Happy Friday, everyone.... Here's the new column. And for you dead-tree readers, I heard yesterday that I am absolutely back in the paper version all the time now. Yay!

Also: I see that the Lusty Lady is hiring. The LL is the only sex work job I ever had where I actually recieved a paycheck. Being a bona fide employee was weird. But it's a good gig for some girls, so if you go audition, remember two things:
1. You don't have to be able to dance like Madonna. It's a small room that you're in, with three or four other girls, so if you have the ability to wiggle your hips more or less in time to music, you're fine. (And hell, if you're cute and sexy enough, they don't even care about that.)
2. Make eye contact and smile. Like all other forms of sexy entertainment, they're looking for ladies who seem happy and engaged with the customers. Pick a window, get close to it, show the candy, look him in the eye, and smile. Not rocket science.

It’s nice when you have cute girls delivered, bound and gagged and blindfolded, to your door. It’s even nicer when cupcakes come with them.

Unfortunately UPS doesn’t provide this service. Last night Roman and I, with Griffin’s able and evil assistance, put Operation Abduction Scene into action. I had the easy part: wait at my dungeon for the victim to arrive, then be mean to her. No problem!

Roman and Griffin had to tie poor girl up, gag her, blindfold her, and stuff her (mostly) into a burlap sack. And then get her into the back of a car and get her over to my place, chuckling evilly and making Playfully Threatening Remarks at intervals.

Her partner was actually present the whole time, but she didn’t know it, as we kept her blindfolded the entire scene. I swear, Roman and Griffin and I should do one of those old-fashioned mystery radio shows. We love riffing off each other and throwing out red herrings. (“Holy Toldeo steel, Griffin, look at the size of that knife she’s holding! Jesus, she’s going to get blood everywhere.” Blindfolded and gagged bottom quivers and moans delightfully. “Hey Roman, do you think this one light bulb will be enough to scare all the rats away? You know how aggressive they are down here by the docks.” More moaning.)

Needless to say: no knife, no rats, no docks, and not very much blood. Just a few drops, really. She giggled through the gag the whole time we were sticking needles in her.

And the cupcakes? Fabulous. Trust Roman’s friends to cater their own scenes.

I’m sure there will be more about this on his blog, so do check for that. But a lovely little scene for me, definitely.

From March 1^st until April 15^th is traditionally an unpredictable time of year for ladies in the industry, and while I don’t have to fret about my year-end bottom line, I do have slower weeks. And this is looking like one of them.

So if you’ve been unable to get time with me, now would be a good time to try. If you are someone I know, I have time today until 5. (Why only guys I know? Because new guy + impulsive same-day appointment often = no show, in my experience.)

I also have time available tomorrow starting at 2pm or 3pm, or something in the evening, say, 7pm.

Thursday I have an appointment open from 5-6pm.

And Friday before five is open.

That’s all current as of this moment, but of course, the phone will ring soon, as it always does, and that’ll change. So carpe diem.

Oh, and by the way: Bill Napoli, Bill Napoli, Bill Napoli.

I admit it: I do read trashy novels sometimes. But only good trashy novels, so before I go on a trashy-novel-buying-spree, I always check in with the ladies at the “Smart Bitches, Trashy Books” site, who do fabulous trashy novel reviews. So while the clueful Kate posted a comment about it a few days ago, I have indeed been following, with glee, their successful Google-bombing of Bill Napoli, the Republican state senator and official-asshole-with-a-Messiah-complex for South Dakota.

Now, abortion is one of those issues I prefer not to argue with people about here, because it’s just so useless to even try to have a reasoned dialogue about it online. I think abortion should be legal, I vote and contribute money according to that belief, and that’s the end of the discussion for me. Obviously if you feel differently, you can act in accordance with your beliefs.

But regardless of what your views on when and how abortion should be legal – or not – Bill Napoli having the brass-balled temerity to set himself up as the arbitrator of what kind of rape victim deserves to be granted an abortion is so unbe-fucking-lievably oppressive, sexist and wrong that it makes Rick Santorum look like a Sensitive New Age Guy. Putting forth the idea that a rape victim who’s a religious virgin is entitled to have an exception made for her, while a married agnostic woman should have to have to grin and bear her rapist’s child is evidence of a deeply flawed moral compass.

I fear for the women of South Dakota, and on a larger scale, I fear for all women who don’t have the resources that I do. Come what may in this country, if I get pregnant and I don’t want to bear a child – which is pretty much a given - I can get in my car and drive to Vancouver, BC and get the medical care I need. The wives and daughters and girlfriends of rich Republicans will have those kinds of options, too, so why should they worry? But there are a lot of women who don’t have that kind of time, money and emotional support. Some of them live in South Dakota.

So, to keep a good thing going, here’s a link to the story in which Bill Napoli publicly inserted his head into his ass, and here's a link to the Smart Bitches definition page, from which I will now quote:

Bill Napoli (R-SD)

napoli (not to be confused with the proper noun, which indicates the Italian city)

Function: verb

Inflected Form(s): napolied

Pronunciation: nA'poli

1. To brutalize and rape, sodomize as bad as you can possibly make it, a young, religious virgin woman who was saving herself for marriage.

2. To hella rape somebody.

Etymology: From State Senator Bill Napoli's (R-SD) description of an acceptable rape that would merit an exemption from South Dakota's abortion ban.

Example of usage: "Did you hear? Laura's dad totally napolied her, but according to Utah law, she still has to obtain his permission before getting an abortion."

Happy Friday, everyone… I’m looking forward to a pretty quiet weekend, and that’s good, because I’ve got writing to do.

Speaking of writing, here’s this week’s column. Yes, I know it’s not in the paper version, no, I have no idea when I’ll be back in that all the time. The choice is not mine, I assure you.

Local note: if you haven’t been to The Kingfish Café yet, you really must go. Roman and I had an extremely yummy dinner there last night, served to us by one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in my life.

You see, the Kingfish does Southern food, and it’s owned by two women of color who I believe are sisters, and all the waitstaff that I’ve ever seen there have also been people of color. Many of them are women, and they’re all pretty.

But our server last night was just jaw-droppingly beautiful. Tall, very willowy figure, beautiful features, especially her perfectly shaped cheekbones and jawline - very queenly. And her perfect skin was the color of deep, rich Turkish coffee without even a hint of cream. Words don’t do her justice, she was stunning. I wanted to photograph her so badly! Why this girl is waiting tables instead of modeling, I don’t know. She’s a muse if I ever saw one. I just stared at her while she was taking our order, and then I told her she was a beautiful girl. I'm guessing she's been told that before, but I don't think a woman ever get tired of hearing it.

The food was great too, of course. Roman and I had saved up our calories and we indulged: red beans and rice, fried chicken, yam fries, collard greens, and a huge slab of chocolate cake, all served by this sweetly-smiling gorgeous woman.

And then we came home and proceeded to burn off a few of those calories. Life is good.

Another Email

> Date: March 6, 2006 11:15:18 PM PST
> To: matisse AT thestranger.com
> Subject: question for mistress matisse
>
> Dear Mistress Matisse,
>
> This is perhaps the lamest question you will ever receive; it is
> definitely the lamest question I have ever asked myself or anyone
> else.
>
> Here is the deal. I am a sub. That is how I identify sexually as
> much as someone so solidly gay they have known since age 6. And while
> on the face of it this seems like it should make dating easy (roles
> delineated a priori; you're not going to stick a whip in my hand at
> any point and expect me to *do* something with it; you're not going to
> be asking me every minute what I want to be doing, etc.), it doesn't.
>
> I am very pretty, I have a great body, I'm smart and engaging and
> have a great real-life life, and I am a great sub. Here is what I
> hope to know from you: in what ways is dating in the bdsm world
> inherently different? Why can I have such success with regular guys
> but not with finding a dom that is looking for a long-term
> relationship with a stellar sub and partner?
>
> At this point in my life, I really don't want to have a normal
> relationship. If I am having a sexual relationship, I want all of my
> sexuality to be included and cultivated. That means I want to be
> submissive, and not just sexually. That is the way I am drawn to
> respond in a sexual relationship/interaction. It is real, it is
> genuine, and it is something I wish to embrace, not ignore or supress.
>
> I do understand the statistics of it all: I am drawing from a far
> smaller pool, just as I would be if in vanilla criteria I decided I
> needed someone with an exhaustive list of very specific attributes.
> But I am not looking for Any Living Purported Dom; there has to be a
> connection, and an intellectual as well as personality fit.
>
> Do you have advice? Do you think the Internet makes any sense?
> Should I just play forever, whenever I can, just like maybe joining
> every club in vanilla dating life, in hopes that one day...
>
> I just don't think it should be this hard. Damn it, I'm hot and I'm a
> catch, but it has to be someone worth submitting to.
>
> Thanks…
(Signed with a female name)



This isn’t a lame question. I think most kinksters ask themselves this at one time or another – how can I find the right partner? Hell, I think most vanilla people ask themselves the same thing. Why else would When Harry Met Sally be such a big hit? So, my answer, and some advice.

The answer is: yes, you just have to keep looking, and yes, it’s going to be a bitch. You are seeking all the same kinds of things a vanilla person seeks in a partner: a smart, well-balanced person who’s physically attractive to you, shares your basic values, likes cats, foreign films, and Indian food, no outstanding warrants for their arrest – the usual. And in addition to that, you want a sexually unusual person who shares your specific BDSM tastes – a man, I assume, since you didn’t say otherwise. That’s a tall order.

Notice I said “specific” – I mean very specific. It’s not like there are dominants and there are submissives, and you can match up any two and what they like to do in the dungeon will naturally follow. Uh-uh. Your way of being submissive (or dominant) is unique to you. I myself, for example, tend to like spunky, sassy play-partners. (You get points if you make me laugh. You get gagged if you don’t.) The uber-meek, never-raise-their-eyes-from-the-floor type of submissive doesn’t generally turn me on. My point is that it’s not a generic thing, so you’ll need to find not only a competent, worthy top who you want to date, but one whose style and preferred activities mirror your own.

So you are drawing from a very, very small pool indeed, and yes, based on my experience, it is going to be that hard. Unless you are astoundingly lucky, you are going to kiss a lot of froggy dominants, have a certain number of underwhelming kink experiences, and you are going to have to be very patient. Welcome to life as a sexual minority.

Now that I’ve said all the depressing stuff, let me also reassure you: I think finding the right person for you is absolutely possible. Heck, you might even find several of them. I have found some truly amazing people in my life as a kinky person, so I know they’re out there. When you do hook up with someone you really like and whose kinks line up with yours – wow, it’s fabulous. It makes all the churning worthwhile.

To find your someone-amazing, you must go where the ducks are, whatever that means in your current life-situation. I think getting involved in real-life BDSM community is always better than only searching through the personal ads. Doing both is optimum. However, if kinky personal ads are all you have access to, use them. For more info about how one goes about getting involved in the real-life BDSM community, go here.

I also think you should try to look upon the journey to your future partner as a positive experience in itself. All those underwhelming experiences are going to really sharpen your understanding of what you want, and that’s a good thing. Plus, you have to have some it’s-funny-in-retrospect stories to share about the terrible dominant, Count Chocula, who’d read every single Gor novel ever published and whose hairpiece fell off while he was flogging you.

In closing, a small nit to pick: if you do use personal ads, the first impression you make on people will be via your words on a screen. And you, my dear, may need to fine-tune your approach. If I had to make a snap judgment on you based on just this email, I’d have to say - you come off a bit like a spoiled princess. The several reiterations of how hot you are, your success with vanilla men, and how deserving you are of someone Worthy… It makes you sound as if you think you’re entitled to special treatment. All the advice I just gave you is the exact same advice I’d give to someone who claimed to be dumpy, dull and unpopular, because they are actually just as deserving of True Kinky Love as you are. It is far more becoming to at least pretend a little modesty in these matters. Upload a photo with your ad, speak truthfully about your accomplishments without attaching too many flattering adjectives, and let other people tell you how hot you are, as opposed to you telling them.

Complete text of an email I received today.

From the lowest depths of darkness, the forgotten corners of your soul i cry to U. U find me shiueking as demaons claw my heart out and devour it over and ovr until U save me. O/our souls meld toegther locking as O/one we fly together. i know your command before U speak it, U know my obiedice is instant and unthinking. Every breath of cold air that brushs my soul is blown away by your heat and dark brilliance.
Nechamadeus 206.XXX-XXXX

Okay, well, unlike some odd emails I get, at least the writer seems to be a native English speaker, which always gives me a fighting chance of deciphering the intended meaning.

But what is he saying here? There’s some guy hanging around a corner of my soul who’s slipped my mind? What, did I put him in a closet or something? Because I’m usually pretty good about not forgetting about that kind of thing.

It’s nice that he thinks I’m brilliant, but I’m afraid I can’t say the same for him. Apparently there is no spell-check on the computer he’s using in the forgotten corner of my soul. And that slashy writing? He’s really not done his homework on me, or he’d know I hate that.

I think this boy’s been listening to way too much bad goth rock. (And actually reading the liner notes - always a mistake, even if one likes the melody.) I imagine the Sisters Of Mercy could have made something out of these lines, but I don’t plan on melding my soul with Nechamadeus’ anytime soon.

Community Note: A friend of mine, who's a sweet wonderful guy, has a room for rent in his darling house house near UW. Call him if you're interested...
**************************************************************
For Rent
Large, lovely room on 2nd floor, with lots of oak built-in drawers and
bookshelves. Carpeting, ceiling fan, skylight and little meditation room off
the main room. Own bathroom with shower. Some furniture available at no
extra cost.

Share kitchen, small yard with garden, washer/dryer, basement
storage, high-speed DSL, and off-street parking with live-in owner.

Owner has 2 friendly cats, no other pets please. No smoking indoors.

Available April 1st. Rent is $550.00 per month. No lease, no deposit, first and last
month's rent moves you in, most utilities included. References expected.
Please call for an interview. (206)325-6833

I'm a busy girl today, but here's the new column.... And hopefully I'll see ya'll at Max's Bondage Workshop and party on Sunday.

Edited to add: It's about time to do another "Ask The Mistress" column, so if there's something you've always wanted to ask me, either as a pro domme, a practicing kinkster, or a poly person, fire away. If I don't use your question for this round, I'll save it for future columns. You can post it here, or email it me if you're shy....

Edited one more time: Can you tell my head is a little disorganized today? It's all Roman's fault. Anyway, here's a humorous rebuttal to my column about all the silly things men do when placing personal ads. Read and learn, ladies.

Top 25 Most Played On Matisse’s iPod.

I’m not sure what this says about me, but here goes….

25. Bad Case Of Loving You (Doctor Doctor) - Robert Palmer. This is going to sound strange, but this song reminds me of my mom. She’s a rock and roll fan, and I remember being a very, very little girl and watching her dance to this song in our living room.

24. Brass In Pocket – The Pretenders. There’s nobody else here, no one like me…

23. The District Sleeps Alone – The Postal Service.

22. Brave And Crazy – Melissa Etheridge. That’s me, taming all the lions.

21. Born Under A Bad Sign – The Neville Brothers with Buddy Guy.

20. I Need A Man - Eurhythmics. Actually I’m doing just fine in that department. But I love hearing Annie scream.

19. Strangelove – Depeche Mode.

18. Going Out West – Tom Waits.

17. The Continental – Prince. Come and let me do you like you want to be - done. Oh, yes, Your Purpleness, do me - now and always.

16. Erotic City – Prince.

15. Brilliant Mistake – Kate Nauta. Give it up, baby, you’re not in control.

14. Show Me How To Live - Audioslave

13. Boogie Nights – Heatwave. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. But I actually have a sneaking fondness for (some) disco.

12. Take Out Some Insurance On Me Baby - Jimmy Reed

11. Somebody Told Me – The Killers.

10. Hung Up – Madonna.

9. Rock and Roll Nigger – Patti Smith

8. Superstition – Stevie Wonder. Awesome. Never get tired of this song.

7. Twilight Zone – Golden Earring. In spite of the fact that I have no earthly idea what this song is about. “My beacon's been moved under moon and star” - what?

6. Burn – Nine Inch Nails.

5. Gratitude – Oingo Boingo.

4. Always On The Run – Lenny Kravitz. Fabulous guitar riff.

3. All My Life – Foo Fighters.

2. Like It Or Not - Madonna. It’s so high school, but still, it’s an anthem for all intimidating women everywhere. “This is who I am, you can like it or not, you can love me or leave me, but I'm never going to stop.”

And the number one most-played song is….

1. I Thought You Were My Boyfriend – Magnetic Fields. Roman turned me onto them. Totally addictive melody and keyboards.

Ring Ring!

Me: hello?
Caller: Hi, do you see couples?
Me: Sometimes. Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for.
Caller: Well, I’m a very successful businessman, and I’m in town with my girlfriend, we’re here in a suite at the Westin. She’s a really beautiful petite Asian lady, very very lovely, and we’d like to see you.

It’s apparently some kind of reflex for certain men to start right out by trying to impress me. Frankly, I don’t care what hotel you’re staying at (since I won’t be coming there) and I really don’t much care how successful you are. I care whether I like you or not. I have great clients who are very wealthy and high-powered guys, and I have great clients who are bartenders and carpenters. You leave all that stuff at the dungeon door as far as I’m concerned. A flogger is a great equalizer.

Me: So, what kinds of activities are you looking for in a session?
Caller: Do you do trampling?

Ah, a trample fan. I like trampling, but I often think it should be classed as a gymnastic event, because damn, even with someone lying flat on the floor, it’s tricky to stand on them and balance on top of them in such a way that you’re pressing down only on well-protected places and not, say, an easily-cracked rib. But I suppose that’s all part of the seem-really-fierce, but-actually-do-no-serious-harm service I provide.

Me: Yes.
Caller: With shoes on?
Me: Possibly, if I think that’s safe for you, yes.
Caller: Full-weight trampling?

Full-weight meaning: you don’t lean against a wall, or hang onto anything. You just stand right up on them. Serious gymnastic balancing - in high heels, no less. On the occasions when I've done this, I always wonder which would be worse: If I hurt someone else doing this, or if I break my bloody ankle falling off them. Either way, it's not something I want to explain to the ER doc.

Me: It depends – have you had full-weight trampling before?
Caller: Oh, it’s my girl-friend, she’s a big masochist, she really likes it.

Huh. That’s unusual, because for whatever reason, trampling is one of those fetishes that has always seemed exclusively male to me. I have never had a woman ask me for it, and I have never seen a woman doing it in a dungeon. I’m not saying a woman never has or never could – but this is a very uncommon request, and it stirs a flicker of response from my bullshit-detector. Not a full-blown wrongness, but definitely a not-quite-rightness.

And even giving this guy the full benefit of the doubt: I may not weigh a lot, but still, the idea of standing, with my shoes on, atop a petite Asian woman – well, unless she’s a bodybuilder with some muscle mass to protect her, I very much doubt that’s going to be safe for her.

Me: I’d have to see her, see her build, and then I’d consider it. I’m not going to do anything that I think is going to injure her.
Caller: Have you done full-weight trampling on a woman before?
Me: No.
Caller: But you’d do it with my girlfriend?
Me: That’s not what I said. I said if it’s possible to do it without injuring her, I will.
Caller: But she really, really wants it.

Bing. Something about his tone sends the bullshit-meter way into the red. Let’s try something…

Me: Can I speak to your girlfriend, please? Maybe she and I should talk about this.

Click. Dead air. He hung up, the wanker. Beautiful Asian girlfriend and a suite at the Westin, my ass. His number came up on caller id - he’s lucky I don’t chase down rude boys. Of course, he’d probably offer to let me walk all over him as punishment.

Piercings



I lost a bead from my Body Circle earring last Thursday night, and so Friday I dropped into a body piercing shop on Broadway to get another one. As I explained what I needed, I pushed back my hair and indicated the bead-less earring with my finger.
“No, no,” the girl behind the counter cried, “while you’re in the shop, don’t touch your piercings.”
I’ve seen signs to this effect in various piercing places - I’m told it's about cross-contamination. You know, touch yourself, touch the counter, leave icky germs on the counter. What I don’t really get – given all those studies about how many people don’t wash their hands after they use the bathroom - is why they think telling you not to touch your jewelry means your hands will be clean.
And I thought to myself, wow, I bet you really wouldn’t approve of what I did with the piercings I did last night. Thursday night in my dungeon, to be exact - I stuck Roman’s chest full of needles and pounded on them so hard they bent. I used a riding crop at first, but then I used just my hand. Slapping needles has to be done carefully, lest one catch one’s fingers on the sharp end of the business. But it can be done, even when one’s target is writhing around and roaring curses at you. The tricky part is that the needles, when impacted, want to start working themselves out. And when the tip is under the skin and you hit it – oh, it gets really noisy. And the skin gets very bruised. Oh darn.
Roman and I refer to this type of play as “making paper clips”, although I don’t think it would be embraced by the paper-clip manufacturers any more readily that professional body-piercers. However, we did not concern ourselves in the least with either office-product design or biological cross-contamination, and we had a marvelous time.


Obligatory Disclaimer: Piercing is not a 100% safe activity. If you are not experienced, you should not do anything like this without the supervision of people who have already done it and know what they are doing. Be sure to use only fresh, sterile needles, and use rubbing alcohol to clean the area before and after you do the piercings. Wear latex (or nitrile) gloves, and change them if you play for a long period or touch unclean stuff during the scene. Use needles once, on one person, then dispose of them in a bio-hazardous waste receptacle (sharps container). Even if it’s done correctly, you may bleed, bruise, get an infection or possibly even scar from this activity. You’ve been warned, proceed at your own risk.

This week's column - hopefully the last one that won't be entirely run in the paper....

And, in a sort of stunning example of kink working it's way into the mainstream, Ms. Claire Adams, a lovely lady with whom I have the pleasure of being acquainted, rigged actor Peter Sarsgaard into a rope-bondage suspension for this month's Vanity Fair magazine. (Here's a link to some other images, also.) I mean, wow - fucking Vanity Fair! Amazing. Good for her, and good for all of us, I think.

Pick and Choose

Today on a local escort-review board, a new escort was apologizing for not being able to answer all of the hundreds of emails and many dozens of phone calls she’d been besieged with every day since she began offering her services. She was so overwhelmed, she said, she was considering quitting.

I’m not surprised she got that reaction. Her pictures show a pretty young blond girl, and ladies like that always get a huge response, especially when they first appear on the escort scene. And it can be really overwhelming. As a pro domme, I do not get the same enormous volume of calls and email that a lot of escorts do. But I remember what that was like, and I still get quite a lot even now. I don’t know this young woman, and I tend not to proffer unasked-for advice. But if I were a friend of hers, here’s what I’d say:

Darlin’, you really don’t need to answer every single phone call and every single email you get. Yes, in a perfect world, you’d at least give everyone the courtesy of a, “No thank you,” and if you have time to do that, go ahead. But the truth is you could spend hours on the phone and the keyboard only doing that, and it’s not a profitable use of your time. What you need to do is categorize them into “Yes, Answer ASAP”, “Maybe” and “No”.

The No category will be big. I have mentored a few sex workers and I usually tell them they should be turning down at least half of the new clients who contact them, and sometimes more. There are just that many not-right guys out there.

Here’s who goes into the No category. Anyone who isn’t polite and appropriate when communicating with you. Anyone who says anything about sex. Anyone who flips you shit for not answering email instantly. Anyone who sends you a one-line email that says something like, “hey sxy wHen RU availbe?” Anyone who claims to be a pimp. Anyone who mentions drugs. Anyone who pressures you. Anyone who sounds like he’s drunk and/or calling from a bar. Anyone who says he wants to pay you with an iPod or a computer or a diamond ring. Anyone who acts like you should jump when he snaps his fingers. Anyone who calls and you hear a lot of other voices in the background. Anyone who elicits the response, “I don’t think I like this guy,” after listening to his message or reading his email. Boom, straight to the curb. Don’t return the call, don’t answer the email.

Does that sound mean? Hey, baby, it’s a survival skill. A lot of the unsuitable guys will take it as a challenge if you call/email back to say no, and they’ll keep coming back, trying and trying to change your mind. You don’t need that.

Besides, if you don’t get a good vibe from the guy, don’t take his money, because you won’t be able to give him a good experience if you don’t like him. If he’s a genuinely okay guy, he’ll move on and meet someone else who’s a better fit for him and have a better experience with her anyway, so you’re doing him a favor in the long run. And if he’s not a genuinely okay guy - well, then…

The Maybe list is composed of guys who you had a mixed reaction to. First-time clients are often nervous and can sometimes come off badly when in fact, they’d be fine if they just relaxed a little. I suggest stringing out the screening process with guys like this. Get a few additional calls/emails from them and see how your response to them evolves. Don’t be afraid to say, “You know, I’m new at this and I get a little nervous sometimes. Would you might just chatting with me on the phone for a few minutes so I can kinda get to know you a little bit?” And then ask him where he’s from, what he does for fun – just make innocuous conversation for five minutes, it’ll tell you a lot about him. If he reacts to this like you’re being hugely unreasonable, then he’s a No.

Also on this list: anyone who says he wants something you don’t provide: incall or outcall, or overnight dates, or half-hour dates, whatever it is you’d generally prefer not to do. If they seem okay in other ways, it’s worth trying to steer them towards your preferred method, but be prepared to let it go.

The Yes men are guys you’ve seen before and liked, and guys who you liked in the initial communication and who’ve gone through whatever screening method you’ve chosen: references, personal info, gut instinct, whatever. Answer them as soon as you can, but I don’t consider a few hours to be an unreasonable length of time before returning voicemail/email. I often take longer even with guys I really like, just because I’m so busy. Fortunately they’re all pretty patient with me.

I recommend you don’t use instant messaging or text messages to process appointment inquiries. Calls and emails are enough to keep track of.

Now gentlemen, I know how sensitive you all are, but I don’t want you to get your feelings hurt by anything I've said here. If you’re a nice, honest guy who treats ladies fairly, then you shouldn’t take any of this as a slight to you. And just to keep things in balance, I will be writing a follow-up piece for the gentlemen about how to choose an escort who will provide a safe and satisfying experience, because I know that it’s challenging for the guys to find reputable and un-flaky ladies as well. All the more reason for me to give a little guidance to the professional women who you’d like to stay in the game.

A number of people have asked me to comment on issue of Travis Frey and his wife's "slave contract". But frankly, I don’t have a whole lot to say. I’m aware of it, yes, and I do see that some people seem to think that BDSM folks should be all over this, either supporting the guy’s ‘right’ to create a sex contract for his wife, or verbally tar-and-feathering him for making all us right-thinking kinksters look bad.

But unlike some people, I have a hard time getting terribly worked up about it either way. Do I think the contract as it’s written is rather petty, adolescent and trite? Yes, but that’s probably because contracts aren’t my kink. I think clear communication about one’s expectations is a good thing. To me, though, slave contracts in this style seem about as erotic as a tax form.

However, do I know people who’ve happily signed rather similar documents? Not in my immediate circle, but yes, I’ve met folks who had and enjoyed this kind of arrangement with their partners, and I get people writing to me all the time asking me to create not-very-different contracts with them. It’s not uncommon.

Are they legally binding? Not for a minute. There’s been a lot of back-and-forth on Metafilter and elsewhere about whether the wife actually signed a copy of this or not. We don't know if she ever did consent to these rules, but it doesn’t matter one little bit. Even if she thought this contract was the sexiest thing in the world on a Tuesday and signed it in her blood, she could change her mind Wednesday morning, and she has the absolute right to do so. You cannot sign away your right to withdraw consent, ever.

Let’s remember, too, that the guy hasn’t actually been convicted of any of the charges yet - it’s still all he-said/she-said at this point. So while it’s quite possible he’s a criminally abusive rapist asshole, it’s also possible that he’s just a juvenile twit with bad relationship skills. This document reads to me like the guy would be happiest having a relationship with a blow-up doll, but that’s just my bias and doesn’t prove a thing. There’s the always-icky child porn charge, but that’s unrelated to the “slave contract” issue.

To some degree, the imagery, culture, and vocabulary of BDSM has become part of mainstream consciousness. Bad people are going to use it to create a frame and a justification for doing bad things, just as they’ve used other cultural institutions. If I, as a kinkster, start taking every instance of that really personally, I’m not going to get much sleep at night.

So I celebrated Presidents Day by spending a thousand damn dollars on a new washing machine and dryer, and I have to say, I’m a little flipped out by the experience. I’m not sure why – I’m all poised to buy a couch that’s going to run me nearly that much, as soon as I can make time to get back to Ikea.

But somehow slapping down a credit card at Sears for all that white porcelain seems so terrifyingly homeowner-ish, especially when I don’t know diddly about major appliances. Yeek. Max, as usual with this kind of thing, sort of steered me through it. He’s done it before, and plus, he’s just so generally clever about such things. (Even though he confided to me, as we were standing at the cash register, that just having testicles does not mean you automatically know everything about everything. I was aware of that, really. But Max often knows things I don’t, which is, of course, one of the reasons why I love him. Yay, smart people.)

But the appliance-buying is done with now, thank god, and I’d much rather think about the evil things I’d like to do to, say, Roman. I’m definitely feeling like being evil, evil, evil lately. More than usual, I mean - I have no idea why. And since I don’t get to be terrible to Max, well, the burden falls to Roman, poor man.

Plus, Roman and I have a new bed that we have yet to have a date on, because we were both too insanely busy last week. Hopefully that situation will be rectified soon. It seems like I’ve been spending a lot of time in various department stores with my two partners lately, and not enough time in less public surroundings. I think that needs fixing.

So, I had a really good time this weekend at BodyBound. Max and I drove down Friday afternoon and arrived in time to catch Midori's opening talk about sort of the myths and the realities of Japanese bondage. She's a very entertaining speaker. Max and I chatted with her for a few minutes after the class, but she was only at BB Friday night, as she had the Bang For The Buck party here in Seattle to host. Amusingly enough, she and her partner actually stayed here at our house this weekend, even though we were down in Portland. She’s a great houseguest and she’s stayed here lots of times, so we were fine just handing her the keys to our house and asking her to feed my cat. I’m sure the Bang For The Buck party was cool, and I’m sorry I missed it. Hopefully some of the women who went will blog about it.

But BB was fun. Max’s class went very well. I know I’m biased, but he is such a good instructor, and I'm so proud of him when we teaches. We did see some other good classes, though, and we also got to see and catch up with people we don’t see all the time, like James Mogul, and Claire Adams, and Eddie T. and his wife. I enjoyed that.

Monk was there, of course, and sold a ton of rope - there was such a crowd of eager people around his booth all weekend that I swear, I hardly got to talk to him and Tambo, but I'm glad they did so well.

Saturday night at the play party, I was entertained to note that a lot of the women present – and two of the men – were attired in the Imp Of Satan’s clothes. I, of course, was one of them. A PVC catsuit is a boon to the traveling girl, as it’s a complete outfit in itself and it packs down to about the size of a hardback novel. Easy.

I did not get to go to Powells, which is sad for me. But we’ll be back in Portland next month for Kinkfest, so I’ll definitely go then.

Aside from my other pals, I saw two different individuals this weekend that I’d really like to top. (Separately, not together. They aren’t a couple or anything.) There were moments this weekend when I looked at them, and thought about what I’d like to do to them, and I felt a little electric shock run up my spine.

I’ve wanted both of them for awhile now. Trouble is, I don’t think either one of them would go there, for different reasons. I haven't ever strongly pursued either of them, so I don't really know for sure, it's just a feeling. I've known them both for some time, and I have nice social relationships with them both, and most of the time it seems better not to jeopardize that.

But sometimes, oh, sometimes when I think about it, I feel my hands flex slightly, and I feel my lips draw back from my teeth in what would probably not ever be mistaken for a friendly smile. I swear I can almost feel my fangs lengthening. It would not be slap-and-tickle, the things I’d like to do to them.

(I'm not talking about a relationship, you understand. I'm just talking about us spending several hours in an alternate universe where deep respect and friendly affection are expressed in rather different ways than they are here on Earth. Like, with needles, and canes, and rope, and certain types of electrical devices.)

It's not likely I'll ever get the chance. But then again, you never know. Sometimes you have to wait for things. Patience isn’t my strong suit in day-to-day life, but for some things I can wait, if waiting is what’s needed. I once carefully wooed someone for ten years before I got them to bottom to me. Yeah, that’s right, I said ten years. It’s a good thing they held out all that time, too, because the raw novice top that I was when I first met them would never have been able to deliver the experience that I successfully created for them a decade later.

And I do feel quite certain I could create something fiendishly good for these two people as well. So while I think the answer would probably be a polite, no thank you, it does seem like a shame not to ask at all. So perhaps I’ll just drop a tiny whisper of possibility into certain ears sometime and see what happens.

A few notes as I gear up to leave for Portland for the BodyBound event…

So, the column for this week is actually…the same column from last week: the "kimono boys" piece. I’m very pleased that it wound up getting printed in the paper copy of The Stranger after all. However, it means that I don’t have a link to a new column for you. I’m not exactly sure why it turned out this way. Sometimes The Stranger moves in mysterious ways, it’s wonders to behold.

And yesterday I did a podcast interview with GrayDancer, about the whole “kimono boys” thing. Gray's podcast is called "Rope Weekly" and it's all about erotic rope bondage. (If you didn't already figure that out.) I haven't met Gray in person, but both Max and Roman have, and they say he's a cool guy. I certainly had a good experience with him. I like people with an active sense of humor, and Gray has a comic persona named “NawaMarquishiDeSade" who, as he says, is “a parody of precisely that brand of self-importance," which I was writing about. That’s who interviewed me, so it was all very tongue-in-cheek - although I think the essential message of "Dudes, don't take yourself quite so seriously," was underneath. In any case, I hope it’ll be funny to listen to. Not sure when it'll be available to listen to, but I imagine it'll go up here.

Midori took time out from her insanely busy schedule – I swear, she makes my life look uneventful – to comment here, and there has actually been a fresh round of comments on the original post last Friday, so scroll down and read over those if you haven’t lately.

Meanwhile, I'm off to Portland to help teach people how to be pervy rope tops. Have a good weekend...

Nice Problem To Have, But...

So I had a conversation yesterday with one of my several friends who’s a call girl. She asked me to pass a message along to all the otherwise-cool clients out there: please, please - don’t leave presents on a professional lady’s doorstep.

Yes, it’s very sweet that you want to give a girl you’re fond of a Valentines gift. No one doubts that your heart is in the right place. But it’s an issue of discretion. Because what if you tiptoe up to the door of her incall, bend down to put your bundle of flowers or your box of Godiva’s on her step, and just as you do, another gentleman opens the door to leave? There you both are, staring at each other, terribly embarrassed, everyone’s privacy totally comprised.

Think how you’d feel if you were the guy on his way out. How long has this weirdo been bent over with his ear at the door? you’d think, and justifiably so.

You could just as easily spook a guy who's on his way in to a scheduled appointment. Many people are a bit nervous when coming to visit an escort, and encountering a strange man hanging around the door (as they would see it) of her place would make a lot of people very uncomfortable.

And while many ladies – like me - don’t live where they work, some do, and that creates the potential for even more issues. What if the door opens and it’s her mother who had just dropped by for a visit? What are you going to say? How she is going to explain you?

Even if you don’t get caught outright, your gift could still create complications if the wrong person sees it on her doorstep. “Oh, look, someone left you a Valentine! Do you have a boyfriend? You didn’t tell us! Who is he, when do we get to meet him?” Yeah. Definitely a problem.

I’ve gotten some very sweet and generous gifts over the years and I appreciate the guys who’ve given them to me. But I'm glad to say I haven't had to deal with very many instances of the surprise-gift-drop. However, I'm also considerably more out about my life than many sex workers, so while I definitely don't encourage it, I would not completely freak out if it happened. (Although I am quite zealous about protecting my client's privacy, so that part certainly applies.)

So my friend is quite right in saying that the best way to present gifts is in person. I don't think any woman I know would be ungracious about you simply waiting and giving her the gift when next you meet, even if it's not on the actual holiday.

Or, if she gives you permission, you could mail them. (Or FedEx them, or UPS, or whatever.) But only if she's okay with that, because often the name she gives you is not the same name by which she recieves mail, and getting a package addressed to her nom de negligee could be awkward if the wrong person sees it. (If it gets delivered properly at all.)

If you really can't wait to give her something - call and ask if it's okay to drop off a gift, so she can make sure the coast is clear.

But the surprise-personal-delivery method? Don't go there. It's way too fraught with perilous possibilities.

Cool toy! I want one of these...

This is sort of disturbing to me, although I don't know why exactly. I certainly support free enterprise, although I always thought most hair-fetishists liked it still attached to people's heads. (And while human-hair wigs are quite expensive, prices in the $700-1100 range definitely suggest "fetish" to me, not wigmaker.)

Amusing: Several people have sent me this bit of viral video. Definitely not work safe. But funny.

Edit: Oh, and happy day of over-hyped, anxiety-fueled, corporate-dictated “love” that somehow got tagged with a Christian martyr’s name, in spite of the fact that his death had nothing whatsoever to do with romantic love.