Today is Friday, and so the new column and the Kink Calendar are up.

Last night I took Annie Sprinkle and her partner Beth out to dinner after her reading at Toys In Babeland, and with us were Jake, his friend M, CandyGirl and Rossi, and Jae. Annie and Beth are both super-sweet people, and we had a great time. (Although I think perhaps I shouldn't go back to The Palace Kitchen anytime soon. Jae and I were telling our story about how we met, and it seems we attracted some attention. Hey, it's a little noisy in there, we had to raise our voices some. Get over it, people.)

Other entertaining things...

While the new page style makes for annoying reading, since the column is squeezed down so that it's about three words wide, Dan Savage's column is even more worth reading than usual this week. Dan gives us his take on a question about ethics and social responsibility.

I howled with laughter when I read this, because I can so totally relate. I'm guessing the author doesn't know how much she has in common with me. But I get all those "I wanna be a pro dom, tell me how," emails.... It's the comments, really, that are the funniest part. Make sure you read all the way down, it's hilarious.

This look fascinating - the audio file of her voice on the splash page is quite intriguing - but I can't seem to get the final connection to work. Has anyone successfully controlled the webcam?

Wife wants to charge her husband with adultery. Oh for christ's sake, woman, divorce his ass and get over it. But you will not, single-handedly, drag morality back into the last century. For one thing, do you know how many cops, judges and district attorneys have comitted adultery? And let's not ever get started with the higher-up goverment officials... (via Edifying Spectacle)

Female Trouble

I hate carrying a purse. I mean, I have one, this square sack on a shoulder-strap, kinda like a messenger bag. But I almost never carry it around with me. Being a non-purse-carrier is one of the not-very-girly things about me that occasionally causes a problem. Like a few days ago…

You see, since I don't carry my purse, I carry stuff in my pockets – money, my keys, my phone, my debit card, lists of errands, other people's business cards, Altoid's tins, all kinds of things. It's easier to do this in the cold weather, when I'm wearing a jacket with capacious pockets. Come summer, I have to consciously pare down a bit, lest I look bulgy.

But it was chilly, late last week, when I was getting ready to leave my dungeon after a session. Just as I was about to walk out my door, I remembered I had a piece of equipment I need to take home to look at, because it wasn't working right. I stepped into the playroom, snatched up the offending toy, and – of course – put it in my jacket pocket. And promptly forgot about it.

So, several days go by, I don't wear the jacket, and I think nothing of it.

Flash to: me in line at QFC, buying those extremely expensive grapes that I'm addicted to – you know, the perfectly round, crisp, tart ones. Love those. Too bad for me they're usually three or even four dollars a pound.

But that QFC Big-Brother-is-monitoring-your-purchases loyalty card gives you some break on the price. So when the checker brightly inquires, "Do you have your QFC advantage card?" I say, "Yes," and thrust my hand into my pocket.

I feel something sort of round, with a little plastic-y thing on it. It must be my key ring with that QFC tag on it, right? So I whip it out and start to give it to the pretty little red-haired cashier, who can't be more than twenty years old.

Only – it's not my key ring. It's this.



Whoops. Now answer me honestly – that looks like something perverted, doesn't it? I mean, even if you didn't know what it was – a PES electro-sex cockhead stimulator – wouldn't you look at that and think, That looks like something dirty?

Yeah. That's what I thought. (It doesn't help that I'm wearing a T-shirt which says, "Good Kitty Gone Bad." )

So I hastily snatched my hand back, stuffed the malfunctioning BDSM toy back into my pocket and found my bona-fide key chain, blushing all the while. When I looked back up at the cashier, she was giving me a curious look. She opened her mouth and took in a small breath, and I thought, Oh, please god, don't ask me what that was. I suck at inventing lies like that on the spot.

And then she just handed me my change and said, "Have a nice day."

I fixed the toy, by the way. But Jesus, I gotta find a purse I can actually stand to carry around with me.

Life As Me, This Week…

Well, what I can say about this week so far is that it's a few iotas less crazy than last week. Max and I had erotic photographer Michele Serchuk, from New York, staying with us over the weekend, and that was nice. She was in town to do a show at the Wet Spot. We'd not met her before, but of course, as a photographer, I'd heard of her. I've always admired her work, she shoots great stuff. She turned out to be very cool, I liked her. We talked about me modeling for her sometime, which I'd also like...

It's not uncommon for Max and I to have people we've never met, but whom we've heard of, come stay with us. Since we have a fairly large house with a nice spare bedroom, local sex-positive organizers often ask Max and I to host visitors. We like doing it, because we get to meet interesting folks. And tomorrow, we have another guest arriving - the "Porn Star and Prostitute turned Sex Guru and Performance Artist", Annie Sprinkle.

Yeah, that Annie Sprinkle. The legend of porn Annie Sprinkle. The "40 Reasons Why Whores Are My Heros" Annie Sprinkle. Staying at my house. I have met a fair number of leather/sex-positive celebrities in my time, but still - Annie Sprinkle. Coming to stay at my house. That's amazing.

I did get to meet her and hang out with her the tiniest bit several years ago and I thought she was just the sweetest, nicest person you could imagine. So I'm very pleased to get to see her again, and meet her partner, too.

And I said we have another guest arriving, but in fact - Annie and her partner, Elizabeth, will be staying with just me. Max decided, after we'd already agreed to host Annie, that he really wanted to go to Chicago for Shibaricon. So he flies out of here Thursday morning, missing Annie and Elizabeth completely. Roman's already gone, having hit the road for Chicago Monday. Gee, everybody's going to Shibaricon but me. Bummer, guess I'll have to stay home...all alone...with sex goddess Annie Sprinkle and her cute partner. Wow, that really sucks. Don't you all feel so sorry for me? But listen, don't drop by the house this weekend to keep me company or anything, alright? Especially if you hear shrieks of...no, never mind, just don't.

I'm joking. I don't really think that Annie and Elizabeth are going to jump me. (It's a charming idea, though, isn't it? Roman would be eaten up with envy, he's a big fan of hers.) No, they're here for the Queering Femininity Conference that's happening this weekend. I thought about registering for that, but in spite of the fact that organizer Aiden Key is a very dear old pal of mine and extremely cute, too - no. I've got another writing project I should be working on, and I think I'd rather just have a quiet weekend.

At least, as quiet as one can have, when one is spending said weekend with a sex goddess. Lordy, lordy, lordy...

PhotoBlog: Women

With a Suitcase

With A Cigarette

Sepia-Toned

In A Spotlight

Spotlight Revisited

In A Cage

In Front Of The Door

Complete text of a recent email....

YOU LOOK HOTTER THAN HELL!!! (deleted) IS MY NAME AND I AM A BIG-FUN, ULTRA-KINKY, DOMINANT, HARDCORE-ARTIST, HEGELIAN, VEGETARIAN (vegan), MILLIONAIRE (self made) , ANAL TO THE CORE, COMMANDER AND FREAK. I OWN A GORGEOUS, DOORMAN BUILDING APARTMENT IN A REALLY NICE PART OF MANHATTAN. I AM LOOKING FOR A NEW ROOMATE/ANAL SEX-SLAVE/GIRLFRIEND AND I THINK THAT YOU LOOK HOTTER THAN HELL SO LET'S CHAT RIGHT NOW!!!!!! MY USER NAME ON THE YAHOO, THE MSN AND ON THE AOL INSTANT MESSENGERS IS (deleted). MY E-MAIL ADDRESS IS ASSFUCKER @(deleted).COM BUT IF YOU'RE GOING TO E-MAIL ME PLEASE INCLUDE A PICTURE OF YOURSELF (clothing is optional). MY PHONE NUMBER IS (212) (deleted) AND/OR YOU CAN GIVE ME YOUR PHONE NUMBER TOGETHER WITH SOME TIMING INSTRUCTIONS SO I CAN CALL YOU . I AM BURNING-HOT FOR WHAT YOU GOT!!!!!!

Okay, let's leave aside the all-caps, and the multiple exclamation points that hurt my eyes to look at. Let's leave aside the fact that he's writing to a woman who describes herself as a dominant, not a submissive, and who has given not even the slightest hint that she's looking to be the (shudder) "roommate/anal sex slave/girlfriend" of someone who's several time zones away. Let's not spend any time attempting to puzzle out what it means, exactly, to be a "hardcore-artist". (A porn set-designer?) And let's try, very hard, not to conjure up a mental image of someone whose anus goes all the way to his core.

Hegelian?

As in, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel? The guy in my Philosophy 101 class? The philosopher whose writings are justly famous for being the most difficult to read? (No mean feat in philosophy texts, I assure you.)

I looked up "Hegelianism" and found this: "The monist, idealist philosophy of Hegel in which the dialectic of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis is used as an analytic tool in order to approach a higher unity or a new thesis." Oh, well, that makes it all perfectly clear, doesn't it? Right. I think Hegel wrote that definition himself.

You know, I don't mean to be unduly critical of such an obvious heartfelt and sincere plea for my attention. But before I start firing off naked pictures of myself to this so-irresistable gentleman, can someone please tell me just one thing: What the hell does Hegel have to do with ass-fucking?

Today is Friday, and thus, the new column and the Kink Calendar are up. Seems the Stranger site has gotten an overhaul, don't be startled that it looks different.

The play last night, "Bach at Leipzig", was good. I can see why it's been called wordy, but I don't mind a bit of repetition as long as they say it funny, and they did. But that's just me - most of the time, if it's got guys wearing ruffled shirts and powdered wigs, I'm down with it.

A few other items of information and entertainment...

This looks like someplace I'd like to visit. Banya 5, an urban spa and health facility.

Entertaining rant about BDSMers by a guy whose viewpoints often (though not always) line up with mine. So naturally he must be right.

Wired's take on porn workers blogs.

The perils of bondage on the first date.

Oh, some of those moves look so familiar..The Virtual Stripper.

And lastly, prompted by nothing in particular: The LLC III BDSM vs Abuse statement.

All About Me

Wow. This week has been, whew, crazy-busy, and it's not over yet. The client line, which had been a tad quiet, suddenly refused to stop ringing. I had busy days at the dungeon Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday, plus dinner with Miss K and a sweet sleep-over date with Roman, not to mention going to the gym, and the dentist, and several other pesky real-life obligations.

Then last night I had a speaking engagement at UW, which was most enjoyable - the campus Planned Parenthood group asked me to come talk about BDSM to them, which I was pleased to do. Nice group of kids, asked good questions.

Today I have some sweet boys coming to see me, and then Max and I have our season tickets for the Act tonight - it's something called "Bach at Leipzig", which didn't sound promising to me until I read the blurb, which called it " a farcical escapade of entrances, exits, and witty rapiers of dialogue as six little-known musicians scheme, bribe, blackmail and audition in an attempt to secure the most coveted musical post in all Europe." Okay, I'll see most anything with the words "farcical" and "witty" in it.

On top of everything else, I'm still sort of recovering from having thrown a party for Max's birthday last weekend. The party was great, but doing big parties always leaves me sort of exhausted afterwards, because it's just a lot to plan and execute. At least, it is the way I do it.

I did have some help, though. Aside from Max himself, who is, of course, half of the party-planning home team, I also had Roman help me with music, answer the door a bit during the party itself, and facilitate me getting some fabulous food. And during the party itself, I had Calvin, Laura and Galahad.

Calvin and Laura were my party support crew and they were fabulous. They answered doors, took coats, served drinks, kept the food looking nice, and handled our guest's various needs with aplomb. Because of them I was able to drink champagne, talk to people, and actually have fun at my own party. They rock.

And then there's Galahad, who should ditch his current career plans and become a chef, because he cooked up a ton of gorgeous food on Saturday afternoon and brought it over, casting my tacky Costco frozen hor'dourves utterly into the shade. He rocks with two hands, as Roman would say. But you've ruined us all, Galahad, you know that. Just be aware that now Max and I will be wanting you for all our events. Even if you won't wear a Robin costume.

Photos From the Archives

No landscapes today, kids...Unless you count the human body as one.

From the self-portrait era:
Downlight
Seen Through a Window
Jigsaw Nude

Other pretty people naked:
Needle Art
Rope In Motion
Jane, Not Quite Suspended
Luminous Nude

Sex Index

People sometimes ask me, "How many times have you done so-and-so?" The answer is usually, "I have no earthly idea." One of the downsides being a long-term sexual outlaw is that, unless you're a much better record-keeper than I am, you tend to lose track of certain things. For example, I could not tell you exactly how many GGB threesomes I've been in to save my life. (A lot. But even if I could come up with a number, then there's the whole issue of professional vs. non-professional to be considered.)

But there are some things I can still be specific about...


Beginnings
Age at which I lost my virginity: 17
Age at which I lost my lesbian-virginity: 18
Age at which I bought my first pair of leather bondage cuffs: 19
Age at which I stopped keeping a list of how many sexual partners I'd had, together with notes on performance: 23
Number at which I abandoned the list: 47


Social Life
Number of nudists clubs I've been to: 2
Number of swing clubs I've been to: 4
Number of sex club/bathhouses I've been to: 4
Number of private swing parties I've been to: 8
Number of spontaneous orgies (more than 4 people) I've participated in: 7
When I was still living with a parent: 2
On a night when my mother was arriving home from a trip out of town the next morning: 1
Shortest amount of time between meeting a man and having sex with him: 5 minutes (roughly)
Shortest amount of time between meeting a woman and having sex with her: 30 seconds (roughly)
Number of women I've had sex with whose name I did not know: 5


Ways and Means
Number of time I've had sex in a car: 4
While it was moving: 1
Number of times I have jerked off a guy with my feet: 5
When my partner asked me to: 3
Just because I wanted to see if I could: 1
To win a bet: 1
Number of times I've had sex in a public restroom: 12
Number of times I've done BDSM in a public restroom: 9
Number of times I've had sex (real, not simulated) and let someone photograph it: 1
Number of times I've had sex with someone who was dressed as an animal: 1
Number of times I've had sex in an elevator: 1
Number of times I've been caught having sex in an elevator: 1
Number of times I've watched two men have sex: 3
Number of times I've had a BBG threesome: zero


Making a Living
Age at which I began doing sex work: 18
Number of years since I've filled out a job application: 15
Number of times I've created a resume: zero
Number of times I've been asked to take off my clothes as part of a job interview: 3
Number of times I've complied with this request: 1
Number of different work names I've had throughout my career: 9
Number of times I've had a woman named "Destiny" as a co-worker: 14
Number of strip-club stages I've danced on that were about the size of a dinner plate: 4
Number of strip-club stages I've danced on that were larger than my apartment: 1
Number of escort services I've worked for that were run by a man: zero
Number of escort service-owners who've hit on me: 1
Number of times I've managed other employees in a sex-work business:1
Chances I would ever be willing to do so again: zero

Today is Friday, and as usual, that means the new column and the Kink Calendar are up. And if, after reading the column, you'd like a link to Griffin's profile on Bondage.com , let me know.

Some kink in the news lately: this ABC story quotes our own lovely Allena Gabosch, director of the Wet Spot, and old pal of mine.

And another ABC story about sex research. (Hmmn, maybe Mr. Levitt and Mr. Dubner should talk to these folks before they publish another book, just in case they want to reference some more titillating examples.)

Interesting combination of art and confessional: "PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail-in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard."

This reads a bit like Mil Millington's humor, only poly: Why having two girlfriends is a really BAD idea...

A mathematical error: Apparently 666 is NOT the number of the beast. Everyone with those "665: Neighbor of the Beast" t-shirts? Sorry, you will now have to move.

Everyone please wish Max a Happy Birthday - it's tomorrow, the 14th. Yes, there will be a celebration. But no, he won't be getting spanked.

My Precious Time

I talked to six people on the phone yesterday. Five of them were very smart, perfectly appropriate guys that I look forward to meeting. The sixth, however…

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi.

There's a pause while I wait for him to say something like, "hey, it's me, Jim!" or "um, yeah, I saw your ad – what are your rates?" But he doesn't say anything. Guys do this sometimes. I think they think they're being all cool but it's really just silly and annoying. You called me, dude, so tell me who you are and what you want.

After a ten second pause I say:

Me: Can I help you?
Caller: Is this your picture?

Hey, Einstein, you may have noticed that we're actually not having a video-conference. That means I have no earthly idea what picture you're looking at.

Me: I don't know what picture you're looking at.
Caller: It's in your ad.
Me: Then, yes, that's my picture.

Long pause.

Me: Can I help you with something?
Caller: Yeah. Are you special?
Me: Am I special? Why are you asking me that?
Caller: I want to see someone special.

Well, I can recommend some athletic events you could attend. You know, it's one thing to call me up and ask me if I'm, say, very tall (no, sorta medium), or very busty (no, sorta medium there, too) or anything else that's a relatively fixed and easily demonstrable trait. But it's completely absurd to call me up and demand, apropos of nothing at all, to know whether I'm special or not.

It also makes me think he doesn't know who he's talking to.

Me: I'm a dominatrix, is that what you're looking for?
Caller: Yeah.
Me: Okay, what are you looking for in a session?
Caller: Are you happy? I want to see someone happy.
Me: I'm usually happy, but I'm not happy with this conversation. You're asking me weird questions and I don't like it. I'm going to hang up now.
Caller: No, don't hang up.
Me: Goodbye.
Click.

Two minutes later.

Ring Ring!

It's the same number, so I know it's the same guy. See, this is what happens when you hang up on them. They just call right back.

Me: Look, don't call me, I don't want to talk to you.
Caller: But –
Me: I'm programming you into my phone. Do not call me again.
Click.

I was so not in the mood for time-wasters yesterday.

It's Tuesday so it must be Photo Day...

The Black Tower

Infrared Apple

Cutting (Quite graphic.)

Self-portrait: RackFlip

Jake with Singletail

Max Doing a Suspension

Girls in the Windows



Note: Blogger has some scheduled downtime today from 4pm-5pm Pacific Time....

I keep an ongoing list of topics I should write about, and for some time now I've had a "ethics of BDSM" entry there. But it's a big subject, and I've been slow to engage it. That's why I'm very pleased to see that kink activist David Stein has done something great with it. (Note: if you'd like to read some interesting essays and articles about the art of consensual slavery, Google "slave david stein". He's written some good stuff .)

Now, without further ado...

SOME PRINCIPLES OF ETHICAL BDSM

Copyright is hereby waived to the following, which may be reprinted or reposted without charge or permission, but please give credit where due! Anyone may adapt and build on this starting point -- including the author. Thanks to the many participants in the workshop at Leather Leadership Conference IX in Phoenix, AZ, where these principles made their debut and received some much-needed qualifications, corrections, and additions.
slave david stein, gorgik@aol.com, ward of Master Steve Sampson 4/20/05

AIM AT EXCELLENCE IN ALL THAT YOU DO. Otherwise, why bother? There are much easier ways to get off. Everyone who comes under your hand, or whom you submit to or serve, should be better off for the experience. Does this mean humiliation or degradation have no place in ethical BDSM? As training tools, they do; as ends in themselves, no.

BE HONEST. Don't tell lies. Don't be complicit in lies by others. Withhold no necessary information. Never promise what you can't deliver. Acknowledged roles and fantasies aside, don't pretend to be what or who you're not. As far as possible, know your own limits and make them clear to your partner -- but also realize, if you're a bottom, sub, or slave, that these may be farther out than you imagine they are.

DO NO HARM. Giving or accepting pain is okay. Marks may be okay, even permanent ones. Temporary disabilities may be okay if complete healing is to be expected. Even helping someone die who's irreparably damaged and ready to go might be okay. But inflicting permanent harm that diminishes the quality of life or the ability to function in society and to earn a living is not okay. If you break your toys, you can't play with them anymore. And if you're a bottom, submissive, or slave, demoralizing your tops or Masters will mean that no one will want to play with, control, or own you anymore.

NEITHER INFLICT NOR ACCEPT PAIN UNINTENTIONALLY. Causing indiscriminate, unintentional pain is the mark of a bully or a dolt, while accepting pain as simply one's lot in life is a victim mentality. Sadism and Mastery are about control, and the ethical dimension requires control of the sadist or Master's own impulsive behavior. But the same goes for bottoms, submissives, and slaves, who can inflict enormous pain on their partners without meaning to, simply by acting without thinking first. And they should also take care not to accept pain they don't want, especially without a context that makes it meaningful (such as serving a beloved Dominant or Master). Pain in BDSM ought to be a deliberate transaction, not an accident or a byproduct.

TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR ASSESSING AND MANAGING YOUR OWN RISKS. Whether you get off on risk or not, risk-management is not the exclusive responsibility of the top or Master. Everyone involved needs to become informed about the risks involved in whatever kind of scene is in the offing and decide whether they're worth running, as well as how to reduce or eliminate unnecessary risks. Being careless or stupid isn't "hot" -- it's just careless or stupid.

DON'T USE BDSM FOR THERAPY COVERTLY. Don't trap an s/m partner, let alone a D/s partner, into filling a therapist's role for you. A BDSM session can bring up deep issues and have a therapeutic effect, but unless you discuss this intention or possibility with your partner ahead of time, try to keep your personal shit out of the dungeon. The same goes double for a D/s relationship. While we should all seek whatever healing we need, whether through BDSM or otherwise, no one wants to feel, afterward, that you were just using her or him to work out your issues. If you have specific psychic or emotional trigger points, make sure your partner knows about them beforehand -- and can be trusted to avoid triggering them.

EVERYONE SHOULD FEEL GOOD ABOUT IT WHEN IT'S OVER. And this "no regrets" reaction shouldn't be limited to just five minutes later, but persist through the next day, the next week, the next month, and longer -- the more intense the session, the more time someone may need to process the feelings it brought up. With few exceptions, unless you leave your partner(s) wanting to do it again, the session wasn't right. Ideally, the same should be true of a relationship when it's over (this is much harder, but even more important).

KINKY PEOPLE ARE STILL PEOPLE. Even when we're puppies or ponies, Masters or Goddesses, slaves or toys, no one is invulnerable, unfeeling, or unworthy of the presumption of respect.

RIGHT IS BETTER THAN "RIGHT NOW." Patience is essential. Learn to wait for the right moment, the right partner, the right time to present itself. Don't be afraid to say, "Thank you, no," or "Not now." Learn to listen to your gut the right way -- not the part that screams, "Feed me!" but the part that whispers, "No, there's something wrong here" or "Yes, this is it. Go for it!"

TREAT OTHERS BETTER THAN YOURSELF. Don't shortchange them the way you often do yourself. Treat others the way you'd treat yourself if you had time for it . . . if you weren't feeling so guilty . . . if you didn't have all these deadline pressures . . . if you didn't have higher priorities . . . if you weren't a closet masochist . . .

FINISH WHAT YOU START. Don't take control of a bottom's mind unless you know how to return it again when you're finished. Don't break a bottom or a slave you're not prepared to put back together again. Don't enter training without intending to complete it, come what may (barring only the most extreme circumstances). Don't walk out of a scene partway through; if there's provocation that can't be ignored, walk away and calm down, then come back and finish it. If you enter a contractual D/s or M/s relationship, fulfill your end of the bargain no matter what; even though you can walk away without legal consequences, you forfeit your honor. Caveat: Don't enter such a contract unless there are provisions for honorable release if either party comes to find the terms intolerable. "Honorable" means due responsibility is accepted, but there's no shame, no blame, and no drama. Both parties walk away with a clean reputation and no animus toward the other.

DON'T MESS WITH SOMEONE'S LIVELIHOOD OR FAMILY. Unless someone explicitly invites you into the parts of her or his life that concern family or making a living, it's best to assume these are off limits. Therefore, nothing should occur during a session that might threaten those areas unless consent is secured in advance, before any action starts. For instance: shaving the head or eyebrows, piercings, tattooing, preventing someone from reporting in to work or calling family members . . . . The same goes for a bottom, sub, or slave encroaching on a partner's private space, like calling a number you were told not to use or interacting with his/her work colleagues or family members even though you haven't been introduced.

DON'T TAKE YOUR PARTNER(S) FOR GRANTED. Depend on them, count on them, lean on them as needed and appropriate, but never, ever lose the awareness that their presence in your life is a gift and a grace, not an entitlement, not even a quid pro quo. This is so whether you are a top or a bottom, a Master or a slave, a Dominant or a submissive, or even a switch. Having one or more partners you can count on, whether for a scene or a lifetime, is an incalculable gift. Don't devalue it by taking it for granted.

RESPECT DIVERSITY. Not everyone is turned on, or off, by the same things, or to the same degree, and that's okay. Not everyone does things the same way either, and that's okay, too. There's more than one way to swing a cat, to process pain, to wrap a mummy, to train a slave, to serve a Mistress, to scare an adrenaline junkie out of his skin, or to bring the biggest smile ever to a hard-working top's face. Be very grateful if you can master one of these ways, and don't use your achievement to put down someone who's taken a different route to the same goal.

TGIF, kids. Yes, it's Friday, and that means the new column and the Kink Calendar are up. Enjoy.

Time-Wasting Link of the Day: Now, I'm not a celebrity-watcher. In fact, I'm not at all pop-culture savvy when it comes to TV and movie stars. Not only have I never seen an espisode of "Desperate Housewives" or "American Idol", I honestly can't even remember the last time Max and I turned on our TV. It may have been to watch the presidential debates last November. I do see TV shows when I'm at the gym, so there's that. But I frequently have no idea what they are, unless they feature someone immediately recognizable, like Oprah or that idiot remora of hers, 'Doctor' Phil.

I only go to movies occasionally, because I'm just too bloody busy. (Although Sin City was great, so I'm glad Roman made me go see it with him.)

I admit to reading People magazine in the grocery store checkout line, but I never actually buy it. So 90% of my information about movies stars and such comes from reading stuff online. And I don't spend a lot time doing that.

However, I am a female creature, and as such, I do sometimes have...a catty streak. That's why this site delights me so. After all, I am a high-ranking officer in the local fashion police. And it's human nature: slagging celebrities off about their fashion mistakes lets us indulge our vicious side without guilt, because hey, when you're famous, having strangers tear you to shreds in absentia is part of the job description.

(Yes, I know what you're thinking: But Matisse, don't you already get to be vicious? Shut up. Yes, I often do, but this is a different brand of nastiness. And it's fun.)

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Books On The Bedside Table

Cocaine: An Unauthorized Biography, by Dominic Streatfeild.
A lengthy, if slightly flippant, history of the drug. (Which I've never tried, interestingly.) I'm skipping around in it, rather than going cover to cover. I haven't seen Blow, although this book sort makes me want to, because it discusses the real person, George Jung, whose exploits are depicted (with some artistic license, I'm told) in that film.

The Burma Road : The Epic Story of the China-Burma-India Theater in World War II, by Donovan Webster.
"From the fall of Burma to the Japanese in 1942 until the end of the war, the Allies strove to keep China supplied with material from India - by air over "the Hump," and overland via the Burma Road, which stretched 700 miles to the Chinese city of Kunming." Not at all my usual historical period, but I've gotten interested in the history of Burma/Myanmar for other reasons, and this seemed like an interesting chapter of it. I'm about halfway through, and I'm finding it uneven: some pages I'm skimming and some utterly absorb me. But I like it overall.

Freakonomics : A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything, by Steven D. Levitt, Stephen J. Dubner.
"Levitt argues that many apparent mysteries of everyday life don't need to be so mysterious: they could be illuminated and made even more fascinating by asking the right questions and drawing connections." That line alone in the publishers review drew me in, because I am all about asking questions and drawing conclusions. Just got it and definitely looking forward to reading it.

Opium: A History, by Martin Booth.
Good historical information, although the writer's style is, rather appropriately, the opposite of the book on cocaine - slow and somewhat ponderous. (And I actually have smoked opium a couple of times - a college roommate from Delhi smuggled some over. It was quite nice. I recall thinking it was probably just as well I couldn't get any more.)

Why Smart People Make Big Money Mistakes And How To Correct Them: Lessons From The New Science Of Behavioral Economics, by Gary Belsky and Thomas Gilovich.
Just got this as a gift from one of my very favorite boys, and it looks fascinating. I've already started dipping into it. It was accompanied by a book called Stocks For The Long Run, which I will not be reading cover to cover, because the giver informs me I don't necessarily need to. It's got a lot of charts in it, and it's thick enough to club seals with, so I'm sort of relieved by that. I bet I wind up reading parts of it, though, because I'm quite interested in this whole investment thing.

Gosford Park: The Shooting Script.
Everyone in Robert Altman's movies talks just like me: fast and sometimes hard to understand. I'm sure some of my loved ones wish they had a script for me. But even though I'm usually pretty able to listen as fast as I speak, I did miss a lot of the good dialogue in this film, so...

Sherlock Holmes' Lost Adventure : The True Story of the Giant Rats of Sumatra, by Lauren Steinhauer.
Have I mentioned that I'm instantly attracted to any book (or movie, for that matter) that purports to be about Sherlock Holmes? But I have learned to approach anything outside the canon with carefully guarded hopes - Conan Doyle is undoubtedly revolving in his grave over some of the truly dreadful imitations in print. My favorite homage-to-Holmes author is Laurie King. But she isn't writing fast enough to suit me, so I'm casting my bibliographic net further afield. This book got good reviews, so I'm looking forward to trying it.

I think some more photos today, since ya'll seemed to enjoy the last round. Some quite tame, some a bit frisky.

Chloe, Inverted.
Infrared Girls on the Beach
Max and Jane
Foot Worship
Waiting By The Door
Ghosts of Industry
Red Mask

Long busy day yesterday, late night last night, and another busy day today...That means we'll return to our regularly scheduled blog tomorrow. Meanwhile, enjoy this charming image from Engrish.com

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The Sticky Question
An Instructional Tale....

Once upon a time, a young man came to see me for the first time. He was slightly nervous, which is only natural, and I tried to make him feel at ease. He told me he wanted a foot-worship session, so we spent an hour together primarily engaged in that pleasant activity. I'd been wearing my spike-heeled thigh-high boots for over two hours straight already, I told him, and so my feet were quite ready for some sensual attention. We also did a little soft flogging and some bondage, but our time together was primarily about his mouth on my feet.
But I love having my feet kissed and touched, so I enjoyed myself, and it was, ahem, quite clear that he was enjoying himself also. And at the end of the hour, well – let's just say he demonstrated his pleasure fully.

So that was all very nice. But then afterwards, as I was walking him towards the door, he stopped and said, "So, um, can I ask you a question?"

I smiled. "Yes, what is it?"

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I don't wanna be rude or anything."

I didn't like the sound of that. In another setting, I would have known instantly what he was going to ask me, because I've heard it before. But asking me The Question wouldn't make any sense in this context. I waited for him to continue.

"So, like – have you been tested?"

Tested? I thought. For what, athlete's foot?

Look, I came of sexual age in the time of AIDS. I have no experience of a sex life that didn't include that risk. Other STDs are serious, too. So it's not like I don't understand worrying about such things. I'm right there, baby.

I take my maintaining my health – including my sexual health - quite seriously. I get tested on a regular basis, and I've also been vaccinated against hepatitis, which many people aren't, although everyone should be. And I've done something equally important: I've educated myself about what STDs are out there and how one can, and cannot, catch them - something this boy didn't seem like he had done.

I raised one eyebrow and said, slowly, "Honey – you kissed my feet. You're not going to get an STD doing that."*

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, I was just wondering…" He looked at me, clearly still wanting an answer.

"All right...Yes, I've been tested, and I'm a completely healthy person. But you know what? The smart time for you to ask someone that question is before you do anything with them. Because what are you going do if I tell you no, I haven't been? And what would you do now if I actually told you I had an STD? Not that anyone would tell you. Why should they? If they're immoral enough to knowingly expose you to an STD, they're sure as hell immoral enough to lie about it."

I was talking about it with Miss K later, and she shook her head. "Yeah, I hate it when they do that, it scares me. Even when it's before we do anything. It makes me wonder how careless they'd be with someone if she convinced them she was 'clean'. I always say something like, "Yes, I've been tested, and I'm perfectly healthy. But you know what – you shouldn't trust me. You shouldn't take some strange person's word for something as important as this. You need to decide what level of risk is okay for you, and you should be careful and take precautions. And if you cannot afford to take any risk whatsoever, you should not be doing this, because even with precautions, nothing is 100% guaranteed."

"I see what you're saying," I said. "But still, part of what annoyed me about this situation was that he waited until afterwards. I hate it when someone comes to see me, asks me to do something, and then afterwards freaks out about what he's done and tries to act like it was all my doing, and he didn't really want it. I think asking that question afterwards is as much about projecting some generalized anxiety as it is about STDs."

She grimaced. "Yeah, the not-taking-responsibility thing is bad. I don't recall ever forcing someone to go down on me at gunpoint. If you decide to do that, it's your choice."

"Amazing how someone's perspective changes after they've had their orgasm, isn't it?"




* Medical note: I am aware that while it would be highly, highly unusual, it's not flat-out impossible for someone to catch something from foot-kissing. Hepatitis, for example, can live outside a person's body for some time, and if I'd somehow gotten hep germs on the skin of my feet, he could have licked them off and...
But realistically, I think you're in more danger from unwashed fruit, sticky public-restroom doorknobs or food handlers with dirty fingers.