Biblio-Odyssey

I swear, I treat books like other people treat drugs. One is just a gateway to the next. For example, late last night I finished reading this one: The Napoleon of Crime: The Life and Times of Adam Worth, Master Thief, by Ben Macintyre. "The model for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Professor Moriarty, Adam Worth (1844-1902) was one of the greatest thieves of the Victorian era. Macintyre's entertaining biography traces how the American-born German Jew became the "godfather" of his era."

It's very interesting, and part of it discusses Worth's relationship with the Pinkerton brothers. Lying in bed, I thought: huh, I sort of know who the Pinkertons were, but I don't know much about them. I wonder if there are any books about them.

Of course, it's 2am and I should really turn off the light and go to sleep. But that's the dangerous thing about shopping online. The stores never close. So I get out of bed - good thing Max is a heavy sleeper - and get online, and I quickly turned up this:

The Eye That Never Sleeps: A History of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, by Frank Morn.
Apparently the term "private eye" was coined in response to the Pinkerton's logo, an unblinking eye. Looks good to me, so credit card number and away we go.
But of course, I couldn't stop there. Amazon (damn them!) has those pesky links to other books on related topics, so when I saw this one, I had to click on it:

The Encyclopedia of Police Science, by William G. Bailey. 143 entries covering police duties and techniques, persons and organizations, police issues, crimes, etc. Definitions plus ample historical and conceptual background.

Mmmm, sort of interesting, but not quite my thing. But what's this?

Escapade, by Walter Satterthwait. Set in the 1920s, Satterthwait's novel mixes spiritualism with a locked-room murder mystery in a tale featuring Harry Houdini and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and hero Phil Beaumont, a Pinkerton Operative.

A novel about fictional Pinkerton detectives? And spiritualism, too - another pet topic of mine. Hey, it's only a few bucks, why not.

Other related titles?

The War Between the Spies: A History of Espionage During the American Civil War, by Alan Axelrod.
According the publisher's blurb, the Pinkertons spied for the Yankees. Wow, I didn't know that. Still, I'm not a Civil War buff. Growing up in states where they were still flying that damn rebel flag over goverment buildings kinda ruined any romance about The War of Northern Aggression for me. Still, the history of spying does interest me. (Plus it's 2am and my resistance is down.) Open the page in a new window and put it aside as a maybe.
What else do we have?

Silent Warfare: Understanding the World of Intelligence, by Abram N. Shulsky, Gary J. Schmitt. "The author assesses the three means by which raw intelligence data are gathered--from human sources, by technical means and open-source collection--and describes missions, methods of analysis and practical applications of the 'product'."

Mmmnnn, looks a bit dry and academic - not quite my thing. (Although I wonder if MountainPilot would like it?) Although if it was five bucks or less, I'd probably say 'what the heck' and buy it. But it's not, so on to the next temptation.

The Man Who Would Be King: The First American in Afghanistan, by Ben Macintyre.
While many know Sean Connery as "The Man Who Would Be King," few know 19th-century maverick Josiah Harlan, whose adventures probably inspired John Huston's version of Kipling's tale.

Oooo, now we're talking. 19th century? That's a 'yes, please'. What else ya got, baby?

A Pirate of Exquisite Mind: Explorer, Naturalist, and Buccaneer: The Life of William Dampier
by Diana Preston, Michael Preston.
Seventeenth-century pirate genius William Dampier sailed around the world three times when crossing the Pacific was a major feat, was the first explorer to visit all five continents, and reached Australia eighty years before Captain Cook.

Griffin might like this. And I think I do, too, so into the basket with you, Captain Dampier. But who's this with you, Cap'n?

Skeletons on the Zahara: A True Story of Survival, by Dean King.
Dean King refreshes the popular nineteenth-century narrative once read and admired by Henry David Thoreau, James Fenimore Cooper, and Abraham Lincoln. A page-turning blend of science, history, and classic adventure.

Oh, yeah, add that to the stack. And then get away from the damn computer before you buy anything else, Matisse!

It's a good thing that a book addiction is usually cheaper than a drug addiction – or at least, having one doesn't impact my ability to generate income. I'd hate to have to go around knocking elderly people in the head to get money for my book fix.

You Say It's Your Birthday...

Ring ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes it is.
Caller: I have a question: do you give birthday discounts?

Jesus, what am I, Denny's?

Me: Do I know you? Have you seen me before?
Caller: No...
Me: Ah. Well, no, I do not give birthday discounts. I do give birthday spankings, though.
Caller: Oh, well - I was just wondering. Because I'd really like to see you, but...

Okay, I think he's going to turn out to be a serious twit, but still, the Marketing Department is going to gather a little information here, because you never know.

Me: How much of a discount were you thinking about?
Caller: Oh, I don't know, half off?

Bbbbbbbzzzzzzzz! That, my friends, was the asshole-alert buzzer going off. Half off? This yabbo, who I've never clapped eyes on in my life, thinks I'm going see him for half my usual fee because (he says) it's his birthday? I wonder if he works for half his usual salary on his boss's birthday?

And I bet you a lollipop he wouldn't want to show me his ID, either.

Me: No, I think that's an unreasonable request. Ten percent would be the absolute most I'd be willing to grant to a new person.
Caller: So that would be fifty dollars off?

I'd love to be a server who waited on this guy.

Me: No, that would be twenty-five dollars.
Caller: Oh, I don't think I can swing that. Can you do any better for me?

Christ, now he thinks he's at a car lot.

Me: No, but I could do a great deal worse for you.
Caller: What?
Me: I can't help you. Sorry. Better luck elsewhere. Goodbye.
Click.

Gee, I forgot to wish him a happy birthday...

What's happening in my world: well, Max went up to Bellingham to teach a rope bondage class last night, and he decided to take Maura along and stay overnight. And I had a very nice date with Roman, which involved: a pizza from Stellar's, a lot of stories about the LA trip, several condoms, and playing the new Nine Inch Nails album quite loudly. It's got a really good beat, if you know what I mean. We were both feeling pretty relaxed at the end of the evening.

So, no long post today. But here are some entertaining links...

An extremely amusing little video about the joys and travails of poly.

A sweet boy blogs about his scene with Max at Shibaricon.

I'm a word fetishist, and it bugs me when people - especially writers - use them incorrectly, even if it's slang. So I can appreciate this post by Trixtah.

I know it's a gag site. (As well as a clever marketing ploy, note the link that says "click here if you want to buy sex toys.") And yes, it is kinda funny. In a really icky sort of way.

The Stare

I think of myself as being a pretty sophisticated person when it comes to, shall we say, the sexual dynamics of the human male. But sometimes you boys puzzle me.

Okay, here's what happening. I work out at the gym three times a week. (At least.) And there's a guy who works there, who I see about every time I go in, and I'm confused by the signals I'm getting from him. It's not what he says - he always does the "Hey, how are you? Have a good workout?" thing that all the employees do. That's perfectly fine.

But lately I've noticed: he stares at me. I mean, he really stares at me.

That's not completely inexplicable, although God knows I definitely don't look my best when I work out. If anyone knows a way I can run for five miles and look all fresh and pretty at the end of it, let me know. I have not discovered the trick of this. But hey, the guy works at a gym, maybe he's learned to eroticize red-faced girls who are streaming with sweat.

Now usually when I work out, Max is with me. Interestingly, although Max and I are very clearly a couple, this does not seem to faze Gym Guy at all. Granted, he does not stare as much when I'm walking by holding Max's hand. But neither has he ever displayed the "hey, she's cute – but, oh, she's taken" attitude.

So, several weeks go by, I see him staring at me whenever I'm there, and I just shrug it off, although it makes me ever-so-mildly uncomfortable. It's not that I feel threatened, not at all. It's just that when I'm working out, I don't want to think about what I look like. But when I see some guy looking at me that way, I am suddenly reminded that my hair is slick with sweat and I probably have mascara smudges under my eyes. It's distracting. One the reasons I love my gym is that many, many of the men who work out there are gay, and honey, those gym queens could care less about me. They are quite focused on a) themselves and b) other cute men. I prefer it that way.

Then one day last week, Max – who is a reluctant jock at best - plays hooky. So I was working out alone, and there was Gym Guy – staring.

And frankly, it was starting to get to me. Or rather, the fact that he just stared and did nothing else. It was confusing. Some days I'd tell myself, Matisse, you're making too much of it. Look at him, he's a dark-skinned guy, he may come from a culture with a longer social-looking time than here, and you're totally misinterpreting him.

I'd mentioned the matter to Max, who, after some observation, said "Yeah, I see what you mean. Do you think he knows you're Mistress Matisse?"

I shrugged. "It's possible." One the female employees had recognized me a few months ago and done the "hey-aren't-you…?" routine. She could have told other people, so who knows, maybe Gym Guy was just staring at me because I'm a dominatrix who writes about kinky things in the paper. I told myself there were all kinds of other ways to interpret The Stare.

But then I'd make eye contact with him and think: No. I am not misinterpreting this.

Which doesn't make him an evil guy, of course. In fact, I'm sure Gym Guy is perfectly nice, and he's not at all bad-looking. But I'm not interested. I feel like I've tried to waft off the "I'm not interested" vibe to him. However, some guys just don't pick up on cues, so you have to let them make the approach, and then politely turn them down.

So that day I thought to myself, Okay, let's just nip this in the bud. After I worked out, I showered and dried my hair and fixed my face, and generally returned myself to a reasonably presentable state. And then I went out into the lobby area and plunked myself down on one of the couches near the front desk. And I waited.

Look, here I am, all alone, no boyfriend, sitting here alone on the couch flipping through a magazine. Come hit on me so I can say no thank you, okay?

Ten minutes or so tick by. But did Gym Guy come over and talk to me? No. He did not.

Okay, clearly I had been misinterpreting him. Fine. I'll get over myself.

Back in the gym a few days later, and there he is. Staring. Later that evening, I was in the adjacent grocery store and I saw him there, and he saw me, and I swear to god, if he'd been a dog, he would have been pointing.

I'm completely perplexed, because if I was displaying the kind of behavior he's displaying, I'd be making a move on someone. All this heightened awareness with no follow-through confuses me. And it's getting on my nerves, because it's like waiting for the other shoe to drop. That sounds really bitchy – "oh, woe is me, I have to wait for this guy to hit on me so I can shoot him down". I don't mean it in a nasty way – but I spend six hours or so a week at the gym, and I just want to work out without having to deal with the energy. But at this point, I'm not sure what I can do except continue to ignore The Stare.

Wow, Micheal Jackson got off scot-free. I'm surprised.

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TGIF

Those of you who enjoy the "phone calls" posts will probably enjoy this week's column...

I had no idea what a sex-positive country Germany was...

Okay, 'fess up: who watched "Hit Me Baby One More Time" last night on NBC? I never watch TV but I read about this show and thought "Oh my GOD, Roman and I so have to watch that!" Because we are total 80's music whores, oh yes we are. We know all the bands, we know all the lyrics, there vast swathes of our brains devoted to Foreigner, LoverBoy, The Bangles, Duran Duran, Falco, et cetera. (Rock me Amadeus!)

It was big fun. Haddaway (What is love? Baby don't hurt me...) looked and sounded great, and Roman and I realized it's now impossible not to do that sideways thing with one's head whenever one hears that song. Such is the power of the Roxbury guys.

And wow, I hadn't realized that Martha Davis from The Motels was performing here in town at Teatro Zinzani.

I thought Tommy Tutone should have won. But - as Roman predicted - he was upset by that total white-boy dweeb, Vanilla Ice! Roman and I were stunned to learn that Tommy Tutone lives in Portland and is now a computer programmer. And then to have him be beaten by Vanilla Ice? Oh, the horror of it all. We were devastated.

Next week they have Cameo. (Word up, it's the code word...) We can't wait.

Stuff...

Another piece about the famous Seattle unfriendliness. But no matter how much I read/hear about this, it just doesn't resonate with me. I've never had trouble making friends here, and I think Seattle has tons of sexual energy, if you know where to look. Maybe it just means that my "speed" for becoming friendly with people matches up with everyone else's here, even though I'm a transplant from the South. Other Seattle people, do you agree with this article?

Jeff's Rant About (Some) Pro Dommes. I can relate. There are certainly some ex-tremely annoying members of my profession, although of course I can't name names.

I see that my friend Jennifer, Vancouver BC kink activist extraordinaire, has a blog.

I saw Roman Tuesday night and he reminded me that today is a one-year anniversary for us. Not our first date, which is later this month, but of my blog post where I mentioned that I thought I kinda liked him. I didn't think he read my blog, and so I was caught off guard when he emailed me in the wake of the post and, in a way that both sort of shy and direct at the same time, asked I was talking about him.
I wasn't quite prepared to tip my hand so plainly, but what was I gonna do, lie? So I said yes, it was him. And several weeks later, on June 25th, we had out first date.
We'll be observing that anniversary by going off to a remote little riverfront cabin in the mountains for two days later this month. It should be lovely – quiet, privacy, and a cute boy who's going to cook for me. Bliss.

Several Things I Rather Wish People Would Not Do

Lately, a number of people have told me that they consider me something of a celebrity in certain circles - kinky circles, that is. Now, I think "celebrity" is a bit of an overstatement -"popularity" is the word I'd use. It's a bit like being the head cheerleader at BDSM High. God knows I was a total geek in high school, so it's amusing to be having that experience at this point in my life. I'm sure I appreciate it more now than I would have then.

But whatever you wish to call the Seattle kink community's heightened awareness of me, it's a circumstance that's usually pleasant and flattering. Sometimes I do get hate mail, although frankly it's always been entertaining rather than upsetting. And recently I got some hate mail sent to me at The Stranger, through the US mail! Wow! You know you're really arrived when you get hate mail through the postal service. Somebody invested 37 cents in that. I feel so validated.

But as nice as it is to be known, so to speak, it's occasionally a bit awkward too. You see, I myself am conscious of the fact that, in the words of Valentine Michael Smith, "I am only an egg." However, I realize that it is human nature to seek role models, and I'm honored that some folks I meet see me as such. I do try to live up to the expectations of my community, but there are some things people could do to make it easier for me. And since I understand that there is no way anyone could simply know my preferences without being told, I'd like to explain them. So here we go…

I'm fine with being addressed as "Mistress Matisse" because that is my professional name. But I strongly prefer that social acquaintances not address me simply as "Mistress" in a non-scene context. The people who do this are almost always non-BDSM people, and they seem like they're being all titillated by calling me Mistress. (Hey Mistress, can I buy you a drink? Oooh, didja hear? I called her Mistress! Oooo! Oooo!)

No, don't do that. That title is for people who are actually playing with me, or negotiating to do so. If that doesn't describe your situation, simply call me Matisse. (If that's the name you know me by.) The best way I can explain it is to say that calling me "Mistress Matisse", or simply "Matisse", doesn't imply that we have an intimate relationship. Calling me "Mistress" does.

Please don't tell me how I'm the only "real" dominant woman in Seattle. I'm not flattered, because it's not true, and I wouldn't want it to be true anyway. There are a number of other pro dommes in Seattle, and just because they have not chosen to structure their careers the way I have does not render them any less "real" than I am. There are also plenty of highly competent, non-professional dominant women around, and if they hear you telling me that, your chances of getting any play with them will instantly vanish. And justifiably so.

Please don't ask me if you can be my apprentice, because I'm not hiring. And please, oh please, don't ask me "how to get started" as a pro dom. There is not a short answer to that question, and I'm afraid you'll have to wait for my book to come out to get the long one. I am always happy to give someone my opinion on a very specific "should-I-do-A-or-B?" type of question - I'm just trying to avoid doing lengthy career counseling sessions with strangers at play parties.

Okay, I got that all off my chest, I feel better.

Photo Blogging

We're back to my one of my favorite subjects: beautiful women.

Max, on The Dresser.
The lovely Max - we usually refer to her as "Girl Max" in conversation, so as to differentiate her from my Max, who is just as attractive, but considerably more furry.

Jane and The Boot
Awhile back, there was a period of time in which, if Jane and Max and a camera were in the same room, Jane always seemed to wind up in some very compromised position having to do with rope. Poor Jane, she hated it. Really.

Shower Nude
One of my very earliest self-portraits, from around the end of 1999.

Nude in the Doorway
Another treatment of the theme.

RedLight
I don't know why I like this odd photo of Miss Rose Algren, but for some reason, I just do. It's something about her expression.

RopeGag
Max is so mean. Of course, I was too busy taking pictures to stop him.

LongHaired Nude
I think I've sold more of this image than any other self-portrait. I'm not sure why, unless it's because it's clearly a nude and yet nothing is really showing, so to speak. A discreet nude.

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I was reading a feminist blog yesterday, and the blogger in question had posted her opinion about prostitution. The short version is: she thinks it's bad. She thinks men who see prostitutes don't see women as human being and are using them "like toilets with pulses". She feels men think they have the right to buy sex and she thinks that's wrong.

(This is the link, if you want to go read what she said. It's long, I warn you. And even if you are opposed to her views, I would strongly advise against trying to debate with her, because I don't think that's what she's looking for.)

Naturally I myself don't agree with her, although of course she's entitled to her point of view. I did make a comment or two, but LiveJournal isn't always the best forum for such discussions, and then the author politely told me that she wasn't interested in what I had to say, so I politely left.
But I will paraphrase and expand on some of my thoughts here.

It's impossible to talk about prostitution like it's a thing, an institution. It is in a sense, but it's a really a collection of human interactions. It's like marriage that way - an institution, but one made up of many, many sets of two people. I was married once, and you know what - it wasn't a good experience for me. Does that make the entire institution of marriage bad? I don't think so.

So I don't go along with the theory that since some women are victimized by being forced to be prostitutes - and yes, this does happen, I'm not denying it – that if a woman chooses to be a prostitute, she's supporting the victimization of those other women. That doesn't follow. I also believe in a woman's right to have an abortion. There are women who are forced to have abortions. Does that mean that we should ban all abortions, everywhere, because those women's rights were violated? No. It's free choice, or the lack therof, that makes something right or wrong.

I don't think anyone has a "right" to buy sex. So, if there was no one who was willing to sell it, well, would-be customers would just be out of luck. But there are women who are willing to sell it, and I do think women should have the right to sell sexual access to their bodies. It's a question of ownership. Do I own this body I'm in or not? I think I do. And I think that as the owner and operator, I should the right to do with as I see fit. This dovetails with my beliefs about abortion rights – it's my body, it's my choice. As one of my favorite authors Pat Califia once said, "What I choose to do with my freedom may appall you, but it is none of your business."

I chose sex work because I've always felt strongly connected to my own sexuality and I know that I have a gift for understanding and nurturing other people's as well. I think the US is a very sex-negative society. I don't like that. As long as people are taught to hate and fear their own sexuality, they will hate and fear the people who stir those feelings in them. Part of what I try to teach people is some greater acceptance of their own sexuality, and I think I've had good success with that. I think I'm lucky to be self-employed in a career where I can do something I'm good at, something I think is worthwhile, and be paid well for it. I have total control over how and when and where I work, and I like that.

The downside is that most people don't understand and don't approve, and the legal issues. That, to me, is the part of being a sex worker that's most apt to be damaging: the pressure, the name-calling, the marginalization and isolation she may encounter. If she internalizes those beliefs - and for many women it's hard not to - she will start to hate herself, and with self-hatred comes a host of other self-destructive behaviors. But I think it's not the sex with men that's damaging these women, it's being told they're bad, dirty sluts. And I think it's unfortunate when the people calling them that think of themselves as feminists. That's not any brand of feminism I want to be a part of.

In a shocking reversal of usual order of things, I'm putting up a link post today, instead Friday as I usually do. I'm just so full of surprises, aren't I?

I doubt the new column is up yet, although you can check. But the annoying thing is that with The Stranger site redesign, there no longer seems to be a way to link to the current issue. Each column is apparently assigned it's own unique URL, which makes all the links like the one on my sidebar there useless, since it will always take you to same damn column, even when it's a year old. I've written the webmaster about this and gotten no reply. Sigh. I'll let them iron out what are surely some other, major bugs with the new site, and then ask again. Until then, to read the newest column, go to www.TheStranger.com, and then click on "Columns" on the menu on the left, and then click on "Control Tower".

Stolen from a meme: the last four websites I visited...

Pronation Explained: No, not a nation of pro dommes. God, that's a scary thought. I'm merely shopping for new running shoes.

And then, the polar opposite of running shoes: Punitive Shoes. You can't say there's no truth in advertising. (And no, dear boy, I do not want any of these shoes. Are you mad?)

A very interesting editorial from the LA Times about the stem-cell research debate. At least, I thought it was interesting, since I support stem-cell research.

And then, some humor: I cried with laughter the first time I read this, and I still go there when I feel cranky, because it always makes me giggle. Weight Watchers recipe cards from 1974.

More substantial thoughts tomorrow...

What I'm reading lately…

Sex with Kings : 500 Years of Adultery, Power, Rivalry, and Revenge by Eleanor Herman. "Kings had flings and extramarital relationships through much of European history, and in her first book, Herman offers, with relish and dry wit, a delightful overview of their sexual escapades... History made as buoyant as fiction."

That's about the sexiest thing I've read lately, because I'm exploring a new literary tangent. I recently finished a book called The Burma Road : The Epic Story of the China-Burma-India Theater in World War II. Now, I generally prefer the 1600s-1900s for my pop-history reading. But this book awoke in me a curiosity about both WW1&2, neither of which I know much about. So I went over to Half-Price Books – a very, very dangerous place for me to go - and perused the Military History shelves. I bought:

The First World War: A Complete History by Martin Gilbert. "Profusely illustrated and containing 50 maps, it is both entertaining and endlessly informative in aiding the reader in understanding the specifics of how this first great tragedy of our century occurred."

The First World War by John Keegan. "In a riveting narrative that puts diaries, letters and action reports to good use, British military historian Keegan delivers a stunningly vivid history of the Great War."

Myths and Legends of the First World War by James Hayward. "While incorporating details of wartime life, this book gives a refreshingly different perspective by looking at the rich crop of legends that sprang from the battlefields. Many of these myths still persist in the public consciousness even today."

I figured I'd start with WW1 and move onto WW2 later. Then I wandered into the "Espionage" section and my interest was caught by:

The Code Book: The Science of Secrecy from Ancient Egypt to Quantum Cryptography by Simon Singh. "The author explores the impact of cryptography, the creation and cracking of coded messages, on history and society. "

Code Breaking: A History and Explanation by Rudolph Kippenhahn. "Astrophysicist Kippenhahn attempts to introduce the general reader to the history of cryptology… more a collection of anecdotes and explanations than a standard history book, but interesting and hugely informative reading."

Secret Messages: Concealment Codes And Other Types Of Ingenious Communication by William S. Butler, L. Douglas Keeney. "Authors Butler and Keeney breezily survey the history of codes, ciphers and other forms of covert communication from smoke signals and Morse code to fraternity ties, gang colors and carefully stitched quilts, to name just a few."

And then I made myself leave, because I don't need to be bringing any more books into my house until I first take some out. It's getting a little scary in my office. The walls are covered, floor to ceiling, with shelves, and the shelves are all full. There's a sort of a path from the door to my desk, and a few little empty spots on the floor here and there. But mostly, there are stacks and stacks of books. When my cat knocks one of them over, it's like dominos - a whole line of them goes down. It's definitely time for a bibliographic purge around here.

Of course, that means going back to Half-Price Books, what a pity. But when I sell, I do try to leave there with fewer books than I came in with. Hey, it's progress.

A note to my clients: after two weeks of extreme busyness on my part, the next two weeks look rather quiet. So if you're one of the boys who tried to get an appointment with me lately and couldn't - or if you've just been thinking, I should call Mistress Matisse - this week would be a good time.

PhotoBlogging

A mixed bag today... First, some shots from my night-photography phase.

Night Chapel - From the Seattle University campus, The Chapel of St Ignatius. I liked the color reflecting off the pond.
Night Tunnel - I had a mild obsession with this tunnel for a while. It's an exit ramp off 99, and there's just something about it. It's creepy in an interesting way.
Toy Graveyard - I'm unclear about why these little tiny crosses had been set up like this in a Capitol Hill park - I think it was some kind of political protest - but they were visually arresting.

Others...

Black Sky - Infra-red series of Gasworks Park
Punks and Pup - snapped on Broadway. I used to walk down Broadway with my camera, and everyone who panhandled me, I'd ask them to pose for a picture first. I got some interesting shots - but this scene was was just a lucky catch.

And we have to have some naked girls.

Rose and The Door - I know, I'm obsessed with doorways. But they're so evocative.
HalfNude - And again...

Not That I'm Looking...

But it's entertaining to see what - or rather, who - is out there. So sometimes I cruise though the online personal ads and play "If I was looking, who would I write to?"

Naturally, a lot of the ads I see make me deeply grateful for Max and Roman. But there are some cuties out there. A few days ago, for example, I spied this pretty girl. (Click on through the "are you 18?" screen.)

I was startled for a moment, because she looks like someone else I know. But on closer examination - no, she's a stranger to me.

Why do I like her ad? Well, it's a good picture, for one thing. It's nice and clear and natural-looking and it conveys not only what she looks like but a sense of her personality. Kudos to her for showing her face, too. Neck-down photos just don't do it for me in personals. If you really feel you must obscure your face, well, okay. But the decapitated-torso shots are mildly disturbing.

She mentions "spanking" in her interests list, and calls herself submissive. Hard to say how much experience she's got, but that's a start.

Plus, you know, she's pretty. Yeah, call me shallow, but there it is. Nice smile, and I like her long dark hair.

Why I might not answer the ad: wow, she's young. Twenty-one? Jesus, she's a baby. Nothing against her, but there's just a lot you don't know when you're twenty-one. And if you're like me at twenty-one, you don't even know that you don't know. If you know what I mean.

I wish her ad said a little more about her - for example, what kind of thing she does for a living. Or is she in school? How about books she likes? Music? Movies? Favorite restaurants?

In spite of those petty quibbles, I'm guessing she's been deluged with responses, for all the reasons I mentioned. And I'm quite certain she's gotten a lot of email from guys that start out, "I know you said you were looking for a girl, but..." I hope she meets someone cool.

So, as I said - I'm not seeking another partner. But it's still fun to window shop.

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...