you know, about submissive role play. Women, I mean, being submissive. To me, I mean.

Based on about fifteen seconds of conversation with this guy, I'm finding it hard to really picture him as a dominant. But hey, none of us popped out of our mother's womb with floggers in our hands, and one should be nice to the new kids.

Me: I understand. So - what question do you have that I can answer for you?
Caller: Uh, well, I was wondering if Jae would be willing to be, uh, submissive. To me. In a scene like the ones you talk about.

This is not what I expected.

Me: Hmmmnn. You know, I really couldn't say. You would need to ask her about that.
Caller: Um, I was – well, I was hoping you'd just tell her she had to do it.

Oh yeah, because a dominant guy like him doesn't want to have to do anything scary like ask her himself. Jesus, how lame is this?

And he doesn't understand that Jae and I don't have that kind of D/s relationship. It's not a formal thing anymore. I really enjoy smacking her around and so, given the opportunity, I'll do that. But she's by no means my slave.

It occurs to me that I'm assuming he means he wants to hire her as a professional submissive. I hope to God he doesn't think that I would order Jae to – well, I don't order her to do anything, really, because that's pretty much a waste of time. Jae isn't going to do a damn thing she doesn't want to do. It's simply smart planning on my part that when I play with Jae, most of the things I tell her I want her to do are things she wants to do anyway, so she does them.

But I'm crystal clear about the fact that I will not be ordering Jae to bottom to some weirdo guy for free. So let's just make sure we're on the same page about that.

Me: I'm actually not involved in any of Jae's business arrangements, you would need to talk to her about anything like that.
Caller: Yes, but she's more likely to do it if you ask her.

At least we both know this would be a business arrangement. Now he simply needs to understand that it's not my business. Sometimes sheer repetition is the key to dealing with situations like this.

Me: I'm not involved in any of her business arrangements. You would need to talk to her about that.
Caller: But she'll do it if you tell her to.

Okay, the broken-record technique doesn't seem to be working here. Let's try challenging some of his assumptions.

Me: So, why would I want to have her be submissive to you?

This seems to surprise him. There some hemming and stammering, and then he says,

Caller: I don't know, maybe like as a punishment?

Obviously he has a clear sense of what playing with him would be like for Jae.

Me: Look, I don't have that kind of relationship with Jae. I don't order her to play with strangers, and I don't punish her for things. (Although God knows it's a charming idea sometimes.) You're going to have to call Jae and talk to her about this yourself.

I silently apologize to Jae as I say this, knowing full well she'd prefer I tell this guy that he's not allowed to call her, ever. Sorry, honey, you'll have to handle this, I think, making a mental note to call her and give her a heads-up after I hang up with this guy.

Caller: I really wish you'd tell her to.
Me: No, I'm not going to do that.
Caller: I could pay you a fee.
Me: No, I do not want money from you. I will not be involved in this.
Caller: I'm really disappointed.
Me: I hear that.
Caller: Well, if that's your final word…
Me: Yes, it is.

Grumpily, he says goodbye and hangs up. I'm driving in heavy traffic and so I concentrate on the road for, perhaps, fifteen minutes. Then…

Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hey, it's me.
Me: Hey Jae! How you doing, honey?
Jae: I'm fine. But I just got the weirdest fucking phone call. Listen, did you tell some guy you'd order me to bottom to him?

I hold the phone away from my mouth and howl with outrage.

I went on my second date with Jake tonight. We had a lovely time, and he got to meet Max, which I'm pleased about. Max and I don't have an absolutely iron-clad rule about this like some poly couples we know, but we both strongly prefer that we meet each other's new partners before any clothing starts being shed. So I told Max where Jake and I were having dinner and he dropped by for a few minutes on his way to his date with Maura.
I did tell Jake this would be happening, in case you were wondering. But Jake's a guy who seems to roll with things fairly easily, so I doubt he would have been hugely thrown if Max had just walked up.

The three of us chatted a bit, and that was all fine, and then Max took off, having done the official primary-partner thing.

Not that Jake and I shed any of our clothing tonight. In fact, he's been so very gentlemanly towards me that I was sort of wondering what his – ahem – intentions were, and I decided to be direct about it. We went to Septieme for dessert after dinner, and I asked him straight out, "So, are you, like, attracted to me?"
He blinked at me. "Yes, can't you tell?"
Well, I wasn't sure. I mean, we've been having a great time talking and hanging out, and I could tell he liked me as a person, but that's different than wanting to jump someone.

That question has now been resolved to my satisfaction. He kisses very well...

I knew I liked Bill Clinton. I mean, if I didn't, I wouldn't have stood in line for five and half hours in Pioneer Square - with a thousand or so other people - just to have him sign a copy of his book for me.

But now, having met him in person, shaken his hand, and had him smile at me – well, I think I have new fetish. (Roman, are you listening?) Oh, wow. Serious, but serious, charisma. In about seven seconds of interaction, he made me feel like I was the person he came there to see.

Max and I got downtown at about four in the afternoon, with folding chairs and an ice chest, and settled down at the back of a line of several hundred people. We weren't at the end of the line for long – I'm glad we didn't get there any later than we did, because pretty soon the line behind us was snaking up and down the square as the Elliot Bay Bookstore employees struggled to keep order. It wasn't easy, especially since a lot of people in line were joined by partners or friends, prompting a few accusations of line-jumping from touchy types in the crowd.

About six-thirty, the police and Secret Service agents started arriving. Guys in black suits with wires in their ears everywhere, and motorcycle cops cruising around and around the block.

At eight-fifteen, the word went through the crowd: he's here. I started getting excited.

About nine pm, our section of the line was within sight of the door. Bookstore employees instructed us in what we were allowed to take inside with us, and made sure the inner flap of the book jacket was tucked into the page Clinton would be signing, so it could easily be found.

Nine-thirty, and we're in the room with him, at the back of the line. I stared at him. He looks slimmer in person – or maybe he's just lost weight. But otherwise he looked just like he does on TV.

And then we were at the front of the line, and he signed my book. As I shook his hand, I smiled at him and said, "I wish you were still the president."

He looked me in the eye and said, "That's a nice thing to say, thank you." And he smiled back. I do not lie, I felt my heart beating faster. His assistant handed me my book back, and I walked away, but I paused and looked back at him over my shoulder. He happened to look up and catch my eye, and he smiled at me again. I think I actually blushed. I felt like a fourteen-year-old. I caught myself thinking, I wonder if he thinks I'm pretty? I had to shake myself: Matisse, get a grip. He can't even see you - he's smiled at so many people today, he probably hasn't completely focussed his eyes since he had breakfast.

I've met a few celebrities before, but I have not met many people who had such an effect on me in such a tiny space of time. And according to the lady counting heads at the door, I was the seven-hundredth-and-some-odd person at the Elliot Bay Bookstore whose book he had signed, and who he had smiled at and shaken hands with. He was at Costco earlier in the day, doing the same thing, and from what I hear his whole book-tour schedule has been pretty non-stop. I mean, that's a talent. Lots of people can be charming and attentive and make you feel special - for short spaces of time. I think I can do all right in that department myself on good days. But do that for hours and days on end - wow, that's impressive. I knew it intellectually before, but now that I've experienced just that little snippet...Well, all I can say is: Bill Clinton has definitely got a gift.

The Foot Worship Party

It all began late last year when I was contacted by a very polite man named Ben. He'd found me through my website and thought I'd be perfect for his project - could we meet? I agreed, and so we met at a Starbucks, where he explained his idea to me.

He wanted to throw a party for foot-fetishists, and he wanted me to attend. He would arrange for a suitable space, interview and approve a handful of models, publicize the event to foot-fetishists, host the party and see to it that things went according to plan…My part in this was to show up, look pretty, be charming, and allow the guests to kiss and caress and worship my feet – at twenty dollars per ten-minute interval. Guests, I might add, who had paid a healthy fee to Ben to attend the party to start with.

This sounded too good to be true. "Really? Just foot worship? No sex, no nudity?"
Ben looked horrified and hastened to reassure me. No sex whatsoever, he said.

I liked Ben - he had a nicely deferential attitude - but I wasn't sanguine about his project. I walked away from that meeting thinking, he's a sweet guy, but he'll never make it happen. The boys aren't gonna go for that set-up. I felt that guys who were into foot-worship would be too inhibited to engage in their fetish in front of other people.

I was wrong. You'd think a girl who used to be a dancer would have seen the parallels in the concept – now that I've done it, I find the arrangement very like doing private dances at a strip club. Both places create an atmosphere where it's permissable to be engaging in relatively intimate behavior in close proximity to other people, and so - it's okay. I mean, swingers clubs and public dungeons do this, too - but that's slightly different. Because of the economic element, I think a strip club is a more accurate analogy.

There was a hand-picked lineup of models – I think there were eight of us at this party – and a very interesting cross-section of guys. Out of between thirty and forty guys, there was a broad range of ages, apparent nationalities/races, and there seemed to be a range of socio-economic backgrounds, too, although that's harder to know for sure. Several of the guys had traveled here from out of town just for the party – in one case, all the way from the East Coast. I was slightly surprised to see several guys who couldn't have been more than twenty-five - I wouldn't have expected them to be at this party.

I arrived at the party Saturday night, checked in with Ben, changed into my sexy outfit, and joined the party. It was being held in a large Victorian-style house, and people were scattered throughout the living room, the hall, and the dining room. It was understood that the second floor bedrooms were for "foot sessions", as was the downstairs den. So the idea was to simply float, chatting and socializing, until you were asked to do a session.

It didn't take long. I had seen that other girls were already coming and going from the private rooms when I arrived. (I came late – the Mistress's privilege.) And after Ben gave me a glowing introduction to the room, it was only a few minutes before one of the men I was chatting with said, "So, would you like to go downstairs?"

Now, I love having my feet kissed and touched – sometimes it's a sexual turn-on, and sometimes it's just very sensually pleasurable, like a good massage. It depends on the guy, the setting, and my mood. But it's always a good thing, and I don't recall ever having said to myself, "Okay, I think I have had enough of that now." However, at the end of the party, I stood up and thought, Well, I think I actually got enough tonight.

I also had an almost embarrassingly large wad of cash stuffed into the waistband of my outfit. (Sexy-girl clothes never have pockets.) At one point I kept trying to go put my money into my purse, but every time one guy finished his session, thanked me and got up, another one would appear. So I'd sit back down on the couch, clean my feet with a paper towel and the tongue-friendly cleanser Ben provided, and start all over again. I didn't have a session with every guy there, but I did get to most of them, and a number of them did two or three sessions with me.

So that was the party I went to Saturday night. It was actually the second foot-party I've been to, but the first one was cut short by an unfortunate visit from the police department. I'll tell you about that some other time…

Oh, this is Ben's site, if you're interested…

Note to my friends: I will be out of town July 15th to 19th to attend the BDSM conference Thunder In The Mountains, so if you're thinking of trying to book something with me soon, please plan accordingly...

Sometimes you people worry me. This a report from FreeFind, the site that provides my search box. Some of the queries are quite reasonable, but some of them, well, read for yourself...

Most Recent Queries
Day Time of Query Query
--- -------------------- ---------------
Mon Jun 28 14:46:37 2004 manners
Mon Jun 28 13:00:38 2004 caller
Mon Jun 28 13:00:21 2004 caller
Mon Jun 28 11:37:57 2004 mike
Mon Jun 28 11:36:24 2004 mike
Mon Jun 28 11:29:25 2004 mad mad house
Mon Jun 28 05:09:20 2004 reality show
Mon Jun 28 03:35:56 2004 mike
Mon Jun 28 03:35:42 2004 max
Sun Jun 27 21:12:07 2004 lilith
Sun Jun 27 07:31:54 2004 pedogirl
Sun Jun 27 03:08:22 2004 pretty girl
Sat Jun 26 21:34:59 2004 trans
Sat Jun 26 21:34:51 2004 trans
Sat Jun 26 08:30:22 2004 Tired Top Toy
Sat Jun 26 00:48:44 2004 bodybag
Sat Jun 26 00:13:24 2004 vermont
Fri Jun 25 23:56:59 2004 vermont
Fri Jun 25 23:32:13 2004 butches
Fri Jun 25 22:23:26 2004 escorts
Fri Jun 25 17:13:39 2004 "submissive girls"
Fri Jun 25 17:08:29 2004 submissive girls
Fri Jun 25 14:06:24 2004 mike
Fri Jun 25 13:48:34 2004 mike
Fri Jun 25 07:43:30 2004 milo
Fri Jun 25 07:42:50 2004 islands
Thu Jun 24 14:50:12 2004 Miss K
Thu Jun 24 14:40:38 2004 Miss K
Thu Jun 24 14:37:12 2004 Miss K
Thu Jun 24 14:33:50 2004 Miss K
Thu Jun 24 13:01:20 2004 cheese
Thu Jun 24 12:08:57 2004 cuckold
Thu Jun 24 11:17:24 2004 party
Thu Jun 24 01:36:34 2004 comport
Wed Jun 23 23:27:41 2004 saab
Wed Jun 23 17:54:02 2004 book laugh
Wed Jun 23 17:53:43 2004 book
Wed Jun 23 15:40:31 2004 digital
Tue Jun 22 08:26:11 2004 boobs
Tue Jun 22 08:25:47 2004 bra
Tue Jun 22 08:03:50 2004 caning
Tue Jun 22 08:03:27 2004 cbt
Tue Jun 22 08:01:15 2004 cane
Tue Jun 22 06:07:18 2004 dog
Mon Jun 21 22:29:12 2004 gag
Mon Jun 21 17:26:35 2004 spanking video
Mon Jun 21 09:16:55 2004 strap on
Mon Jun 21 07:45:39 2004 pottery
Mon Jun 21 07:45:31 2004 homemade
Mon Jun 21 07:45:21 2004 chad
Mon Jun 21 07:45:16 2004 2003
Mon Jun 21 02:26:25 2004 mama
Mon Jun 21 02:25:02 2004 mamma
Sun Jun 20 23:16:26 2004 thick

"Pedogirl"? Now, what is that about? "BodyBag"? "Cheese"? "Cuckold"? Oh, I ask you...

And, "dog"? God, I don't even want to think about that one too much.

"Pottery"? Well, all right, that one seems like a long shot - but, hey, whatever...

Wow, someone really wants to know about Miss K, don't they? Mike would be amused to know he's getting that many queries. And what is Max, chopped liver? One lousy query, that's all he gets? He is my primary partner, folks.

And what's up with my dentist's name - "Chad"? I know I mentioned him in my column once, but people - that was a joke. I don't really consider visiting my dentist to be a D/s experience. Jesus...

I got a note from a guy recently who said some very nice things about me and my column, and then said he wanted to…

…ask you for advice. I know it's the classic scenario, but how can I get my vanilla wife to be more interested in the D/s lifestyle? She knows my sexual interests - which aren't even very extreme, just spanking and bondage. We have open and honest communication together - when I openly and honestly communicate what I want to do, she openly and honestly says, "No."

Well, that sucks, and you do have my sympathy. I've had partners who didn't share my sexual interests, and it's a problem. But unfortunately, there isn't a single thing you can do to make someone be turned on by something if they're not. You can't argue or reason or persuade someone into being kinky. If you really whine about it a whole lot, you may be able to nag her into grudgingly tying you up or spanking you. And believe me, that will exactly as exciting as it sounds. Resentful pity-fucks – oooh, that's sexy! Not.

You will not change your wife's sexual makeup. (She may choose to change herself, but you have no control over that process, and it doesn't sound that that's going to happen anytime soon.) So you have three options. You can a) stay with your wife and reconcile yourself to not getting your kinky desires satisfied, b) stay with your wife and get your kinky desires met elsewhere, either with or without her knowledge and permission, or c) you can get divorced and seek a kinky partner.

I'm not telling you what you should do – I'm just laying out your choices. But according to your email, you're rather young, younger than many people when they marry for the first time. Giving up on a chunk of your sexual desires at your age – well, I can't imagine anyone doing that without building up a whole lot of resentment towards their partner for it. That's poison to a relationship. If you think it would be hard to negotiate with your partner about your extra-curricular kink options now, just wait another ten years. It'll be even harder. The same goes for splitting up entirely.

I have a slip of paper from a Chinese fortune cookie taped to my computer monitor. It's been there since I was in the middle of separating from my husband. I was eating dinner with Miss K, and waffling about the relationship, and I opened the cookie and read this fortune: "Make up your mind and do what you want to do."

Not a very complex statement, but somehow it spoke to me. I read it as, "Matisse, stop trying to do what you think you ought to do, and do what you know is the right thing for you." I went ahead with the divorce, which was the best choice for me.

I'm not telling you that you should dump your wife – I don't know. But I think if you examine yourself very closely, at some deep level you know what you need to do. You'll have to examine your own mind and see what's the most important to you, and then talk to your wife about that. I wish you luck…

Really Nice Things That Have Happened To Me Lately…

One of my favorite clients, Blue Eyes, purchased and installed one window-unit air conditioner in my workspace, and a second one is coming. This is the nicest and most exactly-what-I-needed gift I've gotten in a while, and I'm extremely pleased by what he's done for me. What a wonderful man.

I went to the Foot-Party, which I will give a detailed report on later…But while I was there, a very pretty eighteen-year-old girl came up me and said, "My friend and I saw you at the last foot-party, and we decided that you just exuded sex appeal like crazy. Every you did was sexy – the way you walked, the way you flipped your hair, the way you laughed - everything. We just thought you were so cool, and we decided that was the difference between being eighteen-year-old girls and being a woman."
What an amazing compliment! I mean, it's great when guys tell you you're hot. But for a lovely young girl to say this to me – well, I was really touched.

Matisse's Axiom on Sexual Attraction: If a woman feels desirable when she's with you, she will feel desire for you. I spent a lovely evening recently with a man who made me feel like I was the most beautiful and the most fascinating creature he'd ever seen. Roman was attractive to me before - he's doubly so now…

I haven't forgotten you... I've been a busy girl for a few days. So, a real entry later, but for now, be amused by this blog post about translating polyamory-personal ads from the always sharp-witted Lilith, aka Cosmicbabe.
Meanwhile, I'm going go have lunch with an in-from-out-of-town relative. Sigh. (The things I do to please my mother.)
And then I'm going to come home and get ready to make a professional appearance at a foot-worship party.
Just another day in the life...

So, I'm much happier with life since I bought a new cell phone, but it does entail one tedious task: copying over my phone book. (Verizon should have been able to copy the numbers over to my new phone in some magical electronic way, but the gods that rule such things did not look kindly on me yesterday, and so they were mysteriously unable to do so. Thus, I'm doing it manually.)

Copying over the numbers of my friends is going to be the easy part. When I scroll through the list, I'm struck by how many of the one hundred memory slots are taken up by entries with names like this:
ASSHOLE
ASSHOLE2
BUTTHEAD
DIPSHIT
DON'TANSWER
DON'TANWER2
DUMBASS
FLAKE
FLAKE2
JERK
NO WAY

Et cetera, on through the alphabet. Most of them are guys I never met – they're just time-wasting telephone pests. I've forgotten exactly what transgression many of them committed, but some of them stick in one's head.

SMOKINGWEIRDO, for example, is a guy who called me weekly for – I think – several years.
"Do you smoke?" he'd ask. "I want to do a scene with a Mistress who's smoking."
"No, I don't," I'd say. "But I'm fine with using cigarettes in a scene."
"No, no, you have to really smoke them – inhale them."
"No, I don't want to that."
"Oh, come now, you smoke, I know you smoke, every beautiful Mistress smokes. I'll bring you some really sexy French cigarettes."
"No, I really don't smoke…"
We went around and around for at least two different phone calls – me telling him I didn't smoke, him insisting that I should. Then he got programmed in and I never picked up when he called any more.

BADBOY is this guy who'd call up, and when I said "hello?", he'd say, "I've been a bad, bad boy – don't you wanna spank me?" Then he'd laugh like a crazy person and hang up. Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly amused with himself, he'd repeat his clever line one more time, and then hang up.

KINGCOUNTYJAIL speaks for itself. I cannot imagine the mindset of a man who thinks that a sex worker is going to take a collect call from anyone – let alone someone who's in jail, for chrissake. And to me – a dominatrix? I mean, come on guys, aren't you already having a pretty intense dominant/submissive experience? I think I'd feel a little inadequate after that...

NOENGLISH1, NOENGLISH2, and NOENGLISH3 have taught me that, apparently, Americans are not the only ones who raise our voices when we talk to foreigners because we think it'll make them understand what the hell we're saying.

YUCK! Is the guy who wants to talk about scat. And I don't mean jazz music.

Updates...
Please note that Mike – the secondary partner to whom I recently bid a fond farewell – has been removed from the "Cast of Characters" page, and he has been replaced by two new (and very interesting) people…As-yet unrealized sexual tension is in the air, my friends, and I'm enjoying it. I mean, I'll enjoy the "realizing" part, whenever it happens. But there's something to be said for the build-up.

On other fronts, as all of you who read The Stranger now know, my column will not be in the paper version of The Stranger for awhile. I expect to be returning soon, but for right now, they want to use me as bait to lure you to the brand spankin' new personals ad site they've built. So, go forth and explore the Lovelab/Lustlab...

And if you have an opinion about my column returning to the paper, please direct your polite emails to the good people at The Stranger, who welcome your feedback…

Note to my friends: I just got a new cell phone - I switched from AT&T, the worlds lamest wireless service provider, to Verizon. (I kept the same number, of course.) Naturally there are being some bumps along the way, and I think I lost a few existing voicemail messages on my AT&T account. If you left me a message after about 2pm yesterday, I may not have gotten it. And if you were trying reach me late yesterday or early today and had trouble, that's why. Persevere, and all will be well.
Off into my day...

In A New York State Of Mind...

Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Yeah, is this Mistress Matisse? So, hey - I wanted to ask you a question.

The first thing I notice about this guy is that he's got a really heavy "Noo Yawk" accent. Now, I'm sure there are plenty of very nice and genuinely submissive guys who happen to sound like this, but somehow, I haven't met them. When I hear this accent, I remember several seriously annoying clients I had, early in my career, who talked like this. All of them were about as truly submissive as Genghis Khan, and all of them topped from the bottom in a rude, disruptive manner that drove me nuts - and I'm actually relatively forgiving about such things.

But hey, maybe this guy will be different. I'll give him a chance - for at least thirty seconds.

Me: Okay, what's your question?
Caller: So, I'm going to be coming out to Seattle on business, and I was wondering - do you do extreme scenes?
Me: Well, it depends on exactly what you mean. But as long as it isn't anything that's going to do permanent damage to your body, yes, we can talk about it.
Caller: It's like – I like doing really, really extreme stuff, and it's hard to find Mistresses who'll do the stuff that I like.

A red flag goes up. There are plenty of Mistresses who'll do heavy play around. He must want something really out there if he's having trouble finding anyone to do it. So I say, cautiously -

Me: Why don't you tell me what exactly it is you're looking for?
Caller: I wanna do a scene where you come to my motel room and I'm asleep, and you tie me up and gag me and beat the shit out of me and fuck me up the ass really hard. And so matter what I say, I don't want you to stop, I don't want to have a safeword.

Well, you have to give the guy credit for putting his fantasy out there. But this isn't going to work for me.

Me: You know, I think that's a great fantasy, but I'm not going to be comfortable doing something like that with someone I don't know.

Actually, I don't think I'd do it even with someone I did know, just because it's not my fetish. But that's not really the point I'm going to try to make here.

Me: But I'd be happy to talk to you about a somewhat modified version of that fantasy.
Caller: You know, I think if I'm gonna pay for it, I should get it the way I want it. Why would you not be willing to do it?

Okay, so he's not different. He's rude, and he's now going to try to pick apart my reasons for not giving him what he wants, his way. It's probably a lost cause, but let's see if we can make him understand why he's having a hard time getting his fantasy catered to.

Me: Because I don't know you, I don't know your physical limits, I don't have experience in reading your body, and without a safeword, I can't be sure I'll be able to tell when you've reached your limit.
Caller: But I want to feel really out of control, and this is the only way I can do that. I thought you said you did extreme scenes?

Oh, I'm not liking his tone here. Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm very happy to do physically extreme SM. You want your ass beaten until it bleeds? Great. You want needles all over your slippery bits? Love to. You want to be electrified until your eyes roll back in your head and your throat hurts from screaming? Darlin', we'll get along just fine.
But I have some limits, and one of them is that you have to consent – and keep on consenting - in a way that I can feel.

Me: I do. But I don't do no-safeword scenes with strangers. Or rather, I would – but not physically extreme ones. If you wanted me to put you over my knee and spank your ass with my bare hand and not stop until I was ready to, that would be fine, because I'd know I wasn't going to damage you and I'd be able to read your body pretty easily. But in your scene, there are just too many variables.
Caller: Well, I don't think I should have to pay for it if it isn't my fantasy. How about this – how about if you do a scene with me, and if it's really good and it makes me feel like I'm really out of control, then I'll pay you. But if it doesn't, then I won't.

I wish I could say this was the stupidest thing anyone has ever asked me. Unfortunately, it's not. (If you've been reading here for a while, you'll know I'm right.) But it's definitely in the top twenty-five or so.

Me: You know what, this isn't going to work. Good bye…
Caller: Hey, hey, hey, don't hang up!
Me: I thought you said you didn't have a safeword.
Click.
I hang up.


(Postscript: After I wrote this, I remembered that I do know one very cool New York guy...You know who you are, and I'm pleased that you're the exception to the rule...)

I see that my fellow sex writer Dan Savage is writing about erotic electric stimulation this week... Good info, if you're curious about it.