Okay, we have some photos and we do have video, too...Look for that later today. Highlights:
~ What can you mix with absinthe? (Without having flames come out of your mouth.)
~ What does Roman's back look like after having sex with me?
~A story of a bizarre incident in my early kink career. Told naked.

Well. You certainly were full of suggestions, both here and over on Roman's blog. What nasty little minds you have, some of you. No wonder I enjoy writing for you so much.

And while some of your requests require a bit more in the way of props, costuming, supporting cast and production crew than we've actually got this weekend, we'll file them away for future projects.

So, the Weekend of Wickedness, Ver. 2 will commence this evening, but for now...Go read the new column and the Kink Calendar.

And some other silliness, too...

~ Is that you, baby, or just a brilliant disguise?

~ This may be the best Craig's List posting I've ever seen, I don't care if it is Photoshopped. (Thanks to Jeff for pointing it out.)

I had another link here, to a "mistress" webpage that I thought was really impressively over-the-top in terms of name-calling, nasty attitude (not the sexy kind, either) and just a lot of general bitchiness directed at potential clients. However, I just checked the site again and it's been changed - toned down considerably. Given that I found the link on another journal where it was also being snarked at, I'm wondering if the site owner got some rather straightforward feedback and decided to modify her presentation a bit. Dare I hope that this is the beginning of a move towards pro dommes not calling visitors to their websites "sissy faggots"?

Update: Wait, wait - the original page is still there, it's just the name had been changed. Huh, I wonder why? Anyway, it's here...

This Weekend...

So, this is going to be an interesting weekend for me. You see, Max is going out of town. He's going down to California to drive very fast around a racetrack down there, because he likes that sort of thing. I, on the other hand, am going to try not to think very much about my darling zooming around in a car at high speeds, in close proximity to other people who are also zooming, because it worries me a bit. I drive fifty in a thirty-miles-per-hour zone, and that's my idea of driving fast. But I digress…

Max being away and all, Roman and I decided to try a daring poly experiment: we would spend two nights together in a row. That's big. Okay, so I'm being mildly facetious here, but in fact, we've never had a weekend-long date before. I myself think it's going to be lots of fun. Roman had some trepidations earlier this week, but he seems to be over it now.

We don't have any big plans - sleep in, go out to dinner, watch a movie or two, drink a little absinthe. Just spend time together. (It goes without saying that there, of course, will be plenty of kinky sex involved. Hence the sleeping-in part.)

But we also agreed that we'd like to do some photography, and some video, this weekend when we're together. And Roman and I decided that we're willing – with some restrictions – to take requests, from you, our loyal readers, for photos and or video content.

The restrictions are: be reasonable. We are not going to put up images of us fucking or anything. (Not for free, anyway.) We'll consider nudes on a case-by-case basis, but don't get your hopes up.

I will say that if you have a question you've wanted to ask, you can send it to us and we'll do a video clip of our (verbal) response to it. I often get questions that are way too complicated to answer without writing a hugely long email, which I don't have time to do. So, submit a question and if it's interesting, we'll answer it. We'll probably start posting whatever we've got on Saturday, and we'll update as we go.

Ready, set, go…

I was going to write something about my upcoming weekend, because I actually have a fun weekend with Roman planned. But unfortunately, I had to finish the Stranger column and I got way too crunched for time, so that'll have to wait til tomorrow.

Instead, a few other random things to amuse you…
Gaze in wonder upon this gorgeous picture of my gorgeous friend, Rose Algren, the Imp of Satan. Makes you want to go straight to hell, doesn't it?

In contrast, I ran across a snapshot taken backstage of me at a fashion show I did at the Seattle Art Museum a few years ago. I was modeling for my friend Orion, and when I sat down in front of the show's hair designer I said, "I'm wearing wings and a tail, so how about something sort of Medusa-ish?"
This, dear friends, is what that man did to me. Yeah, that's all my hair. Miss Queeny Thing teased it until it looked like a bunch of snakes, all right. So while I'm sure I was a striking sight, when I got home I had to get in the shower and pour damn near a whole bottle of conditioner through that tangled mass, and finger comb it, til the hot water ran out. And I was still combing out snarls the next day. The things one does for friends. (Not to mention trying to walk down the stairs at SAM, in high heels, with those beads in front of my eyes. Yikes.)

And here's a shot that makes you think, "What bizarre bit of cross-marketing strategy is behind this odd combination?"

More about my weekend tomorrow....

This is a little rant, because I read a journal post yesterday and it made me mad. The author is Ali Davis, who wrote the True Porn Clerk Stories blog, which is a great piece of writing and was one of the blogs I read that made me think, "I should do this." (Meaning, keep a blog.)

True Porn Clerk Stories is no longer being updated, as Ms. Davis is no longer a porn clerk. But while she doesn't say a lot, Ms. Davis does still post on her LiveJournal from time to time, and I've been reading and quietly hoping she would achieve her career goal of being a screenwriter in LA. Apparently things are not moving so speedily in that department, leading to her to the hell that is applying for low-paying service jobs that you are way overqualified for.

All the pseudo-feminists who go around saying that sex work is degrading to women need to read this. I've waited tables and tended bar, and this is exactly the kind of condescending, power-tripping asshole of a boss I often had to deal with. They take advantage of having a tiny bit of power over other people because they totally get off on jerking them around.

The last straight job I had waiting tables was at one of those corporate chain restaurants where the dishes have slight wacky names, the walls are decorated with quaint old signs, and the wait staff are strongly encouraged (read: required) to wear hats and suspenders and funny buttons and such with their uniform. I was doing sex work stuff here and there on the side, since, of course, this job didn't pay enough to enable me to live in even modest comfort. One day, my boss took me aside and said, "Well, honey, your basic performance is all right. But you know, you just don't seem to be having enough fun."
I looked at him. "Enough fun?"
"Yeah, you know – you just don't seem like you're enjoying yourself." I remember how he stared at me with an almost religious fervor. "Here at (BLANK) it's not just about food - we're about creating a sense of fun and excitement. So we have to get you more excited about being here."

So what this puffy little man with his synthetic dress shirt and his televangelist hair and his junior-college business degree was telling me was that not only did I have to fulfill the function I was hired for – convey orders to the kitchen and food to the tables – I also had to feel a certain way about it. The company wanted not only to command my labor, but they wanted me to be delirious with pleasure about it. They wanted me to rejoice in my corporate servitude, and to convey my rapture to the customers, in the hopes that my intoxication would somehow impel them to spend more money. And he wanted me to understand that if I did not display adequate transports of happiness while carrying heavy trays of food and wiping up toddler-smashed saltines, there would be…a problem.

All this, for a soulless corporation that paid me only the tiniest of wages, the rest of my slender earnings being supplied by the aforementioned customers, who frankly didn't seem to care how euphoric I might (or might not) be, as long as I was pleasant and prompt with their dinners.
I quit that job and took up sex work full time, and while I've had some ups and downs in the industry, I have never again had to put up with some mediocre white boy expecting me to prostrate myself in humble gratitude before he granted me the privilege of slaving away for him at poverty-level wages. Sex workers rights activist Margo St. James said it best when she observed, "In this prostituting society, we ALL have to hustle, and I'd rather suck cock than kiss ass!"

Ordinary Life

I'm sure sometimes my life seems very outlandish, but in fact, much of it looks a lot like other people's. Today, for example, I have an appointment with my bookkeeper to prepare my 2004 federal taxes. Talk about painful and non-consensual…Writing that check is going to be a seriously masochistic experience. Perhaps for the next little while, I should just have my clients send their money directly to the IRS, to save me the postage.

And although the state and city people don't bite me as hard, money-wise, all the confusing forms they want you to fill out, jesus, it's ridiculous. So I shove all that paperwork at my nice kinky bookkeeper lady and say, "Make these go away, please…"

For a self-employed sex worker, it is possible to operate completely under the radar. You get paid all in cash, of course, and you can live quite comfortably with no checking accounts, no credit cards, nothing. Landlords fuss a little if you don't have a bank account, but if you put down a hefty deposit, they'll usually rent to you. Buy money orders at convenience stores to pay your rent and utility bills, put fake names on everything, never give your SS number to anyone, and leave no follow-able paper trail at all. Just a safety deposit box, that's all you need.

I'm not I'm saying I ever did that…But I'm not saying I didn't, either. Regardless, that's not how I want to live my life now. Living off the financial grid and paying cash for everything has its advantages – for example, one accrues no credit card debt whatsoever, something that seems fairly unusual in my age bracket. No student loans, either. But it's damned inconvenient sometimes. And although when you're twenty-two, you're not so worried about your future, as one gets a little older that begins to seem like something one ought to consider.

I've read some interesting financial planning books and been to some investment presentations with Max, but most them don't quite fit with my somewhat unusual money situation. Luckily for me, one of my serious A-team boys is a very successful - what do they call them? "Wealth management consultant"? An amusing title, considering I'm definitely not what I would call wealthy. But after I get through the annual bloodletting by the IRS, he and I are going to have a sit-down and talk about some long-term plans. He's actually handling money for some other ladies I know, so he's pretty hip to how our finances tend to look, and I think he'll give me some good advice. I wouldn't talk to just anyone about my financial affairs, but I've been seeing this man regularly for – god, it's been about seven years now, maybe longer, and I really trust him.

Money stuff. It's not at all what I want to spend my time doing. But it's not going to go away, and so, like everyone else, I have to deal with it. But I don't have to like it.

I've been a very busy girl this weekend, as you may have inferred by the lack of activity here. But I'll be back with the program tomorrow. Roman's written some interesting stuff this weekend, though, so go read him, if you haven't already...

I'm a busy girl today: one regular client, and then I'm doing a brief performance at a Continuing Legal Education thing that a lawyer-friend of mine is doing. (These are classes lawyers go to to keep their creditials current.) I'm making a guest appearance to demonstrate what an illegal interrogation looks like. Apparently it's a done thing, at these CLEs, to put on slightly off-beat little skits to keep people's interest up. And when you think of illegal interrogations scenes, you think of Mistress Matisse, right?

Meanwhile, the new column and the Kink Calendar are up. Fans of the silly phone calls will enjoy the column this week...

A few other views of Kinkfest, some from real-life friends of mine, and some from people I know only electronically...
Liss,who continues to be much tougher than she looks, especially when she wears cute little hats.
Griffin,who is an evil genius and should write a book about perverted games to play with your lover. Or maybe he should be kept in an iron mask somewhere, I'm not sure which.
Rossi, who graciously let me teach a sweet young thing how to do play-piercing on her.
The Geriatric Riot Girl, who let me try on some of her wares even though I was too wiped out to make a decision about anything, and...
The Ranting Dom, who I glimpsed but missed actually meeting in person...

I am so loving this NYT article about how to get back at corporate stupidity.

I found some other recipes for drinks made with absinthe, which I'm pleased about. Roman and I did it the traditional way last time (ie, mixing it with water and a sugar cube) and I know that's the way the purists do it, but - yuck. If you like black jelly beans, you'll love the way absinthe tastes. Unfortunately, I hate black jelly beans, and I thought it tasted nasty, so I wound up chugging my drinks, which is really not the point of absinthe.

We got a nice buzz, though, and Roman and I actually have several hours of video footage that we took that night of us drinking the stuff and getting progressively more and more chatty and uninhibited. The sound quality isn't great, though, although there is one amusing segment of me chattering gaily about my ability, as a highly-skilled professional, to pee absolutely anytime, in damn near any physical position. If MTV had a show called "Kinky Real World", I'd be a shoo-in. But the Naked Public Life I and II are the only bits we ever posted...

And last but definitely not least, I got that black straight-jacket I was wanting from JT's Stockroom, and it's great! Jennifer, the head of the Stockroom Marketing Department, was sweet enough to bring one up to Kinkfest for me, after she read that I was wanting one. How's that for customer service? I was impressed... (Plus, Max and I agreed that she's awfully cute.)
I'm bummed I didn't get to meet Jennifer's husband, but I'm hoping we can get them both up to Seattle sometime, and there was also some mention of a LA erotic event, so who knows?

Bibliowhore

When Max and I were in Portland last weekend, of course we had to go to Powell's. (Twice, actually.) I bought…

Catfight: Rivalries Among Women--From Diets to Dating, from the Boardroom to the Delivery Room, by Leora Tanenbaum. "Catfight is a remarkably researched and insightful foray into the American woman's world of aggression, rivalry, and competition."
I've read this one already and it's interesting. Tanenbaum mixes stories of her personal experience with research and so it's easy to read and yet thought-provoking. It's odd, though - I would have thought I was a competitive sort, yet I actually don't engage in many of the behaviors described in this book. Maybe I work out all my anxieties putting chopsticks on other women's labia. Hmmn, perhaps I should start some kind of highly-specialized corporate-training firm.

The Book of Absinthe: A Cultural History, by Phil Baker "Opening with the sensational 1905 Absinthe Murders, Phil Baker offers a cultural history of absinthe, from its modest origins as an herbal tonic through its luxuriantly morbid heyday in the late nineteenth century."
I just started this. It's a bit slow so far, but I'll keep going. I'm thinking perhaps it's time for Roman and I to have another experience with The Green Fairy.

Call of The Mall: The Geography of Shopping, by Paco Underhill. "As a follow-up to the bestseller Why We Buy, he has written an arch entertaining ethnography of the shopping mall. It's about the shopping mall as an exemplar of our commercial and social culture."
I read "Why We Buy" and loved it. This one isn't quite as entertaining, but Underhill is definitely a sharp observer of the culture of shopping.

Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress: Tales of Growing Up Groovy But Clueless, by Susan Jane Gilman. "Gilman's latest is an acerbic, often side-splitting memoir that chronicles her bohemian youth in New York City's Upper West Side and her first years of adult life. Gilman's wisecracking, raw narrative about universal experiences--defeating bullies, weathering parental divorce, trying to find meaningful work--is reminiscent of David Sedaris' writing and will draw a similarly wide audience."
I actually bought this book mainly because it's the kind of book I never buy. I like memoirs, but I dislike the "totally hip, yet somehow depressed" tone of voice that finds its perfect outlet in much of Sedaris' writing. But since I am doing a certain amount of essay-style memoir-writing myself, I want to try reading as wide a variety of other people's as possible. So we'll see if I agree with the rapturous reviewers.

The Color Of Death, by Bruce Alexander "Sir John Fielding, a blind 18th-century London judge, is back in his Bow Street offices along with his young assistant Jeremy in this seventh installment in Bruce Alexander's well-crafted, intricately plotted historical crime series."
Fluffy paperback fiction. I'm a sucker for mysteries where people are named Sir Something and write with feathers.

Tobacco: A Cultural History of How An Exotic Plant Seduced Civilization, by Iain Gately. "Gately's Tobacco is a sweeping cultural history of the world's most prevalent addiction, and it's probably the best book ever written on its subject."
Haven't started it yet, but it's exactly the kind of thing I like. I'm actually looking for a good book about the history of opium and opium addiction in nineteenth-century England, to include when it started being synthesized into morphine.

The Serpent and The Moon: Two Rivals For The Love Of A Renaissance King, by Her Royal Highness Princess Michael of Kent. "Set against the stunning backdrop of Renaissance France and peopled by the titans of European history, The Serpent and the Moon is a true story of love, war, intrigue, betrayal, and persecution. At its heart is one of the world's great love stories: the life-long devotion of King Henri II of France to Diane de Poitiers, a beautiful aristocrat who was nineteen years older than her lover."
Sixteenth century France isn't my favorite era or place, but still, this looks good. And apparently written by a gen-u-ine princess. I hope that doesn't mean her writing sucks.

Mistress of The Elgin Marbles: A Biography of Mary Nisbet, Countess of Elgin, by Susan Nagel. "Filled with romance, danger, and scandal, Mistress of the Elgin Marbles is the intriguing story of Mary Nisbet, the Countess of Elgin -- one of the most influential women of the Romantic era whose exploits enriched world culture immeasurably."
1800's England, my favorite. I'm saving this one 'til I have a quiet night, so I can just go right through it.

I had to sternly restrain myself not to buy more, and we actually didn't get to Portland's other great bookstore, the alt/porn bookstore Countermedia. That's a shame, but in some ways just as well, because I always spend way too much money there.

I think I'll start a Powell's wish list - I don't think Amazon is inherently evil, as I usually buy used books through them, and can thus feel good about supporting a small businessperson. But I do think independent bookstores are an important social institution that we should support.

Plus, I love having big stacks of unread books by my side of the bed.

In Her Own Words

Here's a sweet note from the The Weakest Kink contest winner, Krystal, about her encounter with Roman and I...

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When I first met Matisse, I was in the vendor's area looking at floggers with my friend and had a heavy and thuddy but fur covered flogger in my hand that I wanted to get a feel for. The words on the tip of my tongue were, “Hey, will you try this on me?” I turn around, and my friend has nearly moved on to the next booth and in her place stood the fabulous Mistress Matisse, standing there waiting and watching me. The moment was so beautiful - I don’t think I’ll ever forget how I felt. For a split moment, I couldn’t speak - I think my knees even buckled.

My challenge last night was to be at the doorway to the dungeon at nine and take one item of clothing off every five minutes. That’s the longest striptease I’ve ever done. I use to complain when my DJs went over 3 minutes a song. There was a lovely toppy dyke hanging around and flirting with me. As I was going to start a striptease/lapdance for her, just after I took my shirt off, I got a message from Tambo that I was to put my collar on, stay on my knees, and face the hallway. Five minutes later, I unbuttoned my schoolgirl skirt and see Matisse and Monk turn the corner at the end of the hall. As they walked down the long hallway in a Matrix/Resevoir Dogs style with bags and such coolness, I hugged my teddy bear and thought, “Gee, does this mean I won?”

The combination of strength and gentleness in their mannerisms as tops was so precisely exquisite. They tied me up in beautiful royal purple hemp (MY beautiful royal hemp). “Are you crazy?” Monk says,“You met us ONLINE.” This only gives me a bit of a flutter before I realize that my love is thirty feet away and this is a safe, public space, and I do have the capacity to use my safewords. Matisse says something about chopsticks and I’m scared. The pictures I’ve seen with Matisse and her chopsticks run through my head. As they turn the dials of pain up and down ever so precisely, I start to realize how skilled these two are at reading my body language. I was on a natural high from the start, but they set me flying higher than I’ve ever been. I couldn’t stop laughing and smiling. My bound body, an altoid held in place with chopsticks, bells hanging from various places, Matisse and Monk making out inches in front of my face, great music, and my love in eyeshot - wink/wink means we’re both okay. There were no words for this.

Well, for every high, there is a fall. Yes, generally these things are brought down slowly. I, however, very suddenly felt dizzy and even though I didn’t actually think I would, I heard myself say, “I think I’m going to pass out.” My body-mind-mouth connection must have been working even though I was still somewhere else, because that’s the last thing I remember before being on the floor with my love holding my face in his hands and people around me in very supportive but not overbearing care. I know it’s scary from the outside - and I hesitate to say this because I don’t want to give anyone any unsafe ideas - but it actually added to everything. Coming to with excellent music and my love’s face was beautiful. They made sure I had enough water, assured me that everything was okay and let me enjoy my high. My teddy bear, who had been tied to the pole in ransom, was handed to me and I was relieved to know that I’d been a good girl and they didn’t have to torture Krys, the genderless teddy bear.

Serious sub-space had an interesting effect on me: I was so empowered. By the time we went back to the room and I had revelled in my marks and washed my makeup off, I felt so happily toppy and was lucky enough to have two beautiful people in my room to take it out on. Thank you Monk and Matisse for giving me such an amazing first night at Kinkfest!
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So, yes, you read that right: big bullies that we are, Roman and I made the poor girl faint after we'd been playing with her for about an hour. Of course, it wasn't really just what we were doing. The room was quite warm, and she'd been standing with her knees locked for too long. I kicked myself later for not noticing and correcting that, because it's a quick ticket to unconciousness if you're standing still for a while.

I'm glad she was able to warn me, although even if I hadn't caught her, the chest harness Roman had tied on her as part of the bondage would have prevented her from falling to the ground. Her lover came flying over when he saw her go limp, and Max and another friend, Tom, came as well, and helped us untie her from the rope and get her down to the floor quickly and safely. She was only out for a moment or two, and she's the first person I've ever seen come out of a faint with a smile on her face. It was definitely a more dramatic ending for the scene than we'd planned. But Krystal is a resilient girl, and while she may not consider herself a heavy masochist, she took a lot for us, and she's tougher than she thinks. (On the other hand, her teddy bear, who we tied up as well, is an honest-to-goodness pain slut. We put clothespins all over that bear and s/he didn't protest one bit.)

I'm pleased that Roman and Max and I got to spend some time with Krystal and her partner over the rest of the weekend. They're both really neat people - I'm pleased to have made a connection there, and I hope we keep in touch. Max and I are going to try to lure them up here to Seattle for the next Bondage Intensive class. So I must say, I'm quite satisfied with the outcome of "The Weakest Kink". Maybe we will do it again next year...

Edited to add: There's video clips over on Roman's blog...

Dispatches from the Front

So, it's Saturday afternoon, and I'm at Kinkfest, and I know what you’re all thinking. You're thinking, "Roman, Matisse – what happened with the Weakest Kink Contest!"

Well, I don’t have a lot of time to write, being as I am a leather conference where every minute is jammed with workshops and parties and hanging out with friends and so on. And Roman is off vending his cute little butt off, since everybody wants to buy his rope - I know he has no time.

But… a sneak preview. We did indeed choose a winner. And the winner was…(insert drumroll here)…Contestant Number 2, the lovely and talented Krystal! She fulfilled her final challenge most beautifully, and I’m glad she won. She’s a sweet, lovely girl. And Roman and I had a very, very good time being very, very mean to her.

Calliope was a worthy contestant and we’re glad she played. At her request, we won’t be discussing her final challenge and the situation surrounding that, but she’s a great person and we wish her well.

So, after we’re back from our weekend – and slightly recovered – Roman and I will be writing in some detail about the completely charming and nasty scene we did with Krystal, and we have some pictures and some video footage, too. (Not of the scene itself, no cameras allowed in Kinkfest dungeons.)

Meanwhile, I think a hot shower and a brief nap are the next indicated step for me - I have another dungeon party to attend tonight, and I’ll have to look and feel my best…

So it’s Friday, and Max and I are in Portland gearing up for a weekend of kinky debauchery at Kinkfest. And that includes the climax – so to speak – of The Weakest Kink contest.

Roman and I have had a lot of fun with the contest - everyone who participated was great. (Except perhaps that “Lola” person…) So whatever happens, I’m sure it’ll be a good time. And tonight, Roman and I have one final challenge to determine the winner, which – oh no! – I’m not going to reveal here. Sorry, can't ruin the surprise for the last two contestants. As you know, it’s down to Calliope vs. Krystal. We’ve come up with a really charming little game to play with them, so stay tuned for a full report on that later this weekend.

Meanwhile, I intend to shop, schmooze, flirt, play, and have some rowdy sex. Bye!

Edited to add: Oh, and of course - the new column and the Kink Calendar are up, so enjoy those...

Bizarre Bazaar

Ring ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, do you sell items?

You're probably thinking, "what kind of items?" But I know what he means – he means used panties. He might also mean used hose, or socks, or worn shoes. But they usually say that specifically if that's what they mean. So I'm guessing he means panties.

I have nothing against the idea of selling someone my worn underwear - in fact, I think it's sort of charming. The idea that something which has intimately touched me - or, by extension, any woman - automatically becomes a symbol of womanhood, almost a sacred object, worthy of sexual deification and worship...Well, I find that completely appropriate.

But there's a problem with the implementation: I don't wear panties. I mean, occasionally I do, if I'm wearing a short skirt. I have a dozen plain black g-strings for this purpose. But the rest of time, I'm going commando.

I used to wear underwear, but a number of years ago it just started to seem unnecessary. And then there's the fact that none of my lovers have a lingerie fetish. Max doesn't care anything about it – he especially dislikes bras, and would just as soon I didn't wear those, either, although I often do just because it's more comfortable than bouncing around. Roman doesn't get schwinged by lingerie either. Like Max, he has the, "Yeah, that's nice, now take it off so I can get to you" attitude.

Thus, the only time I wear sexy lingerie is with my favored clients who prefer that look to the fetish-wear, and who often buy me the things they'd like to see me in. There is something sort of extra-kinky about ruthlessly tormenting someone while wearing a lacy pink camisole and panties from Cosabella.

But I wouldn't want to break up that set, so instead, let's see if this guy happens to want a used black thong.

Me: Well – I suppose I could, yes. What were you looking for?
Caller: Um, panties. White cotton panties, with the full bottom. Or pantyhose, the kind of thicker, heavier kind. And, um, really worn ones, you know?

Oh, wow, I'm not dissing his fetish, but – no way. There's no way I'm going to wear big ole full-bottom panties or heavy, itchy support panty-hose long enough to qualify as "really worn". (Not for what I imagine he wants to pay for them.)

Me: You know, sweetheart, those just aren't things I wear in my normal life, and so I don't have anything like that lying around. And I don't really want to wear them, so… If you liked the finer, silkier stockings, or g-strings, I could maybe do that, but…
Caller: Yeah, but – it's the smell I really like, and those things don't hold the scent very well.
Me: I understand. Sorry.
Caller: Yeah, okay, bye.

A reasonable question, but not a fetish I can easily cater to…

Some Random Thoughts

It really makes me laugh when I go to a fetish website that bills itself as "real, hardcore fetish" and all the (sic) "femme doms" are a) wearing collars and leather wrist cuffs and b) holding their whips in such a way that if they were to actually swing the thing, they'd hit themselves in the face.

Heard from a submissive: "You know, there just aren't many greeting cards that are designed for a submissive to give to a dominant." Hallmark, there's a demographic calling you.

According the Wikipedia, I'm a BDSM authority. (See footnote number one.) How charming. So stop saying "dom-may", all of you.

I think The Encyclopedia of Sex is getting some very bogus entries. Abe Lincoln? Patrick Cook? Yeah, right.

Nice page about public etiquette for submissives.

I want some of this stuff…

I also want one of these. I saw a leather one over the weekend that looked (and smelled!) so nice, but I think this might be more practical for my purposes.

Recent good reads: Blink: The Power Of Thinking Without Thinking by Malcolm Gladwell. The author of "The Tipping Point" is back with a very interesting book about a brain function he calls, "our adaptive unconscious: a 24/7 mental valet that provides us with instant and sophisticated information to warn of danger, read a stranger, or react to a new idea. "
Essentially, it's about how people make snap decisions, and why some people are better at it than others. Since, in my professional life, I am often required to size up someone in an moment and make a yes/no decision about whether I want to deal with them, I found this fascinating. Not quite as essential as The Gift Of Fear to the Sex Worker's Reading List, but I burned right through it just the same.

Now I must quit stalling and go do what I ought to be doing…

The Family (Jewels) Album

One of my favorite boys likes to have photos taken when we play, and he always gives me such pretty pictures. Here's one - but before you go look, read the description he wrote of what you'll see. (Big image, if you're on dial-up. And very, very not work-safe.)

"I call it chopstick ball torture or cbt, not to be confused with CBT. I think it is an exquisite form of sexual torture. The chop sticks form and separate the balls to create a lot of pressure in the scrotum. They form a lever with the balls at the fulcrum. Slight movements of the chopsticks increases the pressure and pain in the scrotum. It is only recommended for an expert Dominatrix, such as you."

What a wonderful man, to let me do such terrible things to him.

Last night: Workshop was great, party was great…Thanks to everyone who came and contributed.

Note to my clients: I will be available tomorrow and Wednesday this week, and then I leave for Kinkfest. We’re traveling home on Monday, so I will be booking appointments for Tuesday through the week.

I've had a number of people from Portland call me and ask if I'm booking appointments there while I'm in town, and the answer is no. Sorry, but I'll be a very busy girl all weekend.

Roman posted the latest update in The Weakest Kink Contest, so check that out if you haven't already.

Amusing blogs for today: The Call Girl. Quite interesting...

And an Australian guy's rules for sex worker's clients, who are apparently called "punters" down under. While some of the structure is different because it's legal there, a lot of the suggestions seem to line up with mine. Tire-kickers, indeed.

Today I go to the gym, get a facial, take care of some boring business stuff, and then sit down and write a column. I'm not sure what I'm going to write about, but I'm considering something along the lines of: "How To Tell If Someone Is A Good Dominant". What do ya'll think about that?

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As per usual, I spent last night doing kinky things with Roman, so no long post right now.

Amusing poly incident of the day: When Roman and I got up this morning, Max, Maura and Jake were down in my garage, finishing some hemp rope. (Max likes Roman's rope, but he's enough of a rope-fetishist to like doing his own.) I personally thought it was not a big deal, but Roman seemed to think that qualified as at least a slight French Farce Moment.

Today, I have one of my favorite boys coming to see me, and then a loooong workout, and then tonight, I get to lounge around my house and watch Max tie up a very pretty girl. That'll be nice...

Meanwhile, the new column and the Kink Calendar are up, and I also found this interesting: Morgan's Time Line of Hooking. I do have a number of friends who are escorts, so I've kept tabs on what's going on in that world since I left it, and I've observed the same progression. Although not all of the customs she mentions are prevalent in the professional-dominance business - (trial dates? You must be joking!) - there is some overlap. There are "mistress review boards", for example, and it has become unusual, and slightly suspect, for mistresses to not show their face in web sites. Like the author, I'm not always sure all these developments are an entirely good thing. In some ways, yes, they're cool. In others - I don't know.

One more: I just saw this and had to add it to today's list: Anatomy of a bad response to a kinky online profile. See, I'm not the only snarky kinky chick in Seattle...

Be a Model of Restraint

I've got a big event this weekend – a photo shoot on Saturday with the incomparable glamour photographer Tommy Edwards. I've worked with Tommy a number of times before, and while I know some really talented photographers, no one has ever made me look as good as Tommy has. He's absolutely the best at what he does. It's my personal opinion that every woman – and hell, every man, too – should have really gorgeous pictures taken of them at least once. Even though I know that I actually don't roll out of bed looking just like that picture up there, it still just makes me feel good to look at them.

So I'm doing the usual pre-Tommy-shoot regime: the 7-day low-carb crash diet, to get off a pound or two of water-weight. And I bumped up the length and intensity of my cardio routine – oh, the muscle burn… But it's worth it for Tommy. I'll post some pictures when I get them.

Which brings me to something else… In the past, there have been some people who whined at me about that fact that although I don't see female clients, I have pictures of myself with female fetish models on my professional site. Personally, I think those folks are suffering from a surfeit of literal-mindedness – it's art, people, and the language of art is symbolic, not actual. Plus, it's just practical: there are tons of female fetish models. There are very few males.

But in the spirit of fairness, I'm going to make an offer. And if no one takes me up on it, I don't want to hear any more carping about my girl models. I would love to have a cute boy come and model with me this Saturday afternoon. Here are the requirements:

Be way cute, trim and nicely-muscled.
Be over 18, obviously.
Be willing to show your face. No masks or hoods or anything like that.
Be willing to appear as a submissive and be subjected to some bondage and light BDSM play. Nothing too-too heavy, it's a shoot, not a scene.
Be willing to sign away all rights to the photos.
Understand that this is not a real BDSM scene, and that it's not about your gratification, sexual or otherwise.
Understand that while you can certainly make limits and offer suggestions, you are really just a prop in this situation, so Tommy and I will generally expect you to do as you are asked without fussing.

What will you get in return? Pictures of yourself with me, by Tommy. And the opportunity to spend an afternoon in close proximity to me.

Now, I could get any number of female models to do this shoot with me under exactly those conditions, within the same time frame. I will be quite surprised if I can get a male candidate. But, hey, prove me wrong, I'd be pleased.

I will of course need to see pictures of you, and then meet you in person, before Saturday, and Tommy gets a vote on you, too. But if you think you've got what it takes, drop me a note. You'll get some beautiful art out of it.

UPDATE: Much to my pleasant surprise, I have two serious contenders for this gig, including one hot guy I already know, who I thought would not be able to show his face due to professional considerations. Yay! So, I have to get Tommy's approval on this, but we might soon be looking at some sexy male-submissive pictures.