Yikes! I'm deep in the usual about-to-leave-town, have-a-million-things-to-do panic. But as promised, my advice to those concerned about the recent fake-sex-ad issue on Craig's List. Dan Savage also addresses the incident in his column, and I agree with his take on it.

Bye!

I came home last night after kissing Roman goodbye for a few days – due to our jam-packed schedule for the next week, we won’t have another real date until Thursday the 28^th, so we had to get a lot of kissing (and other things) in before that separation. I mean, we’ll see each other at Folsom, but he’s there to have face time with some of his major customers, and sell rope/perform at the street fair. It’ll be a mad swirl of activity, so we’ll have some stolen smooches, but we’re not counting on a lot more than that. However, as Max and I noticed while he was away on his trip, sometimes missing the one you love can be a sweet thing, when you know it won't be for too-too long.

Since I’m on the subject of relationships, perhaps I should give you an update on the various people in my world. There’s a sweet young thing, often to be found in my house lately, who we will call Puck. (Yes, as in Shakespeare’s Puck.) She’s wearing Max’s collar. She survived what sounded like a fairly eventful road-trip with Max and she still seems to like him, so that’s good. And she’s going down to Folsom with him. Just in case you were wondering what kinky people do for fun on a chilly Tuesday night: yesterday she and Max took part in a rubber-duck race. That’s not a typo. In celebration of Puck’s birthday, a number of people went to the new flowing fountain at Cal Anderson Park with those yellow plastic rubber ducks and raced them. While I’m told competition was brutal, it’s unclear to me who won. However, when I came home from my date with Roman, I found a souvenir on my keyboard.

Looks perfectly appropriate for “Talk Like a Pirate” day.

I have been asked about Xavier. Yes, he’s a real person, and yes, he’s a lot of fun. I’m not being deliberately mysterious about him, it’s simply that unlike Max and Roman, Xavier has not expressed any interest in being written about, and he has no public persona in the BDSM community that I can reference. What I can say about him is that he played me the song “Brand New Key”, as covered by an artist named RobinElla, and now it is totally stuck in my head.

Rope. Rubber duckies. Rollerskates. So goeth the days and nights of a professional dominatrix.

Example #437 of how I have the coolest clients in the world: In response to my angsty post about buggy OS reinstalls and missing drivers, the sweet guy who actually gave me the otherwise-fabulous laptop to begin with (whom I am hereby dubbing Jet because I hate doing the one-initial thing), called me yesterday, made arrangements to meet me in a coffee shop, and spent an hour and half of his not-very-abundant time fixing my machine. I’m very happy now. Yes, I could have paid someone to do it, and given a lot of time and patience I might have been able to puzzle it out myself, but I’m extremely grateful to Jet for taking the trouble. My guys are so good to me.

Other client events: I also met with a new client yesterday, who was so extremely nervous that he was sweating and visibly trembling. I mean – this was happening while he was just sitting in the living room talking to me. I was concerned that he had some medical condition I would need to be careful of, so I asked him and he told me, no, he was just nervous. It was sort of endearing, although when someone is that nervous, it’s hard for me to tell if the scene is working for them. I have a number of ways of measuring enthusiasm and overall happiness with the scene – facial expression, body language, tone of voice, and, ahem, other physical indications… Someone who walks into the room in a highly nervous state skews all those cues. So one has to just take them on faith. Fortunately it was not a physically intense scene – mainly foot worship, which happens to be one of my favorites. He was very sweet guy and I hope we meet again.

Very Good Thing In My Life:

Max is home from his trip! Yay! My sweetheart is back! We get to spend 4 days together and then he leaves Friday for Folsom, and I leave the day afterwards.

A Not-So-Good Thing:

My laptop is acting up. Basically, I could not reliably connect to the web, and I thought it was a software conflict issue, so I re-installed the OS from the boot disk. That didn't go very smoothly, though - I got a lot of messages about how it couldn't find various files. I went on with the install anyway, and it boots up and everything, but now the ethernet light isn't showing green and I cannot get an internet connection at all. Arg.

I’m leaving town Saturday and this needs to be resolved by then. Anyone have a laptop repair place they like close to Capitol Hill?

Edited to add: The other good thing? I just realized - there's an H&M in San Francisco now! w00t! I am so there.

I'll write a real post for tomorrow, but in the meantime, enjoy the new column....

My dear readers: Yes, I am very much aware of the RF Jason thing. I am always pleased to know what's on your minds, but please, at last count I'd gotten some fifty-odd emails telling me about it. I'm on it, really. Look for a column with my opinion in next week's Stranger.

What did I do over the weekend?

Well, I implemented a new (to me and Xavier, anyway) form of bondage: twenty-five pound bags of salt! My ever-thoughtful Roman conceived of the idea, and provided me with the bags themselves. He uses them in his dye process. It’s so nice to have sweetly supportive poly-partners.

Xavier lay down on the floor and I piled them on his arms and legs, pinning him (mostly) down. It was great fun, but dammit, Xavier, being both large and strong, is not an easy guy to immobilize. Perhaps fifty-pound bags next time.

And I also went out to dinner and a movie with my darling Roman. As a reward for a booth-bunny job well done, he took me to see Crank. Roman is very good at picking movies I'll like, and this one stars Jason Statham, who I have loved since I saw him in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.

Afterwards we had dinner at the Buenos Aires Grill, where we had a meat orgy to rival the BBQ we ate in Austin last week. And we still took home a box full of leftovers - there was about twice as much food as could eat, and we ate a lot. So I strongly recommend the family-style mixed grill, even if I did accidentally consume some sweetbread before I realized that I was eating a pancreas, for god’s sake. I am very strange about food sometimes. Muscle meats = good, organ meats = eeeeeeew! I know it’s absurd, but there it is.

Where is my sweet Max in this weekend, you ask? Out of town, actually, on his annual roar-around-at-high-speed-road-trip. I hope he and his companion are have a lovely time. While I miss him, I have been enjoying having a few days to myself quite thoroughly. I expect to continue to do so…

Today, I have not one but two pieces in The Stranger. The regular column, and a separate article about local porn producers Rodney Moore and Farrell Timlake.

In other news: I so cannot wait to see this show. It's going to be amazing.

Bye!

So, now that the roaring insanity of my life has been whipped back onto its haunches… I believe I promised to tell ya'll something about my trip to Texas.

I have to consider what can I talk about, though. It would be indiscreet to tell some of the stories here, you see. Like how during one of the bondage (?) classes, Extremely Annoying Presenter X was adroitly skewered by a barbed remark from the back row, and I laughed so hard I had to duck down in the booth to try to control myself. No, I shouldn't say any more about that one.

Some of them you just had to be there for. Like GrayDancer’s keynote speech – soon to be featured on his podcast – during which he stripped down from a garish kimono, to a t-shirt that said “100% Kimono Boy”*, and then to a rope corset and g-string, and then to no clothes whatsoever. Yep, that's right, buck naked, in front of all of us. That took guts. I generally hate speeches and ceremonies, but I liked this one.

The important part is: Twisted Monk sold a ton of rope. I mean – wow. A lot. And it was really interesting for me to be there sort of incognito. (I was not introducing myself as Matisse, you see.) A handful of people knew who I was, but I think I largely flew under the radar, which was just fine with me. I get plenty of time in the spotlight - this was Roman’s show. It was great to see all the people that wanted to see him and talk to him and get rope from him – he worked really hard to create what he’s got, and I’m proud of him.

We did co-star Saturday night, though, because the same sweet pretty girl that we did the kidnapping scene with offered us a re-match at the dungeon party. So we did what any right-thinking perverts would do. We threw Miss Red down on the floor, Roman sliced off her clothes with a knife, and we proceeded to pummel, clamp, flog, crop and pierce her naked body.

Now, there are some thing you can count on at any dungeon party, and one of them is that is you get a cute girl naked, people are going to stop and look at your scene. So I’m thinking that was one of the reasons why, when I stepped back for a moment to catch my breath, I saw that damn near everyone who wasn’t engaged in play already was standing at the minimum polite distance away, watching us. It was flattering, if slightly startling, because I hadn’t been aware of them all coming to our corner of the room.

But perhaps another reason was that Roman and I put on a good show when we co-top. The party attendees weren’t the only ones watching, however. I forget sometimes that other places are not as bloodsports-friendly as Seattle.

Snippet of an email I sent to a freind the next day:

Monk and I thrashed this cute girl last night, and the damn Dungeon Monitor stood over our scene the whole time scowling. I think he didn't like us doing needles. But hey, there were no rules against them.

My pal's reply:

Imagine - the Austin ROPE Symposium, and the DM didn't like needles! You are such a nasty transgressive girl.

Oh yeah. I forgot. You get spoiled in your hometown, when everybody knows you, and the DMs don’t bother you. Especially when the hometown is Seattle. The scene we did with Miss Red was pretty to look at, extremely fun to do, and definitely physically intense for her. However, it would not be regarded as edgy or dangerous here in Seattle. In Austin, however, the DM acted as if we were about to do heart surgery with chainsaws. Oy. It did not enhance the mood.

But we had a good time in spite of that. There were actually a number of attractive Austin people I would have enjoyed playing with, and I regretted that by Sunday night I was really too tired to do another scene. But perhaps I’ll get other opportunities.

______

*Gray is not, in fact, a Kimono Boy, which is what made it so funny. However, I imagine that there probably was a serious Kimono Boy or two in the audience.

Also: I have time tomorrow and Friday, so if you've been thinking of seeing me, call me...

Okay, I know I said I’d tell stories today – but I’m buried under a small avalanche of obligations and deadlines. More soon, I swear.
I will share one snippet of information, though. If you ever wish to engage in a meat orgy near Austin, this would be the place. And dear god, they even have mail-order. That's dangerous. Thanks to Goose & Gander, Hannah, and Red & Chance for turning Roman and I on to this fleshy delight, and for all their helpful hospitality this past weekend.

Back Home
Short Version: I had a very good time in Texas. I ate great BBQ, thrashed a cute girl, helped Roman sell a lot of rope, and hung out with some cool folks.
Now I have to get caught up with my life after being gone for five days, so more stories tomorrow!

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 6pm.” Or, “I’m only in town until Tuesday.” But please do not leave your entire erotic history on my voicemail. Please. If I wind up meeting you, I’m going to ask you all those questions again anyway, and if I don’t, the point is moot. The entire message should not be longer than about fifteen seconds, maybe twenty. More than that and you’re fast losing my interest.

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….

In a startling break with tradition: the new-column link today, instead of tomorrow! Feel free to express your thoughts about pubic hair here. I know you'll have some, because apparently it's a real hot-button topic to everyone but me*.



* Okay, maybe not everyone but me. But good lord, the people commenting over on Salon.com were quite, quite vehement about their views on pubes.

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?

I'm busy writing a column, so meanwhile, enjoy two photos of my dear sadistic partner Max rigging a sweet young thing at the Abbey party. That ceiling is twenty feet high, by the way. Reason number 47 why I'm really glad we're poly.

Getting Ready For Takeoff
In The Air

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.

The new column - fans of the phone calls, take note.

Meanwhile, everyone around here is gearing up for the Abbey party this weekend, which should be tremendous. The outfit Monk is wearing - well, he's just going to put the rest of us fetish-fashion queens in the shade, that's all. I'll be there early to help greet guests, and keep things going smoothly, and Max will be there rigging in a prominent position. The worst part of the evening will be trying to stay away from the desserts Matt is providing. It's going to be fabulous.

Speaking of fashion, I need an opinion from the girls who dig purses. I myself hate them. But I need a bag to carry my stuff around in, obviously. So I'm thinking about buying a black nylon Kate Spade bag, just because it's so perfectly basic that I'll never have to think about it. So what do you think: this one - a little more hip in terms of style, but perhaps a bit bigger than I really need. Or this one: smaller and trimmer, but is it too suburban?

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 Italy. I liked the story, although the writing wasn’t all that good, in my opinion. But it does demonstrate that a murder trial where the accused become celebrities is not unique to modern America.

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.