More phone-related silliness... I just ordered a new phone and I amused myself downloading free ringtones for it. Want to hear?











I’m taking suggestions, so if you think you rate a custom ring, let me know what you think it should be…

Recent phone oddness….

I’ve been getting a spate of dirty phone messages lately from one particular person. That’s not distressing to me – I generally just fast-forward/delete such things, unless they sound unusual enough to be interesting. They’re generally pretty predictable, though.

The odd thing about these recent messages is that, if I didn’t know better, I’d think it was a woman. I suppose I don’t know better, actually. But the caller is certainly representing themselves as male, referring to his dick and how he wants to fuck me with it. It’s very standard vanilla dirty-talk, no reference to anything kinky.

But wow, this person’s voice? Very high. Very effeminate. It’s either a female-bodied person, or a very young boy whose voice has not changed yet. Or it’s a grown man I feel sorry for, because he’s got a voice about one shade more masculine than Marilyn Monroe.

It doesn’t sound forced, either. I’ve had crossdressers call me- in their female persona - with their voices pitched up high, and I know what that sounds like. This sounds like a child, frankly - so that's probably what it is. I’m not disturbed by it – boys will be boys – but it’s just a trifle weird to hear this sweet little voice talking about his cock and what he’d like to do with it when he could still be singing soprano in a choir.

Vacation

I just bought a pair of plane tickets. In July, Monk and I are going on a little trip together. Like, a vacation.

It’s sort of a wild concept for both of us. Going away somewhere, and not working. That’s not something either of us do much, that not-working thing. When you’re self-employed, there is no rest for the wicked. If you step off the treadmill, everything stops moving. And the Mistress? She doesn’t like it when things stop moving, no no.

I like what I do, and I like where I’m going, and I wouldn’t consider doing anything else. So I can see that’s there’s some value in getting away from things once in a while – but somehow I hardly ever do it. Because God knows, the world will come crashing down if I’m not there every single minute overseeing it, right? Right?

Uh, yeah, right, Matisse. Definitely time for a vacation.

(Yes, I know I just got back from Chicago. But while I love leather conferences, they’re not precisely a vacation. I think I get less sleep there then I do when I’m home. Leathercons are about see and be seen, learn something new, perform for the crowd, teach a class, wheel and deal, and make or freshen your professional/political contacts. So, lots of fun, but you often wind up more exhausted than when you arrived.)

Work is such a subjective word. Monk puts in a lot of hours in his shop making rope. He works hard with his body as well as his head. For me it’s different – the time I actually spend with my boys each day is often the smallest part of what I do, and it’s the fun part.

The rest of it? Not so entertaining. Administrative work – mainly answering the many emails and phone calls - probably takes up the greatest amount of my working day. The second biggest job is cleaning and maintaining my space and my equipment - including wardrobe. Way more time-consuming than people realize. That includes shopping for supplies – I go through boxes of latex gloves faster than a surgeon, for example.

And then there's writing, which is a whole separate job.

So Monk and I are taking off for a week. We’re not going to a kink event. We’re not bringing fetishwear. We’re not bringing huge toy-bags. (Just a few little things…) We are going someplace warm, and we’re going to sit on a beach, and do nothing productive whatsoever. For several days in a row. We’re going to eat a lot of food that’s bad for us, and have drinks with umbrellas in them, swim in the ocean, read trashy novels, watch bad cartoons on the laptop, and sleep late. That’s about it.

I think we won’t even tell where we are. Perhaps we’ll post pictures and see if ya’ll can guess. (If I know you in real-life and you know where we’re going, you MUST NOT say. Don’t spoil the game.)

And I’m so extremely pleased that Tambo feels just perfectly fine about us going off together. She is so the rocking partner.

So, once again – I’ll be gone from July 10th to the 18th. Meaning, the last day you can see me is the 9th, and the first day I’ll be around again is the 19th. I will be seeing people the weekend of the 7th and 8th, though, so if you’ve been yearning for a weekend date with me, let me know.

And try not to let the world crash while I’m gone, okay?

The new column. Fans of the weird voicemails, take note...

Yesterday was the birthday of two very cool people: Prince, and Jae. They have both given me a great deal of pleasure in my life, even though they have occasionally both done things that left me completely baffled. It must be because they're artists... So Happy Birthday to His Purpleness, and Happy Birthday to Jae...

I know, I’m not posting a lot this week, but hey, I’m way busy, getting back in the groove after being out of town. Plus, I have some additional writing to do right now, so ya’ll are getting shortchanged a bit.

***

So, some mundane and non-sexy stuff. Seattle people: I need a good yard person. Does anyone have any recommendations? I don’t need a landscape designer or anything, but I’d like more than just a guy with a mower, if you know what I mean. I could find that on CraigsList.

I admit right here that part of what I need done involves blackberry bushes. Yes. The dreaded blackberries. And just to make it even more fun, my house sits on a slope.

Before you start posting comments, be aware that no matter what you say, this will not be something I’ll be dealing with myself. These lily-white hands? No way. I will be paying someone to deal with this – that’s what I’m looking for. So, names and contact info, not strategies. Unless I can hook up a defibrillator up to the blackberries and kill them that way.

The other thing I need is a glass-repair person. And I have a resource for that, but if you're a kink-friendly professional glazier, talk to me, I have a job for you.

***

Fashion fans: The Herve Leger dress on eBay (see last Friday's entry) went to someone else, which is okay. It was four or maybe even five hundred dollars worth of pretty, but I'm not sure it was twelve hundred and some-odd dollars worth of pretty. So I’m not sad.

But what is very sad is that the gold and black Wolford dress seems not to exist. None of the stores have it, in the US or overseas. It's very cruel of them to tease me so. So, fine, whatever, Wolford. Michael Kors wouldn't do that to me would you, Michael? Even if I do think this cute little number is a trifle overpriced, I'm certain that Nordies would actually have it to sell it to me! (The skirt is sexy, too.)

And I like everything about this dress except the buckled straps. (Although: why is the model posed as if she has a stitch in her side?) My experience is that metal details on shoulder straps make them fall down. Now, of course I sometimes let straps slip off my shoulder just to be flirty and provocative. But only when I want them to.

***

Note to my boys: I’m probably going out of town from around July 10^th to around July 18^th.

***

I think that’s about I have to say. Now I must go back to work on other things…

One other Shibaricon story…And another story to file under: “Do as I say, not as I do.”

It was Friday night at the dungeon party. I had just played, and I was feeling pleasantly endorphin-buzzed. I was taking a stroll around the room, looking at the other scenes, and walked up to a group of people who fall into the category I call conference pals. Conference pals are folks from other cities that I tend to encounter a couple of times a year at the big kink events. Not close friends, but I enjoy them when I see them, and we occasionally swap an email here and there.

So a dozen people, give or take a few, were milling around one of the suspension frames, and it was obvious that some sort of scene was about to happen. So I stopped and began chatting with various people, waiting to see what was going to unfold.

Now, I’m not really sure how the next step developed. As I said, I was pretty endorphin-buzzed, and I was making no real effort to process anything analytically. I was just letting sights and sounds sort of flow over me. It was pleasant.

But somehow, a cute girl was bouncing up and down in front of me, saying, “Matisse! Matisse! You have to single-tail them! Will you single-tail them?”

Uh, what?

The story was thus: three guys were going to do hip-harness on themselves, much in the manner of climbers, and suspend themselves, next to one another, from the suspension frame, and lean back so that they were hanging upside down. Their female friends had announced their intention of tormenting them with whatever kinky implements were at hand.

The whole situation had a rather charming touch of adolescence to it. The guys were showing off their rope skills and their ability to endure a physically strenuous position. The women were testing their mettle by upping the stakes, while still rewarding them with a lot of feminine attention. It reminded me of being a kid on the playground. And while this certainly wasn’t your traditional BDSM scene, we call doing BDSM “playing” for a reason. It is play, for grown-ups.

And then one of the ladies decided: hey, there’s Matisse! She should be the one to apply the sting to the suspended boys.

So let me get this straight: three good-looking men are going to hang themselves upside down, and you want me to hit them with a very nasty whip? Hmmn, do I want to do this? Let me think about that.

One nano-second later; “Sure!”

The whip was fetched. Now, what I knew but did not say was: it was a friend's whip, which means it was a four-foot single-tail. The single-tail I usually use? A three-foot.

Also: I’ve never single-tailed anyone while they were upside down. They were all wearing pants, which meant that their legs and ass would be less vulnerable. (Although a single-tail can bite you through your clothes, for sure.) But their backs would be at an unusual angle, and fairly low.

So, a longer whip than I’m used to, and a different angle of attack, and three guys who I have never played with and don’t know the first thing about. Oh, and let’s not forget I’m endorphin-high.

Does this deter me? Not at all. It’s not like a girl gets this kind of opportunity every day!

“You guys consent to this, right? Good.” I went and stood behind them as they swung into their positions. The frame resembled a child’s swing set: V-shaped supports with a long pole in the middle. They were lined up like bats getting ready for a day’s sleep. Only I was going to keep them from resting easy.

Before I could strike, though, a friend appeared beside me. “Take off your top,” he suggested.

“What?” I was wearing a very sexy Dolce and Gabbana leopard print bustier, with matching panties, and black boots. “Why? They’re facing away from me, anyway.”

“Look, you’re gonna beat the guys, the least you can do is do it topless.”

I rolled my eyes slightly. “I think you’re sympathizing with them a bit too much. And with this long whip, I’ll probably catch myself on the backswing, too.” But there seemed to be some crowd support for the idea, so I shrugged, popped open the tiny hooks and eyes, and discarded it.

So there I was, the Topless Top. I started slow, getting my range and also getting a sense of how much each man could take. It was fun to see if I could catch one man with a good sharp stroke and make the other two react in sympathy/anticipation.

It was also interesting to see how much I respond to verbal feedback. Two of the men were being pretty stoic. One of them, B, I’ve seen play before, and I know he’s a high-capacity guy, so that was all right.

The other, L, I have never seen bottom ever. In fact, I hadn’t even known he switched until then. So I had no idea where I was on his pain-scale.

But the fact that they weren’t making much noise made me inclined to hit them harder. The third man, though, was giving me much more of a reaction, moving and making noises, so I found myself easing up a bit just a bit on the strokes I gave him. Neither reaction was wrong, but if definitely informed my level of intensity.

The scene didn’t last long – there’s no way it could have. Hanging upside down is stressful enough as it is, and I caught them all some pretty stingy strokes. So, maybe fifteen minutes or so? My sense of time wasn’t at its sharpest.

The amusing coda is: because someone present was the official Shibaricon photographer, photos exist of this little event. I haven’t seen any – I imagine it’ll take awhile before the photographer is able to process through all of them. But I’m sure some will float my way sometime, and if I deem it appropriate – and get everyone else’s permission – I’ll put one up…

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

For your entertainment...

The new column in The Stranger...

The other side of yesterday's story.

Legal Note: The conviction of kinkster-gone-too-far Glenn Marcus was upheld. Here's some interesting analysis of it by a kinky lawyer.

Bye!

Ok, I have a busy day, but here's one story from Shibaricon....

It was rather late Sunday night, and I was sort of hanging out in the dungeon, thinking that I should really go upstairs to bed, but not quite wanting to leave the last party.

As I was strolling idly around the room, looking at the various scenes, a gentleman of my acquaintance, whom we shall call L, came up to me and said, “Matisse! You have to come over here and help me.”

What could it be? He led me over to where a lovely young woman was standing tied to a post. Very beautifully tied, in a body harness and lots of tight rope. L explained that she was a reader of mine and that she was terrified of me. So, he said, I should step into the scene for a brief while and do something mean to her.

Now, it’s not something I teach people to do, but it’s actually not at all unheard of for people to do what I call grazing on someone else’s scene. The thing is: You can’t invite yourself, the top has to invite you. And you better be sure the top knows what he/she is doing. And you need to ask some questions about what’s okay to do and what’s not.

Or else…you’d better be like me and think, what the hell, I’ll be able to figure that out as I go along. I am so bad sometimes, I amaze myself. So understand that I am not advocating this kind of thing, but it does happen.

I stepped right up to the pretty girl, who was giggling madly and nervously, and she started sliding, still tied, down the pole, until she was sitting at my feet, butt on the floor and legs out in front of her.

“I hear you’re scared of me,” I said, looking down at her. “But hey, I'm not scary, I’m a pussycat, really…”

I had no toys of any kind with me, so I decided to use one of Monk’s tricks. I placed my booted foot on her tightly bound and charmingly helpless-looking breasts, and started to lean my weight onto them. First a little and then – encouraged by the deep, guttural, good-pain noises she was making – rather a lot. I assume she’s had some kind of warm-up, I thought. Oh well, if she hasn’t, she’s having it now.

Then I sort of rotated my foot a bit. More noises. It looked pretty painful. What fun.

When I took my boot away, there was a nice, boot-shaped red mark on her chest. Then I knelt down and slapped the sides of her breasts a bit, eliciting more nice squeals.

At one point L came up, inserted a piece of banana into her mouth, and informed her that she was not allowed to chew it. She just had to hold it in her mouth while I hurt her.

“Oh, that is so mean,” I said. “See, I would never do anything like that to you. I just do stuff like this.” And I pulled out a trademark of my play with Monk: I got her pectoral muscles between my thumb and forefingers and squeezed, really hard. That got some good loud noises.

Pretty Girl’s husband was standing a few feet away the whole time, grinning and making encouraging gestures. That’s always nice, to have the spousal blessing.

So I did that sort of thing for a few minutes, and then L took back over. I often find it delightful to do little cameo appearances like that. It’s like the tapas of kink.

Shibaricon

I'm checking off my lists: My hair is done and my clothes are packed. Both the house-sitters are in place and fully briefed. I took the battery out of the stun gun so it wouldn't accidentally go off in my luggage and get me put on the no-fly list. (But I bet they still search my suitcase.) I think I'm ready.

So I fly to Chicago today, and I return next Tuesday the 29th, and thus I'll be taking calls again as of Wednesday. Otherwise, my business phone will be turned off most of the time I'm gone. I will try to answer emails if it's a genuinely time-sensitive matter, but don't hang your hat on that.

And to all the people who whom I already owe emails: sorry, sorry, sorry, I have been so busy. When I get back next week, I'll get all caught up, I swear!

Now I'm looking forward to a highly amusing weekend....

I was going to write a long-ish post about this lesbian porn movie premier that Monk and I attended Wednesday night, because it was an interesting experience on several levels: social, political, sexual, professional…

But it’s been a busy few days, and that seems like too much effort right now. So I’ll talk about that next week…

Meanwhile, let’s talk about something simple, like shopping. (The rest of this post is all about fashion stuff, if that bores you, click away now...) I need some summer clothes and lucky me, I have some money put aside for that. Two weeks ago, Armani handed me a very sweet card and said, “I know you’ve been wanting to do some shopping – this is for you, to spend on you.” Inside the card was, well, enough to do a very substantial amount of retail therapy! Thank you, Armani, you do spoil me.

But I have not had a free afternoon to actually hit the stores, until now. (Admittedly, I have been scoring some stuff on eBay. Some brand-new David Kahn jeans, really nice, for about a third of what they go at Nordstrom, and a Wolford t-shirt style dress.)

But I want some summer sandals, maybe something like this, and some shorts, and some short sleeved t-shirts.

And okay, a dress. Or two. I like dresses. And I’m really trying to restrain myself from buying this one, because it’s more than I need to spend on one item, and it’s not exactly a dress you could wear all summer long, is it? I mean, without people noticing. But the colors are so pretty…

It’s hard to find dresses to my exact taste. What I really want is something in a sleeveless or tank-style, in clear jewel tones, in a sleek knit, or something sheath-like, with princess seams. I know those big shapeless baby-doll things are in fashion at the moment, but forget it, I am not spending all this time at the gym to just wear a sack. (Some empire-waists work on me, it depends on the cut.)

I’ll also have to go get humid over the David Yurman case in Nordies. Of course, there are some other nice designers there too - Lagos and Judith Ripka do lovely things. But I like the way David does diamonds and white metal. I didn't care very much about jewelry until just recently, but now that I'm wearing it, I like it. (Armani, I think this your fault.)

Since I am going to Shibaricon next week, the evil imp in me is so incredibly tempted to buy – and wear – this dress. But I’m sure that would be rude of me. Really. Plus, someone might take me seriously, and that would just be… bad. I am not a kimono girl!

A link to the new column.

Note: I've already gotten one email - and I expect I'll get more - from someone telling me, "Defibrillators? Oh, no, they're so easy to use, really, you could do it..."

Understand, I do not doubt that I have the simple wit to plug the thing in, read the directions, and then zap someone.

But I am in no way qualified to decide that someone needs their heart jump-started. I firmly decline to take any such responsibility upon myself. Dammit, Jim, I'm a dominatrix, not a doctor. Doctors don't spank people in their offices*, and I don't diagnose heart attacks in mine. That's my position - one firmly supported by my lawyer, I might add - and I'm sticking to it.


(*Yes, yes, I'm expecting a lot of pervy remarks about the evil things doctors do to people in the name of medicine. Knock yourselves out, kids.)

Some pictures from the party: Monk likes to do bondage on the coffee table, and he got a very cute and flexible girl as a model... Stretch, and bend. Pretty!

I’m busy recovering from the party, writing a column, and doing evil things to sweet boys. The post-tax-season slump is definitely over! I’m pretty much booked up until I get back from Chicago on the 29^th. I like looking at my calendar on Monday afternoon and thinking, yes, I know what I’m doing, and when, for this whole week. Make the rest of my life much easier to plan.

Amusing moment of yesterday: I went in to my doctor to have a routine physical. I'm an extremely healthy girl overall, no real issues, but the doc wanted to do some blood work to just check my various levels of things and get a baseline. You know the drill.

So I went into the lab area and sat down to get the draw. The tech was a good-looking young woman, maybe early twenties, and just slightly butch-of-center, who I strongly suspect was a lesbian. She gave me The Look, you see.

What’s The Look? It’s a look that straight women do not give other females. You only get it from women who are sexual with women. It’s usually just for a moment, unless she’s seriously cruising you, but it is, shall we say, an acknowledgement of sexual possibility. Usually it’s just the woman acknowledging it to herself, not to you, but if you watch closely, you’ll see it. The eyes widen for a minute when she looks at you, that’s always a tip-off.

Not seeing The Look doesn’t mean that a woman is heterosexual – she might just be very subtle, or just not in the headspace. But if you do get it, it definitely means the woman giving it to you is not 100% straight.

I got it from the tech. How nice. I don’t think she meant me to see it, I just think she’s just young and hasn’t yet learned how to school her expressions. So I gave it back to her, somewhat less subtly. And that seemed to completely throw her for a loop. Even nicer.

She began sort of fumbling around with syringes, stammering, and left the area – twice - to get various vials and labels and such that she needed. I just sat there smiling at her with one arched eyebrow, like she was a sweet but clumsy submissive.

It did occur to me that deliberately flustering someone who was about to jab me with a needle might not be the best idea. But I've actually been stuck with needles by some extremely mean people, and I handled that, so I figured I could deal with this. Because it was fun.

She dithered around a bit more, and then tied the rubber strap around my upper arm. “Um, is that - is that okay?”

“That’s just fine,” I said, slowly, holding her gaze. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty easy to get blood from.”

“Um, great, okay…” She dropped her eyes. I watched her focus on the vein in the bend of my elbow and stick the needle in. She glanced up at me as she did so. I didn’t flinch. I smiled.

“Sorry,” she said, for no apparent reason. “I mean… it’s no fun getting stuck with a needle.”

I contemplated answers I might make to that, but my conscience spoke up. Matisse, don’t mess with the kid’s head anymore, unless you’re serious. And you’re not.

So I just said pleasantly, “It’s fine.” We both watched my dark red blood fill the three vials.

“You’re right,” she said. “You are easy to get blood from.”

I couldn’t resist. “I'm pretty good at taking it, too.”

She blinked uncertainly and was quiet for a moment. “Um, well, thank you for being so, uh, helpful.”

I think I was probably the opposite of helpful, but I sat silently and let her fuss with taping the cotton ball to my arm. Then I stood up and gave her The Look again, just because I’m bad that way.

“Goodbye,” I said with a meaningful half-smile, and stalked off down the hall.

I wonder what she thought about that whole little incident.

Did I mention busyness? Much, much with the busyness here. But good busyness!

Go read the new column...

Bye!

I noticed a familiar question in the comments yesterday. “Have you ever thought of writing a book?” I get asked that all the time. It’s flattering. And someday I probably will write a book all about my experiences as a sex worker.

Not for a long time, though. Because you see, if you write a tell-all book, you better just write the end on your career in the sex industry, too, because it’ll be all over. Whether you meant to retire or not, your sex work business will tank. I’ve seen it happen before. There are several reasons why.

The primary thing is: it’s going to make clients, both existing and potential, nervous. And justifiably so. Some of my guys have given me permission – even encouragement – to mention details of our sessions in this blog. But most people are concerned about their privacy, and I don’t blame them. Discretion is a big part of what I offer. Even if/when I do write a memoir, I will be extremely careful to fuzz up the details, and the sheer passage of time is a filter all by itself. But publishing a book now would send a message: what happens in Vegas doesn’t necessarily stay in Vegas. That’s not a message one wants to send if one is still in the business.

There are other things as well. The legal problems are less an issue for me than they would be for, say, a full-service escort. But I still exist in a gray area, and to some degree, I am dependent upon the fact that law enforcement simply has bigger fish to fry than lil’ ole me. I’m high-profile enough as it is, with The Stranger column. Publishing a book would only increase the chances that some politician with a moral axe to grind decides to make a fuss about why this perverted harlot is allowed to ply her disgusting trade in our fair city, etc, etc.

There’s also the mystery factor. Once you show people what’s behind the curtain, the wizard isn’t very impressive anymore. Obviously I’ve chosen to reveal certain things, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing about my career at all. But I pick and choose, leave many things unsaid, and spin events to best illustrate the points I want to make. This is, after all, just a blog. It is understood to be a casual and limited form of writing.

But a book is different. To write a worthwhile memoir, you can’t be so selective, you can’t leave out crucial facts and events that shaped the experiences you’re writing about. You have to at least acknowledge all the realities, or else you’re lying to your readers, and the book becomes a hollow shell. I personally know of several women who’ve written books about their sex work experiences who chose to leave out significant pieces of information about their lives. It made reading their books a somewhat odd experience for me. When it’s my turn, I don’t want to do that.

This is my career. I plan on doing it for a good long time. So, no memoir for a while. Ask me again in ten years.

I have thought about writing something that draws on what I’ve learned as sex worker without actually detailing exactly what I did, when, with whom. A sex-advice book would be fun, and I could carefully seed it with selected stories of my own. Or a book about poly, or kink in general.

However, at the moment, I’m pursuing other venues for my writing. I’m interested in writing non-kinky fiction, and I have a finished manuscript that I’m in talks with an agent about. I say finished, but of course, no book is ever really finished until it goes to press, and I need to polish mine up here and there.

But sorry, I can’t tell you any more about it here, because when it gets published, it’ll be under another name. Actually, I hardly even talk about the MS with people in real life, because I think the more you talk about a writing project, the less you do it. I’m sort of superstitious that way. So when it sells, I’ll probably mention it, but until then, I’m not inclined to chat about it.

I just have to do it.

I'm a busy girl today, so, for the benefit of the newer readers, here's a list of some oldie-goldie favorites from the archive.
Sadly, most of the original comments were lost when I had to switch to Haloscan. That's a shame, because some good points were made.
But anyway, read and enjoy...

***

If you're not familiar with the ways of kink, here's a good place to start: The Ethics of BDSM

My opinions, experiences, and general musings on life
Human Interest Story
BDSM Word Of The Day
Mr. Defensive
Open Secret
The Sixty Four Thousand Dollar Question
and the follow-up post: Comments On Female Clients
What I'm Not
Word Whores: The "Not My Dog" post
Poly Stars In Alignment
Public Encounter
You Dirty...
French Farce Weekend
Sex Positive? I Don't Think So!
Sex Index
Looking at Women
Demeaning To Women (And Men, Too.)
Gym Guy, Part One
Gym Guy, Part Two

About Monk (aka "Roman")
The Naked Truth
He's Just A...

Playing with my boys:
Flying High Again
My Idea of a Good Time

Conversations about the biz:
Advice on Clients
More Advice
Dinner with Miss K: Furniture Fantasy
Conversation with Miss K: Her Weird Phone Calls
Tips For New Sex Workers
Feminism and Sex Work

And, everyone's favorite category: Strange Communiqués From People: The phone calls, the emails, and the voicemails.

The Thirty Seconds Rule
Near Goddess Experience
Sexual Darwinism
And This Would Be My Problem Why?
Legend In His Own Mind
New Cell Phone - Old Memories
New York State Of Mind
Master and Commander
Weirdass Email Of The Week
Phone Messages
I Couldn't Make This Stuff Up (I know everyone likes Ryker Blackstar, but this guy is actually my personal favorite.)
From The Malebag
More Email Silliness
Freakazoids
By Rights He Should Be Taken Out And Hung
Barbie Reborn
Mentoring
Don't Worry, Be Happy
Sex Machine

Letter From A Reader

Greetings Mistress,

Consider it a newbie question - how do vanilla types who want to role play start? I guess my situation is that I would like to try to add some excitement but my other half of 20+ years doesn't really get the fantasy thing . . .so I thought, I might ask for a few tips on setting the stage...

This is a good example of why communication skills are such a highly valued trait in the BDSM community. I’m perfectly willing to help this person – but I don’t really know what they mean by the terms they are using.

Vanilla types who want to do role-play? Well, ok, role play doesn’t have to involve dominance and submission. I’m sure there are egalitarian role plays. (Don’t ask me to name one, though.)

But even a role-play with no power differential is going involve fantasy – that is the whole point, surely - so if your partner doesn’t get that, how exactly are you going to add it to your erotic life?

And the phrase “setting the stage” – to me, that would refer to objects and surroundings, not the acting out of the role play itself. Is this reader asking me about where to play and what props to use? But I can’t answer that without knowing the nature of the roles.

This is why, when people negotiate with me, I don’t allow them to say things like this. It’s that list thing I was talking about a few days ago. Words such as “spanking” have a very precise meaning. Phrases like “a fantasy role play” are so vague as to be useless.

Let me offer a possible re-write of this letter…It’s just a guess at what the person might, possibly, have meant. I may be completely off base, I don’t know.

Dear Mistress Matisse,

I’d like to do an erotic role-play with my long-term partner that doesn’t involve any intense sensation or BDSM trappings. Are there are any you can suggest? Where should we do this? And what kinds of things might we do?

My answer: I’d try a role-play where the power differential is one that’s at least somewhat familiar and non-threatening. Boss/employee is a good one. You can do it in almost any physical surroundings, it doesn’t require unusual props, and either identity can be the one directing the action. You can be the typical bossy boss with an underperforming employee. Or you can be the boss who’s been caught embezzling or leering at his secretary once too often, and who is thus over a barrel.

While you can do it at home, it’s often easier to step out of your everyday self in non-everyday settings. Consider getting a nice hotel room to add a little spice.

If doing a role-play is your idea, regardless of whether you want to be the top or the bottom, you should have a basic idea of where you want it to go, and you should communicate that to your partner, very clearly. For example: “I've called you into my office and I scold you for not doing the quarterly reports on time and threaten to fire you. You're acting all flirty, and you offer to make it up to me by giving me a blow-job. I pretend to resist for a minute, but then I can’t deny my attraction to you. While you suck me, I confess that I’ve been watching you bend over your desk and lusting after your ass for weeks, so you bend over my desk and pull up your skirt and tell me to kiss it, if I like it so much.”

That's all just off the top of my head. My other advice: Pat Califia wrote an excellent book called Sensuous Magic: A Guide for Adventurous Lovers that had a lot of really good step-by-step instructions for sexy role-plays that aren't about heavy BDSM. Unfortunately, the book has gone out of print, but you can find used copies around. Anyone who's looking to play some sexy games in their relationship would find it useful reading.

The new column. And... happy Friday. Bye!

Dancing Shoes

I bet you think I would never wear a pair of shoes like this.


I'd say it depends where I get to walk with them... You should see me in my little white golf skirt and white top. I need a golf club, though.

Strange, though - even though I've never worn these shoes outside my dungeon, they seem to have some stains on the soles. Huh, how could that have happened? (Don't click if you're squeamish.)