Just Another Day

Wow, I've got a busy day scheduled. Get up, say good morning to Max and Maura, make some coffee for Roman, kiss him goodbye, get showered and dressed, kiss Max goodbye, and then hit the dungeon for three back-to-back sessions with 3 different boys.

(But hey, I'm glad for busy days like this, because the check I wrote to IRS last week just about exsanguinated my bank account. That self-emploment tax, good lord...)

And then two hours at the gym, god help me, where I will try not to drop another fifteen pound weight on my foot like I did Wednesday. Ouch.

This weekend is Max's 2-day bondage class, so we'll be busy with that. And Saturday night I'm going to a very swanky party given by a friend. We'll say no more about that - but he knows how he is...

But enough about what you're doing Matisse, you think. What about me? Well, the new column and the Kink Calendar are up, perhaps they'll entertain you.

Also, if you have a partner and you're kinky, Dr. Gabriele Hoff, a doctor of clinical psychology in San Francisco, would like you to fill out an anonymous survey about BDSM couples. I don't know the lady personally, but it looks interesting...

And lastly, for those of you who said you'd never seen a picture of me smiling...Voila.

Voicemail Hell

Some of the odd ones I've gotten lately…

FIRST MESSAGE:"Uh, Hi Mistress, my name is Doug, I talked to you on the phone about two years ago. I'd like to book an appointment now, I've been, um, thinking about what you said and I think I'm finally ready to do the scene we talked about. So give me a call at…"
END OF MESSAGE.
Well, that's all fine, except of course I have no earthly idea who he is or what we talked about, and he may think I do. If you're not one of my regular boys, I will not remember talking to you longer than a few days. There are just too many phone calls.


NEXT MESSAGE: "Yeaah, well, my name's Bobby, but ya can't call me back, cuz the warden's gonna be home soon. So I'll have to call you back later when she's not around. (pause) Hell, you must be some woman to be booking out 24-48 hours in advance. Mmnn. Yeah, I'll call ya back."
END OF MESSAGE.
Oh, hey, Country Boy, dissing your wife in a message to me like this really doesn't impress me. It's tacky and undignified.
And if you think I'm unusual for booking a few days out, I'm really afraid to think about what kind of sex workers you're used to seeing. Pacific Highway comes to mind, unfortunately.


NEXT MESSAGE: Hi, Mistress, my name is Lisa! I've seen your column and I think you're really great, I really admire you so much, and I'd be really grateful if you could help me out. So, this is my question for you. How do you go about starting a dungeon as a non-profit business? I've thought a lot about how to do this and it seems like going with a non-profit is the best way to go, you know, because of the special nature of the business."

(Edited for length – a lot more talk, with the same lack of clear information.)

"So I'd be really grateful if you could talk to me about this, because I need to get the paperwork started. Thanks a lot! Bye-bye!"
END OF MESSAGE.
Say what? This was one of those really incomprehensible messages – so much so that I played it for Max and said, "What the hell is she talking about?" (His reply: "I have no idea.") The whole message was a whopping three minutes and thirty seconds long, and she managed not to give me any useful information except that a) she admired me and b) she wants to start a dungeon c) as a non-profit.

I have no clue why she thinks I'd know a thing about non-profits of any variety. I don't know what she means by "a dungeon". She may mean something like the Wet Spot, which is actually a not-for-profit organization, so that would kinda make some sense to me. Except that I'm not on the WS board or anything, so why ask me?

Or she may mean that she wants to set up shop as a pro domme, and for some inexplicable reason she thinks it would be a good idea to do some kind of non-profit thing around that? Which makes no sense whatsoever. And either way, I have no useful information to give her – except that she needs to work on her clear-communication skills - so I'm not calling her back.


NEXT MESSAGE: "I'm a bad bad boy, don't you wanna spank me? Ha ha ha ha haaaa!"
END OF MESSAGE.
Oh, god, this guy. He's been calling me off and on for years. It's always the same message, with that wild Riddler-esque laugh. And I've never talked to him live that I know of, he usually calls in the middle of the night. It's harmless, if weird…I have a picture of someone who's a night watchman, or something similar, sitting around somewhere with a telephone and too much time on his hands.
But, you know, it's nice that he keeps in touch.

Warning: This is Matisse geeking out about photography. Skip it if you're only interested in the nasty stuff, because...

In Springtime, A Young Woman's Fancy Turns To Film!

Black-and-white infrared film, to be precise. I haven't been shooting much the last year or so, and this blog is partly to blame for that. One only has so much free time, and I've been spending a chunk of mine writing.
But when the sun comes out and the weather warms up, that's when I like to load up the b/w IR and shoot weird-looking stuff. Or, rather, shoot stuff that the film will render in an interesting way. I don't shoot IR in the winter because strong sunlight is the best light for IR. It's such slow film that you need a ton of light, regardless. And I haven't gotten such good results with indoor shots, with either flash or hot lights.

Some of my IR shots…

Beach at Golden Gardens
The Gateway
Ship
James Monroe School
Model at Discovery Park Beach, Midday
Rose, with Roses
Max, with the Apple (not my-lover-Max)
Models On the Railroad Tracks

I have done some color infra-red, which creates some very strange-looking foilage and landscapes. But it can also be fun, and I think if you got good with it you could produce some wild artwork. Here are two examples of color IR. (This is just how it comes out of the camera, these are not digitally retouched.)
Madrona Tree
Fireplace in the Yard

I haven't shot people in color IR, so that might be worth trying. I have no idea how they'd look.
Right now, I'm mentally framing up some images of Roman, cavorting naked in the front yard at the studio. Yay, tall hedges!

Letters From Blog Readers

I am a young woman who is new to seattle, and fairly new to kink in general and am curious about involving myself in the kink community around the area. any tips for a beginner? My long term partner and I have toyed with flogging, hot wax and other fun things, but i would like to bottom someone, if simply for the experience, and to learn technique, (and maybe to indulge my masochistic side.) I know that you do not run a dating service, nor do you see women professionally, I am simply seeking some of your wisdom!

My advice is: join the Wet Spot. It's the most reliable entry point into the local BDSM community, and it's a safe, well-run, and relatively non-threatening atmosphere. My lover Max is teaching a "Bondage For Sex" class on Sunday, May 1st, and that might be an excellent opportunity for ya'll to come scope out the place. (Membership is required for most WS events, but not for Max's class.)

In your professional opinion (Christ, now she’ll probably charge me!), just how prevalent is the submissive male in our culture? And what if anything do you think the phenomenon says about our society? Susie Bright has said that she sees a definite trend in the number of porn manuscripts that cross her desk containing submissive male themes and that this must be emblematic of deeper fault lines in our culture. I find Elise Sutton’s stuff interesting, but I don’t buy her thesis that a female-dominant society would fundamentally change the world. After all, Elizabeth I, Catherine the Great, Golda Meir, Indira Gandhi and Margaret Thatcher weren’t exactly paragons of peaceful but firm maternal leaders!

The really submissive male? Not terribly prevalent. Of course, I don’t think there are that many genuinely submissives females, either. I think there are a lot of people of both genders who have sexual fantasies involving dominance and submission. But only within the confines of what they find erotic, and only to the degree they want it. Bedroom submissives, we sometimes say.

There's not a damn thing wrong with that, you understand. I myself do not identify as submissive at all, but do I like to get tied up while I have sex sometimes? Hell yes, that's fun. And as a dominant, I've done intense D/s scenes lasting as long as a weekend.
But people who want and can happily sustain the "total power exchange" thing, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week? Quite rare. I've only met a few. (And I've met a lot of kinky people.) I think the number of men interested in kink is simply about a) it being more accessible than it used to be and b) men generally pursuing their sexual fantasies more aggressively than women.

Re: female dominant societies - I agree with you; Ms. Sutton's perspective is interesting, but I don't support the idea that women are fundamentally superior to men, morally or in any other way. Power corrupts, and I don't think that women are any more immune to the temptations of mass political power than men.

Generally speaking, what she does really isn't my style, anyway. I like taking people on an intense trip, but I think part of the fun for me is taking them out of a "normal" headspace and into a submissive one. If they just lived there all the time, I think I'd get bored pretty quickly. No challenge.


An amusing final note: Don't you hate it when this happens during your kidnapping scenes? Of course, only in Holland would they be cool enough not to arrest the people on some obscure charge of "disturbing the public morals" or something…

I had an interesting conversation with a friend the other day concerning something her partner was doing. Her situation was that her partner - her husband, in fact - was continuing to have occasional friendly contact with an ex of hers. (They're poly, obviously.) She was not altogether comfortable with that but she wasn't sure what she wanted to do about it. So she asked me what I'd do if I were her. Here's what I said…

"I myself want to *control Max – or any partner I have - as little as possible, and that's mainly because I think controlling (or trying to control) your partner is an unhealthy coping mechanism that ultimately damages the relationship. If I'm not directly impacted by something my partner is doing, then I usually don't think I should try to control it. So the policy I have with myself is: if it's something that Max is doing when I'm not in the room, then I ask myself to consider very, very carefully if it's mine to control.

"Now, obviously there are times when stuff your partner does while away from you does affect you directly: safer sex boundaries certainly come immediately to mind. So it's not a black and white situation. But overall, I find the when-I'm-not-in-the-room yardstick helps me know if the issue is really something that affects me or not. "

"Huh, very interesting. I assume you mean a metaphorical room, rather than a real one?"

"Yeah, for the most part. And let me be clear - I'm not saying I don't struggle with this issue. There are times when I really want control of things even though they have no measurable impact on me. But it's the standard that I try to live up to."

"So," she said, "hypothetically, what if Max was seeing someone who was a huge drama queen and had terrible boundaries?"

"As long as it doesn't affect my life, that's his choice. I wouldn't want to spend time around her myself, but…"

"What if she showed up at the house and pitched some big drama fit?"

"Now she's in the room with me and that's legitimately my problem."

"What if they were having big dramatic upsets all the time, over at her place, but he was coming home all upset from them?"

I thought about it. "That's sort of borderline. I mean, stuff happens. Your partner is going to be upset about things from time to time, that's part of being in a relationship. So I'd say that if it's occasional, I'd let it go. If it was every week, and he was just beside himself with unhappiness or anger or something to the point where it was a struggle for me to cope with it, then we'd have to talk. But even then I'd try to frame it in terms of "how can we change the situation so that your feelings don't impact me so strongly", rather than, "You can't see her anymore!"

Hmmn," she said. "So you're saying that if my husband wants to have dinner with a crazy person, that's his business and I shouldn't tell him not to."

"Yeah, that's my opinion."

"But what if she thinks-" then she stopped. "Oh, right. I don't get to control what she thinks, do I?"

"Honey, if you could do that, you'd still be dating her."

"What if she calls me?"

"Then she's in the room with you, so to speak, and you can deal with that however you think necessary. And you can tell him that she called you, even though you've told her not to, and he can decide what he wants to do with that information.

"Plus," I went on, "I think that when you do things to control your partner, you set precedents that tend to come back and bite you on the ass later on. I know that one of the other reasons I don't want to control Max's behavior is that I don't want him trying to control mine. And you can't reasonably expect to have a double-standard, so… Do you want your husband telling you who you can and can't be friendly with?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I don't think so. Good point."

I'm still refining my if-I'm-not-in-the-room approach to control within relationships. But conversations like one help me keep sharpening it.


(*Obviously we're not talking about erotic/BDSM-type control here. We're talking about being controlling in a pejorative sense.)

It's looking like a moderately busy weekend around here, but nothing we can't handle. Midori is staying here at the house for a few days while she does the Seattle Erotic Art Festival. Max and I went down to the by-invitation preview last night, and there's some great work there - I highly recommend seeing the show. (Dress warmly, though, because it's a big, high-ceilinged space, and it's chilly. I was wearing a skimpy little outfit and even with my coat on, I was freezing.)

And I have a date with Roman tonight, which I'm looking forward to. We won't be at SEAF, though, as we have other plans...

Meanwhile, the new column and the Kink Calendar are up. This week in the column I answered some questions that blog readers sent in, so if you've written me, check and see if yours is there.

Speaking of questions, someone asked me about "slave training schools", and I would have answered you, but my computer ate your email. Check out this organization, I've met some of the people involved and they're reputable and well-regarded in the BDSM community.

And, just for the sheer amusement of it, it's time to play Dress Up Jesus!

Ring Ring!

Me: hello?
Caller: Uh, yeah, hi – is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes it is…
Caller: Well, I have a question about getting some professional mentoring from you.

Hmmnn, I'm not sure what to make of this. Perhaps he means he wants me to teach him some BDSM skills, which I'd be fine with doing – at my usual rate.

Me: What exactly is it you're thinking about?
Caller: You see, my girlfriend and I are professional dominants, too. My name is (******) and she's (******). And I was wondering if you'd, like, mentor us?
Me: Mentor you?
Caller: Yeah, professionally, I mean. We're, uh, having some trouble kinda getting going. I was wondering if you'd be willing to sit down with us and talk to us about what we should be doing, business-wise.

The simplest and shortest answer here would be to say, "No, I wouldn't", and hang up. But I feel compelled to be a bit more polite about it, because…my momma raised me that way. (Dammit.)

We're going to skip right over the part about him being a professional dominant, because I'm quite sure I don't want to ask. It isn't that men can't do that - I know some male pro doms. But the vast majority of their clients are, of course, other men. So either he's seeing male clients, which is fine, but it's an area of the industry that I naturally have no experience in. Or he's just doing duos with his girlfriend. Or he's sitting around twiddling his thumbs and waiting for the phone to ring with female clients who want a male pro dom. He'll have a long wait.

No, none of that is my dog. But what never ceases to amaze me is how people will call me up and say, essentially, "Hi, we're some complete strangers and we'd like to compete with you in business, will you teach us how to do that?"

Now, understand, I have no problem with other mistresses. This is not like the Highlander movies, where "there can be only one". No, it's very good thing I'm not the only one, because there are far more guys who want to see pro dommes than I can book sessions with - even if I were compatible with all of them, which I'm not. While I don't recognize the names he gave me, I'm friendly with most of the other (reputable) pro dommes in town, and most of them are great gals. So if you tell me you want to become a pro domme, then I will smile and wish you the very best of luck.

But if you want me to tell you how you should do that, then you need a whole lot more than luck, my friend - you need a sharp rap with the clue stick. It doesn't matter what business you're in, that's just not how small business works. I myself am the child of two small business owners and I learned a lot about small business strategy and psychology just by watching my parents. Some of what I leaned is: your competitor has just as much right to be in the industry as you do, and it's nothing personal, so there's no reason not to be courteous to him when you bump into each other at the coffee shop. The two of you might even like each other and get to be buddies – you'll certainly have some things in common.

But you don't give away your secrets, and you don't spend your professional time nurturing those nascent competitors. A lot of people appear to not understand this, which sort of puzzles me since it seems so obvious. But what I have come to believe is that many people are not cut out to run their own business. Even (or perhaps, especially) a sex work business.

I'd probably be less impatient with this call if I hadn't had this exact same conversation many, many times over the years, although usually with women. I don't mind swapping small bits of advice with newer ladies – the "so, how do you handle it when X happens?" kinda thing. But it's my opinion that if you just don't know how to run the business you're in, then the most merciful thing anyone can do is let you fail quickly and decisively, rather than pulling a Terri Schiavo on you. That way, you can go on to do something you've got the skills for. (It's worth mentioning that none of the successful ladies who got started as dommes after I did have ever tried this "will you tell me how to run my business?" trick with me. They didn’t need to.)

Fortunately, I have long since constructed a graceful way out of these conversations - with the added advantage of it being perfectly true.

Me: No, I'm sorry, my attorney has advised me not to do things like that.
Caller: Oh – really? Because we're just, you know, not sure if we should stay with it or quit or what. It's not been going so well. I wanna stay with it, but my girlfriend thinks she wants to quit. I was hoping you could kinda talk to her about giving it another try.

Oh, wow, that's a whole other issue. He wants me to talk his reluctant lover into continuing to work as a pro domme? No, no, no, no, nooooo. There are oh-so many quicksand pits in that conversation, I don't even want to think about it.

Me: You know, I wish you both the best of luck in whatever you decide to do, but as I said, my attorney has advised me that I should not have those kinds of conversations. So I cannot help you, sorry.
Caller: Oh. Well, if you’re sure.
Me: Thanks, goodbye.

We hang up. Maybe when I'm retired, I'll write a book. Do you think The One-Minute Pro Domme would sell?

Well, I was going to write something witty, and...I got busy with other things. So I decided to do a quick photo album page, prompted in part by a question someone asked me this week about how long I've been a pro domme. My long-term clients will recognize a few of these shots, although not all of these went on my professional site.
Now, without further ado: Mistress Matisse, the early years...

Andrea Dworkin died on Saturday. As you may imagine, I was not a big fan of hers, in spite of Susie Bright's assertion that Ms. Dworkin was the one who started women looking at porn with an eye to remaking it for our own pleasure. But Susie is right about one thing: All those people who try to repress sexual freedom by nattering about how "porn is violence against women" - they are the political children of Andrea Dworkin. All those right-wing, sexist, fundamentalist, homophobic, sex-negative white guys. Thanks a whole bunch, Andrea.

And so in honor of Ms. Dworkin, a cool link about writing hot sex scenes. With examples, of course.

A news story that about six different people emailed to me… "Dominatrix-turned-bureaucrat says she endured harassment from her superior -- a former client". She won her case, though. I bet he was one of those "real and true submissives".

Does George Bush know he got shut out of this race? Fix! Fix! I smell voter fraud! Send in Stefan Sharkansky! I demand an investigation!

Max still has a couple of spaces left in the Rope Bondage Intensive class this weekend...

In-teresting...Is this bondage furniture or wacky art? You decide. (Via Mithras.)

Added: Okay, I usually don't do memes, but the SF Gate piece behind this is too funny. My Unitarian Jihad Name is:

Sister Jackhammer of Courteous Debate.

Get yours.

Notes From the Clueless...

I must be PMS lately, because people keep saying things that annoy me. (Or maybe it's just that what they're saying really is stupid. You tell me.)

In Conversation:
"I'd be fine with my girlfriend having sex with another girl, that would be cool. But another guy? No way!"

On the Phone:
Ring Ring!
"Hello?"
"Mistress Matisse?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me how old you are?"
"Well, I could. But I'm not going to. There are photos of me on my site that accurately reflect what I look like. I don't think my precise age has anything to do with abilities as a Mistress."
"Oh. Can you tell me your bust size?"

Via Email:
Dear Mistress Matisse,
I have never done bondage before, however my boyfriend recently told me that he wants to be abused by me. How do I do this? Please answer quickly and tell me everything I need to know, we have a date tonight.

Dear Mistress Matisse,
I'd like to become a professional dominatrix, too. Will you train me?

Dear Mistress Matisse,
Do you give birthday discounts?

Hopefully someone masochistic will schedule an appointment with me this week, so I can take out my irritation on their butt. Or someone who's into serious foot worship, because that's the one thing that's absolutely, unconditionally guaranteed to put me in a happy mood.

A rather late post for today - Roman and I didn't get out of bed and unwrapped from each other until a little later than usual this morning. And then we ran into Max and Maura in the kitchen, and the boys wound up talking about - what else? - hemp rope matters...

Foodie note: Last night I was in a carnivorous mood, so Roman and I went to the Ipanema Brazilian Grill down on First Avenue, and it was quite yummy. If you're a meat-eater, I recommend it.

The new column and the Kink Calendar are up, so go enjoy them...And this week, Roman got quoted in Dan Savage's column, so go read his words of wisdom to aspiring rope tops. I'm so proud of him.

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes.
Caller: I'd like to talk about an appointment.

This is all sounding fine so far. I'm optimistic.

Me: Okay, have you ever seen a pro domme before?
Caller: No, but I'm very interested. I've done a lot of playing around, by myself you know, and I'd like to do a scene with a partner.

Still fine. Lots of people experiment alone, usually as part of masturbating. Boys who like cock and ball torture are the most apt to tell me stories about the creative things they've done to their bits. Sometimes these little tales of auto-erotic-sadism make my blood run cold. "You did what to your dick? With a number two pencil and pair of vise-grips? Jesus, honey, please don't do that – I'm a highly trained professional, let me do the evil things to you. That way you'll still have a functioning penis when it's finished."

So let's see if he's a CBT fan…

Me: Are there particular things you're interesting in exploring?
Caller: Yes, I have a fantasy role play in mind.
Me: Okay, what kind of roleplay is it?
Caller: Well, it's sort of a medical scene. And I like to cross-dress.
Me: Medical play is fine. I don't have much of a wardrobe for cross-dressers but if you'd like to bring your own clothes and dress, I enjoy that.
Caller: And…I like to pretend like I'm pregnant.

Okay…That's different. Not too many things I haven't heard of before now, but cross-dressing as a pregnant woman, that's a new one on me. But, all right, I can deal with that, I suppose.

Then I ask the obvious question…

Me: Pregnant…Okay, so does you being pregnant enter into the role-play?
Caller: Yes. I want to pretend I'm giving birth.

Wow. Okay. We're definitely into unusual-fantasy territory here. I suppress the urge to say, "You want to what?" Because this isn't a fantasy that seems particularly erotic to me. (Especially given that for my whole life, being pregnant and giving birth have ranked quite high on the "Things I Never Want To Experience" list, coming in just slightly behind being in a major airplane crash.)

But since he's the one who wants to give birth, not me, let's see if I can find myself anywhere in this fantasy.

Me: So – what role would I play in this fantasy?
Caller: You'd be the nurse helping me give birth. Sort of a sadistic nurse.

You know, you'd think in this day and age this kind of sex-role stereotyping would be obsolete. But no. A nurse. What the fuck?

Me: I don't role-play being a nurse. I could possibly play being a doctor. But not a nurse.
Caller: Okay, I'm sorry. Doctor. You'd be the doctor overseeing my delivery.

Hmmnn… "Doctor Matisse, sadistic obstetrician". I don't know. I don't think this is really a fit for me.

But I'm mildly curious…

Me: So, how exactly do you act out this fantasy? I mean, what do you…?
Caller: I have a doll.
Me: Okay.
Caller: And I'd want you to, you know, put it inside me.

Whoa. I know what he means when he says "inside" – and it's not a caesarian he's talking about – but I'm a little alarmed that this guy is asking me to put an infant-sized doll up his ass.

Me: Inside you?
Caller: Yeah, it's not that big. It's a Barbie doll.

Ah. Well, that takes care of one problem, although I now have to pause for a moment and consider the fact that I'm talking to a guy who wants to be fucked in the ass with a Barbie doll. And then pretend to give birth to it. The frightening thing is that I can actually sketch it out in my head pretty easily. "Right, first we'd do that, then a little of this, and then I'd…Yeah, and then he'd…And then the…Yeah, right, could work." I could even incorporate some forced breast-feeding. But I'm guessing an episiotomy is out of the question.

But just because I can mentally choreograph it out doesn't mean I actually want to do it, because I don't. For one thing, while I'm quite, quite sure he wouldn't be the first person to get pegged by Barbie, one of my fears would be one of Barbie's little arms would come off while she was up his ass, or one of her permanently-pointed toes would perforate something, or who knows what. So although I generally support the idea of pervertibles, this whole scene just doesn't feel like my cuppa. I think I'll politely decline.

Me: Uh, you know what, this doesn't really sound like my thing. I'm not so much with medical role-playing.
Caller: But you said you did medical.
Me: Well, yes, but what I'm really strongest with is the activities - like cutting and piercing, sounds, catheters, stuff like that.
Caller: Oh.
Me: Sorry, better luck elsewhere.
Caller: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah, I just don't think this is really for me.
Caller: Okay, well, bye….

As we hang up I think to myself, And be sure you tie off the umbilical cord…

Okay, everyone – the pope is dead. He was an old man, he was sick, and he died. That's too bad, I suppose, but old sick people die every minute of every day somewhere in the world, so can we please stop with the "All-Dead-Pope, All-The-Time" news coverage? I'm starting to feel like this version of TV Guide is the real one…

Given his asinine views on birth control, I'm sure the departed pontiff would have dug this site…

And while Johnny Paul probably would have been horrified by this, I'm planning on sending this link to all the guys who write to me asking how to become porn stars.

I don't wear glasses, but I think this looks cool. Max does - but somehow I just don't think he's going to go for the idea.

And this is a link that's been posted a number of other places already, but I think all new kinksters should be required to memorize it. And there should be pop quizzes.
A keynote speech by Laura Antoniou, author of the wonderful 'Marketplace' series of SM fantasy novels, giving a big ol' whack with the clue stick to silly perverts everywhere.

Operator Assistance

I had dinner with Miss K the other day and she told me a story…

"So this guy had called me and left me a message," - she rolled her eyes – "and I should have known he was going to be kinda clueless, because in the voicemail he said, I haven't done this in thirty years."

"He hasn't had sex in thirty years? Jesus Christ, you better get some industrial-strength condoms, because this guy's gonna shoot like Old Faithful."

"Yeah, maybe, although he definitely didn't sound like a spring chicken." She mimicked an old-man voice. "I haven't done this in nigh on thirty years, sonny." She shrugged and continued. "And you know I normally like older guys, but something about this one... I figured he meant he hadn't seen a call girl in thirty years, and I assumed that meant he'd be a little rusty with the etiquette. An assumption that was proved right when I called him back."

"What did he do?"

"Well, I called him and when he picked up, I said, 'Hi, is this Bill? This is (her work name), you called and left me a message.' And do you know what he did?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"He said, 'Oh, no, you mean this is (her legal name)'."

"Wha-at?"

"Yeah. I just got that new phone, and I thought my name was blocked on outgoing calls, but apparently, it wasn't yet."

"Well, that's bloody annoying. But you mean this yahoo actually said, 'No, this is (her legal name)'? What a moron."

"Yeah, I thought it was pretty stupid, too," she said dryly.

"What did you do?"

"I figured one good stupidity deserved another, so I said, 'No, it's not. This is (her work name)'."

I laughed. "Hey, that's cool - brazen it out, baby. What did he say to that?"

"He acted all confused, and told me that (her legal name) was showing up on his caller ID, and I simply repeated that that wasn't my name. He told me I should call the phone company, then, and I told him that I certainly would be."

"Jesus. What happened then?"

"Well, he asked me my rate and acted kinda stunned when I told him."

"Maybe he thought there'd been a price freeze for the last thirty years."

Today I have some questions for ya'll...

Does anyone know anything about these folks? If so, I'd be quite interested in hearing about your experiences, either here or via private email. They claim to have a good rating from Jane's Guide, but I can't find a review of them anywhere on Jane's site. And I admit that the mindset implied by their (rather skimpy) website did not impress me. But I'm open to hearing more...

Does anyone know of any Seattle-area "Furry" social groups or events? I'd list them in the Kink Calendar, if I could find any. Drop me a note or post it here... (What's a Furry? Read this, or this, or this.)

Speaking of the Kink Calendar, are there types of events you'd like to see listings for that I haven't touched on?

Comments, questions, and update schedules...

A few quick remarks before I head off – Max and I have a date with a treadmill and some free weights, then dinner, then we're heading off to a party at a friend's house.

There have been a lot of great comments lately. However, as you may have noticed, I am not responding much in the comments box very often, and that's just because I don't have time. Plus, I've noticed that as often as not, your answers to any would-be challengers are pretty much what I would say anyway. (You're all so smart!) So I do really enjoy the feedback, and I like reading the interplay between the commenters, I just lack the time to participate much.

Sometimes people ask me questions in the comments box that aren't related to the subject of the post. You can certainly do that, but it's not the best way to get a thoughtful answer - or indeed, any answer at all - from me about anything. You'd do better to send me an email with your question, with the understanding that a) While I won't reveal your name/email address, I'll post it here and answer it here, and b) I'll answer it when I get around to it. That may be weeks or even months.

And while we're on the subject of posting…I've decided that in the future, I'm not going to blog (much) on the weekends. I may occasionally say something, but I have another writing project going and I think full-time blogging is taking too much of my writing time from that. So from this day forward, it'll be mostly weekday postings.

Now I'm going to go enjoy my day with Max...

Linky Goodness

The new column and the Kink Calendar are up, so go enjoy them...

I thought about trying to put together some April Fools links, but frankly, I'm too damn busy. The work phone has been going crazy this week, and I've been slammed, which is nice in many ways, but odd, because this is traditionally a slow time of year - federal taxes, you know. So while I go be creatively mean to some boys, browse these interesting links...

Navigating the murky waters of hiring a sex worker? Here's some info for you.

Several people have sent me this link: Russian scientists claims whipping reduces depression.

Oddly absorbing: The Industrious Clock.

Jesus Christ...I don't really know what to say about this. Except that it pisses me off.

"By rights she should be taken out and hung...For the cold-blooded murder of the English tongue."
Professor Henry Higgens, "My Fair Lady".


This email, that I received today, might just win the "Utter Gibberish" award of the month. Looks a bit like the free online-translators have struck again, although I've heard from native English speakers whose writing was almost this bad.

To worship You in person instead of has computer screen is dangerously exciting. I hope that I become You one day. I will drank cuts to earn it! The thought of laying tied up vulnerable, exposed and helpless At Your feet completely At Your mercy gold worshipping Your holi feet, is so exiting that I get goosebumps! Very Very exiting!

If someone is going to drink cuts at my holy feet in order to become me, I may well be exiting myself. I don't know what the hell he means by that, but it sounds like a black magic ritual of some kind.

I just has totally sincere, honoest, open and demoted slut, who needs training, disciple, abussage and transformation (drafted femisation), to Be molded into the perfect and being useful. This is because sometimes I get careless and playful like has little kitten, and need I viscous punishment and correction. CBT, whip, all kinds of bondage, nhipple torture, gags, trampling, foot/boot worshipping, trampling, spankinds of bondage, wipping roleplays all like this I. Sstrap one play too, I want to be your hoard.

Demoted from what, one wonders? Some high rank in the Abussingian military, where femis are drafted and playful kittens are viscously punished? (Perhaps with pancake syrup or motor oil.) No, I don't think I want a whole hoard of you, thanks. It sounds messy.

I sorry am I blatint, goal I believe honoesty, sincerity and partedness is the key to trust and respect. I know that when my ewes meet Yours (only with Your permission of curse) I will feel weak paralyzed and vulnerable.

Buddy, my parted ewes are not getting anywhere near you, I don't care if you are paralyzed.

If pleases Mistress I will Be melting like has melted wax that You edge mold into anything that infilters You (for example being useful, bread-slut, boot-slut, abbsuage sissy maid, plaything gold just anything You desire...). I edge only hope, with all my heart, that one day You will find me waxing Your boots gold shoes (the whole collection!) with my tongue.

Bread-slut? What the heck? Does that have anything to do with that edge mold?

A gentleman named Si asked me this interesting question:

"Does your kinky community support skilled people within its ranks? Do you use kinky plumbers, accountants etc. for preference since you know you won’t have to deal with (in your charming phrase) ‘banjo eyes’ if they have to deal with receipts from Kinkfest, or unexpectedly unearth a flogger from beneath the water heater."

Well, I certainly do. Sometimes I do it out of loyalty to "my community" as much as for my own convenience. A car mechanic, for example. I could just as easily go to a vanilla person, but given a otherwise-equal choice, I'd opt for a kinkster, just because, you know – one of us.

And other times it's simply a necessity. My housecleaner really must be kink-friendly, and it helps a lot that my bookkeeper is too. The plumber for the toilet in the dungeon? Gotta be a pervy person. And yes, that's because I don't really want to deal with a weirded-out vanilla contractor. Some BDSM people have no problem "squicking the mundanes", as my friends and I call it. But not only is that often inefficient in terms of getting the proper professional service, I think it's kind of rude.

As a sidebar… I often have innocent newbies assume that I have a ton of slaves who do all my housework and errands and such for me. For free.
To that I say: Hah. I'd have better luck waiting for the Easter Bunny to hop into my kitchen and do the dishes. Sometimes I think having a slave* is something like having a yacht or a private plane. They are lots of fun, and yes, they are sometimes quite convenient. But while they might occasionally save you time in some areas, it will be equaled, and often exceeded, by the time and energy you spend doing the maintenance on them. Because in my experience, slaves are high-maintenance creatures. That's why I don't have a personal (meaning: not a client) slave. I enjoy thrashing people a great deal, and I'll do scenes where I role-play a Mistress/slave relationship for an hour or two. But a 24/7 Mistress/slave relationship – no, that's not for me right now. I just don't have the time.

(*Note: I am using the word "slave" in a very non-specific way, and in this case it includes bottoms, submissives, et cetera.)

Phone Messages

YOU HAVE SIX NEW MESSAGES. PRESS ONE TO HEAR MESSAGES.
BEEP!
FIRST MESSAGE:
"Hi, um, I love your articles, I just wanted to put a voice to the other end of the collar."
END OF MESSAGE.
Okay, that's fine. I assume he means other end of the leash, but, whatever…

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Charles. (Pause.) 206-XXX-XXXX. (Pause.) You. (Pause.) And me. (Pause.) Together. (Pause.) Call me."
END OF MESSAGE.
I. Don't. Think so. Charles.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Oooh, uh, Mistress, my cock is so hard for you, I wanna suck your-"
MESSAGE DELETED.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Uh, yeah, this is (unintelligible mumble) call me back (mumble mumble), 206-(mumble)-XXXX."
END OF MESSAGE.
There's a sex workers "review board" for the Seattle area that I read occasionally, and one of the frequent complaints there is about ladies who don't return phone calls. Well, if you mutter into the phone, so that it's impossible to understand what you're saying, you will definitely not get a call back. Speak up and speak clearly, boys.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Hi Matisse, it's me, John – you know, John from Idaho, with the cell phone ringer that sounds like an ambulance siren? I just wanted to let you know I won't be able to make it over to see you this coming month – Uncle Sam gets all my play money for April – but I'll be back around next month, and I'm looking forward to seeing you then. Bye."
END OF MESSAGE.
I have such sweet, thoughtful clients. It's not at as if I would ever question John about why he didn't come to see me one month. I'm fully aware that my boys do have real lives apart from seeing me, and other demands on their time and money. But it's very nice of him to let me know.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Charles. (Pause.) "I want to show you things." (Pause.) Things you can't even pronounce." (Pause.) Call me."
END OF MESSAGE.
What, Mr. Trying-To-Be-All-Sexy-Voiced Charles is a pharmacist? Because I've seen some medication names that I would have to struggle to utter aloud. (Chlorpheniramine? Phenylpropanolamine?) Otherwise, I have no idea what he means, because I actually can pronounce all the proper Latin terms for what I bet he's thinking about.