Snippets of my life lately…
I recently administered a caning to man while wearing – at his request - a red PVC ball gown, complete with tight-laced bodice, puffy skirt, and a train. I felt like a fetish Scarlett O'Hara.
Roman and I had a writer-to-writer discussion about conflict as a plot device while he went down on me. (Obviously he had to sort of stop licking me to talk, but it was still damned impressive. I know I lost my train of thought a few times.)
Jake and I talked about the increasingly incestuous little band of perverts that's floating around the edges of my social life these days. Except for me, I think all of the small pool of women that Jake is playing with, or has played with lately, is/has also played with two or three other guys – by which I mean, the same two or three other guys. That's not inherently bad, you understand, it just makes social events where everyone is going to be there a little – unpredictable. For example, the bondage class/party tomorrow night. I have no idea who's coming with who, or what mix-and-match configurations might result. I'm going with Max, that's all I know. And anyone who wants him to tie them up should be very nice to me.
I've been unsure about talking about this here – but, what the hell. I recently became the proud owner of a fucking machine. I've always wanted one, and I'm extremely pleased by this one. Not only does it work like a charm, but it even looks cool. I'd post a picture of it, but I need to get Mike's permission. You remember Mike, my previous secondary? Well, actually, Mike came back onto the scene a little while back. Naughty of me not to have told you, but I can be that way sometimes. Things with the other girl didn't quite fly, so Mike turned up, being as charming as he can be, which is considerable. I thought about playing hard to get - but he seduced me back, because he knows one of my major fetishes.
You see, Mike is a metal artist. He works in other mediums as well, but that metal thing, mmmm-hmmmn, it's sexy. And so is Mike.
So Mike built me a really cool fucking machine, and I foresee having a lot of fun with it. There's something so delightfully relentless about machines. They just don't care about you one little bit. (This is also one of the reasons why I like playing with electricity.) So if someone set this machine in motion and walked away, well, it would just keep on pumping until I – whoops, I mean they – came back. Doesn't really matter whether you like it or not.
Oh, that's sexy. Very sexy.
But the thing is, Mike has a very distinct style in metal art, and if you knew him, and you saw a picture of this machine, you'd immediately recognize it as his work. Now, he may not care, but I need to check with him first. So perhaps we'll have a picture of the machine – probably without a victim attached – sometime.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Friday, November 05, 2004
So, hopefully the new Stranger column should be up today. I don't know why it's apparently not being put up on Thursdays any more.
This would make me slightly happier. I cannot stand John Ashcroft, he's the worst of the bible-thumpers we have in office these days. Ashcroft Likely to Leave AG Post.
Oh, you know, I'm not trying to stifle anyone's freedom of expression or anything, but "community outreach" like this hurts us as much - or more - as it helps us. Sex slave, dominatrix claim they are feminists.
The submissive, in particular, really needs some training before she's ever put in front of another bunch of vanilla people. Jesus, telling people you met your top when you were fourteen, that you once tried to commit suicide, and that your top had you get breast implants, and that you don't think you could leave? Oh, that all makes you look real healthy.
I totally support this woman and her partner structuring their relationship however they want. But when you're doing a public speaking engagement, there are things you talk about - and there are things you don't.
And apparently Penn, of Penn and Teller, has a kinky streak. How charming.
This would make me slightly happier. I cannot stand John Ashcroft, he's the worst of the bible-thumpers we have in office these days. Ashcroft Likely to Leave AG Post.
Oh, you know, I'm not trying to stifle anyone's freedom of expression or anything, but "community outreach" like this hurts us as much - or more - as it helps us. Sex slave, dominatrix claim they are feminists.
The submissive, in particular, really needs some training before she's ever put in front of another bunch of vanilla people. Jesus, telling people you met your top when you were fourteen, that you once tried to commit suicide, and that your top had you get breast implants, and that you don't think you could leave? Oh, that all makes you look real healthy.
I totally support this woman and her partner structuring their relationship however they want. But when you're doing a public speaking engagement, there are things you talk about - and there are things you don't.
And apparently Penn, of Penn and Teller, has a kinky streak. How charming.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Enjoying Yourself is Sexy
I got a sweet email from a client after a recent session. It's very flattering, but more than that, it's interesting. You see, he's been to see a lot of different pro doms, and so he's able to compare and contrast me with a number of other professionals. A lot of my guys have never seen another dominatrix, or maybe they've seen just one or two. So I was curious about this rather experienced gentleman's opinion.
I got a sweet email from a client after a recent session. It's very flattering, but more than that, it's interesting. You see, he's been to see a lot of different pro doms, and so he's able to compare and contrast me with a number of other professionals. A lot of my guys have never seen another dominatrix, or maybe they've seen just one or two. So I was curious about this rather experienced gentleman's opinion.
I think that there are a couple of things that make you stand out. One is that you convey far more than most ProDommes that you are enjoying the session, what you are doing, and my reactions. I'm not nearly that outgoing myself; I just seem to go naturally quiet in session, and my reactions are much more physical than verbal. But as I've told you, your responsiveness really does inspire me to want to take more for you, since you make it so evident that you are enjoying the activities.Mistress Matisse's Tips for Dominant # 16: If you tell them, and show them, that they're pleasing you, they will work as hard as they can to keep doing so.
The second thing I think I can safely say now that you've seen me three times, and I trust you consider me to be one of the "good guys" who has read your rules page, and respects your boundaries. I think I can say without you getting the wrong impression that you conduct a very sexy session. You are far from the dispassionate, either almost purely D/s or almost purely sadistic demeanor that I've experienced from most other ProDommes. I'm one of the people who believe that BDSM play is very much about sex -- not having sex, not sex acts, to be sure, but still very sexual in nature. To me at least, you convey that sense of a BDSM session being a sexual experience, and very fun!An example of a client who's a very good match for me. Always nice when it works out this way.
I think that many other ProDommes are very inhibited in that area, even those who conduct sessions with a laughing, fun-loving demeanor. Few are willing to let go and convey the sense that yes, a session is very sexy, and yes, that it's sexy fun. That may well be for good reason, such as a result of bad experiences with clients who get the wrong idea; or they may hold to the prudish philosophy of "it's not about sex; it's about submission." Or it may be their personality, just the way they are, and I don't mean to be critical of that, since I don't think I'm very demonstrative during a session, either. But you are, and you conduct a very sexy session, and to me that is another thing that makes you a lot of fun to play with.To me, this speaks to the virtue of simply being yourself in BDSM, as opposed to adopting a fake demeanor because you think it's more "domly". Like him, I'm not dissing those who have a different style, if it's a genuine reflection of who they are. But even though I get occasional flak from the "real and true mistress" types, I'm not interested in pretending to be jaded, bitchy or cold. It's nice to have boys who appreciate me exactly as I am.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
All right, tomorrow we go back to sex and kink...but a few final thoughts for the day of mourning.
Looks like a lot people had the same idea... Still, there are at least Ten Reasons Not To Move To Canada.
For myself, I'm going to try focusing on the fact that the people who helped elect Bush will now expect him to fix what's wrong. And that's going to be rather difficult.
Looks like a lot people had the same idea... Still, there are at least Ten Reasons Not To Move To Canada.
For myself, I'm going to try focusing on the fact that the people who helped elect Bush will now expect him to fix what's wrong. And that's going to be rather difficult.
Well, I'm pretty depressed this morning. This reminds me of when Newt Gingrinch and Co. swept into office. Jesus.
So, be aware - if you aren't already - that I will delete any comments I don't like. It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, so if you're in a celebratory mood, take it to one of the more like-minded blogs. I don't want to hear it today.
So, be aware - if you aren't already - that I will delete any comments I don't like. It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, so if you're in a celebratory mood, take it to one of the more like-minded blogs. I don't want to hear it today.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Oh god, I have a nasty feeling I'm going to be stuck looking at that monkey boy's ugly face on TV for the next four years. Jesus. I've heard that "we get the government we deserve", but I think that, actually, just slightly more than half of us do.
I should look at the bright side: I'm not going to get drafted, I don't have kids to inherit the huge debt we're running up, and since Washington state is looking to remain strongly Democratic - a female Democrat governor and two Democratic female state senators, that's a historical first - at least I don't have to worry about my being able to get an abortion should an unfortunate accident happen.
I should look at the bright side: I'm not going to get drafted, I don't have kids to inherit the huge debt we're running up, and since Washington state is looking to remain strongly Democratic - a female Democrat governor and two Democratic female state senators, that's a historical first - at least I don't have to worry about my being able to get an abortion should an unfortunate accident happen.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Haven't done a reading list for a while…
The Boxer Rebellion, by Diane Preston. No, it's not a book about guys in satin shorts beating up Don King. "In the late 1890s, a virulently resentful peasant movement spread across northern China; foreigners nicknamed its adherents "Boxers" for the martial-arts exercises they practiced en masse. When the movement erupted into open violence in 1900, the imperial government supported attacks on foreigners that escalated into a siege of the foreign embassies in Peking. Diana Preston's The Boxer Rebellion is an account of the 55-day confrontation that alarmed the world." (Snipped from the Amazon site.)
How To Use Adobe Premiere 6.5, by Douglas Dixon. Because thanks to Roman, I now have good video editing software. It's already bristling with Post-Its.
Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates Of Human Societies, by Jared Diamond.
You've probably heard of this one – it won a Pulitzer, and it's been sitting on my desk for a while, waiting its turn. It's pretty dense, but very interesting.
Turning Life Into Fiction, by Robin Hemley. From Amazon: "…this is an enlightening and even inspiring guide to utilizing elements of one's own life and of one's family history as fodder for writing novels and short stories... Journal keeping is heavily encouraged…" Okay, I think I've got that part going on.
Jacobite Spy Wars: Moles, Rouges and Treachery, by Hugh Douglas. The Jacobite story was one of history's longest running spy sagas. Adherents of the exiled branch of the house of Stuart after the Glorious Revolution of 1688, the Jacobites sought the restoration of James II. A reminder that there's nothing much new under the political sun.
In a bit of possible market research, I've also been reading some "chick lit" novels – and I hate to sound like a snob, but my god, they're terrible. I've read a best-seller called The Devil Wears Prada, as well as Good In Bed, one called Mr. Maybe, and a couple of others whose titles have already left my mind – and I was severely unimpressed with all of them. And these are the trade-sized paperback, not the smaller size, which means I was shelling out ten to fifteen dollars apiece for these things.
I know no one is pretending this genre of books is great lit-ra-choor. But Jesus, even for beach or airplane reading, it was pretty flat. I like reading fluffy fiction sometimes, but only if it's good fluffy fiction. I could write a better novel than some of these authors.
So, maybe I will…
The Boxer Rebellion, by Diane Preston. No, it's not a book about guys in satin shorts beating up Don King. "In the late 1890s, a virulently resentful peasant movement spread across northern China; foreigners nicknamed its adherents "Boxers" for the martial-arts exercises they practiced en masse. When the movement erupted into open violence in 1900, the imperial government supported attacks on foreigners that escalated into a siege of the foreign embassies in Peking. Diana Preston's The Boxer Rebellion is an account of the 55-day confrontation that alarmed the world." (Snipped from the Amazon site.)
How To Use Adobe Premiere 6.5, by Douglas Dixon. Because thanks to Roman, I now have good video editing software. It's already bristling with Post-Its.
Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates Of Human Societies, by Jared Diamond.
You've probably heard of this one – it won a Pulitzer, and it's been sitting on my desk for a while, waiting its turn. It's pretty dense, but very interesting.
Turning Life Into Fiction, by Robin Hemley. From Amazon: "…this is an enlightening and even inspiring guide to utilizing elements of one's own life and of one's family history as fodder for writing novels and short stories... Journal keeping is heavily encouraged…" Okay, I think I've got that part going on.
Jacobite Spy Wars: Moles, Rouges and Treachery, by Hugh Douglas. The Jacobite story was one of history's longest running spy sagas. Adherents of the exiled branch of the house of Stuart after the Glorious Revolution of 1688, the Jacobites sought the restoration of James II. A reminder that there's nothing much new under the political sun.
In a bit of possible market research, I've also been reading some "chick lit" novels – and I hate to sound like a snob, but my god, they're terrible. I've read a best-seller called The Devil Wears Prada, as well as Good In Bed, one called Mr. Maybe, and a couple of others whose titles have already left my mind – and I was severely unimpressed with all of them. And these are the trade-sized paperback, not the smaller size, which means I was shelling out ten to fifteen dollars apiece for these things.
I know no one is pretending this genre of books is great lit-ra-choor. But Jesus, even for beach or airplane reading, it was pretty flat. I like reading fluffy fiction sometimes, but only if it's good fluffy fiction. I could write a better novel than some of these authors.
So, maybe I will…
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Never-Ending Story
Ring Ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Uh, hi, my name's Jim, and I have a question.
Me: Okay, go ahead.
Caller: So, I used to see this girl named X a while back – you know, she's an escort.
I know exactly who he means, she's a friend of mine. But I don't know where this is going so I just say….
Me: Go on.
Caller: Well, her old number doesn't work anymore and I want to see her again. She told me she knew you. Do you have her new number?
Now, I have a general policy: I don't give out other people's phone numbers without asking them. And I most especially don't give out people's numbers to strangers. For one thing, the fact that this guy doesn't have her contact info says to me that she may not really want him to have it. It also indicates that he ain't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, because a half-decent Google search would turn up a website for this girl.
But frankly, none of this is my dog. She's my friend, but we're not business partners, and I don't want to be involved in any of her dealings with her clients. I find it sort of gauche for him to even ask.
Rather than explain all of this to him, however, I try to take the shortest distance between two points.
Me: No, I don't have a number for her, sorry.
Caller: Oh - that's weird, because she told me you two were good friends.
Damn. I gotta speak to her about telling people that.
Caller: Are you going to see her around, do you think? Can I give you my number and have you give it to her and ask her call me?
Me: Look, I don't know when I'll be seeing her, I don't want to be in the middle of this.
Caller: Well, I just really want to see her and she doesn't have an ad in the paper anymore. Is she still working?
Me: Okay - stop. I don't know where she is, I don't know what she's doing, and I don't want to be a go-between. If you can't find her, I can't help you.
Caller: But isn't she a friend of yours? I think you wrote about her in your column once.
He's not going to let me be polite about this.
Me: Listen to me: this conversation is inappropriate. I am not going to give you any information, and I am not going to carry any information for you. Goodbye.
Click. I hang up.
Several months go by. In the interim, I speak to the woman in question about this call, and she responds by saying, "Oh, that guy? Hell no, I don't want him calling me, that's why I didn't give him my new number."
"Do you owe him money or something? Because he sure was hot to find you."
"No, he's just a total pest. Everyone else in town has probably cut him off, too."
I thank her for confirming my decision and dismiss the matter from my mind.
Until…
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Uh, hi, my name is Jim, I talked to you a couple of months ago, I'm the guy looking for X.
Oh, fuck.
Me: Jim, I told you, I don't have any information for you.
Caller: But I thought you might have seen her by now. Are you sure you don't have her number?
Oh, I do not like people who won't take no for an answer, and this guy also has the sort of whiny, nasal voice that's like fingernails on a blackboard to me. I have a vivid memory of my college drama professor railing at all of us to "speak from your diaphragm, not through your nose!" So while I have a lot of patience - that's a lot of patience to lose. I'm losing it with this guy.
Me: Get this in your head: I am not going to give you her number. If you can’t find her, you'll just have to call someone else. But I am not a fucking pimp, so do not call me again looking for other girls, do you understand?
Caller: But I really want to –
Click. I hang up.
It's been several months. He hasn't called back. I'm hoping I can score one for brutal clarity. But I'm not assuming.
Ring Ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Uh, hi, my name's Jim, and I have a question.
Me: Okay, go ahead.
Caller: So, I used to see this girl named X a while back – you know, she's an escort.
I know exactly who he means, she's a friend of mine. But I don't know where this is going so I just say….
Me: Go on.
Caller: Well, her old number doesn't work anymore and I want to see her again. She told me she knew you. Do you have her new number?
Now, I have a general policy: I don't give out other people's phone numbers without asking them. And I most especially don't give out people's numbers to strangers. For one thing, the fact that this guy doesn't have her contact info says to me that she may not really want him to have it. It also indicates that he ain't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, because a half-decent Google search would turn up a website for this girl.
But frankly, none of this is my dog. She's my friend, but we're not business partners, and I don't want to be involved in any of her dealings with her clients. I find it sort of gauche for him to even ask.
Rather than explain all of this to him, however, I try to take the shortest distance between two points.
Me: No, I don't have a number for her, sorry.
Caller: Oh - that's weird, because she told me you two were good friends.
Damn. I gotta speak to her about telling people that.
Caller: Are you going to see her around, do you think? Can I give you my number and have you give it to her and ask her call me?
Me: Look, I don't know when I'll be seeing her, I don't want to be in the middle of this.
Caller: Well, I just really want to see her and she doesn't have an ad in the paper anymore. Is she still working?
Me: Okay - stop. I don't know where she is, I don't know what she's doing, and I don't want to be a go-between. If you can't find her, I can't help you.
Caller: But isn't she a friend of yours? I think you wrote about her in your column once.
He's not going to let me be polite about this.
Me: Listen to me: this conversation is inappropriate. I am not going to give you any information, and I am not going to carry any information for you. Goodbye.
Click. I hang up.
Several months go by. In the interim, I speak to the woman in question about this call, and she responds by saying, "Oh, that guy? Hell no, I don't want him calling me, that's why I didn't give him my new number."
"Do you owe him money or something? Because he sure was hot to find you."
"No, he's just a total pest. Everyone else in town has probably cut him off, too."
I thank her for confirming my decision and dismiss the matter from my mind.
Until…
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Uh, hi, my name is Jim, I talked to you a couple of months ago, I'm the guy looking for X.
Oh, fuck.
Me: Jim, I told you, I don't have any information for you.
Caller: But I thought you might have seen her by now. Are you sure you don't have her number?
Oh, I do not like people who won't take no for an answer, and this guy also has the sort of whiny, nasal voice that's like fingernails on a blackboard to me. I have a vivid memory of my college drama professor railing at all of us to "speak from your diaphragm, not through your nose!" So while I have a lot of patience - that's a lot of patience to lose. I'm losing it with this guy.
Me: Get this in your head: I am not going to give you her number. If you can’t find her, you'll just have to call someone else. But I am not a fucking pimp, so do not call me again looking for other girls, do you understand?
Caller: But I really want to –
Click. I hang up.
It's been several months. He hasn't called back. I'm hoping I can score one for brutal clarity. But I'm not assuming.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
"Oh, I am so blogging about that!" That's become a phrase in my vocabulary, and if you tell me a really good story, don't be surprised to hear it.
For example, Miss K and I were having our usual dinner at Hana this week, along with Lynn, another local luminary in the fantasy-fulfillment trade, and of course we got into weird-ass phone calls discussion.
Miss K said, "Oh, I got one. Crazy!"
"Tell, tell," I said.
"It wasn't an irate spouse, exactly," she began. "It took me a while to figure out just what this woman wanted, because she was so indirect. But what we eventually got to was: she wanted me to call her if her boyfriend ever called me."
"Wait," I said, clutching my head. "Some woman called you. She says she has a boyfriend. And she wants you to notify her if said boyfriend contacts you about a session."
"That's right."
"You would of course be able to identify this man using the sophisticated voiceprint technology on your cell phone."
She laughed. "Apparently she thinks so."
"And you would do this…why, pray tell?"
"Damned if I know."
"Oh. I thought maybe she offered you a high-ranking political position in her imaginary kingdom or something."
Miss K shook her head. "But it gets weirder."
"Oh, god. What?"
"Well, then she started asking a bunch of other questions and it turns out she's always wondered about being an escort herself. So she wanted me to tell her all about how to do that."
"Which, naturally, you refused to do."
"Hell, yes, I refused, I'm not about to talk about that with some whacko. But she kept asking, and I kept saying I wasn't going to talk about that. You keep thinking they'll hang up, you know, but she kept coming up with questions."
"Yep – that's pretty fucking weird." I then told Miss K and Lynn about the "Secretary Man," star of this week's Stranger column. "But your call is so charmingly bizarre, do you mind if I write about it?"
"Go right ahead," said Miss K.
So I did…
PostScript: A big "Happy Birthday" goes out to T. - along with my thanks, for being so extremely cool.
For example, Miss K and I were having our usual dinner at Hana this week, along with Lynn, another local luminary in the fantasy-fulfillment trade, and of course we got into weird-ass phone calls discussion.
Miss K said, "Oh, I got one. Crazy!"
"Tell, tell," I said.
"It wasn't an irate spouse, exactly," she began. "It took me a while to figure out just what this woman wanted, because she was so indirect. But what we eventually got to was: she wanted me to call her if her boyfriend ever called me."
"Wait," I said, clutching my head. "Some woman called you. She says she has a boyfriend. And she wants you to notify her if said boyfriend contacts you about a session."
"That's right."
"You would of course be able to identify this man using the sophisticated voiceprint technology on your cell phone."
She laughed. "Apparently she thinks so."
"And you would do this…why, pray tell?"
"Damned if I know."
"Oh. I thought maybe she offered you a high-ranking political position in her imaginary kingdom or something."
Miss K shook her head. "But it gets weirder."
"Oh, god. What?"
"Well, then she started asking a bunch of other questions and it turns out she's always wondered about being an escort herself. So she wanted me to tell her all about how to do that."
"Which, naturally, you refused to do."
"Hell, yes, I refused, I'm not about to talk about that with some whacko. But she kept asking, and I kept saying I wasn't going to talk about that. You keep thinking they'll hang up, you know, but she kept coming up with questions."
"Yep – that's pretty fucking weird." I then told Miss K and Lynn about the "Secretary Man," star of this week's Stranger column. "But your call is so charmingly bizarre, do you mind if I write about it?"
"Go right ahead," said Miss K.
So I did…
PostScript: A big "Happy Birthday" goes out to T. - along with my thanks, for being so extremely cool.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
In the comments on the video clip yesterday, Tantalized told me I seemed kind, and then asked me:
I'm a good performer. But I'm not a good actress. It's rather like the difference between Tim Robbins and Jack Nicholson. Tim Robbins has played dozens of different types of roles - he's a great actor. Now, Jack Nicholson is great, too, but whatever role he plays - he's always Jack. He's a performer, not an actor.
I'm like that. I can play me really well - but I can't make myself disappear and be someone else. The persona of "Mistress Matisse" is a facet of who I truly am - so it's very genuine. But it's not divorced from the rest of me, and so in my sessions, I'm also (sometimes) kind, and I'm usually engaged. I don't play the angry bitch with my clients, that's not my style. Doesn't mean I'm not sometimes severe and strict, if I wish to be, and it certainly doesn't mean I'm not sadistic. I always tell people I'm the sweetest sadist you'll ever meet. I've had a number of boys look at me in bewilderment, as they writhe around in pain - pain I'm happily inflicting - and say "But you look so nice!" Protective coloration, I always say. Lets me sneak up on you, and then even afterwards, you won't quite be able to wrap your head around the fact that this smiling, sweet-looking girl just beat your ass bloody. (Mwah hah hah hah haaaaa! My evil plan is working!)
Hope that answers your question, Tantalized...
"Now, can that kindness and engagement carry over into your professional role? Or do clients expect the Bitch Goddess?...Are you an actress who disappears into her role or one whose spirit comes through no matter what part she is playing?"
I'm a good performer. But I'm not a good actress. It's rather like the difference between Tim Robbins and Jack Nicholson. Tim Robbins has played dozens of different types of roles - he's a great actor. Now, Jack Nicholson is great, too, but whatever role he plays - he's always Jack. He's a performer, not an actor.
I'm like that. I can play me really well - but I can't make myself disappear and be someone else. The persona of "Mistress Matisse" is a facet of who I truly am - so it's very genuine. But it's not divorced from the rest of me, and so in my sessions, I'm also (sometimes) kind, and I'm usually engaged. I don't play the angry bitch with my clients, that's not my style. Doesn't mean I'm not sometimes severe and strict, if I wish to be, and it certainly doesn't mean I'm not sadistic. I always tell people I'm the sweetest sadist you'll ever meet. I've had a number of boys look at me in bewilderment, as they writhe around in pain - pain I'm happily inflicting - and say "But you look so nice!" Protective coloration, I always say. Lets me sneak up on you, and then even afterwards, you won't quite be able to wrap your head around the fact that this smiling, sweet-looking girl just beat your ass bloody. (Mwah hah hah hah haaaaa! My evil plan is working!)
Hope that answers your question, Tantalized...
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Okay, people - I'm going to try introducing something new here: video clips. I've been playing with my DV camera lately, and I think it would be cool to have some "vlog" entries here occasionally. I found a place to host them - a site called OnFuego.com, which, so far, seems very cool.
We'll start with a pair of clips from the night Roman and I drank absinthe together. We shot a lot of video that night, but these clips are from late in the evening, after much of that licorice-flavored liquor had been consumed, and we're both a mite tiddly. We decided we'd interview each other, and we thought it would be best if we did that naked. (Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time.)
These clips are basically of me talking, although you do hear Roman's voice here and there. Intoxication did lend itself to a certain lack of inhibition on my part, although it also led to a slight tendency for me to slur my words (more than I normally do). So you'll have to balance those two things.
Also, the picture quality isn't stellar, because these clips were too dark and so I turned the brightness up, which of course messes with the sharpness and color balance. And bear in mind, I'm using a painfully basic video editor, Windows Movie Maker.
But, those caveats aside, you may find them entertaining...
Go here to watch "Naked Public Life I & II"
We'll start with a pair of clips from the night Roman and I drank absinthe together. We shot a lot of video that night, but these clips are from late in the evening, after much of that licorice-flavored liquor had been consumed, and we're both a mite tiddly. We decided we'd interview each other, and we thought it would be best if we did that naked. (Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time.)
These clips are basically of me talking, although you do hear Roman's voice here and there. Intoxication did lend itself to a certain lack of inhibition on my part, although it also led to a slight tendency for me to slur my words (more than I normally do). So you'll have to balance those two things.
Also, the picture quality isn't stellar, because these clips were too dark and so I turned the brightness up, which of course messes with the sharpness and color balance. And bear in mind, I'm using a painfully basic video editor, Windows Movie Maker.
But, those caveats aside, you may find them entertaining...
Go here to watch "Naked Public Life I & II"
Saturday, October 23, 2004
From The Mailbag
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.
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.
Pointless, really – but rather sweet just the same.
Another guy with very specific tastes - so to speak. But not a fetish I'm interested in exploring...
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...
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: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.
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...
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...
Thursday, October 21, 2004
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 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?
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
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...
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...
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
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.
Monday, October 18, 2004
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.
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.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
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…
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…
Friday, October 15, 2004
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...)
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...)
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