The Contest
It all began when Roman and I started talking about our possible plans for KinkFest, the upcoming BDSM convention in Portland. Now, he and I very much enjoy our informal, give-and-take style of SM play. Anarchist SM, I call it. But it seemed like it might be time to do something more like a traditional BDSM scene. And since we're both shameless exhibitionists, what better place to do it than in front of several hundred other kinksters? So we decided we should take the opportunity at Kinkfest to co-top someone (meaning: the two of us ganging up on one bottom).
But who? We both have a number of charming friends and acquaintances that might enjoy our evil attentions….Somehow, though, that just didn't seem like what we wanted for this.
We considered just cruising the dungeon to see what fell into our net. But that seemed a little too haphazard.
Truthfully, I don't recall which of us came up with the idea of a contest on the blogs. But, somehow, the idea that we would open this up to our readers was born. (Probably because of the all the ladies Roman has swooning over him. I'm just piggybacking here.)
We formed a concept not unlike a reality television show. We'll set out the rules and the eligibility requirements, there will be tests and challenges, and then at the end of it all, we'll pick a winner, and Roman and I will do a dungeon-stopping scene with her at Kinkfest.
The Rules, and Who Can Play
Well, obviously, you need to be going to Kinkfest. Sorry, we don't actually have a reality TV show budget, so we're not buying anyone a plane ticket.
Now I must deal a crushing blow to half the human race, because this contest is for girls only. Sorry boys, you know I love you, but Roman has this kinky-interest meter, and it doesn't go up for men. God knows I've tried to get him into some hot guy-on-guy action, but so far, he's declined. Plus, I've gotten a fair amount of complaints lately from certain people about my relentlessly Y-chromosome dance card, and it seems like it's time to address that. So, women only in this contest.
This is a big one: We cannot already know you. We're intrigued by the idea of meeting someone new. If you're a local friend of ours, and you'd like Roman and me to be mean to you, talk to us about that privately. This time out, we're looking for a sexy stranger.
Another uber-important rule: you must be an experienced, high-capacity SM player. There are times when it's charming to take someone who's brand new and slowly and carefully introduce them to the joys of kink. This ain't one of those times. I'm a safe but serious sadist, ladies, and I want to rock and roll at this party. Oh, and you have to be okay getting naked and playing in a public dungeon. We're not completely ruling out some private interaction, but it's more likely that the entire scene will be done in the Kinkfest playspace.
About sex: there will not be any with me. I'm not looking for that. Roman? Well, boys will be boys, and if you want to, and he wants to, I might be entertained by watching that. But we're definitely not expecting sex from you.
You must be willing to have your picture on the internet. Oh yeah, did we mention we're going to be posting all the entries? It'll be like the "American Idol" of BDSM scenes. Roman and I will block out your face before we post them if you insist on that, and we won't publish your name, your email address or any other identifying info about you. (Unless you ask us to.)
But in the photos you send us – and you will definitely be sending us pictures – we will have to see your face. I am quite clear that I'm not doing this scene with someone who won't show me her face beforehand.
(There will be no pictures of the scene itself, because public dungeons forbid such photo-taking. But we're certain to write about it.)
So your photos, your responses to our challenges, and Roman and my responses to them will all be posted online. Each week, we'll eliminate some contestants and some will go on.
Assuming we get any takers at all in this mad scheme, it should be a hell of a lot of fun.
And now, just because one has to say such things: The scene will be negotiated and it'll be completely safe, sane and consensual. Nothing will happen you didn't agree to. There will be other people around the whole time, so you know for sure you won't wind up in an oil drum somewhere. Obviously you know who we are, so you can check up on us, if you feel that's necessary.
If you're interested, send Roman and me an email telling us about yourself, and attach a picture, or direct us to a website where a picture of you can be seen. Spelling and punctuation will count for this email, and for all other communications you have with us, so run it through a spell-checker before you send it off.
If you'd like to hear a bit more from us about the contest and the weekly challenges we'll be putting our potential play-partners through, I'll be posting a video clip tomorrow of us talking more about it. Stay tuned for that...
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Friday, January 28, 2005
People, I must tell you: if you leave me a voicemail that's longer than about thirty seconds, I'm probably going to think you're kinda weird. Okay, maybe forty-five. But if you leave me some three-minute rambling stream-of-consciousness message - especially if I don't know you – I will most likely think, "This person's gauge of appropriate social interaction is a little off. Maybe they're stoned. Maybe they didn't take their medication today. But wow, I really don't want to call them back."
I'm just saying. So now you know.
In other news…Roman and I had a date last night, and we took time out from having rabid ferret sex to shoot some video footage about a kinky little idea we've cooked up that could, possibly, involve you. Yes, I said you. We'll be making an interesting announcement tomorrow, so watch for that.
Now I have to go change the sheets…
I'm just saying. So now you know.
In other news…Roman and I had a date last night, and we took time out from having rabid ferret sex to shoot some video footage about a kinky little idea we've cooked up that could, possibly, involve you. Yes, I said you. We'll be making an interesting announcement tomorrow, so watch for that.
Now I have to go change the sheets…
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Ring Ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes it is.
Caller: Yes, I was wondering if you'd turn me into a woman?
Has sort of a through-the-looking-glass sound to it, doesn't it? This caller actually isn't expecting me to wave a magic wand over him, and he isn't even expecting me to prescribe him hormones and schedule him for surgery. He's looking for a heavy feminization scene - and he's doomed to disappointment, because I don't do that. It's just not a fetish of mine, and as Roman always says, "One must play to one's strengths."
It's not that I can't enjoy a boy in high heels. If you're a guy who wants to put on a bra and a garter belt and play "naughty-girl-who-gets-what's-coming-to-her", I'm down with that. Or if you just like the silky feel of the lingerie next to your skin, I'm quite fine with that, too.
But I don't do complete transformations on people, with wigs and makeup and padded bras and girdles and their cocks duct-taped up between their legs, and that's what this caller wants. And even if one assumes it's possible for someone to teach a man how to be a woman, I don't do that. That's a sub-specialty of professional dominance, and I leave it to the women who are good at it, because I'm not.
At least he isn't asking for the "forced-feminization" thing. I can sort of deal with that game, if it's kept at a very light and playful level. But, as I've said here before, I find the idea that I would seriously punish or humiliate a man by making him resemble a woman incredibly misogynistic, so it's rare for me to even dabble in that dynamic.
Me: You know, that's not really a specialty of mine. If you want to dress for a scene, that's fine, but I don't do serious feminization training.
Caller: Oh – you don't?
Me: No, I'm sorry. I know there are some other ladies in town who do, though. Have you called Mistress X?
Caller: It's just that – oh, you're so beautiful, I really wanted you to train me.
Me: That's very sweet, but, it's just not something I'm really into, so – I don't offer it.
Caller: So you've never trained a sissy-slave?
See, even the terminology for this turns me off. "Sissy-slave". I don't like that word.
Me: No, as I said, I'm just not into it.
Caller: Well, I'm very submissive and obedient, and if you'd just give me a try I really think I could please you. And then maybe you could teach me to be your little sissy-slave.
I love how people try to get me to change my mind about not playing with them by emphasizing how submissive they are. Am I the only one who sees the contradiction in terms here?
Me: No.
Caller: But Mistress, please, if you tried it, maybe you'd really like it!
Me: Listen to me carefully, because I'm about to tell you something you apparently don't already know: you cannot talk someone into sharing your fetish. You need to find someone else who's into this – but I'm not, so goodbye.
Click. I hang up. Better luck elsewhere, Miss Thing.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
What I'm reading these days…
Gentleman Spies: Intelligence Agents in the British Empire and Beyond, by John Fisher. The evolution of the British foreign intelligence bureau from before WW1. Not well-written, I'm afraid, but there's lots of interesting pieces of information in the jumbled-up writing. So I'm skipping around, reading a page here and there and skimming the rest.
Maiden of Tonnerre: The Vicissitudes of the Chevalier and the Chevaliaere D'Eon by Charles D'Eon de Beaumont, Nina Ekstein (Translator), Roland A. Champagne (Translator)
This one is so complicated I'll just let you read the publisher's blurb…
"Chevalier d'Eon de Beaumont was born in 1728. Raised as a boy, he was educated as a lawyer and entered the service of Louis XV as a diplomat. In 1756 he was sent to the Russian imperial court as a spy and was said to have dressed as a young woman to gain the confidence of the Empress Elizabeth. He later served in Russia (as a man) as secretary to the French ambassador. Returning to France in 1761, he was appointed a captain of the elite Dragoons and, after the Treaty of Paris in 1762, went to England as a diplomat and spy. During that time persistent rumors that he was in fact a woman arose, and he did nothing to dispel them. By 1777 he was officially recognized as female in both England and France. Recalled to France, he was reluctantly compelled by Louis XVI to give up his male attire. In 1785 he began to compose his autobiography, which presented much of his experience in religious terms, and he moved back to London. He lived there as a woman until his death in 1810, at which time his body was discovered to be unambiguously male." This volume includes the first English translations of d'Eon's autobiography (or "historical epistle") and other writings by d'Eon on his life, religious beliefs, and stories of women who concealed their sex to enter religious orders. As historian Gary Kates notes in the introduction, d'Eon's writing can be read on at least two levels: while it ostensibly tells the story of a woman who spent half her life as a man, it is in fact also the story of a man who spent half his life as a woman. As such it demonstrates both the construction and transgression of gender boundaries and historical narrative."
Whew. Complex - but interesting.
A Singular Hostage by Thalassa Ali. Sort of an adventure/romance novel, set in 1830's India. Good for light bedtime reading.
Elements of Fiction Writing Series: Scene and Structure, by Jack M Bickham. I like this whole series, it's very nuts-and-bolts, and while this one is almost - how shall I say, mathematical? - in it's approach, I got a lot out of it.
Chocolate: A Bittersweet Saga of Dark and Light, by Mort Rosenblum. I've just started nibbling at this one, a sort of cultural/historical look at the sweet stuff. It does tend to make one hungry.
God's Secretaries: The Making of The King James Bible by Adam Nicolson. Set a bit earlier than my favorite historical period, which is post-1750. But well-written and interesting just the same.
Mistress Ruby Ties it Together by Robin Shamburg. A short account of the author's experience as a pro dom in New York City. I'm unimpressed – she's not a bad writer, but her characters are one-dimensional and she's too eager to distance herself from the whole thing to really give us any insight into them, or herself. She's not really kinky, you see, she just did it for the money. As far as I'm concerned, that's an instant credibility-killer.
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrel: A Novel, by Susanna Clarke. Hmmn, what to say about this book? Aside from the fact that it's 800 pages and so big and bulky you could use it to club seals. The publisher says, "Susanna Clarke's ingenious first novel has the cleverness and lightness of touch of the Harry Potter series, but is less a fairy tale of good versus evil than a fantastic comedy of manners, complete with elaborate false footnotes, occasional period spellings, and a dense, lively mythology teeming beneath the narrative."
It didn't remind me of Harry Potter – those books read quickly and easily, and this book is very densely written. It is interesting, in a slogging-through-waist-high-water sort of way. But rather tiring to read, and coming from a muscular reader like me, that's saying something.
Gentleman Spies: Intelligence Agents in the British Empire and Beyond, by John Fisher. The evolution of the British foreign intelligence bureau from before WW1. Not well-written, I'm afraid, but there's lots of interesting pieces of information in the jumbled-up writing. So I'm skipping around, reading a page here and there and skimming the rest.
Maiden of Tonnerre: The Vicissitudes of the Chevalier and the Chevaliaere D'Eon by Charles D'Eon de Beaumont, Nina Ekstein (Translator), Roland A. Champagne (Translator)
This one is so complicated I'll just let you read the publisher's blurb…
"Chevalier d'Eon de Beaumont was born in 1728. Raised as a boy, he was educated as a lawyer and entered the service of Louis XV as a diplomat. In 1756 he was sent to the Russian imperial court as a spy and was said to have dressed as a young woman to gain the confidence of the Empress Elizabeth. He later served in Russia (as a man) as secretary to the French ambassador. Returning to France in 1761, he was appointed a captain of the elite Dragoons and, after the Treaty of Paris in 1762, went to England as a diplomat and spy. During that time persistent rumors that he was in fact a woman arose, and he did nothing to dispel them. By 1777 he was officially recognized as female in both England and France. Recalled to France, he was reluctantly compelled by Louis XVI to give up his male attire. In 1785 he began to compose his autobiography, which presented much of his experience in religious terms, and he moved back to London. He lived there as a woman until his death in 1810, at which time his body was discovered to be unambiguously male." This volume includes the first English translations of d'Eon's autobiography (or "historical epistle") and other writings by d'Eon on his life, religious beliefs, and stories of women who concealed their sex to enter religious orders. As historian Gary Kates notes in the introduction, d'Eon's writing can be read on at least two levels: while it ostensibly tells the story of a woman who spent half her life as a man, it is in fact also the story of a man who spent half his life as a woman. As such it demonstrates both the construction and transgression of gender boundaries and historical narrative."
Whew. Complex - but interesting.
A Singular Hostage by Thalassa Ali. Sort of an adventure/romance novel, set in 1830's India. Good for light bedtime reading.
Elements of Fiction Writing Series: Scene and Structure, by Jack M Bickham. I like this whole series, it's very nuts-and-bolts, and while this one is almost - how shall I say, mathematical? - in it's approach, I got a lot out of it.
Chocolate: A Bittersweet Saga of Dark and Light, by Mort Rosenblum. I've just started nibbling at this one, a sort of cultural/historical look at the sweet stuff. It does tend to make one hungry.
God's Secretaries: The Making of The King James Bible by Adam Nicolson. Set a bit earlier than my favorite historical period, which is post-1750. But well-written and interesting just the same.
Mistress Ruby Ties it Together by Robin Shamburg. A short account of the author's experience as a pro dom in New York City. I'm unimpressed – she's not a bad writer, but her characters are one-dimensional and she's too eager to distance herself from the whole thing to really give us any insight into them, or herself. She's not really kinky, you see, she just did it for the money. As far as I'm concerned, that's an instant credibility-killer.
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrel: A Novel, by Susanna Clarke. Hmmn, what to say about this book? Aside from the fact that it's 800 pages and so big and bulky you could use it to club seals. The publisher says, "Susanna Clarke's ingenious first novel has the cleverness and lightness of touch of the Harry Potter series, but is less a fairy tale of good versus evil than a fantastic comedy of manners, complete with elaborate false footnotes, occasional period spellings, and a dense, lively mythology teeming beneath the narrative."
It didn't remind me of Harry Potter – those books read quickly and easily, and this book is very densely written. It is interesting, in a slogging-through-waist-high-water sort of way. But rather tiring to read, and coming from a muscular reader like me, that's saying something.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Busy girl today, so, some other things to amuse you...
Naked Girl Pics: This is what was going on in the cage in my bedroom last week. What a time to be sick! I was utterly unable to appreciate it properly, but even in my feverish state, I was pleased it was happening. Candy Girl and Rossi are not only pretty, they're cool girls...
Anyone ever tried this stuff? I hear it's big fun for those sensitive places...
Interesting article about Poly in the Denver Post. It's not bad, although it makes it sound like we're all perenially chasing new partners. Not me, I'm quite pleased with my little family.
Addendum: An ABC News story about the Extreme Associates case....
Local note: I'm looking for a plumber who does natural-gas work. I need a consult for a light-industrial application, preferably within the week. (I'm pursuing this off-line, of course, but I believe in putting what you want out to the universe. You never know.)
Now I'm off to renew my car tabs. Yes, my life is just one non-stop kinky orgy...
Naked Girl Pics: This is what was going on in the cage in my bedroom last week. What a time to be sick! I was utterly unable to appreciate it properly, but even in my feverish state, I was pleased it was happening. Candy Girl and Rossi are not only pretty, they're cool girls...
Anyone ever tried this stuff? I hear it's big fun for those sensitive places...
Interesting article about Poly in the Denver Post. It's not bad, although it makes it sound like we're all perenially chasing new partners. Not me, I'm quite pleased with my little family.
Addendum: An ABC News story about the Extreme Associates case....
Local note: I'm looking for a plumber who does natural-gas work. I need a consult for a light-industrial application, preferably within the week. (I'm pursuing this off-line, of course, but I believe in putting what you want out to the universe. You never know.)
Now I'm off to renew my car tabs. Yes, my life is just one non-stop kinky orgy...
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Winning...
I've gotten a few notes asking me about the outcome of the BOB awards. I'm reasonably sure that I did win in my category, although I still haven't heard anything official from the BOB awards folks. I'll let you all know when I do. Meanwhile, thanks to everyone who voted for me, I very much appreciate it!
As a side note...I have heard from a number of sources that some people feel I may have won this unfairly, because I have a professional site, with my own domain, as well as this blog, and they felt that I was using that site to drive traffic here.
In fact, I never mentioned the contest on mistressmatisse.com. And what's also true is that that site gets less than 500 hits per day, as you can see here. Here on the blog, I get between 2500 and 3000 hits a day. So if any site is driving traffic anywhere, it's this blog driving it over to my professional site. (Which is just as I expected, and was, in fact, a consideration in starting the blog in the first place. It's all about marketing, kids. I'm a very serious girl when it comes to marketing.)
I think all the other nominees are excellent bloggers, and I was pleased to be in their company. I'm actually going to decline some of the prizes, like the free blog hosting for a year, so that will trickle down to one of the other finalists, and I hope they enjoy that.
A much bigger and more important win: Obscenity charges have been dismissed against Extreme Associates!
EA is a porn video company which makes pornography of an extreme nature. They shoot piss and scat, simulated rape, and simulated murder/snuff. They are edgy and they are nasty, no question about it. In 2003, the federal government arrested Robert Zicari and his wife, Janet Romano, the owners of Extreme Associates, on 9 counts of violating Federal obscenity statutes and 1 count of conspiracy.
I've seen one of EA's videos - Forced Entry - and I didn't particularly like it. But that doesn't alter the fact that they have a constitutional right to make it, and so I am quite pleased that the court found in their favor. Here's a quote from another blogger who knows more about the legal part of it than I do... (BEGIN QUOTE)
"On Thursday, January 20, 2005, Western District of Pennsylvania Federal Judge, Gary L. Lancaster dismissed all charges against Extreme and the individuals. The decision found the obscenity laws unconstitutional as it applied to this case, which means the laws are still technically valid on their face. However, if you read the decision, the Judge essentially destroys the government's ability to prosecute obscenity at all. You can read about the case here. The Court summarized its findings, stating:
I've gotten a few notes asking me about the outcome of the BOB awards. I'm reasonably sure that I did win in my category, although I still haven't heard anything official from the BOB awards folks. I'll let you all know when I do. Meanwhile, thanks to everyone who voted for me, I very much appreciate it!
As a side note...I have heard from a number of sources that some people feel I may have won this unfairly, because I have a professional site, with my own domain, as well as this blog, and they felt that I was using that site to drive traffic here.
In fact, I never mentioned the contest on mistressmatisse.com. And what's also true is that that site gets less than 500 hits per day, as you can see here. Here on the blog, I get between 2500 and 3000 hits a day. So if any site is driving traffic anywhere, it's this blog driving it over to my professional site. (Which is just as I expected, and was, in fact, a consideration in starting the blog in the first place. It's all about marketing, kids. I'm a very serious girl when it comes to marketing.)
I think all the other nominees are excellent bloggers, and I was pleased to be in their company. I'm actually going to decline some of the prizes, like the free blog hosting for a year, so that will trickle down to one of the other finalists, and I hope they enjoy that.
A much bigger and more important win: Obscenity charges have been dismissed against Extreme Associates!
EA is a porn video company which makes pornography of an extreme nature. They shoot piss and scat, simulated rape, and simulated murder/snuff. They are edgy and they are nasty, no question about it. In 2003, the federal government arrested Robert Zicari and his wife, Janet Romano, the owners of Extreme Associates, on 9 counts of violating Federal obscenity statutes and 1 count of conspiracy.
I've seen one of EA's videos - Forced Entry - and I didn't particularly like it. But that doesn't alter the fact that they have a constitutional right to make it, and so I am quite pleased that the court found in their favor. Here's a quote from another blogger who knows more about the legal part of it than I do... (BEGIN QUOTE)
"On Thursday, January 20, 2005, Western District of Pennsylvania Federal Judge, Gary L. Lancaster dismissed all charges against Extreme and the individuals. The decision found the obscenity laws unconstitutional as it applied to this case, which means the laws are still technically valid on their face. However, if you read the decision, the Judge essentially destroys the government's ability to prosecute obscenity at all. You can read about the case here. The Court summarized its findings, stating:
We find that the federal obscenity statutes burden an individual's fundamental right to possess, read, observe, and think about what he chooses in the privacy of his own home by completely banning the distribution of obscene materials. As such, we have applied the strict scrutiny test to those statutes. The federal obscenity statutes fail the strict scrutiny test because they are not narrowly drawn to advance the asserted governmental interests of protecting minors and unwitting adults from exposure to obscene materials, as applied to these defendants and the facts of this case. Because the federal obscenity statutes are unconstitutional as applied, defendants' indictment must be dismissed.In addition, the court also flatly rejected the right of the government to enforce laws to further the interest of "morality", since the U.S. Supreme Court overturned all laws which ban private consensual sodomy between adults in Lawrence v. Texas, 539 U.S. 558 (2003). Here the court said:
The Lawrence decision, however, is nevertheless important to this case. It can be reasonably interpreted as holding that public morality is not a legitimate state interest sufficient to justify infringing on adult, private, consensual, sexual conduct even if that conduct is deemed offensive to the general public's sense of morality. Such is the import of Lawrence to our decision.
This decision is a huge victory for individual liberty and freedom of speech.
However, I see a huge logic gap in the Judge's decision which may make it ripe for reversal on appeal.The decision to dismiss the charges was not based on the 1st Amendment. In fact, the court conceded that the 1st Amendment does not protect obscenity. See Roth v. United States, 354 U.S. 476 (1957). However, the Supreme Court has also ruled that the mere possession of obscenity in your home could not be prosecuted. See Stanley v. Georgia, 394 U.S. 557 (1969).
However, I see a huge logic gap in the Judge's decision which may make it ripe for reversal on appeal.The decision to dismiss the charges was not based on the 1st Amendment. In fact, the court conceded that the 1st Amendment does not protect obscenity. See Roth v. United States, 354 U.S. 476 (1957). However, the Supreme Court has also ruled that the mere possession of obscenity in your home could not be prosecuted. See Stanley v. Georgia, 394 U.S. 557 (1969).
Nonetheless, the government could (and did) freely prosecute anyone who distributes
obscenity. Here's what the judge did which appears somewhat curious. Judge Lancaster held that the 14th Amendment prohibits the government from prosecuting distributors of obscenity. Hence, it violates the Due Process clause of the Constitution to prosecute someone for distributing material which can be legally possessed.This means that even though obscenity is not protected by the 1st Amendment, the 14th Amendment protects an individual's right to possess and distribute obscenity. In other words, the government can make a law banning a form of speech (i.e. obscenity). However, they can't make it illegal to own it or distribute it. Under that logic, the entire concept of obscenity has become abrogated and essentially null and void. It's like giving the government a power, but not letting them actually use it.The government can choose to appeal this decision, and may have some grounds, as I've articulated.
Note: I applaud any decisions which protect freedom of speech, as this one does. However, I don't want to see good results overturned. Although there are risks for the government if they appeal. Since this is a trial level decision, it has no precedential effect on other jurisdictions. This means, that other courts can choose to ignore this decision entirely. If the government chooses to appeal and they lose in the Circuit Court or Supreme Court, then that decision would be binding on other courts.This decision may have a huge impact on the pending case of Nitke v. Ashcroft where the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom (NCSF) is fighting to overturn the Communications Decency Act, which is a law banning obscenity on the internet. The lead attorney on the suit is jwirenius I encourage anyone who is interested in either sexual freedom or freedom of speech to check out the NCSF website and find out more. " (END QUOTE)
obscenity. Here's what the judge did which appears somewhat curious. Judge Lancaster held that the 14th Amendment prohibits the government from prosecuting distributors of obscenity. Hence, it violates the Due Process clause of the Constitution to prosecute someone for distributing material which can be legally possessed.This means that even though obscenity is not protected by the 1st Amendment, the 14th Amendment protects an individual's right to possess and distribute obscenity. In other words, the government can make a law banning a form of speech (i.e. obscenity). However, they can't make it illegal to own it or distribute it. Under that logic, the entire concept of obscenity has become abrogated and essentially null and void. It's like giving the government a power, but not letting them actually use it.The government can choose to appeal this decision, and may have some grounds, as I've articulated.
Note: I applaud any decisions which protect freedom of speech, as this one does. However, I don't want to see good results overturned. Although there are risks for the government if they appeal. Since this is a trial level decision, it has no precedential effect on other jurisdictions. This means, that other courts can choose to ignore this decision entirely. If the government chooses to appeal and they lose in the Circuit Court or Supreme Court, then that decision would be binding on other courts.This decision may have a huge impact on the pending case of Nitke v. Ashcroft where the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom (NCSF) is fighting to overturn the Communications Decency Act, which is a law banning obscenity on the internet. The lead attorney on the suit is jwirenius I encourage anyone who is interested in either sexual freedom or freedom of speech to check out the NCSF website and find out more. " (END QUOTE)
Great info, all of it...I don't usually quote people at such length, but hey, he said it so well... So rejoice, lovers of free speech.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Another email question…
I've heard this kind of question before, and while I'm not offended by it – uh, yeah, it's pretty naive. What this questioner is essentially saying is: why do you have to have sex with anyone besides Max? Why can't you just be friends with other people?
In some ways, I think this is rather like asking a gay person why he/she can't "just be friends" with people of the same gender instead of having sex with them. I can't be truly happy being monogamous because I'm not wired that way. I haven't "chosen" anything – it's just the way I am.
The strange part of the way this question is presented, however, is that the writer takes a position that both over- and under-emphasizes the power and importance of sexuality.
He over-emphasizes it by setting monogamy up as the gold standard, giving me arguments to show how much better it is – safer, easier, more time-efficient – and by questioning why I'd risk all those supposed benefits.
Yet simultaneously, he under-emphasizes it by acting as if having a sexual love relationship is just like having a good buddy with whom you also like to do the wild thing. This writer talks about sex like it's going bowling or something - he seems to think that Roman and I could have built exactly the same type, and the same level, of affection, intimacy, trust, closeness and love, without having had sex with each other.
Now, I have a good friend – Miss K. We've been good friends for about ten years. She and I know each other in certain ways that no one else understands, and I love her dearly. But I'm here to tell you: it ain't the same. Friendship is a vitally important part of being fully human. But a sexual love relationship is a whole different thing. You cannot substitute one for the other.
(Yeah, I've had casual sex with friends before, and while it's not on par with an intense sexual love relationship, I still consider even the most no-strings of sex to change the nature of a platonic friendship. But polyamory means "many loves" and sexual love relationships are what we're talking about here. Casual sex is a whole other discussion.)
Poly is complicated, no question about it. But if one is going to argue strictly on the virtues of minimizing risk and maximizing efficiency, one could say: why have sex at all? Remaining a virgin would eliminate all the concerns that the writer brings up. Jealousy, STD risks, the possibility of being hurt emotionally, loss of time for other things – they all become non-issues. But I'm guessing he wouldn't advocate that. Nor would I.
In a sexual love relationship, you open your heart to your partner. You expose yourself, you make yourself vulnerable, and you do that because you want to. You want to be seen and be known in the most intimate of ways, and part of that intimacy is physical. But - I know I don't really need to explain this, I know that the writer must understand the power of physical intimacy, because he's essentially saying that it's so important it should be reserved for Max. But at the same time he's saying that it's so trivial he doesn't understand why I can't just subtract it from my relationship with Roman without altering that relationship's essential nature. I don't think one can logically hold both those positions at the same time.
What I say is: there is a connection that only happens when your body and your heart move as one, and I call that love. I am actively polyamorous because I have the ability and the desire to share that kind of love with more than just one person at a time. And because of that, I have a life that's filled with love. I happen to think that's worth a few inconveniences.
I read your blog the other day. I began the experience as an innocent, with no knowledge of BDSM whatsoever, and finished with an understanding of some of the motivations of the people who follow the lifestyle. You are in a polyamorous relationship that you find very satisfying. I get some understanding of why that is in reading your blog. What I don't understand (and I don't mean this in a judgmental way) is why you have chosen this kind of a lifestyle over a monogamous one. What are the benefits of a poly relationship for you that have lead you to prefer it to a more conventional one? In my admittedly naive view, a poly relationship would seem to entail a large number of costs - jealousy, a large commitment in terms of time, work and emotional support to multiple people, societal disapproval, interpersonal relationships that shift between friendship and being openly sexual, greater STD concerns, and greater vulnerability to being hurt emotionally. For you to undertake such a relationship with your primary partner, there had to have been some benefit beyond having more varied and enjoyable sex. In my experience, I have had very close and satisfying relationships with people without having sex with them. So I don't see the non-sexual reasons for polyamory. Could you enlighten me?
I've heard this kind of question before, and while I'm not offended by it – uh, yeah, it's pretty naive. What this questioner is essentially saying is: why do you have to have sex with anyone besides Max? Why can't you just be friends with other people?
In some ways, I think this is rather like asking a gay person why he/she can't "just be friends" with people of the same gender instead of having sex with them. I can't be truly happy being monogamous because I'm not wired that way. I haven't "chosen" anything – it's just the way I am.
The strange part of the way this question is presented, however, is that the writer takes a position that both over- and under-emphasizes the power and importance of sexuality.
He over-emphasizes it by setting monogamy up as the gold standard, giving me arguments to show how much better it is – safer, easier, more time-efficient – and by questioning why I'd risk all those supposed benefits.
Yet simultaneously, he under-emphasizes it by acting as if having a sexual love relationship is just like having a good buddy with whom you also like to do the wild thing. This writer talks about sex like it's going bowling or something - he seems to think that Roman and I could have built exactly the same type, and the same level, of affection, intimacy, trust, closeness and love, without having had sex with each other.
Now, I have a good friend – Miss K. We've been good friends for about ten years. She and I know each other in certain ways that no one else understands, and I love her dearly. But I'm here to tell you: it ain't the same. Friendship is a vitally important part of being fully human. But a sexual love relationship is a whole different thing. You cannot substitute one for the other.
(Yeah, I've had casual sex with friends before, and while it's not on par with an intense sexual love relationship, I still consider even the most no-strings of sex to change the nature of a platonic friendship. But polyamory means "many loves" and sexual love relationships are what we're talking about here. Casual sex is a whole other discussion.)
Poly is complicated, no question about it. But if one is going to argue strictly on the virtues of minimizing risk and maximizing efficiency, one could say: why have sex at all? Remaining a virgin would eliminate all the concerns that the writer brings up. Jealousy, STD risks, the possibility of being hurt emotionally, loss of time for other things – they all become non-issues. But I'm guessing he wouldn't advocate that. Nor would I.
In a sexual love relationship, you open your heart to your partner. You expose yourself, you make yourself vulnerable, and you do that because you want to. You want to be seen and be known in the most intimate of ways, and part of that intimacy is physical. But - I know I don't really need to explain this, I know that the writer must understand the power of physical intimacy, because he's essentially saying that it's so important it should be reserved for Max. But at the same time he's saying that it's so trivial he doesn't understand why I can't just subtract it from my relationship with Roman without altering that relationship's essential nature. I don't think one can logically hold both those positions at the same time.
What I say is: there is a connection that only happens when your body and your heart move as one, and I call that love. I am actively polyamorous because I have the ability and the desire to share that kind of love with more than just one person at a time. And because of that, I have a life that's filled with love. I happen to think that's worth a few inconveniences.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Whatever man first said, "It's better to get pissed off than pissed on," and thought himself ever-so-witty, had clearly never met some of the guys that call me.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: How much do you charge for golden showers?
I think this guy has mistaken me for an a la carte menu. In fact, I have a feeling he's hoping he's at McDonalds. He's wrong on both counts.
Me: I do not charge per activity. I charge a per-hour fee for my professional time, regardless of what kind of scene I'm doing.
Caller: Oh. Well, what's your fee per hour?
Me: Two hundred and fifty dollars.
Caller: Oooo. That's kinda steep, isn't it?
It's not – it's exactly the same as everyone in town has been charging for some time. (Although I did notice lately that there's a newcomer charging three hundred. More power to her, if she's getting it.) Of course, he might also just mean "steep" relative to his discretionary income, which would be a not-my-dog situation. Either way, one always wonders how guys who say this think I might respond to such a remark. "Oh, do you think so? Tell me, dear man, how much would you like to pay me?" Surely, surely not. So I just say…
Me: Did you have any other questions I can answer for you?
Caller: Do you do fifteen-minute sessions?
Oh man. I get requests for half-hour sessions, and that's bad enough. But fifteen minutes? What the fuck does he think this is, a chair massage at an airport?
Me: No.
Caller: No?
Me: No.
Caller: But, I mean – you can't really pee for a whole hour, anyway. Can you?
I swear to god that's what he said. And there was the faintest little breath of crazy, I-know-it-can't-really-be-true-but-I'll-ask-anyway kind of hope in those final two words. I was so incredibly tempted to say "Oh, yeah! Sure I can." Just because then the little piss slut would be jerking off in a frenzy for the rest of his life, thinking about a woman who an hour-long bladder. A woman, I might add, that he'd never, ever get to meet. The torture of it!
But he'd never stop calling me. So instead I say…
Me: I think we're through talking now. Goodbye….
Click.
Piss off, indeed…
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: How much do you charge for golden showers?
I think this guy has mistaken me for an a la carte menu. In fact, I have a feeling he's hoping he's at McDonalds. He's wrong on both counts.
Me: I do not charge per activity. I charge a per-hour fee for my professional time, regardless of what kind of scene I'm doing.
Caller: Oh. Well, what's your fee per hour?
Me: Two hundred and fifty dollars.
Caller: Oooo. That's kinda steep, isn't it?
It's not – it's exactly the same as everyone in town has been charging for some time. (Although I did notice lately that there's a newcomer charging three hundred. More power to her, if she's getting it.) Of course, he might also just mean "steep" relative to his discretionary income, which would be a not-my-dog situation. Either way, one always wonders how guys who say this think I might respond to such a remark. "Oh, do you think so? Tell me, dear man, how much would you like to pay me?" Surely, surely not. So I just say…
Me: Did you have any other questions I can answer for you?
Caller: Do you do fifteen-minute sessions?
Oh man. I get requests for half-hour sessions, and that's bad enough. But fifteen minutes? What the fuck does he think this is, a chair massage at an airport?
Me: No.
Caller: No?
Me: No.
Caller: But, I mean – you can't really pee for a whole hour, anyway. Can you?
I swear to god that's what he said. And there was the faintest little breath of crazy, I-know-it-can't-really-be-true-but-I'll-ask-anyway kind of hope in those final two words. I was so incredibly tempted to say "Oh, yeah! Sure I can." Just because then the little piss slut would be jerking off in a frenzy for the rest of his life, thinking about a woman who an hour-long bladder. A woman, I might add, that he'd never, ever get to meet. The torture of it!
But he'd never stop calling me. So instead I say…
Me: I think we're through talking now. Goodbye….
Click.
Piss off, indeed…
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Health, Kink, and Silliness...
Well, I don't think I'd want to go run a marathon or anything today, but, on the whole, I seem to be well again. Thank god, I hate being ill, it sucks. So that's the health update. Now on to pervy stuff...
Hey, all of you out-of-towners, this is the excuse you've been waiting for to come to Seattle...
Two Day Bondage Intensive - Bondage Basics Through Suspension
Saturday, February 12th/Sunday, February 13th at Studio 120 in Seattle. It's 11 hours of focused rope bondage instruction, starting from the basics and going all the way through suspension bondage. If you have a practice partner, register them too. If you don't, that's OK - we'll form small groups and everyone will get a chance to practice. Class size is limited, so early registration is strongly encouraged.
Max will not be doing stand-alone suspension workshops in the future, so if you want to learn suspension bondage from an expert, now's the time. This will almost certainly sell out quickly, so register soon. I'll be there, it'll be a great event, and you can go from rope novice to bondage whiz in one weekend. Go read all the details on Max's site.
Now that we've covered the educational thing, let's have some entertainment...
While I was ill, I was amusing myself pasting bits of my own blog into this thing and seeing if it says I'm a boy or a girl. It's only right about half the time, which either means the algorithm is lame or I'm a hermaphrodite.
Oh, this woman may actually have me beat for the most Completely Insane Email of the Century. Caution: Do not drink anything while you read this, because you will spit it all over the keyboard.
New blog: Trinity, who comments here often and who has kindly allowed me to post nekkid pictures/video of her, has begun her journal, here.... So go check her out, and say hi to her, if you've got an LJ account.
Well, I don't think I'd want to go run a marathon or anything today, but, on the whole, I seem to be well again. Thank god, I hate being ill, it sucks. So that's the health update. Now on to pervy stuff...
Hey, all of you out-of-towners, this is the excuse you've been waiting for to come to Seattle...
Two Day Bondage Intensive - Bondage Basics Through Suspension
Saturday, February 12th/Sunday, February 13th at Studio 120 in Seattle. It's 11 hours of focused rope bondage instruction, starting from the basics and going all the way through suspension bondage. If you have a practice partner, register them too. If you don't, that's OK - we'll form small groups and everyone will get a chance to practice. Class size is limited, so early registration is strongly encouraged.
Max will not be doing stand-alone suspension workshops in the future, so if you want to learn suspension bondage from an expert, now's the time. This will almost certainly sell out quickly, so register soon. I'll be there, it'll be a great event, and you can go from rope novice to bondage whiz in one weekend. Go read all the details on Max's site.
Now that we've covered the educational thing, let's have some entertainment...
While I was ill, I was amusing myself pasting bits of my own blog into this thing and seeing if it says I'm a boy or a girl. It's only right about half the time, which either means the algorithm is lame or I'm a hermaphrodite.
Oh, this woman may actually have me beat for the most Completely Insane Email of the Century. Caution: Do not drink anything while you read this, because you will spit it all over the keyboard.
New blog: Trinity, who comments here often and who has kindly allowed me to post nekkid pictures/video of her, has begun her journal, here.... So go check her out, and say hi to her, if you've got an LJ account.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Well, my temperature has dropped down out of triple digits, and my voice is sounding much less like Harvey Fierstein. That's progress. However, I'm still not feeling wildly creative, so we'll just pull the top letter off the email stack and answer it here….
What a sweet letter. This lady is right, I don't have time to answer all the questions I get, but I can answer this one. I'm not sure I'd call myself an expert on women's body image in a general sense, but I am definitely an expert on my body image.
Let me admit one thing right up front: I like having people think I have a pretty body. And it's my opinion that since I'm a sex worker, it is not only a personal but a financial benefit to me to have what the average America thinks of as "a nice figure". Yes, my feminist side deplores the endless barrage of you're-not-good-enough messages that are beamed at women by fashion/beauty magazines. But realistically, I see those types of messages as a "take some, leave the rest" situation. I am actually not a runway model in New York. So do I need to be a size 1 with 10% body fat? No, I don't need that. But – do I think I'd be as personally happy or as professionally successful if I were a size 18? No, I don't. For me, it's a question of keeping everything in balance.
I also think what I do to maintain my body affects how I feel about myself. I am not the jock-ish type by nature. I'd much rather lie on the couch and read a book. But unfortunately, I lack the kind of hyper-speed metabolism that will allow me to do that while looking the way I want to look. And strict dieting is such a negative, pleasure-denying place to live in all the time. I think it makes you a bit neurotic, and it doesn't even work all that well, either. Thus, I've made my peace with the gym. Two hours a day, three days a week, and I can eat pretty much whatever I want without angsting about it. 6 hours out of 168? I can do that.
(Plus, yeah, it's making me healthier, cardiovascular benefit, weight-bearing exercise wards off osteoporosis later in life - yes, I know all that, but right now we're talking about the visible effects.)
So if you call that a "body-image struggle"…Well, okay, then - I guess you could say I'm struggling. But it doesn't feel like psychological trauma to me, it just feels like: this is what I want, this is what I have to do to get it – so, that's what I'll do.
Do I think there's pressure to look a certain way in the sex industry? Yes, although more so in some places than in others. In the strip clubs I danced at, for example, anyone over a size 6 was at a disadvantage, and anyone over a size 10 was pretty much dead in the water. But I see plenty of big beautiful women who are doing just fine as escorts and sensual touch workers. I think just about any woman, regardless of looks/size, can make a living in some aspect of the industry. Obviously, the more people your looks appeal to, the more clients you'll attract based on that, so from a purely business perspective, it behooves you to make your looks as broadly appealing as possible. If you're targeting a narrower potential-client demographic, you may have to compensate for that in some way, like aggressive marketing or superior customer service. However, I witness this being done successfully all time.
Do I think being a professional dominant has affected how I feel about my body? No, not particularly. I do think pro domming is an area where skill and experience are definitely valued, perhaps more highly than in other areas of the sex industry. But a pro-domme's potential clients are certainly not above making their choice based on the mistress's looks. There was a time – I'm talking the 1950's here - when this particular branch of the industry was so taboo, and thus the market so underserved, that you could make money no matter what you looked like. But those days are long gone.
Do I think having people think I'm desirable improves my body image? I wouldn't say "improves", exactly. It's nice, although women of different shapes and sizes than I are also lusted after just as ardently. But the bottom line (no pun intended) is that if you don't feel good about yourself, no amount of praise from other will convince you you're beautiful. I can remember being in strip-club dressing rooms with women who were - I do not lie - goddesses. Fucking beautiful goddesses, with flawless bodies. And they'd stand in front of the mirror and say, "Oh, God, my tits are sagging, my ass is fat, I'm so ugly." It used to kill me that they couldn't see how gorgeous they were. But you couldn't tell 'em – they wouldn't listen. Guys threw handfuls of money at them nightly, howled and whistled and rolled on the floor like dogs in front of these girls, but…"I'm so ugly!" If you have a negative image in your head, that's all you'll see when you look in the mirror.
So, you have to feel good about myself, and then having other people praise you will be icing on your cake. The trick, of course, is to figure out just what you need to feel good about yourself. And that's likely to be more about what's above your shoulders than below it.
I have been reading your blog for about a month now and have to say keep up the good work!...Anyway, I wanted to ask a question and I understand that you probably don't have time to answer all the questions you must get. I was wondering if you, as a sex worker, and particularly as a dominant female, have any sort of body image struggles, or could speak to that piece of being part of the sex industry. I know that in your blog you mention going to the gym and stuff, but I am wondering if having many people find you desirable improves a person's body image. I realize that this could be an incredibly offensive question and I am not so much asking you as in what is your personal experience, but more asking you as an expert. Thank you in advance if you have time to answer this and if not thank you anyway for the lovely blog.
What a sweet letter. This lady is right, I don't have time to answer all the questions I get, but I can answer this one. I'm not sure I'd call myself an expert on women's body image in a general sense, but I am definitely an expert on my body image.
Let me admit one thing right up front: I like having people think I have a pretty body. And it's my opinion that since I'm a sex worker, it is not only a personal but a financial benefit to me to have what the average America thinks of as "a nice figure". Yes, my feminist side deplores the endless barrage of you're-not-good-enough messages that are beamed at women by fashion/beauty magazines. But realistically, I see those types of messages as a "take some, leave the rest" situation. I am actually not a runway model in New York. So do I need to be a size 1 with 10% body fat? No, I don't need that. But – do I think I'd be as personally happy or as professionally successful if I were a size 18? No, I don't. For me, it's a question of keeping everything in balance.
I also think what I do to maintain my body affects how I feel about myself. I am not the jock-ish type by nature. I'd much rather lie on the couch and read a book. But unfortunately, I lack the kind of hyper-speed metabolism that will allow me to do that while looking the way I want to look. And strict dieting is such a negative, pleasure-denying place to live in all the time. I think it makes you a bit neurotic, and it doesn't even work all that well, either. Thus, I've made my peace with the gym. Two hours a day, three days a week, and I can eat pretty much whatever I want without angsting about it. 6 hours out of 168? I can do that.
(Plus, yeah, it's making me healthier, cardiovascular benefit, weight-bearing exercise wards off osteoporosis later in life - yes, I know all that, but right now we're talking about the visible effects.)
So if you call that a "body-image struggle"…Well, okay, then - I guess you could say I'm struggling. But it doesn't feel like psychological trauma to me, it just feels like: this is what I want, this is what I have to do to get it – so, that's what I'll do.
Do I think there's pressure to look a certain way in the sex industry? Yes, although more so in some places than in others. In the strip clubs I danced at, for example, anyone over a size 6 was at a disadvantage, and anyone over a size 10 was pretty much dead in the water. But I see plenty of big beautiful women who are doing just fine as escorts and sensual touch workers. I think just about any woman, regardless of looks/size, can make a living in some aspect of the industry. Obviously, the more people your looks appeal to, the more clients you'll attract based on that, so from a purely business perspective, it behooves you to make your looks as broadly appealing as possible. If you're targeting a narrower potential-client demographic, you may have to compensate for that in some way, like aggressive marketing or superior customer service. However, I witness this being done successfully all time.
Do I think being a professional dominant has affected how I feel about my body? No, not particularly. I do think pro domming is an area where skill and experience are definitely valued, perhaps more highly than in other areas of the sex industry. But a pro-domme's potential clients are certainly not above making their choice based on the mistress's looks. There was a time – I'm talking the 1950's here - when this particular branch of the industry was so taboo, and thus the market so underserved, that you could make money no matter what you looked like. But those days are long gone.
Do I think having people think I'm desirable improves my body image? I wouldn't say "improves", exactly. It's nice, although women of different shapes and sizes than I are also lusted after just as ardently. But the bottom line (no pun intended) is that if you don't feel good about yourself, no amount of praise from other will convince you you're beautiful. I can remember being in strip-club dressing rooms with women who were - I do not lie - goddesses. Fucking beautiful goddesses, with flawless bodies. And they'd stand in front of the mirror and say, "Oh, God, my tits are sagging, my ass is fat, I'm so ugly." It used to kill me that they couldn't see how gorgeous they were. But you couldn't tell 'em – they wouldn't listen. Guys threw handfuls of money at them nightly, howled and whistled and rolled on the floor like dogs in front of these girls, but…"I'm so ugly!" If you have a negative image in your head, that's all you'll see when you look in the mirror.
So, you have to feel good about myself, and then having other people praise you will be icing on your cake. The trick, of course, is to figure out just what you need to feel good about yourself. And that's likely to be more about what's above your shoulders than below it.
Monday, January 17, 2005
You Give Me Fever...
Sorry, no dirty stories about the sex party last night. As you may have inferred from Rossi's comment below, the Mistress is feeling a bit...under the weather. The sore throat isn't the bad thing, it's the 101 degrees of fever that's making me feel like I took some bad Extasy; the high is interesting, but my body feels terrible.
I'm reasonably sure it's the same bug that got Twisted Monk - although he's about 36 hours ahead of me with it. (Gee, how'd that happen? Hmmnn.) So I'm gauging my probable recovery by watching his. Survey says: I should be fine by Wednesday.
Hey! The Tylenol seems to have kicked in - thermometer now says 99.8. That's helpful - I have to conduct a telephone interview today for The Stranger, and I'd really prefer to be lucid for that. Maybe I'll go take a tepid bath and see if that gets me down to 99.
When I'm better, I'll tell you about the two naked chicks who were in the cage in my bedroom last night. And no, I did not hallucinate them...
Sorry, no dirty stories about the sex party last night. As you may have inferred from Rossi's comment below, the Mistress is feeling a bit...under the weather. The sore throat isn't the bad thing, it's the 101 degrees of fever that's making me feel like I took some bad Extasy; the high is interesting, but my body feels terrible.
I'm reasonably sure it's the same bug that got Twisted Monk - although he's about 36 hours ahead of me with it. (Gee, how'd that happen? Hmmnn.) So I'm gauging my probable recovery by watching his. Survey says: I should be fine by Wednesday.
Hey! The Tylenol seems to have kicked in - thermometer now says 99.8. That's helpful - I have to conduct a telephone interview today for The Stranger, and I'd really prefer to be lucid for that. Maybe I'll go take a tepid bath and see if that gets me down to 99.
When I'm better, I'll tell you about the two naked chicks who were in the cage in my bedroom last night. And no, I did not hallucinate them...
Sunday, January 16, 2005
What am I up to? Well, I'm busy with houseguests and such - Midori and her partner are staying with us this weekend, and if you're a kinky girl in Seattle, you should be at her party tonight.
Speaking of divas, I got a nice mention the UK newpaper, The Guardian, courtesy of the ever-gracious Belle De Jour, whose book is just out.
If you haven't already, check out this week's column, and the Kink Calendar.
I had dinner with Jake earlier this week, and in the wake of that, I have a private message for Jake's Canadian heartthrob. (This won't make sense to anyone else.) "Brionny, tell Vanessa to get over whatever weird issues she's got going on. Jake's a great guy, and she should definitely meet him face-to-face."
There. Now I've done my part for Romance...
Hey, remember to go vote for me in the "Best of Blogs" Contest! You can vote once every day. Voting ends Monday!
Speaking of divas, I got a nice mention the UK newpaper, The Guardian, courtesy of the ever-gracious Belle De Jour, whose book is just out.
If you haven't already, check out this week's column, and the Kink Calendar.
I had dinner with Jake earlier this week, and in the wake of that, I have a private message for Jake's Canadian heartthrob. (This won't make sense to anyone else.) "Brionny, tell Vanessa to get over whatever weird issues she's got going on. Jake's a great guy, and she should definitely meet him face-to-face."
There. Now I've done my part for Romance...
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Pick and Choose
Ring ring!
Me: hello?
Caller: Hi, Mistress Matisse? I'd like to come see you today.
Me: Hmmn. Have we met before?
Caller: No, but you come highly recommended.
This guy sounds quite young, and he's talking very quickly, emphasizing the key words ("today!" and "highly!") in an unnatural-sounding way that I associate with those hucksters you see doing the cookware demos at state fairs. It's not something that's going to work in his favor.
Me: Okay, well, I don't do same-day appointments. The first day I'd have available is Tuesday, and –
Caller: (interrupts) Oh, really? Damn. 'Cause I just got into town. Can you recommend anyone else?
Me: You could ask Mistress X.
Caller: Well, what I'm really into is foot fetish. And I heard you've got beautiful feet. So I'd really like to come see you.
Then why the hell ask me for a referral?
Me: As I said, it would be Tuesday. But we'd have to back up some, because I would need to talk to you a bit and make sure that you and I would be compatible before I actually booked an appointment with you.
I'm already about 90% sure this kid isn't for me. He's talking too fast and trying to rush me along, and I don't like that. But we'll give him another minute to change my mind, since I am rather fond of foot fetishists in general.
Caller: Like I said, you come highly recommended, I'd really like to see you.
Me: You said that before – who recommended me?
Caller: Just some people. They said you had beautiful feet – and a beautiful everything else, too, heh heh heh. I mean, I can start with your feet, but who knows what else might happen? Do you think you'll have any cancellations tonight?
Oh, very rude and very pushy. And that leering little snicker? Bad, bad, bad…
Me: You know what? This isn't going to work for me. I think you should try someone else.
Caller: But you were recommended to me!
Inigo Montoya's line from "The Princess Bride" comes to mind. "You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it means." This caller seems to think that because someone told him he should see me, I should automatically want to see him. In fact, unless you're going to supply me with a name or some other information about how you heard about me, saying "You were recommended" is meaningless to me. And if you act like it's going to get you some kind of special treatment, it's worse than meaningless.
I'm also suspecting that this kid's got some kind of recreational drug thing going on – there's just a subtle tone and a rhythm to his conversation that sets off my "this person is high" alarm. Hence the somewhat agitated insistence that I see him, right now.
Me: No, sorry, this isn’t going to work. I think you should call someone else.
Caller: Well, why do you think you were so highly recommended?
I have no earthly idea what he means by this. It might be a rather petulant rhetorical question, or he might just be trying to keep me on the phone. But it doesn't matter, since we're just going to finish this up right now.
Me: Okay, have a nice day, goodbye.
Oh, I am so glad I don't have to deal with anyone I don't want to…
Hey, remember to go vote for me in the "Best of Blogs" Contest! You can vote once every day. Voting ends Monday!
Ring ring!
Me: hello?
Caller: Hi, Mistress Matisse? I'd like to come see you today.
Me: Hmmn. Have we met before?
Caller: No, but you come highly recommended.
This guy sounds quite young, and he's talking very quickly, emphasizing the key words ("today!" and "highly!") in an unnatural-sounding way that I associate with those hucksters you see doing the cookware demos at state fairs. It's not something that's going to work in his favor.
Me: Okay, well, I don't do same-day appointments. The first day I'd have available is Tuesday, and –
Caller: (interrupts) Oh, really? Damn. 'Cause I just got into town. Can you recommend anyone else?
Me: You could ask Mistress X.
Caller: Well, what I'm really into is foot fetish. And I heard you've got beautiful feet. So I'd really like to come see you.
Then why the hell ask me for a referral?
Me: As I said, it would be Tuesday. But we'd have to back up some, because I would need to talk to you a bit and make sure that you and I would be compatible before I actually booked an appointment with you.
I'm already about 90% sure this kid isn't for me. He's talking too fast and trying to rush me along, and I don't like that. But we'll give him another minute to change my mind, since I am rather fond of foot fetishists in general.
Caller: Like I said, you come highly recommended, I'd really like to see you.
Me: You said that before – who recommended me?
Caller: Just some people. They said you had beautiful feet – and a beautiful everything else, too, heh heh heh. I mean, I can start with your feet, but who knows what else might happen? Do you think you'll have any cancellations tonight?
Oh, very rude and very pushy. And that leering little snicker? Bad, bad, bad…
Me: You know what? This isn't going to work for me. I think you should try someone else.
Caller: But you were recommended to me!
Inigo Montoya's line from "The Princess Bride" comes to mind. "You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it means." This caller seems to think that because someone told him he should see me, I should automatically want to see him. In fact, unless you're going to supply me with a name or some other information about how you heard about me, saying "You were recommended" is meaningless to me. And if you act like it's going to get you some kind of special treatment, it's worse than meaningless.
I'm also suspecting that this kid's got some kind of recreational drug thing going on – there's just a subtle tone and a rhythm to his conversation that sets off my "this person is high" alarm. Hence the somewhat agitated insistence that I see him, right now.
Me: No, sorry, this isn’t going to work. I think you should call someone else.
Caller: Well, why do you think you were so highly recommended?
I have no earthly idea what he means by this. It might be a rather petulant rhetorical question, or he might just be trying to keep me on the phone. But it doesn't matter, since we're just going to finish this up right now.
Me: Okay, have a nice day, goodbye.
Oh, I am so glad I don't have to deal with anyone I don't want to…
Thursday, January 13, 2005
You Dirty…
People ask me, sometimes, "Aren't you ever nervous that someone will come into your dungeon and harm you?" I usually tell them that I'm quite careful – but that to live is to take risks, and I'm comfortable with mine.
However, I did have an encounter last week with an unpleasant character, and while I definitely think I got the best of the situation, it did make me a little jumpy for several days.
It began one afternoon when I went into my basement storage room. It's not anyplace one would linger - a cold, dark little room with a concrete floor. I often don't go in there for days at a time. I'd stepped into the room and picked up the item I wanted when I registered the thought: God, something smells funky in here...
And then, I sensed a presence where none should be. From the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shadow near the hot water tank – ugly, unwelcome, and quite alarming. I let out a sharp cry of surprise – one might even say that I screamed – and fled.
So quickly and so thoroughly did my animal instincts take over that I was almost to the second floor of my space before my rational brain was able to process what I'd seen and say: Matisse – calm down. It's not coming after you. It's dead. That's a dead rat.
It wasn't like I hadn't suspected that I might have a rodent roommate. Several weeks before, I'd found a garbage bag that had been…nibbled. I immediately called my landlord, who said he'd come over and check for holes in the exterior walls and such, and put out some poison.
"Poison? But don't they sometimes die in the walls and smell if you do that?"
"No, no," said my landlord. "They go outside looking for water and die there."
What do I know about pest control? Okay, fine. I dismissed the matter from my mind, and there were no further incidents. Until…this nasty thing.
I took several deep breaths and tried to slow my heartbeat. Clearly, it had to be gotten rid of. For one thing it smelled bad, and besides, I just could not walk peacefully around in my place, knowing that ugly gray corpse was down there.
Okay. Okay. I can do this. Really. I am a brave and rational person, I can pick up a dead rat and throw it away. Really I can.
I went hesitatingly downstairs again, and while still standing on the basement steps, peeked through the open door. Oh, god, there it is! Even though I knew what I was going to see, I let out a little eeek noise.
I ran back up a few steps and then stopped myself. Matisse, you're acting like an idiot. It's dead. That's why it stinks. It's not going to hurt you.
What if there's another one? The cowardly part of my brain asked.
Even if there is another, all your shrieking and running up and down the steps has certainly frightened him away. For gods sake, they aren't ninjas – he isn't going to come try to take revenge for his friend or anything.
I went and got a garbage bag and a thick rubber cleaning glove. C'mon, just go pick it up by the tail. It'll just take a second and then it's over. Just do it.
Again I got as far as peeking at it through the doorway before my stomach flip-flopped. No. No. I cannot go near that thing. No way.
I went back up a few steps, sat down, and had a stern talk with myself. Matisse, be reasonable. There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of. That rat is deader than Michael Jackson's musical career. It is not going to suddenly spring to life and jump on you. As John Cleese would say, it's rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. That is an ex-rat.
It was no use. I couldn't do it.
Once I accepted that I was irrationally terrified of touching a dead rodent, I considered my options. I could call Max. But he's not very close by…I'd hate to drag him all the way over here.
There's Roman – but again, I hate to interrupt him when I know he's so busy.
Landlord? Maybe. Go outside and die, my ass. But shit, I've got to do something soon, I've got a client coming over in…
My client! Oh, glory halleluiah – it's Blue Eyes. He'll do it. Oh, thank you god, I know he'll do it.
Now, I don't make a habit of asking my clients for help with my real-life problems. I want them to regard their time with me as an oasis, in which workaday world concerns will intrude as little as possible.
But this was a special situation – and Blue Eyes is definitely the white-knight kind of man who'd love to help me with it. He's a sweet, gentlemanly guy, mature enough to remember when this sort of gender-based division of labor was seen as perfectly appropriate. And he's a problem-solver by nature - I don't think I've ever expressed the slightest little difficulty that BE hasn't tried to fix for me. I mean, this is the guy who bought and installed three room-unit air conditioners last summer because I said I was hot.
Plus, I also feel close enough to him to ask him for a favor. Some guys – well, I just wouldn't feel okay asking them to do this for me. But BE and I have a connection.
I should wait until after the session, though. I don't want to ruin the mood. So I closed the storeroom door, sprayed air freshener heavily, and went to get dressed, trying not to jump nervously at every little shadow along the baseboards.
After we'd played, BE and I were in the sitting room, and as he stood up to leave, I laced my fingers together and said, "So, I have a favor to ask you…"
As I expected, he was happy to help. "Sure, sure, I can do it – do you have a plastic bag?" I handed it to him and led him to the storeroom.
"In there," I said, pointing without looking.
I heard him walk across the concrete floor and then stop. "Wow, he's a big one."
I gasped and clapped my hands over my ears. "Oh, Jesus, don't tell me that. Just get rid of him."
So BE made the bad thing go away, and for that, he shall always have a special place in my heart. I've had no further need for his assistance, thank god, and both Max and Roman have assured me that I could call on them if need be. But I'm crossing my fingers that I don't have any more unwelcome guests in the future.
Hey, remember to go vote for me in the "Best of Blogs" Contest! You can vote once every day, now through the 17th!
People ask me, sometimes, "Aren't you ever nervous that someone will come into your dungeon and harm you?" I usually tell them that I'm quite careful – but that to live is to take risks, and I'm comfortable with mine.
However, I did have an encounter last week with an unpleasant character, and while I definitely think I got the best of the situation, it did make me a little jumpy for several days.
It began one afternoon when I went into my basement storage room. It's not anyplace one would linger - a cold, dark little room with a concrete floor. I often don't go in there for days at a time. I'd stepped into the room and picked up the item I wanted when I registered the thought: God, something smells funky in here...
And then, I sensed a presence where none should be. From the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shadow near the hot water tank – ugly, unwelcome, and quite alarming. I let out a sharp cry of surprise – one might even say that I screamed – and fled.
So quickly and so thoroughly did my animal instincts take over that I was almost to the second floor of my space before my rational brain was able to process what I'd seen and say: Matisse – calm down. It's not coming after you. It's dead. That's a dead rat.
It wasn't like I hadn't suspected that I might have a rodent roommate. Several weeks before, I'd found a garbage bag that had been…nibbled. I immediately called my landlord, who said he'd come over and check for holes in the exterior walls and such, and put out some poison.
"Poison? But don't they sometimes die in the walls and smell if you do that?"
"No, no," said my landlord. "They go outside looking for water and die there."
What do I know about pest control? Okay, fine. I dismissed the matter from my mind, and there were no further incidents. Until…this nasty thing.
I took several deep breaths and tried to slow my heartbeat. Clearly, it had to be gotten rid of. For one thing it smelled bad, and besides, I just could not walk peacefully around in my place, knowing that ugly gray corpse was down there.
Okay. Okay. I can do this. Really. I am a brave and rational person, I can pick up a dead rat and throw it away. Really I can.
I went hesitatingly downstairs again, and while still standing on the basement steps, peeked through the open door. Oh, god, there it is! Even though I knew what I was going to see, I let out a little eeek noise.
I ran back up a few steps and then stopped myself. Matisse, you're acting like an idiot. It's dead. That's why it stinks. It's not going to hurt you.
What if there's another one? The cowardly part of my brain asked.
Even if there is another, all your shrieking and running up and down the steps has certainly frightened him away. For gods sake, they aren't ninjas – he isn't going to come try to take revenge for his friend or anything.
I went and got a garbage bag and a thick rubber cleaning glove. C'mon, just go pick it up by the tail. It'll just take a second and then it's over. Just do it.
Again I got as far as peeking at it through the doorway before my stomach flip-flopped. No. No. I cannot go near that thing. No way.
I went back up a few steps, sat down, and had a stern talk with myself. Matisse, be reasonable. There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of. That rat is deader than Michael Jackson's musical career. It is not going to suddenly spring to life and jump on you. As John Cleese would say, it's rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. That is an ex-rat.
It was no use. I couldn't do it.
Once I accepted that I was irrationally terrified of touching a dead rodent, I considered my options. I could call Max. But he's not very close by…I'd hate to drag him all the way over here.
There's Roman – but again, I hate to interrupt him when I know he's so busy.
Landlord? Maybe. Go outside and die, my ass. But shit, I've got to do something soon, I've got a client coming over in…
My client! Oh, glory halleluiah – it's Blue Eyes. He'll do it. Oh, thank you god, I know he'll do it.
Now, I don't make a habit of asking my clients for help with my real-life problems. I want them to regard their time with me as an oasis, in which workaday world concerns will intrude as little as possible.
But this was a special situation – and Blue Eyes is definitely the white-knight kind of man who'd love to help me with it. He's a sweet, gentlemanly guy, mature enough to remember when this sort of gender-based division of labor was seen as perfectly appropriate. And he's a problem-solver by nature - I don't think I've ever expressed the slightest little difficulty that BE hasn't tried to fix for me. I mean, this is the guy who bought and installed three room-unit air conditioners last summer because I said I was hot.
Plus, I also feel close enough to him to ask him for a favor. Some guys – well, I just wouldn't feel okay asking them to do this for me. But BE and I have a connection.
I should wait until after the session, though. I don't want to ruin the mood. So I closed the storeroom door, sprayed air freshener heavily, and went to get dressed, trying not to jump nervously at every little shadow along the baseboards.
After we'd played, BE and I were in the sitting room, and as he stood up to leave, I laced my fingers together and said, "So, I have a favor to ask you…"
As I expected, he was happy to help. "Sure, sure, I can do it – do you have a plastic bag?" I handed it to him and led him to the storeroom.
"In there," I said, pointing without looking.
I heard him walk across the concrete floor and then stop. "Wow, he's a big one."
I gasped and clapped my hands over my ears. "Oh, Jesus, don't tell me that. Just get rid of him."
So BE made the bad thing go away, and for that, he shall always have a special place in my heart. I've had no further need for his assistance, thank god, and both Max and Roman have assured me that I could call on them if need be. But I'm crossing my fingers that I don't have any more unwelcome guests in the future.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
A Shameless Marketing Moment, and a Political Message
Whoo-hoo! Guess what I got in the mail today? A book!
"Big deal, Matisse," you're thinking. "You get books in the mail all the time. You're single-handedly keeping the Amazon used book dealers in business."
Well, yes, that's true. But this is not just any book. This is MY book. The book that my writing is in. The sex blogger book!
I got two copies - and a nice check, too - from the fabulous editor, Maxim Jakubowski, who tells me that the book should be available in the UK by January 15th and here in the US by mid-February. I am extremely pleased.
And I want all of you to buy a copy. Yes, I know, you've already read the entries. But it's like this: buying smutty books isn't just about the literature, it's also a political act. Talking about transgressive sex is always risky, and especially so in the US these days. But money talks, too – loudly. If you want publishers to keep publishing sexy books, make it worth their while, and they'll ignore neo-con maunderings about morality, and what-about-the-children, and keep turning out books that are intended to be read by consenting adults.
And thus, all of us who write sexy stuff will be encouraged to continue entertaining and arousing you. I'm not getting royalties from this – all of us bloggers got our money on the front end, and I'm fine with that. But if you feel like you've gotten thirteen dollars and ninety-five cents worth of enjoyment from reading my blog – not to mention all the other great people who contributed – then buy a copy of the book, please. Think of it as an investment in my future writings, and in the writings of other sexy girls and boys.
Whoo-hoo! Guess what I got in the mail today? A book!
"Big deal, Matisse," you're thinking. "You get books in the mail all the time. You're single-handedly keeping the Amazon used book dealers in business."
Well, yes, that's true. But this is not just any book. This is MY book. The book that my writing is in. The sex blogger book!
I got two copies - and a nice check, too - from the fabulous editor, Maxim Jakubowski, who tells me that the book should be available in the UK by January 15th and here in the US by mid-February. I am extremely pleased.
And I want all of you to buy a copy. Yes, I know, you've already read the entries. But it's like this: buying smutty books isn't just about the literature, it's also a political act. Talking about transgressive sex is always risky, and especially so in the US these days. But money talks, too – loudly. If you want publishers to keep publishing sexy books, make it worth their while, and they'll ignore neo-con maunderings about morality, and what-about-the-children, and keep turning out books that are intended to be read by consenting adults.
And thus, all of us who write sexy stuff will be encouraged to continue entertaining and arousing you. I'm not getting royalties from this – all of us bloggers got our money on the front end, and I'm fine with that. But if you feel like you've gotten thirteen dollars and ninety-five cents worth of enjoyment from reading my blog – not to mention all the other great people who contributed – then buy a copy of the book, please. Think of it as an investment in my future writings, and in the writings of other sexy girls and boys.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
I know I said something about writing about sex today, but I must have been crazy, since in I'm always deep in column-writing mode on Mondays and Tuesdays. That's why you usually get shorter entries those days. So, perhaps something about fucking later this week. For now, some links to amuse you...
Yet another perspective on this past weekend's adventures....
A kinky man I know recently asked me my thoughts on figging, and I can do no better than to say go read this. I love ginger root...
This isn't sexy - but god, it's just so fucking weird I had to post it. I'm wildly curious as to what precipitated this incident. Did this guy stop taking his meds, or has he not yet been properly prescribed to? "Carol-singing burglar accidentally shoots himself in leg."
Hey, remember to go vote for me in the "Best of Blogs" Contest! You can vote once every day, now through the 17th!
Yet another perspective on this past weekend's adventures....
A kinky man I know recently asked me my thoughts on figging, and I can do no better than to say go read this. I love ginger root...
This isn't sexy - but god, it's just so fucking weird I had to post it. I'm wildly curious as to what precipitated this incident. Did this guy stop taking his meds, or has he not yet been properly prescribed to? "Carol-singing burglar accidentally shoots himself in leg."
And, finally, from the Sort-Of-Sweet, But-Highly-Unlikely-to-Happen folder, an email...
have a nice day miss my name is Fadi i really love and die to worship your facsinating feet and your high heels so if u have any trip to any country in middle east just pls send me an e-mail and your cell number then u will find me in front of your belle and sweety soles and shoes. my cell number is (deleted) your feet slave Fadi.My "belle and sweety soles". That's got kind of a nice roll to it, doesn't it?
Monday, January 10, 2005
More Than You Ever Wanted To Know About My Weekend…
Author's note: after writing all this out, I realize it's sort of long and rambling, and I didn't even get to the part about me and Roman having sex. But rather than trying to edit this, I think we'll just write about that tomorrow…
Sometimes the most complicated part of being polyamorous isn't the emotions, it's the logistics. Who's going to be with who, and when, and how will they get there, and where shall we have dinner?
Such was the case on Saturday night. First off, let's identify the players. We have:
Me and Max
Roman and Mrs. Roman
a woman I'll call Milan
Another woman we'll call B, and her primary partner, a man.
Several weeks ago, Roman said to me, "Hey, B is going to be in town the weekend of the 8th and I think she and Mrs. Roman are going to have a date together. Any chance you and I could see each other that night?"
"Sounds great to me - I'll check with Max," I said. Then I went home, and in a perfect example of poly-stars-in-alignment, Max said to me, "I have a date to play with Milan on the 8th, and I want her to stay overnight."
I smiled lovingly at him and said that would be no problem whatsoever. So you're with me so far – Mrs. Roman has a date with B, I have a date with Roman, and Max has a date with Milan.
Friday, Roman tells me that he and Mrs. Roman are having dinner with B and her primary partner on Saturday night. Neither of us found this odd – poly people almost always prefer that everyone they're involved with know everyone else in their erotic network, and Mrs. Roman and B's partner hadn't met yet.
So the amenities would be observed, and then B and Mrs. Roman would peel off and have their date, and Roman and I would hook up. (B's primary partner was going to go do some Live Action Role Playing (LARP), which I think says a lot about the demographic of people who are likely to be having complex polyamory love-lives.)
Roman went on to say that Mrs. Roman needed to have the car – so could I pick him up from dinner? Of course, I told him.
Saturday rolled around and Max and I were busy all afternoon – so busy, that we didn't have time to have dinner before it was time for me to pick up Roman.
"Well," I said, "he'll have just eaten, but I guess we'll go out somewhere and he'll watch me have dinner." Max agreed, and then it occured to me, "Honey, what are you going to do about dinner? Milan isn't coming til later, right? Do you want to eat with Roman and me?"
After I said it, I thought; God, if you drew all this out on a chalkboard, it would look like one of those diagrams of a football play. And it would sound like a French farce. But Max agreed that yes, he'd like to do a quick dinner, so off we went.
To recap: Roman has first had dinner with his primary partner, her date for the evening, and her date's primary partner. Now he's going to sit with me (his secondary partner) and Max (his secondary's primary) while we have dinner. Anyone who thinks poly is all about carefree fucking should ponder whether they'd be able to remain relaxed and cheerful through such multi-layered social encounters.
Max and I went and said hi to Mrs. Roman and B - although B's primary had already left - collected Roman, went across the street to a different restaurant, and had a pleasant dinner, tinged with only the slightest sense of how surreal this all might seem to a non-poly person. Roman quizzed Max about his plans for his date with Milan – oh, and did I mention that Roman and Milan have played with each other, too? It's small town for kinksters.
Max finished eating, and then glanced at his watch and stood up. "Time for me to go. Oh, and call me and tell me if you two are going to sleep in the spare room tonight, okay?"
Because that was the other issue on the table – where were Roman and I going to sleep? He and Mrs. Roman have only one bedroom, which was going to be occupied by her and B.
Max and I, on the other hand, have a big house with a nice spare bedroom, and the general policy is that whoever has a sleep-over guest sleeps in the guest room, leaving the master bedroom to the other person. (I suppose that technically, Max knew he had a date before I knew I had a date, so perhaps that might land him with the spare bedroom and me with the master. But the master bedroom has certain…equipment…that Max wanted to use, so I ceded it to him.)
However, choices of bedrooms aside, we were both feeling a little uncertain about the situation, because while Max has slept with Maura in the guest room any number of times when I've been home, Roman and I had never slept together with Max in the house. He'd always been over at Maura's when Roman stayed overnight. Max had told me over and over that it was fine. But I still hadn't quite gotten comfortable with the idea – clearly some baggage from my previous jealous partners that I hadn’t quite let go of.
Roman and I knew we could stay over at my studio. But while it’s great for playing, it's not so great for sleeping, and so we decided to take the spare room.
"Oh, I can't wait to bump into Max in the hallway in the morning," said Roman. "Or Milan, for that matter."
"I know – it’s sort of bizarre, isn't it? But I need to get over my hang-up about it, because I like sleeping with you, and it's not fair to try to get Max to go to Maura's place every time."
"Especially when he's having a date with Milan."
"Yeah, that does make it particularly awkward."
Fast-forward to 4:30 am. Roman and I were walking quietly up the stairs. The door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar, but the lights were all off, and everything was silent. I felt like a kid sneaking her boyfriend past her parent's room. Silly, when one considered that Max is in there with someone, too. But still… And even though we'd already had a long night of it, once Roman and I were in the spare bedroom, we couldn't resist the temptation to engage in some muffled, furtive fucking, giggling like teenagers.
We woke up later that morning to the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside. "Max is taking her out to breakfast," I whispered to Roman. "As soon as they leave, the coast is clear."
"God, this is such a French bedroom farce," he replied.
After some lingering in bed, we finally decided to get up, too, and we had some coffee going before Max and Milan returned home. In spite of all of my slightly-joking angst about it, the four of us wound up talking together quite comfortably, comparing notes (and bruises). Soon, Mrs. Roman arrived to pick up her husband and we got a quick thumbnail of her date, too. After a nice chat, everyone hugged each other and the party broke up. As we watched our friends walk away from the house, I turned to Max and said, "I sure love you."
He kissed me. "I love you too. And I'm glad you had fun."
What an amazingly complex and satisfying life.
Author's note: after writing all this out, I realize it's sort of long and rambling, and I didn't even get to the part about me and Roman having sex. But rather than trying to edit this, I think we'll just write about that tomorrow…
Sometimes the most complicated part of being polyamorous isn't the emotions, it's the logistics. Who's going to be with who, and when, and how will they get there, and where shall we have dinner?
Such was the case on Saturday night. First off, let's identify the players. We have:
Several weeks ago, Roman said to me, "Hey, B is going to be in town the weekend of the 8th and I think she and Mrs. Roman are going to have a date together. Any chance you and I could see each other that night?"
"Sounds great to me - I'll check with Max," I said. Then I went home, and in a perfect example of poly-stars-in-alignment, Max said to me, "I have a date to play with Milan on the 8th, and I want her to stay overnight."
I smiled lovingly at him and said that would be no problem whatsoever. So you're with me so far – Mrs. Roman has a date with B, I have a date with Roman, and Max has a date with Milan.
Friday, Roman tells me that he and Mrs. Roman are having dinner with B and her primary partner on Saturday night. Neither of us found this odd – poly people almost always prefer that everyone they're involved with know everyone else in their erotic network, and Mrs. Roman and B's partner hadn't met yet.
So the amenities would be observed, and then B and Mrs. Roman would peel off and have their date, and Roman and I would hook up. (B's primary partner was going to go do some Live Action Role Playing (LARP), which I think says a lot about the demographic of people who are likely to be having complex polyamory love-lives.)
Roman went on to say that Mrs. Roman needed to have the car – so could I pick him up from dinner? Of course, I told him.
Saturday rolled around and Max and I were busy all afternoon – so busy, that we didn't have time to have dinner before it was time for me to pick up Roman.
"Well," I said, "he'll have just eaten, but I guess we'll go out somewhere and he'll watch me have dinner." Max agreed, and then it occured to me, "Honey, what are you going to do about dinner? Milan isn't coming til later, right? Do you want to eat with Roman and me?"
After I said it, I thought; God, if you drew all this out on a chalkboard, it would look like one of those diagrams of a football play. And it would sound like a French farce. But Max agreed that yes, he'd like to do a quick dinner, so off we went.
To recap: Roman has first had dinner with his primary partner, her date for the evening, and her date's primary partner. Now he's going to sit with me (his secondary partner) and Max (his secondary's primary) while we have dinner. Anyone who thinks poly is all about carefree fucking should ponder whether they'd be able to remain relaxed and cheerful through such multi-layered social encounters.
Max and I went and said hi to Mrs. Roman and B - although B's primary had already left - collected Roman, went across the street to a different restaurant, and had a pleasant dinner, tinged with only the slightest sense of how surreal this all might seem to a non-poly person. Roman quizzed Max about his plans for his date with Milan – oh, and did I mention that Roman and Milan have played with each other, too? It's small town for kinksters.
Max finished eating, and then glanced at his watch and stood up. "Time for me to go. Oh, and call me and tell me if you two are going to sleep in the spare room tonight, okay?"
Because that was the other issue on the table – where were Roman and I going to sleep? He and Mrs. Roman have only one bedroom, which was going to be occupied by her and B.
Max and I, on the other hand, have a big house with a nice spare bedroom, and the general policy is that whoever has a sleep-over guest sleeps in the guest room, leaving the master bedroom to the other person. (I suppose that technically, Max knew he had a date before I knew I had a date, so perhaps that might land him with the spare bedroom and me with the master. But the master bedroom has certain…equipment…that Max wanted to use, so I ceded it to him.)
However, choices of bedrooms aside, we were both feeling a little uncertain about the situation, because while Max has slept with Maura in the guest room any number of times when I've been home, Roman and I had never slept together with Max in the house. He'd always been over at Maura's when Roman stayed overnight. Max had told me over and over that it was fine. But I still hadn't quite gotten comfortable with the idea – clearly some baggage from my previous jealous partners that I hadn’t quite let go of.
Roman and I knew we could stay over at my studio. But while it’s great for playing, it's not so great for sleeping, and so we decided to take the spare room.
"Oh, I can't wait to bump into Max in the hallway in the morning," said Roman. "Or Milan, for that matter."
"I know – it’s sort of bizarre, isn't it? But I need to get over my hang-up about it, because I like sleeping with you, and it's not fair to try to get Max to go to Maura's place every time."
"Especially when he's having a date with Milan."
"Yeah, that does make it particularly awkward."
Fast-forward to 4:30 am. Roman and I were walking quietly up the stairs. The door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar, but the lights were all off, and everything was silent. I felt like a kid sneaking her boyfriend past her parent's room. Silly, when one considered that Max is in there with someone, too. But still… And even though we'd already had a long night of it, once Roman and I were in the spare bedroom, we couldn't resist the temptation to engage in some muffled, furtive fucking, giggling like teenagers.
We woke up later that morning to the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside. "Max is taking her out to breakfast," I whispered to Roman. "As soon as they leave, the coast is clear."
"God, this is such a French bedroom farce," he replied.
After some lingering in bed, we finally decided to get up, too, and we had some coffee going before Max and Milan returned home. In spite of all of my slightly-joking angst about it, the four of us wound up talking together quite comfortably, comparing notes (and bruises). Soon, Mrs. Roman arrived to pick up her husband and we got a quick thumbnail of her date, too. After a nice chat, everyone hugged each other and the party broke up. As we watched our friends walk away from the house, I turned to Max and said, "I sure love you."
He kissed me. "I love you too. And I'm glad you had fun."
What an amazingly complex and satisfying life.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Just a teaser for tomorrow's post - there was a whole lot of kinkiness going on in Seattle last night, and the complex schedules and configurations of primary partners, secondary partners and play-partners reads like one of those math problems that starts out, "If a train is leaving Chicago at 11am, and another train is leaving New York at 12:30 pm..."
But we made it work out - very nicely, in fact. So we'll talk about poly, BDSM, and French bedroom farces tomorrow...
But we made it work out - very nicely, in fact. So we'll talk about poly, BDSM, and French bedroom farces tomorrow...
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes, it is.
Caller: Uh, so can I ask you a question?
You just did, I think. This guy sounds awfully young, and my instinct says he's not a viable client for me. But we'll give him the usual thirty seconds.
Me: Yes, go ahead.
Caller: I know you're like a professional dom and everything. But I was wondering if you were looking for a slave – you know, like a personal slave?
Me: No, I'm not. Sorry.
Caller: Well, do you know any, like, non-professional mistresses looking for slaves?
Sigh. I get this kind of call at least once a week, sometimes more. It's sort of tiresome, because really, it just seems like these guys haven't thought this through very carefully. I mean, since the caller is aware that there is enough of demand to support professional dominants, they also might reasonably suppose that non-professional ones are in demand as well. They want one, after all, so it's highly likely that other guys do, too.
They might then go on to grasp the idea that calling up a stranger and asking to be put in contact with these in-demand women is unlikely to yield positive results. And really, the majority of single submissive guys in the world apparently do understand this, as evidenced by the fact that I only get one of these calls a week instead of dozens. But answering the same questions over and over – well, it just gets old.
So I say what I always say:
Me: No, I'm sorry, I can't help you with that.
Caller: You don't know any Mistresses who are looking for slaves?
Well, as a matter of fact, I probably do. For example, there is a certain stunningly attractive fetish model here in town who I know was looking for a houseboy recently. (Of course, he wouldn't get to fuck her or anything like that. But she'd let him scrub her floors while wearing panties, and maybe she'd give him a good sound spanking now and then. But I think she's since found someone, so don't bombard me with emails asking for her name.)
And I know several other women who, while they may not be typical fetish-model material, are damn good dominants, and who might be open to meeting someone new.
But that isn't how this works. There's no way I'm going to give another woman's contact information to some god-knows-who stranger. I don't know the first thing about this guy, I certainly can't recommend him to anyone.
Me: I do understand that you want to meet somebody, but I'm not running a dating service.
Caller: You don't have to do anything, you could just, like, give them my number.
Me: Look, even if I did know someone who was looking for a submissive - calling someone up and giving them your phone number is doing something.
Caller: Oh, but –
Me: What you need to do is join the Wet Spot and start going to events there and make some friends. That's the best way to meet people.
Caller: Well, I went there once and I just didn't see anyone who looked good to me.
Me: You "went there once"? Oh, honey, that's like saying you went into a party once and you didn't see anyone you wanted to marry, so there's no point in ever going to a party ever again. You're going to have to work a lot harder than that, and it's going to take some time. But I think that's your best bet.
Caller: I read that you had a party at your house. Do you think you'd want to use me at your next party?
I think we're having a communication breakdown here. I could just hang up, but I give it one more try.
Me: Listen to me carefully. I know that in porn novels, BDSM people just pluck slaves up off the street and take them into their homes, but in my very wide experience, that doesn't happen in real life – especially with women. I would never just invite some guy I've never met over to serve at one of my parties. And anyone who would just take on a stranger at the drop of a hat – believe me, you don't want them. They will be scary people, really. You have to go about this the same way you'd go about finding a non-kinky lover, and it'll probably take longer, because there are fewer kinky women in the world.
Caller: So you're saying you don't know of anyone who'd want to have a date with me tonight?
Click. I hang up.
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes, it is.
Caller: Uh, so can I ask you a question?
You just did, I think. This guy sounds awfully young, and my instinct says he's not a viable client for me. But we'll give him the usual thirty seconds.
Me: Yes, go ahead.
Caller: I know you're like a professional dom and everything. But I was wondering if you were looking for a slave – you know, like a personal slave?
Me: No, I'm not. Sorry.
Caller: Well, do you know any, like, non-professional mistresses looking for slaves?
Sigh. I get this kind of call at least once a week, sometimes more. It's sort of tiresome, because really, it just seems like these guys haven't thought this through very carefully. I mean, since the caller is aware that there is enough of demand to support professional dominants, they also might reasonably suppose that non-professional ones are in demand as well. They want one, after all, so it's highly likely that other guys do, too.
They might then go on to grasp the idea that calling up a stranger and asking to be put in contact with these in-demand women is unlikely to yield positive results. And really, the majority of single submissive guys in the world apparently do understand this, as evidenced by the fact that I only get one of these calls a week instead of dozens. But answering the same questions over and over – well, it just gets old.
So I say what I always say:
Me: No, I'm sorry, I can't help you with that.
Caller: You don't know any Mistresses who are looking for slaves?
Well, as a matter of fact, I probably do. For example, there is a certain stunningly attractive fetish model here in town who I know was looking for a houseboy recently. (Of course, he wouldn't get to fuck her or anything like that. But she'd let him scrub her floors while wearing panties, and maybe she'd give him a good sound spanking now and then. But I think she's since found someone, so don't bombard me with emails asking for her name.)
And I know several other women who, while they may not be typical fetish-model material, are damn good dominants, and who might be open to meeting someone new.
But that isn't how this works. There's no way I'm going to give another woman's contact information to some god-knows-who stranger. I don't know the first thing about this guy, I certainly can't recommend him to anyone.
Me: I do understand that you want to meet somebody, but I'm not running a dating service.
Caller: You don't have to do anything, you could just, like, give them my number.
Me: Look, even if I did know someone who was looking for a submissive - calling someone up and giving them your phone number is doing something.
Caller: Oh, but –
Me: What you need to do is join the Wet Spot and start going to events there and make some friends. That's the best way to meet people.
Caller: Well, I went there once and I just didn't see anyone who looked good to me.
Me: You "went there once"? Oh, honey, that's like saying you went into a party once and you didn't see anyone you wanted to marry, so there's no point in ever going to a party ever again. You're going to have to work a lot harder than that, and it's going to take some time. But I think that's your best bet.
Caller: I read that you had a party at your house. Do you think you'd want to use me at your next party?
I think we're having a communication breakdown here. I could just hang up, but I give it one more try.
Me: Listen to me carefully. I know that in porn novels, BDSM people just pluck slaves up off the street and take them into their homes, but in my very wide experience, that doesn't happen in real life – especially with women. I would never just invite some guy I've never met over to serve at one of my parties. And anyone who would just take on a stranger at the drop of a hat – believe me, you don't want them. They will be scary people, really. You have to go about this the same way you'd go about finding a non-kinky lover, and it'll probably take longer, because there are fewer kinky women in the world.
Caller: So you're saying you don't know of anyone who'd want to have a date with me tonight?
Click. I hang up.
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