From The Mailbag

HELLO , I HOPE YOU CAN HELP ME . I'LL GET RIGHT TO THE POINT . I'M TRYING TO FIND OUT WHERE I CAN GO TO HAVE SEX ALL THE TIME ( EVERYDAY , ANYWAY) I HAVEN'T HAD SEX WITH A WOMEN ( OR ANYONE ELSE EXCEPT MYSELF ) FOR 12 YEARS !!!! I'M VERY TIRED OF MASTERBATING AND PORN . I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH PEOPLE !!! I
AM WILLING TO TRY ALMOST ANYTHING -- ANY SUGESTIONS YOU HAVE WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED !!! VERY SINCERELY , .....

Well, he's direct, you can say that for him…But I'm not sure if he thinks there's some mythical Never-Never Land where people fuck all the time, or if he's asking me for the address of a brothel, or what.

Hello sicko, why dont you stop telling yourself that you are worth more than any normal woman. By playing your lil dominatrix games. what a coverup such total bullshit as i have never read in my life, you must call me this you must respond to me in this way. fuck all that crap. I cant believe you get people to pay you for that. These people must all be weak and stupid to let you control them in any way shape or form. No I wont sign my name, and I dont care if you like it or not. your just another stupid female like all the rest no matter what you think of yourself, I beleive somebody has a god complex dont we??. Well here is some advice-GET OVER YOUR DAMM SELF. dont bother trying to find me cause you wont.

Believe you me, buddy, I'm not going to bother trying to find you. I'm guessing none of the rest of us stupid females will either. Get ready to masturbate for twelve years.

Dear Mistress Matissa,
I am in love with you. You are my type.In other words you are the lady of my dreams. You are very beautiful.
I know that you receive lots of e-mail from other people..
I just want to tell you my feelings.
I am sorry for taking from your time.
best regards,
Boots lover.

Pointless, really – but rather sweet just the same.

My name is X and I would like to know if you sell videos? I am into the following:
I am looking for a lady spanking a short tiny man over her knees while seated on straight backed armless chairs. A traditional domestic role play scene
* I am looking for a big height differential and a superior amazon component to the scene.
* i am also looking for videos that feature these same tiny men dangling helplessly over the knees of the girl with their legs off the ground while over the knee of the girl
* I also prefer to see the lady dressed in regular clothes spanking a naked man
* I also like the domestic role play themes(teacher/student) etc...
Do you have videos like this or can you do a custom video? Thank you for your attention to my query...

Well, I'm told there are a fair number of midgets living here in Seattle – I'm sure at least one of them might be willing to work as a fetish actor. But still - I'm only five-foot-five, and I just don't think I can pull off the Amazon thing.

My name is X and i am a submissive man. i have been a passing gas sniffer for over 20 years for beautiful GODDESSES like yourself. i have been able to amuse a few MISTRESSES with this service. i would love to amuse you also your HIGHNESS as you are so very beautiful and deserve a good gas sniffer. i apologise if i have offended your HIGHNESS but if you might be interested please e-mail…

Another guy with very specific tastes - so to speak. But not a fetish I'm interested in exploring...

Dear Mistress:
You have a very nicely done web site. I have a few thoughts that I would like to run by you. Being a dominitrix is actually a very submissive thing for a woman to do. You are fulfilling mens fantasies by providing them with the speech patterns, treatments, objects, and fetishes that they desire. You may enjoy this but that is only because you are ultimately serving the submissives who are the ones who are really in control. You are presenting your body in an objectifying and degrading manner. Selling yourself as a mere sex object who exists to please men.
I do not mean this as an insult, I am interested to get your response to these assertions.

Yeah, there's a certain brand of guys who always try this line on me. The fact that in my world of kink, submissives actually have the ability to ask for (and recieve) types of play they like seems to upset them. They're usually self-described "natural" tops. That means they just popped out of the womb knowing how to dominate women, so they disdain things like learning actual BDSM technique, or thinking about how they can enhance the experience for the bottom. It also means they're lazy bastards who use being a "dominant" as an excuse to disregard their partner's needs.
The rest of it is standard anti-sex-work crap. And I love how he decides that I'm being degraded. Silly little me, I thought that would be my decision. But I'm sure he thinks I'd be better off barefoot and pregnant with his child - except I'd put poison in his coffee.
So yes - I'm sure you'd like me to give my attention to you and your ass-ertions. But even though I'm really so submissive, I'm not going to give it to you...

An Incident

I related this story to Max over dinner and we had an interesting chat about it…

So, Miss K and I have just finished dinner at Hana, as we do every week, and afterwards I decide to walk upstairs to the bathroom, which is not in the restaurant proper, but actually in the rear of the little shopping complex where Hana is located.
As I walk up the stairs, I see a man, who'd been sitting near us in the restaurant, walking up the stairs about six steps ahead of me, presumably heading to men's room. He turns and looks back at me, and sort of grins.
"I saw you on Saturday," he said.
Now, I guess immediately what he's talking about. He means, "I was at the Wet Spot on Saturday night and I saw you there." I was indeed there, and while I have zero memory of seeing him, I believe that he saw me.
But for some reason, I don't like it that he's said this to me. I've said it before – I can be a snooty bitch at times, especially if I'm being addressed by a strange man in a way I find, well, slightly presumptuous.
I raise one eyebrow in a way that anyone who's ever bottomed to me would recognize. "Really?" I say, coolly.
"Yeah," he says, staring at me.
I look away and shrug slightly to indicate I don't quite take his meaning, and more subtly, that I don't particularly wish to. If he was smart, he'd stop now.
"You know – over in Magnolia," he says instead.
His coyness irritates me further. We're alone on the staircase, so why play word games? Since he's obviously not going to let it go, I say, "At the Wet Spot."
"Yeah, yeah." He's still staring at me avidly – it's almost a leer - and he's not an attractive sight. He's a rather unkempt-looking man who resembles no one as much as Jack Black (the "School of Rock" guy) with less hair, and rather less charm. There's some vague taste of that childhood sing-song, "I know what you did" in his tone and his gaze, and I'm touched by a tiny flicker of awareness that yes, we actually are alone on this staircase. I’m not truly worried, but the animal-instinct part of me makes a few quick what-would-I-do-if? calculations.
I say nothing further and my arctic stare seem to finally communicate to him that I don't want to be having this conversation, because he starts up the stairs again. As I reach the landing behind him, he turns back again and makes a final remark to me – something about how maybe he'll see me again sometime. I've forgotten the exact phrasing. I make some noncommittal noise and turn away.

Later I asked myself – why did that displease me so? I'm not trying to say I shouldn't have felt the way I did. I think I'm completely entitled to my feelings, and to act on them almost any way I want, within the bounds of basic civility. And while I was definitely frosty to that guy, I wasn't openly rude.

But I'm trying to isolate what, precisely, I didn't like. It could have been as simple as the fact that he's a strange man, and he's approaching a woman alone, not quite on the street but damn close, to discuss his having seen her at a fetish event. It looks like a clumsy attempt at a pick-up. I mean – why else do it? What's the motivation?

Max asked me, "So, what if it had been a woman?"

Good question. I probably still wouldn't have liked it, because I generally don't talk to strangers in public places. (Strangers at, say, a party are quite different. There are cases where "the roof constitutes an introduction". That doesn't apply here.) But I probably would have been somewhat less frosty to a woman, because it's quite rare, in my experience, for women to almost-leer in the way this man was. I'd probably think she was a bit gauche, but harmless.

"Okay," said Max, "what if he'd been a really attractive man?"

Oh, that's a tough one, because I don't generally do lust-at-first-sight. You usually have to hang around a little while before I start to get schwinged by you. But I have seen people of both genders who immediately made me think, "Oh yeah…"

But I think I probably still would have stiffened up, because to me, personality is more important than looks. And if he had the kind of personality that make him feel it was cool to initiate a conversation with a stranger about something as relatively intimate as her presence at a BDSM club, well, I'd probably cease to find him attractive.

I'm interested to hear what you other ladies thing think. What would you think about this? And what would you have done?

I know I haven't written much for a few days. I'll do a real entry either later today or tomorrow...Until then, linky goodness!

Apparently Max could have Angelina Jolie for his slave..."I've never been tied up," she says. "I have a feeling the person that does it will be The One. I think that's what I'd like." (But who knows what she'd be like to live with, so maybe it's just as well she doesn't take his calls.)

Holy shit - my notoriously conservative hometown paper, The Tampa Tribune, has actually endorsed Kerry for President. It's the first time in forty years they've endorsed a Democrat! Will wonders never cease?

I know someone who's a Jack Black fan. I wonder if they've seen this: The Jack Black Jerk-Off Tape!

And I was amused to find myself quoted in this scholarly paper on sado/masochism. I should email the author and find out just where it's been...

I'm writing a column, and thus I lack the time to write here today. Instead, since we're on a roll with this picture thing, here's an antidote to yesterday's scariness.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Why, Matisse, that's a completely gratuitous shot of two women's behinds." But I say, "No, that's a picture of me checking in with my co-model and submissive-for-the-shoot, Madison." See, I was just being a good dominant and making sure she was okay with all the stimulation I was dishing out. (Note the cane in my hand.) It wasn't until I heard the flashes pop behind me that I realized what a little tableau we must be presenting. It's often the unscripted images you get from a photo shoot that wind up being the most interesting.

Okay, you asked for it, you got it – a page of cock-and-ball torture photos - with just one pussy shot. I had taken down some of my old gallery pages, so this is a page I just threw up last night. It’s not fancy, but you may find it…educational, at the very least.

Now, before you click, be aware: I didn't bother with thumbnails, so it's a graphics-heavy page. If you don't have high-speed internet, it'll take a little while to load.

Obviously, it is not work-safe.

And it's pretty intense, so if you think it's gonna flip you out, don't go look. I mean, if you're reading this blog on a regular basis, you're probably not too-too squeamish, but if you just got here – well, you've been warned.

The Week In Review

Warning: This entry contains some rather graphic descriptions of advanced SM play. Skip this one if you squick easily…

I was talking to a client on the phone this week - a guy I genuinely like, but who tends to be a bit bratty at times. He wanted a next-day appointment.
"Oh, no can do, sweetheart, I'm booked up until – let's see – next Tuesday."
He sighed in exasperation. "Now, Matisse, what are we going to do about this schedule of yours? You're far too busy."
"Well," I replied slowly, "I could try to be less good at my job, or less physically attractive."
He doesn't say anything.
"Or, I could raise my rates. I'm guessing that would free up my schedule some."
He makes a doubtful "mmmmmm" noise.
"But I'm sort of guessing most people would rather that I didn't do any of those things."
We agreed that he'd prefer calling earlier for an appointment next time to any of those other three options.
This was a tough week to try to get to see me, because I had two different 3-hour sessions booked, and that's a chunk of my work-week gone right there. I'm actually developing a small group of multi-hour guys who see me very regularly, and when I add up the number of client hours I book per month, and the percentage of those hours that I spend with that small handful of boys – well, it's just interesting, that's all.

This was a big week for "cock-and-ball torture", otherwise known as CBT. (Although, really, that's true more often than not around my dungeon.)
I don't really like the word "torture" in this context, it sounds too third world country-ish - but I have to admit that some of the stuff I did this week would probably make Amnesty International blanch.
I did a really lovely scene with my carpenter, Mr. Wood, who makes my dungeon furniture. He's a wonderful, talented, deeply kinky man, a masochist, and we've been trading our respective skills for about five years now. Sometime I marvel at the fact that his dick still functions at all, because I have done some really insane shit to it - at his request, and with his encouragement, you understand. Mr. Wood has taught me a lot about advanced CBT, and while I know some other guys who are heavy CBT fans, Mr. Wood is in a class by himself. I've beaten his dick until it's all black and blue, I've hung ten pound weights off it, I've stepped on it wearing heavy spike-heeled boots, I've stuck it so full of needles it looks like a pervy pincushion, I've crushed it in a vise, I've put metal rods the size of a pencil down it, and I've electrified it so intensely I felt sure that if I stuck a GE bulb in his mouth, it would light up a la Uncle Fester. (Photo links available upon request – but don't be faint of heart.)

This week I've been a little extra-concerned about the general health and well-being of Mr. Wood's dick, because when we were playing the other night, I got a shade too enthusiastic with the violet wand, and burned the head of his penis with it, right next to the piss-eye. Whoops.
I became aware of this when I looked down and saw this small round thing that looked like a rather big drop of pre-ejaculate on the tip of his dick.
Hey, wait a minute, I thought. Mr Wood doesn't drool.
Then I realized, oh shit, that's a blister.
He wasn't too worried about it, but I know how burns can get infected if you don't take care of them, so I reminded him about that several times. I'm quite fond of Mr. Wood (really - I am!), so I can't have him getting some nasty flesh-eating bacteria thing.
So that was the CBT highlight of the week, but as the days went by, I spanked cocks, I squeezed balls, I poked, pulled and electrified, and I put (many, many) clamps on that special bit of helpless dangling flesh. It was rather a festival of penis persecution around here.

I'll now wait, with amusement, for the comments of terror and horror to begin – since I know all you squicky kids read this entry, anyway…

Update: The new Control Tower is up. And now, a small pre-emptive strike to avert some of the hurt-feelings emails I will surely get: Boys, this column is not about you. (Unless you actually are the Professor, which I doubt.)
As I say in the first line of the piece - most clients are wonderful people. So if you are a client, or a potential client of mine, the fact that I occasionally write about some of the exceptions to the rule should not, in any way, suggest to you that I don't like you or that I wouldn't like you.
Conflict makes for an interesting story. That's why really sweet guys who treat me wonderfully are actually less likely to get an article written about them. (Which is something to remember if you'd prefer to stay out of print...)

Okay, first off: I don't know why my newest column hasn’t yet appeared in The Stranger website. Emails have been sent, but I have no control over the process, and no information, either. Hopefully it'll be up soon…

But this should amuse you in the meantime - especially if you're a woman! One of those, "God, I wish I'd written that," kinda rants ….

I promised someone I'd post this link, and now I cannot recall who. Sorry about that, whoever you are, but here it is: One of my self-portraits (that I actually wound up making a bit of money on, amazing!)…My back on a book jacket.

Oh, this is really funny -and it's some local talent, too! I Screw Republicans.

Speaking of screwing and Republicans...I hope that arrogant bastard gets barbequed. Read all about Bill O'Reilly's tawdry little sexual (harassment) fantasies. God, they're so…banal.

Word Whores
Now and then I'll coin a phrase while talking with a friend, and something about the phrase will catch our fancy, and it'll become a staple in our conversations. If it's a particularly useful expression, it'll seep into conversations I have with other people, and once I've explained it's exact meaning to them, they may pick it up and begin to use it. Thus is a small private lexicon born…

The most successful example of my private vocabulary is the phrase, "Not my dog." About a million years ago, (not really, it only seems like that ) Miss K and I and our then-partners were watching a movie together – "The Pink Panther Strikes Again". There's a scene in which Inspector Clouseau (Peter Sellers) walks up to a hotel desk. There is a clerk sitting behind the high desk, reading a paper, and there's a dog tied up to the front of the desk. Inspector Clouseau looks at the dog and asks the man, "Does your dog bite?"
The man answers, "No, Monsieur."
Clouseau bends down to pet the dog and it growls and bites him. "I thought that you said your dog does not bite!" Clouseau exclaims in great indignation.
The man leans forward over the desk and peers down at the dog there, and then says to Clouseau, "Oui, Monsieur - but that is not my dog."
Miss K and I thought that scene extremely funny, and somehow also, profound. And soon thereafter, the phrase "that's not my dog" entered our conversation. When Miss K and I began saying that, we meant: "If you blunder into a negative situation because of your own badly-made decisions, don't come crying to me to take responsibility for it."
The discussions we use the phrase most often are about jealousy: "Oh, she's upset that I'm dating her ex-lover? Hey, that's not my dog."
Codependent behavior: "Look, if her boyfriend wants to play video games all day instead of looking for a job, that's not her dog, she should be focused on her own career."
And unreasonable expectations: "Your client was mad because he couldn't get a same-day appointment with you? Definitely not your dog."
A number of my other friends have picked up on this phrase over the years, and even my mother, who is a therapist, liked it and now uses it with her clients, a fact I find very entertaining.

A recent addition to the private lexicon: "a princess moment". This one came into being in a conversation between Roman and I. When you have a princess moment, you're sort of having a moment of jealousy or envy, but it's been so heavily leavened with a sense how really, really silly you're being that you have to laugh at yourself even as you think, "No, no, don't you understand? I want that! It's all about meeeeeeee! Me me me me meeeee!" This phrase is especially applicable when a) the person you're being jealous/envious of has in no way taken anything away from you in obtaining their good fortune, and b) you're already so loaded with good things that, Christ, you probably couldn't even handle any more. Complete disregard of both those facts is essential to the princess moment, as is the total awareness that your emotional response is rooted in the unrestrained Id of a two-year-old. It's an example of having two contradictory emotional responses at one time. You just have to laugh about it.

Interesting article in the New York Times about the call-girl industry. It's not too far-off from how I experienced it, although I always worked locally, and the pace was nothing like what's described here. The agency-owner I worked with for the longest - about three years - was also fairly high-strung, although not as bad as the woman profiled for this article. And like this woman, she was also quite good at her job. (And she still is, from what I hear.)

The part about the owner outing an errant girl to her boyfriend and family was rather chilling, though. No one I ever worked for ever did such a thing – at least, not that I know of. And I think it's a bad idea. Unless an agency is paying protection to the police – something that may be more common in NY, although I understand it's rare here in Seattle – an angry ex-employee could easily turn the tables on an agency and call the cops on them. Simple prostitution is a misdemeanor, but pimping – well, that's a felony. And if you're running credit cards and crossing state lines - oh, now you've got the IRS and the Feds to talk to, and I'm sure that's a conversation I wouldn't want to have.

Yet another reason, as if I needed one, to be a one-woman show…

Absurd Phone Call Of the Day

This was so absurd that I almost suspected it of being a trumped-up troll…

Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
(There's a sound of music or a TV or something in the background, but no one speaks.)
Me: hel-looo?
Caller:….oh, uh, yeah, hi.

This guy's dead in the water already. He cannot even manage to conduct a phone call properly – when he called me! Plus, he sounds too young – early twenties, I'm guessing.

Me: Can I help you?
Caller: Uh, yeah, do you take credit cards?

Oh, now he's past dead, he's a rotting corpse. If you can't put your hands on cash, I don't want to know you.

Me: No, I don't.
Caller: So, well, what other forms of payment do you take? Do you take checks?

You want to give a check to a sex worker? Who is this, Jerry Springer? No. I only take checks from guys I really like and trust who I've been seeing frequently for, oh, at least four years or more. That's a small club, and this boy ain't never going to be in it.

Me: No, it's cash only.
Caller: Oh, cash only, huh? (Sound of other voices in the background.) Um, well, like, could you call our friend and convince him?
Me: What? Oh, you have got to be kidding.
Caller: No, if you like, call our friend - he's like, our boss – and convince him to give us some cash we'll come see you.

There some requests that are so nonsensical that it's not possible - and indeed, not necesssary - to conduct myself like the upscale professional that I am. One has to just respond from a very basic level.

Me: You know, that's about the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You're out of your mind.
Caller: (Laughs.)
Me: There is no way I'm calling anyone.
Caller: No?
Me: No.
Caller: Okay, we'll talk to him, and if we can get some cash, we'll call you back.
Me: Oh, please do. I'll be waiting by the phone.

Click. We hang up.

There are some really odd people in the world.

Stars in Alignment

Sometimes poly is very complicated, but sometimes the stars just line themselves up in a way that makes things perfect for everyone involved. I wound up having a date with Roman yesterday, some of which was planned, and some of which was unexpected.

Roman and I had planned to go, on Saturday afternoon, to do a certain Top Secret Thing together. And believe me, my dear readers, it's killing me - but killing me - not to be able to tell you about this Top Secret Thing. My god, do I so wanna spill.

But I can't. Not until after Roman's wife's birthday. No speculation, please, she reads this blog. After the 28th, I'll tell you all about the Top Secret Thing, and believe me, it's highly amusing.

Okay, so after the Top Secret Thing, Roman was going to bring me home, and I was going to spend the evening with Max.

Now, I can tell you that the Top Secret Thing did not involve Roman and I fucking, and gee, I don't think Roman and I have spent more than about fifteen minutes alone together without fucking since this whole relationship started. Spending an entire afternoon in his company without (too much) sexual interaction - well, let's just say we were both painfully aware of holding our mutual sexual energy in check. But hey, this wasn't that kind of date, we had another agenda and we stuck to that, and we enjoyed each other's company, of course, and that's all, and that's fine. And we'll say a sweet good night to each other and go our separate ways. We're mature adults, and we can keep our hormones in check. Really.

So I'm in the car with Roman and I call Max to say I'll be home soon. He doesn't answer the home line, so I call his cell and leave a message. Shortly after I hang up, my cell rings.

It's Max. "So, remember how I told you I needed to talk to Maura about some things?" he says.

I laugh, because as soon as he says this, I know exactly what's happening, and what's going to happen. "Yes, I do."

"Well, I'm over at her place now, and we're talking. I actually might not be home for awhile."

"Oh, so you're not going to be home for awhile?" I say out loud. I'm listening to Max, but I'm also watching the streetlights slide across Roman's features as we drive. He keeps his face politely blank, as one does when one is pretending not to listen to someone else's phone conversation - except that in the brief flashes of light, I see one corner of his mouth curl upward slightly. I slide my hand a little further up his thigh, feeling the muscles flex as he moves his leg from the brake to the accelerator.

"Oh, it'll be about twelve, twelve-thirty?" I say. The clock on Roman's dashboard reads 8:32 in dim green numbers. The corner of his mouth curves still higher.

"That's fine, darling, I understand, you needed to spend some time talking with her." And he does, so I'm genuinely glad he's doing that. I'd be just as supportive even if I wasn't sitting next to a hot guy who's radiating sexual energy for me. I enjoy my time alone; I write, I read, I get a lot of personal stuff done, I try to get to bed early - all good things.

But, as luck would have it - I actually am sitting next to a very sexy guy. (And his wife is out of town, to boot.) What a lucky girl I am!

Max and I finish the conversation - in which he tells me he hopes Roman and I have a nice time, because he also knows exactly what's going to happen - and we make kissy noises into the phone and hang up. I shut off the phone and look over at Roman, who is still affecting not to have heard anything, although the grin is decidedly broader now. "So," I say in a playfully casual voice, "Looks like I have the rest of the evening free. Want to come in for a while?"

Oh, yeah. It was one of the times when poly is a very, very good thing.

Is There A Theme Here?
I watched my man Kerry do his thing during the "Town Hall" debate last night, and I thought he came across quite well. Bush was somewhat less moronic-looking this time than last time, but I still thought he seemed like a frat boy on crystal meth, jumping up and down, making too many wisecracks, and interrupting people.
And why am I not surprised that when asked point-blank, The Fortunate Son could not, or would not, admit to having made any specific mistakes in his presidency. I mean, none. But I guess when you're, like, divinely ordained by God, as Mr. Bush thinks he is, well – how could you make a mistake? Geeze Louise.
The polls are looking good for Kerry - he might just win this thing. At least, that's I'm praying for. I found this interesting website that thinks so too – not that I think it's completely unbiased. But it gives me hope…

And I did find this fun-filled guide for Presidential debate-watching that I'll surely employ next week. Maybe I'll throw a party!

Enough politics – here's some really important news: Vibrating condoms! (Maybe I can get some to give out as party favors for that debate party…)

Speaking of dicks...I saw Puppetry of the Penis when they were in town last year, but if you missed them, here's a little penis art for you...

Okay, gotta go - I have to get ready to take some very interesting penis-related video footage today....Oh, I love my life.

Shopping

So, a large box arrived at my house yesterday. Max and I did some shopping in New York and we decided to ship a bunch of stuff home, instead of schlepping it all through the airports. I'm a big fan of shipping stuff home, it’s so nice to make at least one leg of a trip with minimum encumbrances.

I did buy a bunch of cute everyday stuff at H&M, which is a Swedish chain store that's rather like the Ikea of clothing – tons of stuff, low prices, and while it's not heirloom-quality, it's fine for what it is. I wish they'd open one here.

But otherwise, we were fetish shopping. I decided to take a couple of quickie snapshots of what we bought - they're not up to my usual photographic standard, but they'll do...

Remember me bitching about Demask's badly-designed website? When Max and I found out we'd be going to NY, I decided to wait and go shopping in person. Here's what I bought…

That's a really sexy little black latex dress, and a white leather bra-top.
The thing under the bra is an inflatable gag – meaning, you use that bulb on the end to pump up the part that's inside someone's mouth. Makes talking really difficult!
That's a very nasty little whip, it's made out of flexible plastic strands, and you can run it through the dishwasher to clean it, which is good, because I plan on using it on girl-bits and I imagine it'll get rather sticky. Someone loaned me this exact whip a while back when I was in doing a scene with Jae, and it was extremely effective. So I'm pleased to have found one for my own. I suppose it would work rather well on boy bits, too, hmm?
There's a nice thuddy little leather paddle, very heavy, and that toy that looks a bit like a lollypop? Well, I'm not sure what to call it. It's an intriguing sort of crop-like-thingie, with a round rubber disk on the end. I bought it mainly because I hadn't ever seen anything quite like it. It's not terribly severe, but I thought it might leave interesting-shaped welts, if wielded with enthusiasm.
That's what I got at DeMask!

I also bought some really yummy leather pants, although I'm not sure this pic does them justice.

They're smooth, heavy, full-grain leather, unlined, so I can feel the hide against me. The shop we got them at, The Leatherman, makes them on the premises and then custom-tailors them to you when you buy them. So when I tried them on, the cutest little Latino boy came and knelt in front of me and sort pinched and plucked at me, showing me where he'd take them in to fit me better. The result is quite nice, I think.

But while they were perfectly nice to me at The Leatherman, I was merely a distraction before the main event. As is always the way when we shop at stores primarily aimed at (and staffed by) gay men, Max was the center of attention. And who can blame them, when he tried on these pants?

He certainly had my full and undivided attention. The nice men helping us – every employee in the whole shop, I think – were anxious to assure Max that is that particular codpiece wasn't to his liking, that they had a vast selection he could choose from. Zip-up, lace-up, metal-mesh-covered, piped with different colors, et cetera. They just snap right on, you see. And they snap right off, too. You know, for easy access. Did he want to experiment with different ones, or…?

Max decided to go with the plain leather. But he did have the cute Latino boy fit the pants very carefully to him. I swear that boy spent fifteen minutes playing with Max's pants leg. He wanted to get the break just right. Of course, the fact that he had his face a few inches away from this may have had something to do with it...

Max, of course, was flirting a little with all the guys, as he always does. He likes gay men, and he enjoys being lusted after by them. (I frequently call him a cock-tease.) I know Max sometimes feels mildly embarrassed about being so completely heterosexual. I mean – straight men. They get a bad rap, don't they? And a straight dominant man? Oh, that’s a club a lot of kinksters like to trash on.

Max says, "I keep waiting for my dick to get hard for some submissive boy, and it just hasn't happened yet. If it did, I'd go there, but since it hasn't…" So he just flirts, and sometimes he ties boys up, if they ask nicely. But the codpiece will probably not be coming off for anyone with facial hair. (Although you never know...)

I think that's our show for today…

I'm still getting email responses to a Stranger column I wrote two week ago, A Life In Sex Work, and that's a bit out of the ordinary. Apparently a number of people found it thought-provoking.

A lot of the email I'm getting about it seems to center around the idea that I'm a very unusual sex worker. Now, I don't mind people thinking I'm unique in some ways, because, hey, aren't we all. But some of messages I'm getting about what these people think is so unique about me isn't exactly…well, flattering.

No, I am actually not a crack/heroin/cocaine/prescription drug addict. I hear that you find that amazing, and I'm glad to have raised your consciousness about sex workers a tiny bit. Like certain conservative radio talk show hosts, I have done some recreational drugs in my time. But never to excess, and when I stop and think, I realize – wow, it’s been years since I did anything like that. For that matter, I very rarely drink alcohol, and I don't smoke, either.

No, I am not the victim of a ruthless pimp. I've met a few people who claimed to be pimps in my time - but only a few. I've never had one myself and I've never had another woman tell me, "I have a pimp". I've worked at places where there was some pointing and whispering about girls who supposedly did, and that's about the extent of my acquaintance with that.
(I have met a lot of women who were financially supporting unemployed boyfriends. But I can't say too much about that, because I've supported a couple of unemployed girlfriends. Just about every sex worker I know I has done this with a lover at one point or another.)

But no, I am not supporting children whose father has run out on us. I know women who are, but I'm thinking they'd have less time to write than I do. I've chosen not to procreate in this lifetime, thank you.

Let's see, what are some of the other stereotypes? Well, I was never abused or molested as a child, by my family or anyone else. Overall, my childhood was so Leave-It-To-Beaver that it's almost sickening. Stay-at-home-Mom, private schools, a house on the lake, and my Daddy bought me a pony when I was eleven. So my family has a few areas of weirdness, but nothing out of the ordinary.

I've never been raped by a client - or by anyone else, for that matter. I've never had a client harm me or make an overt threat to harm me. On a few occasions, a long time ago, I have been with clients who made me think, "Wow, this guy is balanced right on the edge of some serious craziness, and I should be very, very careful with him, or he’ll just lose it." And so I was, and I got away clean.

I'm actually not unique in any of these traits - I know other sex workers who tab up with my experiences fairly closely. But opening one's mind has to begin somewhere, and I do enjoy shaking up people's notions of the world. So thanks, dear letter writers, for letting me know I did that…

Okay, don't get me wrong – I like Kerry, I'm voting for Kerry, but this is a very funny little bit… How do I get the job of hitting the buzzer? I love tormenting really intellectual men, it gets them so delightfully flustered.
John Kerry's debate prep session - as imagined by Harry Shearer. (Audio.)

Social Updates...

The bondage class yesterday was great. We had a nice turn out, everyone seemed to grasp the material, the rather rickety table I was standing on for some of the demos actually did not collapse under me as I was slightly afraid it might, and the whole thing just went smoothly.
When it was over, I gathered up Roman and his wife and Jake and his companion and half a dozen other people, and we all went down to Louie's for Chinese food, before heading back to the bondage party  There was a lot of eye candy overall last night, which was cool.
And having Max AND Jake AND Roman all together did not prove problematic for me at all, except in that very nice wow-there-are-a-lot-of-people-I'd-like-to-give-my-attention-to kinda way. They're all three so cool, and they just handle things so well, I'm so impressed with all of them. (I even enjoyed watching Jake spend some time immersed in conversation with - well, I believe she goes by Milan here in blog-land. )

And The Next Event... In response to a rather last-minute request, this Tuesday night I'm going to be appearing on a show called "SexLife Live" to discuss the topic: "Pain as Pleasure".
I've heard sort of vaguely about this show, but I didn't really know anything about it, so when the host, Dane Ballard, emailed me and asked me to be on it, I asked him to explain a bit about it. This is what he said:

The show is filmed in front of a live studio audience. (Anywhere from 50 to 100 people). We do post production work on the tape and then the tape will be available within a few days in the archive of the website. Right now there are no shows in the archive because our shows in September (our first three shows) are being compiled for a promotional piece. They were sort of our pilot episodes. Anyway they will still run but this is the first show that will run in it's entirety on the website. Also, starting in December, we will be running our shows on Local Cable. So the show we tape tonight will not only be available online... but in a couple months will be running on local TV as well.It's a discussion between you and me, (and any other guest) though we survey the audience for questions from them, we also have a booth where we might have people who can ask questions during the show... But it would be for a very short period of time. Mostly it's you and I talking about the subject.

Now you know as much as I know. Mr. Ballard also said, "This show is more of a S&M overview, future shows will be about more specific areas of SM & BDSM." Well, frankly, the concept of "pain as pleasure" is actually a very specific topic. If he wants a SM 101 thing, I can do that, but that ain't an SM 101 concept. So I am going to ask him to clarify precisely what topic he's looking for.
I have no idea what to expect from this whole thing, but I'm a girl who can handle most anything and I have a lot of experience talking about sex and kink in public forums. I figure I'll just go wing it, and it'll be whatever it is. I don't think it'll be a hostile venue, but I don't expect it to be a crowd that's very savvy about BDSM, so I'm expecting to spend most of my time debunking the popular BDSM stereotypes. I'm good at that. So if you're in Seattle, I invite you to come and check it out.

Text of an email I received after yesterdays post…

I don't know how you can call yourself a mistress when you post links of pictures of yourself in bondage as you have done today. It's really unfair to those of us who are true Mistreses, and I think if you are really an honest person as you try to put yourself forth then you should change your name. You are doing a diservice to us real Mistresses.

It blathers on for a bit, but that's the main thrust of it…

Where to begin with emails like this? First off, the woman pictured on this page, the URL you included in your email, is not me. That's a picture of Maura, Max's submissive. There is a rather superficial resemblance – we're very roughly the same height, weight and hair color and age – but it ain't me.

However, let's address the spirit of what you're saying. Now, if you've read my blog for any length of time, you've gotta know I care less than nothing about upholding any kind of "true Mistress" crap, so I don't know why you're pulling that one out on me. "Mistress Matisse" is my professional name – it refers to my career as a dominatrix. I don't expect people I meet socially to address me as Mistress, unless they are negotiating for a scene with me.

Not being a switch does not confer any magic status upon someone. If being only a top or only a bottom makes you happy, that's just fine with me. But if you try to set yourself up as somehow being more "real and true" than someone who switches, you're deluding yourself. If I'm a "true" anything, I'm a true BDSM person - and I usually describe myself as a top because that's most often how I relate to other BDSM people. But I think dominance and submission are points on a scale, not absolute black/white distinctions. Hell, I'm bisexual, too, so you can't really expect me to embrace a binary system. (Being poly probably doesn't help, either.)

It's always amazing to me when people take on a sexually deviant identity and then try to set up restrictive rules about how that identity must be expressed. Hey, if you want to create an inflexible structure for yourself, I'm cool with that, although I might scratch my head over it privately. Why would you bother leaving behind other people's repressive rules just to straight-jacket yourself all over again?
However, the idea that you can inflict your rules of identity on me is laughable. To me, that would be the ultimate submission – letting someone else decide how I could and could not express my sexuality. I'm far too dominant for that!

What's really amusing to me is this - there actually is a very artsy picture of me with my wrists all wrapped up on rope on Jon McDermott's site. I've done art/bondage modeling on a number of occasions, and I have no problem showing the pictures. Here's one, and here's another….I think they're gorgeous shots. And I'm much too secure in my identity to have the slightest qualm about showing them.

I have a stock answer for any in-person remarks I get on this issue, and that is: no one who has bottomed to me has ever expressed any doubt about who was in charge in my dungeon. I'm quite confident no one ever will.

Some observations on professional dominatrixes and the men who see them, by a non-professional female dominant. I don't agree with everything she says, but she's clearly put some thought into this, and she does make a few valid points.

Hey, I'll vote for that..."Orgies are the way to ease social tensions", claims US judge...

My friend Jon McDermott has an art show going right now, and you should all go see it, he does beautiful hand-colored black and white photographs. The show is at Gallery 154 in Freemont, 154 N 35th Street, and the show runs through November 4th and Gallery 154 is open on Sundays from 11-5pm or by appointment (206/335-7567).

Last Reminder: Max's ultra-fabulous "Fundamentals of Rope Bondage" class is tomorrow at the Wet Spot. If you have the slightest interest in rope bondage, you should not miss it - and be sure and say hi to me...

Email From A Self-Fired Client

Dear Mistress Matisse,

My name is (DELETED) and I had the great privilege of meeting with you for a session about six months ago. I had a wonderful time and as I left, I told you that I'd be calling you again soon. I guess you're wondering why I never did.

Actually I'm not. Most guys who come to see me say, "I'll call you," as they leave - it seems to be something of a reflex. And since about 75% of my clients these days are repeat clients, they usually do. I don't keep records of any kind – that's always a bad idea in sex work – but for a certain group of my really good regular guys, I do have a sort of a mental calendar of, "Hmmn, I haven't seen him for a little while, I bet he'll be calling soon…"

But I do see some new clients, and there are plenty of one-shot wonders in the world of sex-work. So if I've only had one session with you – well, once you walk out the door, you'll pretty much walk out of my head.

I had an amazing time with you, and you're beautiful, so much more beautiful than your pictures even suggest. After I left and the pleasure of the time with faded, I began to wonder what you thought about me. I'm older and I know I'm not in the best shape. I know I can't do a lot of the things I see people doing on the web in terms of heavy whipping and stuff. I just realized that I probably wasn't the most attractive submissive for you. So I didn't call you back because I didn't want to be one of those clients you just sort of put up with.

I get this sometimes – they guys who need reassurance that they're fun play-partners. I understand needing some feedback, that's an okay thing to ask for. But I have a feeling that a little reassurance isn't going to suffice in this situation. And again – if I've only met you once, six months ago, there are limits to how willing and able I will be to lavish you with praise and encouragement.

I would really love to come see you again. Can you possibly find a man like me attractive? Are there ways I can please you even though I'm not the most advanced submissive?

The answers are, in order: I have no idea if I can find you attractive, since I don't remember who the hell you are and you've furnished me with absolutely no clues to help me remember you. And: yes, there probably are. But you'll have to trust me that I like what I'm doing, and that seems to be a difficult thing for you.

I want so much to please you, Mistress. I know you don't usually allow your subs to have intimate contact with you, but I would happily service you in any manner that you desire. I don't wish to sound like I'm bragging but I am told I have some talent in this area.

Okay, now we're moving from "needy but polite" territory into the "yeah, you wish, buddy" area. He's willing to demonstrate what a good submissive he is by partaking of a privilege I haven't granted him? Oh, that's impressive. Not.

So even thought I may not be a handsome young stud anymore, we older guys can have our place, don't you think, Mistress?

This is amusing, considering I won't even see clients under thirty, and the majority of my clientele is over forty. I much prefer it that way – I got more than enough of having to deal with raw young boys when I worked in strip clubs. My oldest client to date? Seventy-seven. And let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, his age was a lusty winter. No blue pills required, either. God bless horny older men.

I really want to please you, Mistress, so I hope that there is something I can do to make you like me and want to play with me. I just don't want to be another boring submissive to you, I want to be special. I hope you will write me back and tell me some things you would like me to do to please you in our next session, Mistress. I will be waiting for your instruction.

And that's it. He signs his first name and sends it.

This is one of those letters that inspires a mixture of pity and annoyance. Of course he wants to feel liked and feel special. Everyone wants that.
But trying to get that from a sex worker that you saw once, six months ago, is pathetic. I sell blocks of my professional time, but you cannot buy my affection and respect, that has to be earned and it takes time.
This does tug at me a little, because I do try to make people feel like they're pleasing me when they have a session with me. However, when I re-read his email, it seems like I did - but that the writer talked himself of out of believing that after he left, and what that suggests to me is that he's got a touch of the Mr. Defensive thing happening. I've seen this before – there are some guys who, as long as they have your attention, feel happy and liked, but as soon as they leave, they start tearing the whole experience apart in their head. So even if they become regulars, you can't really establish a baseline of emotional connection with them. You have to start all over again creating the bubble of intimacy and trust every single time they come in. I'm not unwilling to do it, but they're robbing themselves of one of the benefits of seeing the same Mistress.
I haven't decided if I'll write this guy back or not. I'm inclined not to, just because he seems so needy, and I'm busy enough not to particularly need him as a client. But maybe if he calls, I'll try to talk to him and how I feel about it…