So I’m leaving on a jet plane today. But while I'm getting strip-searched at the airport, you should definitely go read about Dan Savage’s latest bit of political theater. I think it rocks. We'll see if he gets arrested.
And, armed with your sense of humor, go read this rant from a feminist stripper: A Guide to Laying Down the Hardline in the Bedroom
And of course read my column: Why Be A Slave?
Bye!
Voicemail Follies
Gentlemen, it’s been suggested to me that I give a quick primer on “How To Leave A Message For A Sex Worker”. In some ways I am a poor candidate to do this, since I am sometimes bad about returning calls from guys I don’t know, even though they may have left a perfectly fine message. But I seem to have the floor, so here we go…
Rule Number One: Listen to the outgoing message! My message, for example, says that I only see people Monday through Friday. And yet I daily get messages asking me for Saturday appointments. It discourages a girl.
Rule Number Two: be simple and direct. “Hi, my name is Bob, I saw your ad/website and was calling to get more information. You can call me back at xxx-xxxx.”
See how easy that is? You can add more information, such as: “Please don’t call me back after
Rule Number Three: Say your name and your phone number twice. And say them s-l-o-w-l-y. No name? No call back.
Also: If I call you back and a woman answers, I will hang up. Thank god for call blocking.
The goal is to sound like you are not a strange and unusual person. What kind of message makes us ladies think: “weirdo”? Here are some recent examples.
BEEP!
Knock-knock! Who’s there? Anal Bob! Anal Bob who? Anal Bob for you Mistress! Call me, xxx-xxxx!
END OF MESSAGE. PRESS NINE TO DELETE.
MESSAGE DELETED.
BEEP!
Who am I, Mistress? Who am I? I am lost. Guide me. I am your creature, your possession…In this world I am called…Axillium. xxx-xxxx.
END OF MESSAGE. PRESS NINE TO DELETE.
MESSAGE DELETED.
BEEP!
(Long pause) Xxx-xxxx. (Long pause) Call me back.
END OF MESSAGE. PRESS NINE TO DELETE.
MESSAGE DELETED.
Since I have to go out of town soon, and my voicemails will stack up while I’m gone, I’ll be able to tell who reads this blog and who doesn’t….
I picked up voicemail today, and here’s one of the messages I got:
(Recorded voice) Hi! This is a call from Club VIP Escort dot com! We’re an escort directory soon to be the biggest escort directory in the world! We’d like to help you post your ad on Club VIP Escort dot com today! Press one to be connected to a customer representative!
It was one of those smooth, unctuous, “announcer” voices, clearly a professionally rehearsed and recorded spiel. Ah, I remember the old days, when sex workers were scandalous outlaws and we never, ever got telemarketing calls. Now I get freaking robo-calls from escort-mall websites. Lordy.
The occasional annoyance aside, however, I am not averse to using tech toys in my professional life. Thus, I have a question for those of you who use online calendar programs. I’m thinking of integrating one into my scheduling system so my good regular guys can always see when I’m available. I’ve looked at Google Calendar, of course, but what other ones are good?
The Abbey party was a rousing success. The food was beautiful, the music was great, and the entertainment was lovely and perverted.
The conversations were fascinating as well. Some memorable remarks addressed to me throughout the course of the evening:
“I want you to sit on my face on my deathbed.”
“So I said to her, ‘the wrong rapist has your keys’.
(As I slapped a woman’s chain-mail covered breasts with my be-ringed hands) “My tits sound like a snare drum!”
“You’re a really good writer. And I’m not just saying that to get in your pants.”
Malixe took some great pictures, but the process of collecting various people’s consent to use their image always takes longer than one wishes, so I have no good pictures today. (Monk got first dibs, so go check his blog for some cool shots.)
I do have one of me, though, which I will use to illustrate the fact that half my friends did double-takes when they saw me.
It’s true that I don’t wear hats that often. But even so, it seems that this silver latex cowboy hat that Jae made me has magical powers of disguise, because lots of people told me they didn’t recognize me at first. Or maybe it was my outfit, which was uncharacteristically wacky. Sort of an 80’s/glitterpunk-fetish look - rubber bracelets, multiple belts and all. I tend to be a basic black girl, but you have to break out sometimes. Plus, the floors in the Abbey? Concrete. Uneven concrete, at that, and no way was I going to walk around for several hours in spike heels on such a rough industrial surface. I had to wear something I could pair with my big ole New Rock boots.
I'm not praying, by the way. I'm watching Tamara The Trapeze Lady and clapping in delight.
So the party was great. Now, the next big events? Well, August 27th is my 7th anniversary with my darling Max, and we have some plans for that. And then Monk and I are off to Austin on the 31st. It never stops around here.
Books On The Bedside Table
Tesla: Man Out of Time, by Margaret Cheney.
I’m about halfway into this and it’s interesting. I’m liking the personal feeling of it as much I like learning more about Tesla and his huge contributions to science. A lot of period flavor, too.
I, Fatty: A Novel by Jerry Stahl.
Xavier loaned me this, and I read it in one night – it’s not a long novel, and it flows quickly. It's both compelling and sad. It’s a faux-memoir, but Stahl creates such an authentic voice for Fatty Arbuckle that it’s easy to forget, for pages at a time, that it’s not a true autobiography of the rise and fall of the 1920's actor.
A Simple Plan By Scott Smith
One of those best-sellers I haven’t gotten around to reading, although I like suspense novels. I’m told it’s pretty intense, so I’m saving it for when I have a free evening to burn all the way through it.
Dangerous Relationships: How to Identify and Respond to the Seven Warning Signs of a Troubled Relationship by Noelle Nelson
No, this is not a sign of trouble in any of my relationships. I’m scheduled to be part of a panel next month at the Wet Spot about how to meet people safely, and I thought I’d do some reading to help clarify my ideas about how to pick up on danger signals early in interactions with people. I've sort of pre-skimmed through it and I would say while Ms. Nelson may not be presenting any new information to me personally, she organizes the material well. And we'll see what a more careful perusal yields.
Indecent Secrets: The Infamous Murri Murder Affair by Christina Vella
Read it already - it's an account a famous 1902 murder trial in
The Royal Physician's Visit: A Novel by Per Olov Enquist
Another best-selling, award-winning book I didn’t read when it first came out. Having read it now, I’m mildly puzzled by the rave reviews. It’s good, but the text was originally written in Swedish, and then translated to English, and it shows. So, sure, an enjoyable-enough book. But calling this prose “elegant”? Um, okay. If you say so.
Between Silk and Cyanide: A Codemaker's War, 1941-1945 by Leo Marks
I’m about a hundred pages into this one, and it’s very good so far. Marks writes in a droll, offhand tone of voice that I particularly associate with a Brit talking about issues of life and death, and so far his gift for vivid characterization – both of himself, as a smart-aleck twenty-year-old, and of others - has me deeply engrossed.
Over the past months I've become a fan of yours, enjoying your "Control Tower" as I do. And your latest prompts a question, and though I don't know if you
respond to such individual inquiries, surely it can't hurt to ask.
On the matter of how to deal with a sex-worker, I don't want to offend anyone, and I much appreciate your advice….So my question is: would it be unreasonably risky
to ask of a lady advertising a "flat rate, incall," exactly how much of her TIME
I could expect to enjoy, for that figure?
It's been (many) years since I've visited such a professional, and the memory is pleasant, but I expect after this lapse of time, I probably need to be "schooled."
My lady and I enjoy a bit of kink and have been interested in expanding on what
we know (and that isn't much). We both love it but it's getting a little
blah...We would like to know more about rope work and spanking/ using paddles,
crops, etc. Thank you for taking the time to read this.
I had a lovely week last week, which included time with several guys I’ve known for years and really feel connected to when I see them. That’s always a good thing.
Interestingly, there was also a session with a man who’s fairly new to me, in which I several times wondered, “Is this whole thing working for him?” It’s rare for me to be unsure about a scene when I’m doing it. At the risk of sounding all woo-woo, I can almost always find someone’s energy, connect with it, and make the scene come together. But this man is very quiet, very still, and he goes very much inward with his energy when we play. I know there’s something intense happening in his head - but it’s hard to feel him. I had to just trust that if he needed something to be different, he would say so.
Afterwards as he went to leave, he turned to me at the door and said, “Thank you, that was wonderful. It’s really nice when you have a fantasy and the reality turns out to be even better than you’d hoped for.” That’s a great thing to hear, and it was especially so given that I’d been unsure.
Other highlights were: a Leo birthday party, during which I placed a six-inch spring clamp on the head of a friend's dick. And then I gave him a brief lap-dance. Also, Jae came over for dinner Sunday and helped Max and I eat the rest of that crab. I'm certain she saved me from another round of seafood-intoxication.
Note to clients: Usually late July and August is a slow time of year, but this summer has been insanely busy, and I’ve had to decline a number of guys I would otherwise have enjoyed seeing. However, I still have a fair amount of time left this week, so if you’ve been wanting to get time with me, carpe diem.
Today is the birthday of my sweetheart, Roman. I’m really glad he came into the world 36 years ago today. I love that he's handsome and sexy, and that he wears silly hats, talks in fake foreign accents, and sings along to bad pop songs with me. And I also love that he’s smart, driven, extremely hardworking, ferociously loyal to those he loves, and willing to walk through his fears and emerge victorious the other side.
And I get to spend the evening with him celebrating all that, which I’m very pleased about. Happy Birthday, my darling. I’m so happy you’re in my life.
Although only slightly. Really it’s a post about how I'm not the only one who gets dumb phone calls.
A few days ago I went to Ezell’s to get some fried chicken for Max and I. We go there every couple of weeks, when we feel our bad-cholesterol level needs a boost. You can practically feel your arteries narrowing from just breathing the air. But it’s very tasty.
Behind the counter, as usual, was a trio of black teenagers and an older woman, also black, who I see there every time I go in. She’s the one who usually takes my order, and I believe I would describe her as matriarchal in both appearance and in manner. She’s friendly, but she’s in charge of that kitchen and she knows it. Everyone else knows it too. I grew up in the South, and my childhood was populated by a number of kind but commanding black ladies of a certain age and Junoesque proportions, so she always makes me smile.
I told her what I wanted and as she moved to get it, one of the teenagers handed her a cordless phone. She talked into it as she got out a Styrofoam box.
“Ezell’s Chicken, can I help you?”
I could hear the voice of the person on the other end, but not well enough to understand what they were saying. The matriarch’s brow knit as she listened.
“Re-heat it? Well, just put it in the oven.”
“...”
“On low. Turn the oven on low, and put the chicken in.”
“…”
The matriarch let out a little sound of annoyance and replied to the caller.“250 degrees. That’s low.”
“…”
“Well, it depends how hot you want it. Leave it in there for five minutes. Then check it.”
“…”
“No, not in the box,” said the matriarch, as she selected a pair of original-recipe thighs with a pair of large steel tongs. “Put it on a cookie sheet or something, and put it in the oven for five or ten minutes.”
“…”
But the Queen of Ezell’s patience had reached its end. “I have to go now, I have customers to take care of, good-bye.” She handed the phone back to her assistant, shaking her head “Lord…”
The teenager asked, “Was that someone who lives with you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, no it was not. My children know how to cook chicken. I don’t know who that was.” She met my eye and shook her head, giving a gentle snort. “Calling up here, asking me how to warm up chicken.” I smiled and said something about silly people. She gave me my chicken and I thanked her and left.
Maybe I should let her answer my phone calls.
Max said, “We have a whole bunch of these. Do you want to have a dinner party or something?”
“No,” I said. “I want to eat them.” Because I am greedy.
And so last night Max steamed me up a large – but large – portion of those crab legs. They were big, beautiful crab legs with lots of meat. I ate them all. Max ate some too. But mostly, it was me. Yum.
Afterwards….well, maybe it was all the rich crab, maybe it was the several ounces of drawn butter I soaked up with it, but for the rest of the evening I felt slightly – not ill exactly. But if food can intoxicate, then I was a little intoxicated. Thus, I did not write a blog post. Blame the seductive wiles of the alluring decapod crustacean. I’m wondering if I’ll have a food-hangover today. Punishment for the Mistress’s gustatorial excess.
But I’m sure in a few days I’ll be ready to eat some more.
Last Week In Review
It’s funny, some weeks I’ll have a string of fairly mild scenes – a little spanking, gentle roleplays, some foot worship. I enjoy that kind of play.
But I enjoy other things, too. And last week was kind of a bloody, sticky week.
Early in the week, I did a scene during which I tied a boy down to my bondage table and ran my spiky needle-wheel across his already-abused-and-sensitive nipples.
Did I mention he had several 21g needles stuck through each of them? When the little spikes bit into him, he arched his back up, bringing his chest up to meet my hand in that unmistakable “yes, yes, harder, harder” movement. So I pressed down with increasing force, until the muscle in my forearm stood out with tension. He kept rising to meet me, writhing and yowling. A tiny trickle of blood ran down his side - and then things got even wetter and messier. I do so like it when people enjoy my attention.
But afterwards I showed him the wheel, with its needles all red, and said, “So I’ll put this toy aside for just you now.” I’ll have to get a new one for use on other people – once something gets that messy, I don’t even try to sterilize it. It becomes that person’s special toy.
I caned a sweet Australian man who gave me a massage afterwards. (A non-sexual massage, people.) I put Ben-gay onto the most sweetly sensitive places of another gentleman - that's big fun. And then I did a very impressive caning scene with a man who wanted to go further than he’d ever gone – and we did. I was swinging that cane like Babe Ruth. We did at least 300 strokes – I made him count – and then some for-good-measure swats with this really nasty rubber paddle he brought with him. Ouch.
I did have one more sensual scene, involving me in a backless red evening gown, and sensory deprivation and teasing. As I told the gentleman involved, it’s nice to move all over the spectrum.
Happy Friday, everyone. Here's the column for the week. And some social notes…
If, like me, you hate the Blue Angels and are bored breathless by terrible traffic, drunken crowds and noisy boat races, ditch that Seafair shit and come to Max’s Bondage For Beginners workshop at the Wet Spot on Sunday afternoon. We'll be at the party that night, too.
Call For Volunteers: Monk of Twisted Monk is having a large and fabulous party for all his kinky friends at his workspace, the Abbey, on August 19th. There will be music and BDSM play and some sexy performances from the Thrillhammer people and Tamara the Trapeze Lady. To make all this happen, he needs some minions to help out. Nothing too complicated, mainly stuff like helping set up stages, music, and food, and some clean-up, all under the supervision of Monk, or Monk’s portable brain, NerdyGirl. Volunteering for events is an excellent way to meet people in the community, so if you’d like to be on the support team and attend the Monk-a-palooza, drop him or Nerdy a note. It’ll be a great evening.
And by the way - I wanted to include Plastic Man in this week's column about tertiary partners. I love Plastic Man, he's definitely the kinkiest superhero. But, you know, I only have so much column space.
Squeamish about blood or CBT? Don’t read further.
An email I received today...
I am just curious, would you be interested in doing a moderately severe cock and ball torture session with me. What I have in mind is very simple, to allow you to stick approximately a half a dozen needles through my cock head. Does this interest you at all? If so, what would your price quote be, I imagine it would be about an hour long session.
Thanks…
By the way I have absolutely no experience with cbt or sadism/masochism.
I’m pretty sure this is a troll. By that I mean: not a serious inquiry. Maybe he wants to be blogged about, maybe he wants to get some dirty email exchange going, I don’t know.
If it is a serious question – darlin’, I completely support your desire to have terrible things done to your dick. I cherish the hours – and there have been a lot of them - I have spent tormenting boy’s bits. Binding them, squeezing, slapping, pinching, pulling, shocking and just generally being evil - it’s not simply my profession. I actually feel it’s my vocation in this life.
But. The words “moderate” and “half a dozen needles through my cock head” do not go together. Especially when they are followed by “absolutely no experience”. Dear, dear man – no. I will not do this with you. I don’t know if you saw it on a porn site or what, but needles in your bits is advanced play. (Hell, needles anywhere on the body is considered higher-level play by many people.)
Do I play-pierce people’s genitals? Sure I do. I might put some needles through, say, the skin of the scrotum. Just the skin, mind, not through the testicle itself. And I have put needles through the top layer of skin – not the shaft proper – of dicks, and some around the ridge of the corona. That was with Mr. Wood, god bless him, a man with whom I have a long and bloody history of really heavy CBT. He knows the risks of what we’re doing. And believe me, I did too. It was one of those scenes where one thinks, “Shit, this is really hot - and I hope to god I do it just right.”
Needles straight through the head? I’ve not done that because I think the risk outweighs the possible pleasure. It's true that the glans penis is soft tissue. The chambers that fill up with blood and make the cock hard are in the shaft, so you’re not going to rupture one of those.
And son, you want to walk in and have me do six needles through your cockhead, bam, just like that? You’d be howling like a coyote at the first one, and two would make you faint. I will bet you any money in this world on that. There is nothing moderate about this scene. It's very severe.
CBT fans often experiment on themselves to learn about where their limits are. Try that. You don’t need to spend a lot of money at first. Get a bag of clothespins, a paint stirrer, and a stiff scrub brush. Put on some kinky porn on and go to town. Put the clothespins on, wait a few minutes, and then take them off. Press the bristles of the brush against your cock as hard as you can stand it. Smack it with the stirrer. See how all that feels. Then talk to me again. Because I can actually put six needles into you in about two minutes, but I don’t want to spend the other fifty-eight watching you recover from your faint.
***
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.
But if you link-hop a little off the beaten feminist-blog path – wow, it’s a whole other world. I don’t know what to call it, precisely – I’ve seen some of these bloggers refer to themselves as radfems, meaning radical feminists. Whatever one calls their world, it’s a place in which the feminist sex wars of the 80‘s are apparently still raging, especially lately.
I suppose it’s like any other subculture, capable of getting obsessed with its pet issues. You can certainly find blogs for the kink community, for example, where folks get all worked up and personal about insular issues like “We’re Old Guard” vs. “That’s Pretentious Crap”, as if it was something a tiny handful of people in cyberspace could decide once and for all, for everyone.
However, even with that experience under my belt, I’m boggled by how the merest suggestion that sex work could be a free and positive choice for some people makes these women’s blood pressure skyrocket. I mean, they come unglued. And the sheer venom of their remarks to/about sex-positive feminists - it’s like Anne Coulter has been cloned or something. I’m not going to link the tirades themselves, because I don’t feel like dealing with the blowback. But here are some links to friendlier sites (or at least more neutral ones) discussing the matter, and it’s easy to hop from there to the more extreme ones, if you wish.
(Mandatory disclaimer, in case anyone new to me comes along: sex work should only be done by freely consenting adults. Like BDSM, if there is not adult consent, it’s not okay, end of story. But I think I should be able to do whatever I want with my own body.)
What puzzles me is this: sex work is, in
So, all that being true – what exactly do these women want to do to us that hasn’t already been done? I mean, you’d think we had control of the Senate or something. The most I can gather is that they find it offensive that we write articles and books about our lives and get them published. They call that “being overrepresented” and they want us to shut up and stop talking about how happy we are.
And they talk about “eliminating prostitution” – well, I suppose if you think it’s inherently and irredeemably evil, I can see where that would be your goal. But I don’t know of any culture or any time period where women trading sex for something else they wanted has not existed. It even happens in the animal world. So when I try to imagine what these particular women would do to make that happen – given that the whole illegal/stigma/marginalized thing is already in place - I’m stumped. They don’t give specifics, so maybe the first item on the agenda is to bicker with women who ID as sex-positive feminists and post lots of judgmental, divisive comments. They’ve certainly made tons of progress in that arena.
Edited To Add: It strikes me that I’ve written about weird people several times in the last two weeks or so. I’ve just been in the mood to observe and comment on the rest of the world lately. But that’s not a reflection on my general mood, which is actually quite good, and the overall happiness of my life.
Fat Actress
Ring Ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hello, Mistress Matisse? I had a question for you. Do you know any really fat dominatrixes?
I am deeply suspicious. There’s something about the way this young man says “fat” that makes me think he does not respect and esteem big women.
Me: I’m sure there are some ladies around town, have you looked online?
Caller: Yeah, but – I want someone really big and fat. My buddy is getting married, it’s for his bachelor party. We’d want her to come in and tie him to a chair, dance on him, and like, smother him with her big tits and stuff.
Me: So, your buddy likes big girls?
Caller: No, no, that’s what I mean. It’d be like a gag to get a big fat girl, you know?
Yeah, I do know. Gag indeed - this guy is the one who should be gagged, preferably with something sharp. I’ve performed at some bachelor parties in my life – a long time ago, and never again, I assure you - and I can picture the kind of scenario he's talking about. This caller wants to hire a woman be mocked and made fun of by a bunch of drunken idiots because she’s a) big and b) being sexual. The fact that he’s conflating professional dommes with bachelor-party strippers is beside the point. The point is that I don’t approve of people hiring sex workers – of any size - specifically to demean them.
It’s interesting how rarely I run across this kind of nasty attitude. Perhaps it’s because I never deal with more than one man at a time. There’s something about groups of men, especially young men, that creates a space for that “Lord of Flies” mentality to happen. It’s sad that we live in a culture where some people are so terrified of their sexuality that they’re driven to scorn and humiliate proxy representations of it.
Perhaps the Mistress can give him a whack with the clue stick and make him realize.
Me: First of all, what you want is not a dominatrix, you want a stripper. Second, it’s a bad idea to hire someone and be rude to her. I do know some girls who specialize in performing at bachelor parties, I can give you their website.
Caller: Are they fat?
Me: No, hiring a big girl is a bad idea, because what you want to do would be really rude and disrespectful to her. You’d be making fun of her, and it would hurt her feelings.
Caller: (pauses) Well, it’s just a joke.
Me: I don’t think it’s funny. I bet she wouldn’t either. What if it were your sister or your girlfriend?
Click. He hangs up. I’m not surprised, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who could be schooled. I just hope he doesn’t get any ladies to come to the party – he may not be a lacrosse player, but he doesn’t seem like any client I’d want to deal with.
