Ah, a sweet date with Roman last night. We ate Ezell's and gave each other massages - before moving on to more...intense activities.
Now I'm off into my day. Enjoy the new column and calendar...

Several houses that I will not be buying. Way out of my price range. But ooh, they're pretty....

Nice light...

Pretty view - plus, you can check traffic!

Love the woodwork.

And hell, as long as we're in the no-possible-way department, check this one out, it's got it's own elevator. I know someone who'd like to do a suspension bondage scene in the shaft.

An article on kink in Psychology Today. It's a not a bad piece, I suppose, although someone really needs to tell the author - identified only as "PT Staff" - to stop saying "s AND m". That's soooooo dated. Just say "SM".

But overall, it's just a lot of cliches couched in comforting therapist-speak. I don't strongly object to that - there are certainly worse ways to have my community depicted. Can someone send this piece to Attorney General Alberto Gonzales, please?

But snippets like this make me giggle....

"A common female masochistic fantasy is submission based on having one's body displayed to others. One of Baumeister's favorite--perhaps apocryphal--stories is that of a woman whose husband threw her a birthday party, inviting lots of people. She was posed nude and spread-eagle on the hors d'oeuvre table. Every party-goer who reached for a cracker or the vegetable dip had to reach across her bare self."

First of all, they're confusing - or perhaps equating - "masochism" with "submission". That's wrong, they're two different things. Masochism is about the desire for intense physical sensation, and submission involves emotional/phychological states. What's being described here doesn't seem to involve any intense sensation, so I would not call this a "masochistic" scene.

Also note the soothing suggestion that this story couldn't have really happened. Oh, my goodness, a woman being nude and helpess in front of lots of people? Shocking! Shocking, I tell you! I'm thinking that "PT Staff" would probably have a stroke if they ever came to the Wet Spot. Or a party at my house, for that matter. Lots of people doing a lot more than just being naked. Why, just Sunday night, I put chopsticks on a woman's outer labia, poked them with a bamboo skewer, and smacked them with a small wooden spoon. This, after Roman had stuck her lovely tits full of needles. That's my idea of a "common female masochistic fantasy".

Amusing things I did this past weekend…

Well, in the more vanilla portion of my weekend, I looked at lots of houses. Some of them were cute, but small. I like old houses, but a lot of them have dinky little rooms.

I looked at one house that was pretty from the outside, and large, with tall ceilings. It had big rooms, but unfortunately those rooms looked like the Parisian rioters had come through them. Actually, it looked like Parisian rioters had come in, installed hideous fake wood paneling, rioted, and then left. I could have dealt with holes in the walls and shredded carpet. But fake paneling? Save me.

When Max and my kink-friendly agent and I go look at houses, we immediately go down into the basement and look up. Good ceiling height? Okay, let’s go see the rest of the house. Are we banging our heads? Screw it, we don’t care about the Pergo or the patio or the jetted tub, we’re outa here. I’m sure any normal house-buyer would think we were very, very strange.

Sunday I hung out with Roman at Max’s bondage class, and then a bunch of us went to dinner before coming back for the bondage party. I had a date to teach Griffin how to do a cutting on Liss; meaning, how to take a scalpel and do a light, decorative incision on her skin. Yeah, it’s kinda painful. But not as much as you might think.

It's tough to practice a skill like cutting before you get to the actual scene. I’m not a big proponent of having people rehearse on objects like, say, tomatoes. I just don’t see the point unless you’re trying to hone your purely artistic skills, as opposed to your technical ones. People’s skin and the skin of a tomato – I just don’t feel like they’re that similar. I don’t know, do medical people practice on fruits and vegetables? (Eddie, wanna field this one?)

So Griffin had not handled a scalpel before. And it was also to be Liss’s first cutting. A double-cherry situation, how charming. Now, I’ve seen Liss do some extreme stuff as a bottom, but still, cutting can be intense. So I took the basic precaution of having Liss lie down for the scene. That’s always best, because that way, if someone passes out, hey, they can’t fall down.

I know Griffin does needle-play, so I was pretty sure he’d be fine. But just in case, I asked him, “You don’t faint at the sight of blood, do you?”
He grinned. “Not other people's.”

Well, all righty then. So after having some “materials, safety and technique” discussion with him, I took the blade and did one stroke on the ever-intrepid Liss myself. Not big, maybe two inches long. It elicited a small breathy noise from Liss and a pleased “ooooo” sound from Griffin.

First things first. “Liss, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

She looked and sounded fine, too, so that was cool. I talked to Griffin a little more about what we were doing. When you cut, you don’t see anything for a few seconds, and then a thin red line suddenly appears. So cutting is most often a slow-paced, contemplative scene. (Yeah, yeah – some of us know a few people for whom it is something different. But let’s not frighten the other kids too much, all right?) You cut, you pause and wait and look at what you've got, and then you cut the next stroke.

Gauging how much pressure to put into the stroke is the key to safe cutting, and that’s a thing that’s hard to communicate verbally. Someone has to be sensitive enough to feel the skin responding to the blade as they go, and instantly make the tiny adjustment to go a little lighter, or a little more firmly. Lighter is always better, though. I always tell people: you can go back and recut, if it’s too light. If it’s too deep, though, that’s a problem less easily solved.

So I showed Griffin how to hold the scalpel – like a pencil – and said "Okay, here we go".

Watching someone open up skin for the first time is a kick. I vividly recall my first cutting, with a tall, green-eyed dyke standing behind me, coaching me like I was coaching Griffin. I remember being nervous, but tremendously excited. Griffin was just the same - later he remarked to me, “There’s all this excitement in your body, and you have to be careful not to let too much of it flow into your hand.”

The end result: he did a very good job – I think he’s got a knack for it. And Liss did very well, too. I’m not sure if she got a buzz off it or not, but she’ll have a pretty little design on her back to show for it. I do like teaching people new ways to express their kink.

Notes about my professional availability...

Well, the appointment with the mortgage broker went reasonably well. Based on that, I'm talking to an agent, letting him show me some houses, and thinking about all of my different options. But the end result of this is going to be me writing some mighty large checks. I've been preparing for that, financially, for a while. But things always cost a little more than you think they will, don't they?

What that means to you, dear beloved clients of mine, is that for the next two months or so, I’m going to be a little more professionally available than I usually am.

Here’s how that will look: I generally book appointments starting at two pm and ending at eight pm, and I don’t see people on the weekends. However, I’m going to relax those rules temporarily. As of today, I’ll book appointments as early as twelve noon, and if you’re someone I’ve met before, I’ll take appointments with an ending time of up to ten pm.

I’m also going to be so somewhat available on the weekends. I have social engagements booked for every Saturday night from now through Christmas, so Saturday night is right out. But Saturday afternoon, and Sunday afternoon or evening, will be possible.

As far as evening appointments go, notice what I said: if I’ve met you before. I absolutely will not make late appointments with new people, just because there’s a very high no-show rate for first-timers on late appointments. Don’t ask me why, there just is. People call on a whim, and then they flake out, and I don’t have time for that.

Or they don’t flake out, and you wish they had, because they’ve been drinking or otherwise impairing their judgment. Bad, bad, bad.

So I’m not ever going to put myself in a situation of dealing with someone I’m not comfortable with, even to buy myself a mansion. I’m just expanding my hours a trifle, and it’s probably only until I close on the house. So this is a limited-time opportunity.

(Unless I decide I want to remodel or something…)

You know, I’ve gone pretty much my whole adult life thinking of myself as a renegade. A societal outlaw. A cultural desperado, if you will.

But as of today, all that ends.

For today, I have an appointment with a mortgage broker.

Sigh.

So while I try to reassemble my personal identity to include this experience, go read the newest column and calendar.

Various silliness…

Cute men’s restroom art in New Zealand.

And more Kiwi-related information: The Blokes Guide To Taking A Leak. You boys worry way too much about this stuff, did you know that? Catching one glimpse of another guy's dick will not make you gay. If that was true, there would be way, way more lesbians in the world, because we all see other women naked at some point or other.

And speaking of naked women, apparently Scooter Libby has written a smutty book. (It doesn't sound like a very good smutty book, you understand. Young girls forced to have sex with bears? Ew. )
Those silly Republicans! Don't they know dirty books like that are all part of a Communist plot to take over the free world? Tsk, tsk.

Interesting thread about a often touchy topic: weight and body image. In this case, specifically about the bodies of people in the BDSM community.

It does seem like there are a lot of big people in the community. Why is that? Well, I don't know, and I usually refrain from speculation. It's one of those topics where I think you have to be a member of the group (meaning, a big person) to speak with authority about it, and I ain't, so I shut up.

I listen, though, and some of the things I hear said are:

-It's just a reflection of our culture in general.
-It's a way for big chicks to get dates/laid. (I heard this from a large female-bodied person.)
-It's because BDSM people value other things over traditional beauty.
-You don't have to be thin to get dates in the BDSM community, so people "let themselves go".

Now, if I believe any of these theories, it's probably the first one: lots of Americans are big, and the BDSM community is no exception. I can't believe any woman would do BDSM if they didn't really want to, just to get guys. And I'm so sorry, kinky people are not somehow "above" being attracted to traditional beauty. I don't buy the "let themselves go" theory, either. (Go where?)

But I'm curious to know what some of ya'll might think.

Foodie

I don't feel profound today. Let's talk about something basic, like my taste in food.

I am actually quite boring about food. I think all my sense of adventure and desire for variety got put into my sexuality, because the whole food thing is just not a big deal to me.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my favorite foods. But I’m just not one of those people who's all about trying new and unusual cuisines. And if I can't identify what exactly it is, or if anything about it seems wrong to me, forget it, I’m not going there. Roman and I were at a fancy dinner party not too long ago where we were served something that looked and smelled like nothing as much as wet cat food, and I absolutely balked. He covered for me, thank god.

One of the things I miss here in Seattle is: seafood joints. I mean little neighborhood joints. I used to hang out in this great little place in my hometown with wooden booths and peanut shells on the floor, where every Tuesday was all-you-can-eat boiled shrimp night, and dollar-fifty Bud longnecks. That’s a seafood joint. Here if you want seafood, you’re going somewhere with a white linen tablecloth. I have nothing against that, but sometimes it’s just not what you’re in the mood for.

And I’m still looking for really satisfying BBQ in this town. Yeah, yeah, I know, Pecos Pit, yeah yeah yeah. Been there. It’s okay, but not that great. Ditto Jones Barbeque. I mean, hey – I’m from Georgia. I know from BBQ. I am not easy to please around this.

Where do I go a lot? Oh, KingFish Café, Palermo’s, Hana, Coastal Kitchen, the Madrona Ale House...

I was at Cafe Septieme a lot for a while, but I'm sort of over it now. I still like the red walls, though.

Pomodoro, over on Eastlake Ave, is yummy if I’m in the mood for a sort of Spanish/Italian fusion experience.

JaK's Grill does good steaks, but it’s a bit off my usual path.

For a take-out-fried-chicken-fest: Ezells. Worth the heart attack it’s undoubtedly promoting.

Late-night diner-type food? Charlie’s, on Broadway. Much better service than Minnies, and 13 Coins is both too surreal and too overpriced. (I've actually been known to eat at Denny's in the wee small hours, too, but everyone I know howls in protest at the very notion.)

Breakfast? Glo’s. The B&O Cafe is a close second, and they do great after-theatre dessert, too.

If someone else is picking up the check: The Metropolitan Grill, The Oceanaire, or The Union Square Grill. I keep meaning to try El Gaucho, but I haven’t gotten around to it. Canlis is good, but not to die for. (Lovely view, though.) I like Ruth's Chris better.

Then there’s pizza, one of nature’s perfect foods. I have three favorite places in town, so it depends on what kind of pizza I’m in the mood for. Stellar’s has great sauce, Madame K’s does a terrific crust, and Bill’s Off Broadway loads tons of yummy, gooey cheese on their pies.

I regret the passing of Chang's Mongolian Grill on Broadway. I also miss La Louisiana on Cherry.

Guilty Pleasures: Red Lobster. Yeah, you tell yourself it’s for the fish, but the fact is, those little cheese muffins are like crack cocaine. Have a strawberry daiquiri and you’re really in low-brow-food heaven.
And The Melting Pot. Yes, it’s gimmicky, and it takes forever. But it tastes good.

I’m curious about The Frontier Room – I was there about a million years ago when it was a pretty seedy dive, but I hear the food is good now. I also want to try Alexandria's on 2nd. Anyone got a review?

***************************************
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.