Today, not only is there a new column and kink calendar, but you also get to bid on something fun for Christmas: me! And not just me - me and some of Monk's finest hemp rope. It's Strangercrombie 2005, The Stranger's fourth annual holiday auction to benefit Northwest Harvest. They've got a lot of cool and unusual gift packages, and some time with me is one of them.

But there's lots of cool stuff, so buy something! It's for a good cause.

Another good cause: helping women get the birth control pills they've been prescribed. As you have probably heard, some pharmacists around the US have taken it upon themselves to refuse to fill prescriptions for BC pills, because they think contraception is morally wrong. This is bullshit. It's a legal prescription, and a pharmacist has no right to interfere with a medical decision made by a woman and her doctor.

Some pharmacy chains are not supporting a woman's right to choose to take The Pill. Target is one of them. So this site has started a photo petition to show Target the faces of people who won't be shopping there because of their failure to protect pharmacy customers from the interference of unethical pharmacists. I'll be sending them a picture. I hope you do too.

An example of how Max is so much nicer than I am…

The other day, Max goes into a busy bank on Capitol Hill and gets in line for the teller. There’s a woman, a stranger, standing in front of him, and when he joins the queue, she turns around and looks him up and down. Not politely, either. Kinda like: what the hell are you doing there?

Well, Max thinks, I’m standing in line behind you, obviously.

Her gaze alights on the logo on his t-shirt.

And she says, “'Thunder In The Mountains' – what’s that?”

Now, as I said, Max is a much friendlier and kinder person than me. My response to being questioned like this - and yes, it’s happened - is generally to fix the person with a cold eye and say, “I think you’ve got all the information I’m interested in sharing.”

Or, if I’m really feeling pissy, “Why don’t you explain to me just exactly why you think I should answer your questions?” I almost never talk to strangers in public places, and I very much resent having my thoughts intruded upon by rude people like this woman.

But Max said, “It’s a conference in Denver.” A polite but brief answer that should have been her cue to be quiet.

She didn’t take it. “I know that,” she said in this very exasperated tone of voice, as if he were being just so tiresomely obtuse. “What kind of conference?”

Now, she’d be way into “it’s none of your business” territory with me. But both Max and Roman have a sometime charming, sometimes alarming, willingness to come out to random strangers, if said random stranger asks enough questions. I will not do this. I think it’s a gender thing.

So Max replied, “A rope bondage conference.” (Technical note: yes, TITM is actually a BDSM con, not just a rope-bondage con. Max knows that. He just didn’t feel it was a really crucial distinction to make at the moment.)

When Max was relating this story to me, I laughed out loud and said, “I can’t believe you said that to her! What did she say then?”

“Her eyes got big,” he replied. “And she just looked at me for a minute and then said, 'I gotta get out of this town. It is just way too weird here, I gotta get back to Portland'.”

Huh. I wonder if she knows about this….

More news on Heidi Fliess’s plan to build an all-male brothel in Nevada. Color me very skeptical about the whole venture, although it certainly would be amusing if she actually did it.

I’m struck by this quote from Fliess, though:

"I have heard from very wealthy, very beautiful women who say they'll be first in line...”

Very beautiful? Hmmm, why the insistence on the women’s looks? If they’re paying the boys, why does it matter? Just take some Viagra and get the job done, gentlemen.

No, I think Heidi is playing to the gigolo fantasy that a lot of boys have, sending them the message that they’d get paid to fuck women they found attractive anyway. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she’d cooked up some scheme to make money off the would-be male prostitutes, perhaps charging them a very high “room and board” fee, or something like that. That’s not uncommon in the industry – Lord knows the strip clubs right here in Seattle make the vast majority of their money off the “house fees” that the dancers pay to work there. The cover-charge and the soft-drink revenue is chump change by comparison.

I’ll be watching to see if any ground ever gets broken on this, or if it just dwindles into smaller and smaller news items.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas..

And that’s always a weird time of year for me. I like Christmas, don’t get me wrong. But I think I’d like it a lot better if the whole “holiday season” was about a week long. Maybe two weeks. But six plus weeks of being beaten over the head with it? Bah humbug. By the time December 25^th actually rolls around, I’m over it.

Then there's the whole present thing. I like giving people I love presents. But in the past, I have sometimes had a hard time accepting them. I’ve gotten better at it, but still, I have to remind myself from time to time that people give gifts because it honestly gives them pleasure to do so, and I don’t have to put pressure on myself to instantly reciprocate in some way, just because I think I need to keep some invisible set of scales neatly balanced. I know if I give someone something, it’s just because I think they’d like it and I enjoy the act of giving it to them and seeing them be happy about it. But that’s been something I’ve had to learn to trust in others.

All that said, I do have some very sweet and generous boys who have asked me for a Christmas gift list. So, okay, here goes.

Books are always good. Here's some stuff off my Amazon list I'd like to read over the holidays:

Marriage, a History: From Obedience to Intimacy, or How Love Conquered Marriage by Stephanie Coontz

The Girl in the Glass : A Novel, by Jeffrey Ford

London 1849 : A Victorian Murder Story, by Michael Alpert

The Virgin's Lover, by Philippa Gregory

A Breath of Snow and Ashes, by Diana Gabaldon

The Kinky Girl's Guide to Dating, by Luna Grey

Polyamory: Roadmaps for the Clueless & Hopeful, by Anthony D. Ravenscroft

Something more personal? Well, I love this bracelet. (Of course this is nice, too, but it seems a bit excessive. I don't really move in a diamond-wearing crowd.)

I am also lusting after this jacket. This coat is pretty as well, although I've never worn such a long coat. But it looks warm, and I am a girl who's often wearing skimpy little outfits when it's cold outside. I'd have to have it in black, of course.

Boots. I love pretty boots. Love 'em. Size 8.5, if anyone's wondering.

Then there's kinky stuff. It's great when people bring me naughty things, because my rule is: you bring it to me, you're asking me to use it on you. Heh.
I do seriously want this sling. And while I have one fucking machine, this one looks uber-cool.
I could play some wickedly fun games with this little device, too.

Geek stuff? Gee, Santa, I want a laptop. Do the elves makes those? I also want one of these, although I'm still researching brands and models.

Of course, I'm not sure exactly how good of a girl I've been this year, but we'll see what the guy in the red suit does for me. Hey, even if he puts switches in my stocking, I'm sure I can think of something fun to do with them.

Yay, I've been saved from snow - real, sticky, snowed-in snow - once again. Whew. I'm sure that soon the Weather God is going to get tired of me telling him, "Snow tomorrow, and snow yesterday - but never snow today".
However, I feel like I dodged a frosty bullet, because baby, I've got things to do. Ain't got no time for no snow.
So while I go do them, read all about it.

Oh, and don't forget Cirque Du Noc on Saturday, and Max's bondage workshop on Sunday. Big fun.

Tonight, I’m going to an industry party. A sex industry party, that is. I don’t usually go to such things - they’re really geared more towards the escorts and sensual-touch ladies. I am considered a niche service, and a lot of the vanilla boys just don’t know what to make of me. (Some of them know what they’d like to make of me, though. I admit that it can be entertaining to tease them.)

No, I’m not telling you where it is, sorry. Those who know, know, and I haven't been empowered to give out information about it. Besides, it’s not that exciting to the naked eye (so to speak). It’s just a cocktail party-type thing where the professional ladies smile and flirt and pass business cards to interested parties. People make conversation about the weather and sports teams and the monorails crashing into each other, and oh by the way, sweetie, do you have a website? What are your hours? But if you were watching through a window, it wouldn’t look so different than lots of other social events.

The street workers usually don’t come to stuff like this. No, it’s mostly the middle-tier of sex workers - the largest group by far - that you’ll meet at these events. (What would upper-tier be? Porn star-escorts who get a thouand dollars or more for dates. That's a relatively small group.)

It’s a nice system in some ways. There’s no question that having met someone at a party like this makes booking an initial appointment with them much less fraught with tension. You’re less likely to get no-showed by a guy who’s met you already, and when he shows up, you already know something about who he is, in terms of personality and looks. It removes the whole blind-date anxiety - on both sides, I imagine.

I’ve been to a few of these things, and as I said, a lot of the boys don’t know quite what to say to me. Some of them email me after the fact and tell me they were afraid to come talk to me, as if I might pull out my riding crop and thrash them on the spot. But my entire purpose in going to firmly establish the fact that I actually don’t have snakes for hair, and I don’t turn men into stone with my glance, and some of the boys clearly enjoy getting to hang out with me a bit. Oddly, though, the guys who can chat with me in a perfectly relaxed and friendly manner usually aren’t the ones who wind up calling the next day to schedule with me. It’ll be the boy who stutters and shuffles and barely meets my eye that I’ll be hearing from. Which I suppose is sort of charming, when I think about it.

A brief note about scheduling with me this week: As of this moment, I have time available Wednesday starting at 4:30, Thursday starting at 3:00, and Friday starting at 4:30. Also, I will be seeing people this Saturday, which is rare, so if you’ve been waiting for a weekend availability, carpe diem.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly...

This is cruel, and even rather kink-negative, but even I have to admit it’s sorta funny.

This, on the other hand, is rather sweet, even though I wouldn’t say it’s a stunning likeness. Gee, how'd the artist know I had that outfit?

This is so sublimely ridiculous that it’s classic. I hope this page stays up forever. Notice the copyright date – this gentleman copyrighted his web page before the web even existed! Amazing!

This is so not my kind of fetish, but hey, if you get off on the idea of being scanned like a toaster at Target, mazel tov.

My parting remark: I'm posting this before I go to bed, and let me tell you, there just better not be any white shit on the ground when I get up.
I will be seriously annoyed.
I'm just sayin'.

I hate snow.

Okay, I know I said I wasn’t going to do phone-call entries anymore, but once in a while, I just have to….

Ring Ring!

Me: hello?
Caller: (in a hostile voice) Wow, you’re really hard to get a hold of, you know that?

Well, I can’t accuse the guy of stringing me along and getting my hopes up, can I? I hate him already. I let ten seconds tick off on the clock and then say, very slowly:

Me: That’s not how you begin a conversation with me. Who is this?

Caller: Uh, we haven’t met, because every time I call you I get your voicemail.

What a shame I broke up my winning streak by answering this time. Again I pause, lengthily, to indicate I don’t like this remark, either. I consider pointing out that he’s talking to me now, but it’s not going to do him any good, because if you’re rude to me in the first 3 seconds of our acquaintance, you’re unlikely to recover.

Me: What do you want?

Caller: I know you said you don’t do same-day appointments, but you know, I’m sort of a creature of whim. Booking in advance really doesn’t work for me because I’ll be out of the mood. What do you have available in the next couple of hours?

Oh, right, because I am here on this earth to accommodate your moods and whims, aren’t I? Jesus. Any suggestion that I should instantly change my rules and limits to acommodate someone else's whims is pretty much guaranteed to have the opposite effect. It's amazing that he thinks this kind of attitude is going to fly with me - I'm a dominatrix, for god's sake.

The irony here is that, if you’re one of my good regular boys, and you catch me on a day when someone has canceled or something, I actually will do a same-day. It’s rare for me not to be booked up, but if I know you, I don't mind you asking.

However, if you’re a stranger, and more noticeably, a rude twit who thinks I should jump when he snaps his fingers, I’d be happy to make an appointment for you on the first frosty day in Hell. I'm tempted to tell him so, but brevity is the best way to deal with people like this. You simply cannot engage with them, it’s pointless.

Me: Nothing.

Caller: Nothing? Come on, you can’t be totally busy, you’re talking to me on the phone right now, aren’t you?

Some people write my exit lines for me.

Me: Goodbye.

Click.

I had a lovely afternoon yesterday, spending time with old friends and new. I ate yummy food, a talented musician played her cello for us, and we talked about different ways of branding people. Delightful.

And as we all emerge from our L-Tryptophan haze... here is the new column and calendar.

Happy Bird Day, everyone…

What am I thankful for? I’m thankful that this damn holiday only comes once a year, because sex workers, this is the week from hell. If one wants to actually see clients, that is. The phone is always very quiet Thanksgiving week - most of my good regular guys are understandably busy with family. But those of us who are buying houses soon are sitting around drumming our fingers and staring at the phone, because we would like to conduct business as usual Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday.

And when the phone does ring, I let guys who I know, absolutely know, are dodgy and unreliable sweet talk me into booking time with them. I know they’re unreliable because they’ve made and then cancelled appointments before, or I know because I can just hear it in their voices. But having nothing else to do, I give them a chance….And then they call back and cancel. Grr.

No, I haven’t actually been stood up, thank god, and yes, I understand, things do happen, at least they’re letting me know, yeah yeah yeah. But I’ve had four cancellations this week. Normally I get about one or two cancellations a month. It’s frustrating. I don’t know why Thanksgiving is so much worse than any other holiday, even Christmas, for this kind of thing, but it is.

Oh well - it’s over now, and I even got to rant about it a little, which helps. And I’m thankful for the cool guys who have made and kept appointments with me. Enjoy your bird.

I was in bed last night, reading this: Extreme Encounters: How It Feels to Be Drowned in Quicksand, Shredded by Piranhas, Swept Up in a Tornado, and Dozens of Other Unpleasant Experiences.

It's an interesting book. But then I'm the girl who really liked Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, and The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook.

However, I did have very odd dreams.

So, since some of you seem to know it anyway – yesterday was my birthday. (And no, I’m not telling you how old I am. Nope. No way.) I didn’t not-say anything on purpose, I’m just so focused on everything else in my world right now that frankly, I hardly noticed. Max had some plans for us to do something special over the weekend, but they were scuttled by the fact that I had caught a touch of that cold that's been going around town. I feel fine today, but I was sort of blah and uninterested in going out for a fancy dinner, etc.

Roman has some bizarre bit of birthday performance-art in store for me, which, knowing him, probably involves lawn gnomes, some duct tape, and a gallon of Marshmallow Fluff. (To read about last year's birthday surprise, go here.) But based on both our schedules, we decided we'd wait until Friday to have that little party.

And I'm not upset about any of this, because in general, I’m not interested in making a really big deal about my birthday. My theory is that I get to be a diva on a regular basis, so it’s not like I have to save it all up for once a year and then demand that everyone fuss over me. I get fussed over a lot year-round. Lucky me.

It's also that I prefer to take my moments of happiness and celebration of life more spontaneously, rather than scheduling them. I’m like that about all the publicly-observed holidays as well. I don’t have a strong objection to them, they just seem sort of contrived.

(I don’t mind presents, you understand. Presents are always a nice thing. And I got some very lovely ones, so thank you, thank you, to the sweet people who gifted me so generously.)

I’m currently rather preoccupied with my real estate situation, which is coming along nicely, thank you. I'm not going to talk it about much now, because I’m superstitious about talking about anything until it’s a done deal. Can’t jinx it, you know. However, I have chosen a house, and everything is progressing as it should at this stage. I will reveal more about that as it become appropriate.

Max is cooking a traditional dinner for us and a few friends on Thursday. Of all the holidays, T-day is the one I’m the most what-ever about. Left to my own devices, I’d order pizza and go to the movies. But Max likes to cook, and it’s always nice to have people for dinner, so, as long as there’s no televised football involved, I’m fine with it. (Actually there is never, ever, televised football in our house anyway. It’s one of the reasons why Max is so right for me – he hates sports.)

So, yes, birthday - thank you, Mom, for not drowning me at birth, or any other time, even though I’m sure I deserved it. And yes, Thanksgiving, after which I can return to my regularly-scheduled crazy life that I am so fond of.

A relatively quiet weekend, which was nice. Max and I did go see the new Harry Potter movie. The theater was packed, luckily we got there early and snagged decent seats.

The movie itself? Eh, not bad. I enjoyed it well enough because I’ve read the books. But I think it’s the weakest HP movie so far.

(Here follows a critique of the movie. Yes, I’m a professional dominatrix. Yes, I’m a perverted sex freak. And yes, I like Harry Potter. Give me any shit about that and I’ll set your genitals on fire*.)

I think the movie suffered mainly because the source material was so long. Since the book is 700+ pages, the movie disposed of about the first quarter of it in the first seven minutes, completely eliminating certain characters and great swathes of action. And instead of the actual movie, I sort of felt like I was watching a ninety-minute trailer, because it was all quick cuts and selected scenes, with big jumps in the storyline. If I hadn’t read the book, I would have been very puzzled by certain parts. Perhaps the DVD will have some deleted scenes, but I doubt it’s got, oh, another hour or so, which is what it would take to really do the book justice. Even watching certain parts with Maggie Smith and Michael Gambon, I felt like they were almost rushing through their lines, as if someone was saying, “Hurry, hurry, we only have a few seconds for this scene!”

That said, I enjoyed visiting the characters again – although there wasn’t nearly enough Severus Snape in this film, and I missed him. When he was onscreen, though, Alan Rickman definitely didn’t rush any of his lines - God bless his nasty heart. Makes me want to go rent that stealth-kink classic Closetland once again. (If you ever wanted a how-to movie for mindfuck scenes, Closetland would be it.) With Alan Rickman, it's The Voice, you know, and The Stare. I've seen guys try and pull off The Voice and The Stare in real life, and they usually come across like silly posers, but with Alan, he makes you think he'd be that way over breakfast.

And Daniel Radcliffe is turning into nice eye candy, if you like young boys. Which I usually don’t, but one can make exceptions.

Ralph Fiennes as Voldemort? Um, not bad, I guess. Not particularly creepy, though. The fact that he had no nose was distracting to me, although I understood that they were trying to suggest a resemblance to his snake. His dress was definitely too billowy, though. At one point, it bore an unfortunate resemblance to a gown worn by Julie Andrew in a very different movie. “The cemetery is alive with the sound of music…!”

Overall, not the HP movie to start off with, especially if you haven’t read the books, but entertaining enough as such things go.

*And yes, I do know how to do that.

Bad Business Strategy, Example #267

No Tanning Beds Were at Salon, Police Say

NORTH MYRTLE BEACH, S.C. (Nov. 18) - Undercover officers noticed something conspicuously absent from a tanning salon - tanning beds. The only tanning bed on the property of VIP Tann Spa was found in a wooden box on the porch, officer Jerry Miller said Thursday.

Miller said the so-called tanning salon was actually a very different kind of business: Three employees and two customers were charged with prostitution and related charges after the undercover visit last month.

The undercover officer found makeshift beds and other evidence people were being paid for sex, Miller said.

Investigators took business receipts, credit card statements and cash before closing the salon. The County Council revoked the owner's business license.

People, I keep telling you - in sex work, it's those pesky little details that'll make you or break you. Like, if you're posing as a tanning salon, you should actually have the tanning bed unpacked from the box. That's always helpful.

And "makeshift" beds? I'm not sure I want to know what those might be. Seems like if you're going to be ballsy enough to leave your tanning bed in a box on the porch, you'd just say what the hell and have real beds. I mean, why be coy? God knows the "tanning-salon" dodge has got whiskers on it anyway.

Happy Friday, everyone...

This week's colum and calendar.

And an interesting piece in The Stranger about the FBI crackdown on SM porn.
Several people nudged me to write something about this topic, but I knew a feature writer would get more word count and thus do it more justice. Interesting slant, using the prisoner/torture issue to point out just how fucked up the Bush administration's obscenity stance really is.

Wow, I seem to be very, very busy this week. It's all good stuff, but lordy... And of course, I'm spending my off time thinking about things like furnaces and wall-to-wall carpet. Oooh, how kinky am I?

Miss K, my best friend and official decorating consultant, loves it. We spent our last dinner talking about replacing mantles and painting faux-finishes.

Still, I'll be pleased when all my housing stuff is settled and I get back to being focused on the more salacious aspects of my life. All this Better Dungeons and Gardens stuff is getting to me.

***

But Wait: One bit of amusing news I noticed today. All you guys who asked me about this, start polishing up your resumes - or something - because Heidi Fleiss is opening a male brothel.

The Real Estate Obsession Continues...

Some more houses I will (almost certainly) not be buying. But these I actually looked at, and I gave all of them serious consideration.

This one's large and pretty and it has a nice flow to the upstairs. But there's no garage or carport or anything, and while the basement is large and very nicely finished, it's very low-ceilinged.

This one's got great space and lovely vaulted ceilings - but it's in a development, in a cul-de-sac. Four other front doors looking right at yours. I don't like that, it doesn't feel private, and privacy is a very big issue to me.

This one is nice, and it's a great location for me. But the basement is too small - in fact, the house is a bit small overall. Color me skeptical about the quoted square footage.

Pretty, and in many ways a serious contender, but - not quite. It just felt sort of over-remodeled, if you know what I mean? Almost bland.

This is very funny – to me. But only because I know how silly it really is. It's a video-clip of a Heineken ad, so I would call it fairly work-safe, although it does feature - you guessed it - a dominatrix.

It’s not that no one in the kink community ever does scenes that look like this – at least, like the first few seconds of this. But tops coming off with that heavy “you don’t deserve to be in the same room with me” attitude is rarer than a vanilla person would think. Particularly here in Seattle, that kind of MO will draw about as much snickering as it will cowering.

There's also the unfortunate it’s-only-funny-because-it’s-true angle of the unprofessional pro domme taking a cell phone call in the middle of a session and ignoring her client. Needless to say, one should never do that, and I never would. But I do hear about other ladies answering their phones in the middle of a session all the time. Lordy.

However, I do think it’s cute that she’s cooing sweetly into the phone to her supposed lover. I’ve done that with Max and Roman. But not on my client’s time, of course...

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...