***************************************
Roman and I went to see "Capote" last night. It was astounding. Absolutely amazing. I have never seen a man's inner conflicts, and his path to emotional suicide, so skillfully portrayed. If Phillip Seymour Hoffman doesn't get an Oscar nomination, there is no justice in this world.

And now, ah... a long, quiet weekend, with no big events, stretches blissfully out in front of me. Maybe I'll rearrange my bookshelves.
(I know, that's not what you think of me doing with my weekends. But I'm a girl who needs her down-time, too.)

Oh, and the new column and calendar, in case you're looking for ideas about what to do with your weekend.

Somewhere in the last ten years, shopping for clothes stopped being something I did for recreation and became...a chore. I don't know why, exactly. I've never been a serious label-whore - I tend to dress simply and casually most of the time. Thank god wearing all black never goes out of style in my crowd, because it makes getting dressed such a no-brainer.

But I do like to look nice, and it's relatively easy for me to buy clothes, since I am neither very large nor terribly small, but sort of in the middle. My mom, for example, is five feet tall and small-framed, and then there's Miss K, who's a six foot Amazon queen with a very hour-glass figure. I have seen how they both really have to hunt to find things that fit. Me, I can usually slide neatly into a size six, though not always. I think some women's clothing designers size their clothes by throwing darts at a chart on the wall, because I have purchased clothing in size four, size six, and even a size eight, all in one day, in one store. In my closet I have clothes that say they are "small", some that have been deemed "medium", and some that purport to be "large". All for the same body. Go figure.

Fetish-fashion designers are particularly evil about this: I have fetishwear with labels that say "XL". Extra large? Are you kidding me? What would medium be, Mary-Kate Olsen after a week-long crystal binge? If I ever catch up with Catherine Coatney, that bitch has a lot of explaining to do.

So you never know until you try it on, and taking one's clothes off and on, and off and on, gets old after a little while, doesn't it?

So I do shop online some, although that's always a crap-shoot. For example, here's a very cute pair of boots over at Vicky's Secret. (Not the dress. Hate the dress.) And only $88, that's cheap.
But you don't really know what you're getting. It may be time for a round at Nordstrom. Hey, I know, I need a fit-slave. I mean, a female submissive who has exactly the same measurements as me. I'd send her to do my shopping.

Penii

Oh, my god, do I love this site. No, not because it’s got lots of pictures of boy’s bits – but because it does address the ago-old male question: “How does my dick measure up to other guys?”

Max and Roman are both quite free of any penis-anxiety, which is great. But I’ve known guys who were sorta anxious about the issue, although most of them had no need to be. But if you’re a straight guy, I can see how you’d kinda wonder what other guy’s dicks looked like. There’s such a tremendous variation, and porn movies are really not a representative sample. (Especially gay porn, good lord, I think they grow those boys in nuclear laboratories somewhere. It can't be natural. I know you can do a lot with camera angles, but still.)

Now, I say most of the guys had no reason to be anxious, but that’s just my opinion, and I have to admit: I’m so not a size queen. But there are women who are. God knows I’ve fisted any number of women who seemed to enjoy it very much, and whenever I’ve done it in front of boys, it’s occurred to me that I’m probably giving at least one of them a serious inferiority complex.

(I double-fisted a woman once, and that was the one occasion where I got a flicker of understanding of why some men have a primitive fear of women’s pussies. I had both hands in there, probably about three inches past the wristbone, and she was thrashing and rolling around, and I realized that instead of my controlling her body, she was sort of controlling mine. I had to move in sync with her, or get my wrists seriously twisted. It was definitely a “wait a minute, who’s running this fuck?” moment.)

I have met one guy whose dick was so big that it was a problem for him. I was twenty years old, I was an escort, and he was this thin little white guy, wiry, but very small-framed. I showed up at his place, he was very sweet and pleasant, we chatted for a little while and then – we went to the bedroom and he took off his pants and he’s got this…monster thing between his legs.

I took one look and stepped back and said, “Oh, I so don’t think so.” As I said, I am not a size queen. It wasn’t a long, skinny one either. It had serious girth.

He sort of sighed and said, “Yeah, I get that from a lot of the girls. It’s really a hassle.”

I wound up hooking him up with another lady who I knew had great - shall we say- depth of personality. (And who had given birth to two children.) When he stripped down, her eyebrows went up. “Wow. That’s like, uh…wow.”

The two of us stood there studying him like military generals eyeing a hill that needed to be taken. “Can you do it?” I asked.

She squinted one eye and drummed her fingers on her chin, considering. “Hell, give me the lube, I’ll try.”

Even getting a condom on him required three hands, but we managed. Then she laid him down and positioned herself atop him. “Now,” she said firmly. “You don’t move, you hear me? Unless I say you can. You lie still.”

She began working her way down inch by inch. It was kind of like watching a boa constrictor swallowing prey, only in reverse.

And damned if she didn’t eventually swallow up a good four-fifths of him, which he seemed to think was pretty keen. Later she confided to me, “Now I know what it feels like to have a soda can in my pussy.”

It’s a shame he seemed to be a straight guy. He could have raked in money in gay porn.

As I plunge unto another insanely busy week, clients please take note: at this precise moment, I have time available for one appointment on Tuesday, one on Wednesday, and one Thursday. It's the same time every day, starting at about 5 and ending at 6 or 6:30. Unless I get a cancellation, everything else for this week is booked, I'm afraid.
I usually tell people that 48 hours is enough notice for me to work something out for you, but lately I've been inundated with people who want my attention. And how can I complain about such a charming problem?
These things go in cycles - I'm guessing that in a week or so I'll be slightly less booked up. So if you can only do shorter-notice scheduling, try me again around November 1st.

Educational note: A lot of people have asked me about how to learn to do cutting. Well, I got the info too late to put it in the Kink Calendar, but there will be a workshop on cutting at the Wet Spot, on October 25th from 7pm- 9pm. This is a fundraiser for the Wicked Wymyn leather conference, sponsored by Seattle Women of Leather.
(Matisse, what's cutting? It's a body-mod/BDSM technique. Finished product here, graphic action shot here. Don't try this at home, kids.)
One caveat: This may be a women-only event, I'm not sure. So if you're a boy, I'd find out before I showed up at the door. I hope it's co-ed, just because cutting is a skill that you really need to be taught in person, by an experienced practioner. But it is true that women - especially lesbians and bi women - do tend to do more bloodsports than men anyway. Go figure.

More info? Try calling/emailing the Wet Spot, or the sponsoring group, SWOL@groups.yahoo.com


Now a question for the New Yorkers: A charming, recently relocated reader writes:

"Do you have a suggestion of where to go to get into the scene in NYC? I've always been rather envious of the vibe the Wetspot seems to have, and am looking for something similar in New York. I'd be sort of new to the whole public BDSM idea anyway, but having a new life means it's probably time to try some new things, right?"

I do admire people who aren't afraid to take risks. However, I don't know of anything like the Wet Spot in NY. My intelligence suggests that it's mainly stand-and-model bars, swing-club-like establishments, and the private-party scene, which of course you have to know someone to get into. There's TES, of course. Other suggestions?

Better late than never: This week's column and kink calendar.

And if you've been kinky in Seattle long enough to remember C-Space, take note, in that calendar, of the fundraiser for the revival of C-Space. That event is being held Sunday evening at the Wet Spot. I'll be there...

What’s up with me? Well, I went here for dinner last night, and it was way yummy. The service was a little uneven, though. In some ways our server was really helpful and attentive, but there were these loooong pauses between courses. Dinner for three took three hours, and yes, it’s a nice restaurant so they don’t rush you, but really, it was a bit much. Great view from the windows, though.

This man is now on my list of "celebrities I'd like to give a lap-dance to", because he does a brilliant send-up of Bill O'Reilly. Totally brilliant.

Hey, creators of erotic art:

CALL FOR ENTRIES: SEATTLE EROTIC ART FESTIVAL 2006
To be held March 24-26, 2006 at Consolidated Works in Seattle

The Seattle Erotic Art Festival (SEAF) was founded in 2002 by Seattle's Sex Positive Community Center (SPCC) to promote freedom of sexuality, speech and creativity through the erotic expression of fine art. The Festival strives to exhibit work not easily found in mainstream galleries and museums.

We invite artists of all backgrounds, countries, ethnicities, cultures, genders, sexualities, and ages (18+) to submit up to four (4) works of art of any media. 3D artists and painters are particularly encouraged to apply; please note that photography is a highly competitive medium.

Enter online at http://www.seattleerotic.org between October 15- December 15, 2005.

Bizarre sex trivia about me: I once slept with a professional psychic to see if he could tell the difference between a real orgasm and a faked one.

I was cocktail waitressing at the nudist resort, you see, and he came and did a show there once a month. (As a side note, isn’t there something odd about a psychic appearing at a nudist camp? It’s just strange somehow.)

He was a nice-enough looking guy in a forty-something, Nathan-Lane kinda way. (A heterosexual Nathan Lane, I should say.) Meanwhile, I was nineteen years old, I had a tan all over my body, and I was cutting a swath through the available cuties of both genders that summer. I was deep in my sexual-experimentation phase. (Or as my friends and I refer to it: one’s slut phase. Almost everyone has one.)

I thought, What would it be like to sleep with a guy who’s psychic? (Or at least, who says he is.) So I worked my section through his little show, punched out, went and sat down next to him at the bar and said howdy.

Looking back, I’m sure my approach was about as subtle as a sledgehammer. I say that based on my experiences being hit on by nineteen year olds. The very young are often beautiful. But they are rarely terribly subtle.

However, he didn’t seem to mind. Men are often so forgiving about that, aren't they? So when the bar closed, we went back his place.

It wasn’t a terrible sexual experience, but remember what I said about wondering if a psychic could tell a real orgasm from a fake one?

Apparently not.

Conversation between me and a potential client*...

Him: I’m really into tickling.

Me: That’s fine.

Him: And my fantasy is that I’m all tied up and you tickle me without any mercy. I have no safeword.

Me: That’s fine, I can do a scene like that.

Him: But I’m really apprehensive about being tied up and not having a safeword.

Me: That’s understandable. You certainly don’t have to be tied up, if that’s too much. Or we can negotiate a safeword.

Him: But I really want to not have one.

Me: Well, okay, then we can play that way.

Him: But I’m really nervous about that.

(Repeat about three times.)

Him: I want to have one but not really have one. Do you know what I mean?

Gentlemen, I understand the conflict between fear and desire. But you cannot simultaneously give up and retain control. Either choice is fine, but wanting to not (really) have a safeword but really (not) have a safeword gets into a kind of Orwellian doublespeak that gives me a headache.

*Who in many ways seemed like a perfectly nice guy.

I’m way too slammed to answer individual emails and blog, so we’re going to combine that today. A very nice reader writes:

I have a question regarding this:




I just got it in the mail today... As a college student with a roommate, the money/space I have available to build a massive toy supply is limited, so the price was definitely right. But- the nib? jib? tip? thing is a hard rubbery plastic. And I was just wondering... is it safe to use? Testing it on my hand/arm/leg, it delivers quite a sting, but because it's made for horses, should I just not have gone there? Is there a pressing reason why people should buy special crops that are made specifically for sex/people?
Or have I discovered a high quality cheap alternative to leather crops? Because for what it is, it is very well made.

My dear, you have discovered what many kinksters who came before you have found – tack stores are great places to buy riding crops. This is a perfectly dandy toy to use on a human. It does indeed look delightfully stingy, so you will have to adjust the strength of the impact to suit your partner. (Or they to you, if you’re the intended recipient.)

But in general, pervertibles are a wonderful thing. Not only are they often cheaper than designed-to-be-sex-toys, you can maintain some level of plausible deniability. (Not with a crop, though.)

For impact play, try also: big flat wooden spoons, spatulas, yardsticks and rulers, and paint stirrers.

Oh, and on the tack store front, look for one of these: it’s called a dogging bat. Kinksters often call it a slapper. Great toy.

Check out the new column and kink calendar....

And notice, if you haven't already, that I'm teaching a Spanking Class at Babeland this Sunday evening. It'll be big fun, and yes, I will be taking volunteers from the audience.

My classes usually sell out, so call for advance tickets if you want a sure thing - 206. 328. 2914. Babeland is located here.

This and that…

I’ve gotten a few angsty emails about this issue: Blogger axes adult blogs. I’m not especially worried. I think what they’re going after are people who have pay porn sites and are throwing up dozens of faux-blogs to get more traffic and higher rankings with Google. These pseudo blogs have little or no real content, just lots of keywords and preview pix. Frankly, I think Blogger is perfectly within their rights to delete them. They’re advertising ploys, not real blogs. That’s not to say one cannot put a link from a blog to a professional site – I do that. But there’s such a thing as abusing the system. This, however, is a real blog with plenty of non-porn content. I don’t think Blogger would say I was violating their TOS as I read them.

I could be wrong, of course. So if this blog does ever vanish, go check MistressMatisse.com to get the skinny on where it went.

Anyone read this? I never got around to reading Tracey Qwan’s first book, but I’m yet more curious about this one, as it’s ostensibly fiction. It’s gotten some rather snarky reviews, but it’s hard to know how to judge that. As someone who often contemplates writing fiction based on my own life - and as someone with some things in common with Ms. Qwan - I'm interested to see how it does.

The rest of the world discovers RealDolls. Or keeps rediscovering them, or something. Haven't I read pretty much this exact same article somewhere before? But places like Salon keep going back, because stories about other people's sexual deviance is an easy way to both titillate readers and make them feel superior at the same time. And that's how you make Middle America happy, don'tcha know.
Summary version: some guys buy realistic looking sex dolls and pretend that they're real women. I mean, to the point of talking about "making love" to them. It just seems sort of sad to me, but hey, I'm guessing they wouldn't care for my idea of a good time, either. To each their own, I say.
But some people - women, as you could probably guess - get all het up over it. Yes, I'm sure some of the guys who buy (and have "relationships" with) RealDolls are flaming misogynistic assholes. But I'm not sanguine about their willingness to fix that, so isn't it better that they're out of the dating/reproduction pool? I mean, it's either that or they'll be calling sex workers, and frankly, we prefer guys who like chicks that move.

Weird email of the day

Are you the daughter of the Mistress who died???

That's it, no salutation, no signature, no other text. Bizarre. I think I know what late and much-lamented Mistress he means, but I have no earthly idea why he thinks I'm her daughter. She's been gone for, oh, about a year now, I believe. Obviously he hasn't done a search here about my parentage...

Strange.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

A note to my close friends: that thing I was doing this weekend? Went really, really well. In a massively-tension-filled, exhausting sort of way. But, you know, good tension and exhaustion.

And of course the fact that it did go so well now means I'm going to be even busier than I was before, at least for the next few weeks. Crazy!

Happy Friday, people... I have a busy weekend ahead of me, so please enjoy the new column about my experiences at Folsom Street Fair. Play safe!

So You Want To Be A Pro Domme?
I got another email today wanting to know if I would hire the writer to work in my dungeon, and I decided to write an answer here. That way, every time I get someone asking me this - and it happens at least once a week, sometimes more often - I can just shoot back a link to this one page and be done with it.

Here's the bad news: No, you cannot be my apprentice. No, I will not teach you how to be a pro domme. Yes, I do enjoy teaching people BDSM techniques. But I prefer to do it in small bites, and at my leisure. Teaching someone, from the ground up, how to be a pro domme would be a very tall order. I don't have the time for that, and more importantly, I simply don't wish to. Let me explain why...

First, there are the legal issues. If you’re working for me and you injure someone, they can sue me. If you work for me and you do something illegal, I can get arrested. Now, I managed a “sensual touch” business some years ago, and so I know exactly how impossible it is to completely control the behavior of employees. “Don’t do so-and-so,” I would say, and no sooner did I turn around then, boom, they were doing it. Maddening. I’ve talked to several lawyers about this, all of whom agree with me that yep, if something happens that shouldn’t happen, I’m liable. There is nothing you can sign, no waivers, no releases, no nothing, that can change that. It’s a legal fact.

Then there’s the fact that I’d have to actually manage another person’s schedule. As it is now, I book my time as I please. I can agree to see someone an hour from now on a whim, or I can decide I’m taking a certain day off, and I have no one else to worry about. I like it that way. There have been brief periods where I agreed to let close friends rent out my space on an hourly basis, and even though I wasn’t processing their clients, the logistics of it always turned into an inconvenience for me. It was nice to help out a pal, but life is far simpler as a lone wolf.

Further, I have met a lot of sex workers whose personal discipline and sense of professionalism did not match up with mine. They do exist, of course– but they all seem to be doing quite well in their own businesses, thank you very much. It is not a coincidence that they never asked me to foster them. They didn’t need to. Managing the schedule of someone who was firmly dedicated to punctuality and preparedness would be challenge enough. Trying to corral a flake – and there are a lot of them in the industry - is a howling nightmare.

And the bottom line is – I’m perfectly happy with my arrangement as it is. I like working alone. I have lots of business, more than I need, so I don’t need another person to stimulate cash flow. I can’t think of a single reason why I’d change my professional life.

So, what should you do if you want to be a pro domme? I’ve written about that before, here.

In addition to this piece, the other thing I will say is this – even though we don’t have sex with our clients, professional domination is sex work, and sex work experience will be helpful to you if you start a business as a pro domme. I’ve been an escort, a dancer, and a sensual touch practitioner, and a lot of the things I learned about those businesses were very much applicable to being a pro domme. How/where to advertise, how to screen clients, how to manage scheduling, legal issues, dealing with other professionals, understanding your client’s emotional expectations, sensing when someone is the wrong client for you and dealing with that, and being in touch with your own emotional boundaries and creating ways of behavior that work for you. Sensual touch work, in particular, has a lot of very similar systems of client/practitioner interaction and energy, and can be both a good training for dealing with clients and a good way of generating the money needed to set up shop.

I’ve mentioned this to some ladies who came to me for advice, and once in a while I get a response that convinces me I need not bother giving them any more of my time and energy. “Eww!” they said. “That’s gross, I don’t want to touch some icky guy like that, that’s like being a whore.”

So far I’ve always been too polite to tell them to go fuck themselves, but it always crosses my mind. Blatant hypocrisy has that effect on me. And I wonder how exactly they think they’re going to be pro dommes if touching icky boys is so abhorrent to them, because we don’t do all our sessions a whip-length away from someone. BDSM is an intimate thing. If you can’t embrace the physicality of this, then the only CBT you should be doing is on a computer. And as for whores – well, when you sell your professional time, you have to please your customers if you want to be successful. That’s as true for us as it is for anyone else. If that makes someone a whore, then most everybody in the world is one.

So who is the ideal person to become a pro domme? I think it’s someone who has lots of personal BDSM experience, and also experience in the other branches of the sex industry. I admit that I’m biased on this, since that was my resume.

Second to that, I’d say lots of BDSM expertise is a strong point in your favor even if you've never done sex work. You’ve probably got the required kinky equipment and you know about the psychology. Your challenge will be in learning the business end of things and understanding the emotional challenges of your relationship with your clients.

Third choice would be someone with a sex industry background but no BDSM training. If you’re already in the industry, it’s possible to begin by advertising oneself as a light-fetish girl, doing things like hand-spankings, foot-fetish games and kinky roleplays. The chance of injuring someone with such things is negligible, so vast expertise in BDSM is not so crucial. You can gradually upgrade your advertised skill-set as you learn the techniques on your own time. Ethics would demand that you decline to do anything you’re untrained in.

There. I hope that’s informative for you, the would-be dominatrix. I do sincerely wish you the very best of luck in your journey. This career can be a most rewarding one, and I’m very happy with the choices I’ve made and where I’ve gotten in my life. I hope you come to feel that way, too.

Not kinky, but really intense: One of my favorite guys gave me these amazing - if somewhat spooky - images of Hurricane Katrina in LA. I grew up down in Florida, and one gets rather blase about hurricanes, but man, I never saw anything like these images. If I looked out the window and saw this, I'd probably think it was the end of the world. They look like CGI, but he assures me they are the real thing.

storm1

storm2

storm3

storm4

storm5

storm6

storm7

storm8

storm9

Bad Days For Sex Workers

Jesus, the nanny-state liberals are at it again. Seattle City Council passes a 4-foot law. Get your lap dances while you can, boys and girls, because in six months, they’re gone. Because, you know, the city council wants to protect women and promote decency and all. I expect to see a sharp rise in the number of escorts available in Seattle after it goes into effect.

And yes, Natalia, there is such a thing as too much publicity. What did you expect when you run your mouth like this, the city would give you a parade?

Wow, lots of fun at the bondage class and party last night. We had a great turnout for the class: about 40 people, which is a good number. Max and I had both Maura and Mrs. Wookie helping us set up, and they proved to be lovely demo models as well. (Not surprising to anyone who knows them.) Some old friends were there, and we met some fun new people as well.

We grabbed some dinner and then went back for the party, which was really jumping. Max had one maybe-we’ll-do-a-scene lined up, but when he walked in, another cute girl made herself available, and since Girl A was busy, Max didn’t let any grass grow under his feet. So I got a ringside seat for all kind of cool suspension scenes: Roman and his partners, the Wookie and Mrs Wookie, and Max and the first of his two play-partners, Miss Candy and James. Malixe showed up, and we sat on the couch and schmoozed with some new people, and watched the play. It was great.

After that, I got to teach a cute girl how to stick needles in her husband. That was big fun. I hadn’t brought a toy-bag with me, because I wasn’t expecting to play, so I didn’t have any needles. But Roman was sweet enough to give me some of his. (Yes, I know it’s supposed to be a bondage party. But we went off in a side room and no one minded.)

So Roman had been terribly, terribly mean to two lovely ladies, much to their delight and pleasure. Afterwards, I congratulated him on this, and was handing him back his needle case when he said, “So, wanna stick a few in me? I could use a little stress release.”
I smiled. “Can your wife drive you two home?”
“I already asked her. She wants to watch, if that’s cool.”
“Sounds great to me. Let’s do it.” So the three of us went back into the side room and I proceeded to do a little stress release on Roman, Matisse-style.

You see, I think people carry stress and tension in their muscles, and heavy physical play is one way of shaking all the stuff loose and letting it out. It’s like a purge, and I’m good at doing this with people, because I’m just not afraid of it. Some people have to struggle to access their tamped-down emotions this way, but Roman is a very physical, kinetic guy, and from the first scene we ever did, he’s been able to just go right there with me.

Which is good, because, ooooh, I really like doing it. I sat on top of him and punched his pects, and clawed him, and bit him, and he roared like a lion. It’s a great sound – loud, deep and throaty, with lots of growls and snarls. His whole body just vibrates with it, which is a nice thing when you’re straddling his torso.

And then I stuck some needles in his chest and (carefully) slapped those, hard. More roaring and snarling, and a lot of very creative cursing. At a certain point he started trying to grab me, so I had to kneel on his arms. I was using pretty much my entire weight to keep him pinned down, and even then I could still feel his all his muscles flexing and straining and his body shifting around between my legs as he growled up at me, wild-eyed.

Hot. Fucking hot. With a partner I trust, I really enjoy pushing someone to a point where they get all animal.

What’s interesting is that for two very well-equipped players, Roman and I rarely use toys or traditional dungeon furniture. We do use needles some, but it’s not unusual for us to play with just our hands. And teeth – we bite each other a lot. It's that animal thing again.

It was actually a pretty short scene – it was getting late, and we knew we didn’t have much time. Roman’s wife remarked later that it was like a “zero-to-sixty in 7 seconds” scene. I can’t do that kind of scene - short, intense, and physically demanding - with just anyone, and I wouldn’t want to. It’s a special dynamic, and I’m just glad I get to do it with Roman.

It's Friday and that's a good thing, because you know, I’m sort of tired. I think I’m still recovering from all the busyness of the past month. Roman and I had a sweetly low-key date together last night that actually didn't (gasp) include teeth marks, needles or novelty headwear. It did, however, include Stellar's pizza, something guranteed to put me in a happy mood no matter. Stellars is right up there with foot massages when it comes to sensual bliss. But Roman is a sweet treat all by himself.

So I think I’ll just relax on Saturday, and then have fun with Max at his bondage workshop and the Wet Spot party Sunday. Nice to get back into my usual rhythm of life.

Speaking of my usual rhythm, go read the new Stranger column….