I meant to write an account of a strange man who hit on me, strangely, in the grocery store the other day.

But it’s a quarter of two in the morning as I type this, and I think I should go to bed instead. It’s Monk’s fault…

But for your entertainment: A highly interesting index of prices for sex workers in major American cities. Looks like Seattle is slightly below the national average. $234 dollars seems a bit low, but of course, it is an average. I know ladies who charge much more – certainly I do myself – but Craig’s List is full of women charging considerably less. Amusing to see that my old hometown, Tampa, is right up there. And it looks like Toledo is the place to go if you’re looking for a real deal.

I have not had time to explore the whole site, but I think there’s also a page where you can answer a bunch of questions and figure out, hypothetically, how much money you would get paid. But I’m dubious about how accurate such a figure would be, because what a survey can’t measure is good marketing and good customer service. Without those, no matter how young and pretty you are, you’re very limited. And with them, a woman who isn’t a perfect ten still can do very well indeed.

Wow, I was bitchy in that last post, wasn't I?

But never mind, I am feeling back to my usual kind and generous self. Which is good, since I was in QFC yesterday and a man approached me in such a text-book bad way that had I been feeling bitchy, I probably would have snapped his head off. But I did not. I'll tell you that story later.

Right now I am obsessed with a dress that a clever reader turned me on to...

Here's the original link. Here's another shot of it. Is that not fabulous?

It seems that the designer's name is Iceberg, and the only place I can find that designer is Sak's, but - Sak's does not have this dress. And I may die if I don't have this dress. So excuse me while I go look for it.

I was in a cranky mood for the early part of the day yesterday. A session with Jae and one of our favorite guys improved my outlook considerably, but if you didn’t call me yesterday, you’re a lucky man, because I was feeling bitchy.

Not everyone was lucky.

I was sitting in traffic when my public line rang. I never answer that phone anymore, as I’m sure of you have noticed. Sorry, I just let it go to voicemail and deal with it when I’m in the mood. Which I admit often takes a couple of days. Sometimes I don't get it for longer than that, and then the message is two weeks old, and it seems silly to answer it. Yes, I am that busy.

But there I was, crawling along in traffic, bored and bitchy, so I looked at the phone, and I recognized the number as someone who had called me multiple times over the last 48 hours. Now, calling and calling and calling, when I haven’t called you back, is most often a bad idea. Two, maybe three time is the max. True, occasionally the phone misbehaves and eats the messages, or the message gets scrambled and is unintelligible. But in general, multiple calls = weirdo.

(I know there are guys who can't leave a callback number. I suggest you get a private email account and go that route instead. It just makes us ladies less nervous than seeing the same number popping up on the caller id.

And if I know you, and I haven’t called you back, then it’s not you, I’m just insanely busy. Email would be better for that, too. I’m really shifting over to email, it’s just much easier to track everything, and I can read and answer to a hundred emails faster than I can even listen to - let alone respond to - thirty-plus voicemails a day.

So I looked at the phone and thought, He’s probably a whack-job. But then I answered the call. I don’t know why. Perhaps I was looking for someone to be bitchy to.

I got my wish.

Me: hello?

Caller: Did you get my message?

Oh, were you calling Mistress Marvolo The Mind Reader? Or did you think you were on a video-phone? I pause lengthily and then say:

Me: (in an acidly-sweet drawl that could eat through steel) Well, I don’t know if I did, since I don’t know who I’m talking to, now do I? Who is this?

Caller: Joe.

I wait for him to add some other identifying information. He doesn’t. He just says:

Caller: I left you a message.

In a manner that implies he’s the only person in the world who could have left me a message, ever, and thus, nothing more need be said about that. However, even over the phone, I can tell that he is just quivering with the need to say something. I have no idea what it’s going to be, but I know this: it’s going to be odd. He just has that sort of whacko cadence to his voice.

So I open up the door for him, since he’s clearly not going to stop calling me until he asks me for whatever it is.

Me: What is it you want, Joe?

Caller: Will you take a swim with me?

For a moment I think he has said, “Take a swing at me”, which would be a sort of gauche way of asking for a scene, but which would be comprehensible coming from someone who didn’t have any BDSM vocabulary.

But no, he said swim. Which, I have to say, is the first time I’ve been asked for that. Points to Joe for originality. Some kind of bathing suit fetish? I have met lyrca/spandex fetishists who liked swimsuits before, although none of them felt the need to actually get into a body of water. Or maybe “take a swim” is some obscure slang that I don’t know about, for something kinky/sexual. Golden showers? I don’t know.

But when it comes down to “Do I want to be in a room with Joe”, I know the answer, and the answer is…

Me: No. Goodbye.

I hang up, and program him into the phone. SWIMGUY. Sorry, Joe, it’s not wet enough around here for that.

Various Things

In regards to the “You look puffy” guy: An alert pal of mine reminded me of the really stupid theory of male courtship which posits that insulting a beautiful woman will intrigue her. I have heard this idea before, it’s a mainstay of those asinine “How To Get Women To Want To Fuck You In Two Minutes Or Less” -type authors. The idea is something like: women get complimented all the time by guys who are hitting on them, and that makes them disrespectful bitches. If you insult a woman, then she’ll respect you and think you’re a real stud.

Riiiiiiight. Just so we’re clear, guys – this doesn’t work. Now that I think about it, I have had guys try this game on me, in rather subtler ways. My response was not to try and prove myself to them. My response was “Wow, you’re a manipulative weirdo and I’m going to get away from you as fast as I can.” Much like my female pal did.

Note that according to this website, you're only supposed to do this to women who are extremely beautiful. So my friend can at least be comforted by the fact that the guy in question thinks she's so gorgeous that she needs to be taken down a peg. I'm sure that'll thrill her.

So gentlemen, don’t do this. Unless of course you’re sorting for women with really terrible self-esteem who think they deserve to be put down right from the get-go. And hey, if that’s the kind of person you want, then I suppose it’s good of you to make that clear right away. Saves the sane women a lot of time. And it makes the guys who don't do this kind of idiot game look even better.

***

I meant to do this earlier… but a belated Congratulations to the super-cool Lamalani on becoming the newest Washington State Ms. Leather. I’ve known Lamalani for years, she’s a great gal, and she's going to do a great job. And plus she’s also extremely hot, which we like. Go Lama!

***

And on a sad note… If you are a fan of Dan Savage: His mother died recently. He’s pretty sad about that, as you would imagine. He’s got a column up about it, with suggestions for anyone who wants to make donations, etc. I know you’ll join me in saying that our sympathy is with him in this difficult time.

And kiss the people you love today.

A picture from a private Kinkfest after-party, with Hannah and three other pals of mine. Note how Hannah is displaying her truly respectful and submissive nature for the camera. (Larger version.)


As befits her scrappy demeanor here, Hannah put up one hell of a fight, and wore out my pervy pals pretty good.

Like the sign in her mouth that says "Use Me"? That was Max's contribution. Hannah has a certain interest in - one might even say a fetish for - laminating things. It just pleases something in her to encase paper in hot plastic. So Max instructed her to go to Kinko's in the afternoon and make that sign and bring it to the party, and she did.

That looked like consent to all of us, so Max actually tied her up to a prominent spot at the party with that sign in her mouth. She didn't spit it out. A couple of people took advantage of the privilege.

Then my three friends got serious with her, tying her up, hitting her with nasty paddles, rolling her around on the carpet, and dodging her kicks and fingernails. I think the sign turned into something of a safeword - as long as she held onto it, these three knew it was a signal that the game was still on. Finally she did spit it out and say, "I'm done!" Which was good, because I think if she'd kept going much longer, they would have had to bring in a fresh team. You have to love a bottom who gives you a good workout.

Speaking Of Women

The new column.... Knowing the tendency for there to be vociferous outcry on this subject, as seen here and here, I am expecting some blowback. I will note that I wrote that column during my recent bout with the flu, when I had a fever hovering around one hundred degrees, and thus it's a bit blunter than usual. However, the basic sentiment is accurate. Enjoy. (Or be outraged, as you prefer.)

By Women, For Women

Event note: This Friday is the Women-Only party at the Wet Spot, and after having had my pals forever telling me about how much fun they are, I’m going this Friday with Miss K. Kinky Seattle women, please come out and join us...

(Also: It's not a women's event, but I'll probably be at the Bondage Is The Point party on Sunday as well.)

***

I was rather surprised, but pleased, to get a note from this blogger, Serpentlibertine, saying she and another woman, KittenInfinite, had done a podcast about one of my columns, 18 Things Sex Workers Should Know. In the course of the podcast, they talk about how this piece (published here in The Stranger) has been widely circulated and talked about. Really? Huh, who knew? I had no idea. I mean, seriously, I just write this stuff, and then it goes off into the world and has a life of its own, and half the time I don’t even know about it until much later. But I’m flattered to know that other sex workers like the piece.

And the podcast itself is quite good - funny and accurate. These ladies are very clearly the real deal in terms of being veteran sex workers. They’re part of SWOP, which is a sex work activism group in Chicago. It sounds cool, and I wish there was more sex work activism here in Seattle. But no, I’m not going to organize it, I did my turn with that in the 1990’s with Blackstockings, thank you. Anyone out there remember the Blackstockings 'zine? I used to write for that as Marcella Grant. But we never really got much momentum, because there were only 4-6 of us who would actually do the work of organizing, and we all eventually got burnt out. So shouldn’t some of you idealistic young things make something happen? I’d come, if you did.

***

I am well, by the way. The Martian Death Flu has been routed. Thank you for your many sweet emails wishing me good health!

What Not To Say

In spite of sometimes-considerable provocation, I try not to talk too much here about the recent, real-life bad behaviors of people I encounter. At least not so that they could identify themselves - it just seems too unkind. I have a lot of power in this forum, and I try to use it only for good.

However, there are exceptions to that rule. So while this is not my story, it's from a reliable source, and it's so breathtakingly bad that I had to say something.

Not long ago, a woman I know moved to a new town - not Seattle - and she went to a munch where she knew no one. A man there introduced himself and was very friendly to her, as men will be. In fact, one might reasonably say he was hitting on her.

Nothing wrong with that, exactly. He just didn’t do it very well, you understand. Apparently he was a bit too forward with the social touching, for example. I have met this man myself, and I have my own observations of his social skills, and what she said lined up with my impression of him. But my friend is a laid-back girl, and so she just shrugged it off.

Okay, fast-forward: the munch is over, she’s leaving, and he’s walking her to her car. And with no obvious pretext whatsoever, he turns to her and says, “So where are you on your cycle?”

She looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Are you close to your period? You just look kinda puffy, like you’re retaining water.”

My pal told me this, and my jaw dropped open in disbelief. “No, he did not say that to you. He did not.”

She closed her eyes and laughed a little, ruefully. “Yes, yes he did.”

Sweet Jesus Christ. I was dumbstruck with astonishment by this tale. I cannot believe that any man past the age of toilet-training would be so stupid as to actually say this a woman. I mean any man, to any woman, at any time, ever. Neither Max nor Monk would dream of ever saying something like this to me, even though there have been times when I was retaining so much water that I should have had a freaking salmon ladder built over my abdomen. If you have a female partner, yeah, sometimes you can tell when her body looks a little different. But only a flipping idiot would remark on the matter to his or her beloved. The correct response, if your girlfriend says, “Do I look puffy?” is “No, sweetheart, not at all.” If really pressed, you might squint thoughtfully at her and say, “Well, maybe your boobs look a little bigger. Otherwise, nah, you look great.”

That’s how you handle it with a woman you’re intimate with, and it doesn’t seem like you’d have to be real clever to figure that out. So I am astounded at the thickheadedness of a man who thinks it’s cool to tell a woman he just met, whom he is hitting on, that she looks puffy. I mean, what are you thinking? How could anyone imagine that such a remark would endear you to a girl? Saying that kind of thing to women is a really good way to grow cobwebs across your cock.

It's barely possible that this man thinks he's such a True Dominate Master that he can say things like this and women will find it acceptable. He'd be wrong, of course, but it's the only even-slightly-comprehensible explanation I can think of. (I suppose he could be a menstruation fetishist, but he didn't say so, and that still wouldn't make the remark any less horrifying. )

Ready for some extra-bonus-wrongness points? This man is himself a rather large fellow. Nothing wrong with that, but if you’re going to go around telling women you just met they look puffy, you invite their examination of your figure, and if it speaks of a lot of high-sodium snacks, it makes a girl think, Well at least my puffiness will go away in a couple of days, buddy.

Super-extra-bonus-wrongness points: when they got to her car, he tried to kiss her. I am so not making this up. I am not. I could not have made this up if I tried. It’s so wrong. (She dodged it, thankfully.)

No, she didn’t tell him he was a prat, she’s too polite, and plus the whole thing caught her off guard. But you can bet she’ll be avoiding him in the future.

Now, I don’t know that this fellow reads this blog. I hope he doesn't. But in case he does: yes, I’m talking about you. I am sure you’re mortified by this. However, note that I did not name or describe you, or mention the city, and I could have. Unless you tell them, no one but you, the woman involved, and me know that it’s you. Your best response would be to keep quiet and learn something from this. I don’t think you’re evil, but I think you’ve done some socially inappropriate things, and yes, sometimes you’re gonna get called on that. It’s a growing-up process. You seem active in your pursuit of the ladies, so here’s my advice: Your hands should be kept more to yourself until such time as a woman makes it clear she wants you to touch her. And your unflattering and too-intimate remarks on a woman’s appearance should remain unsaid forever.

Hello Dear Readers…

So I decided to just write off last week, blog-wise. But let me catch you up. I did, in fact, go to Portland for Kinkfest. It was very iffy right up until the last moment. Even driving down Friday, I thought, I hope this will not prove to be a serious mistake. It was snowing, for God's sake, and I was too weak to drive, so Max was driving. I lay on the backseat and tried really hard to just not look at the road or think about the other cars or anything, because Max is a much more bold and daring driver than I am, and it makes me nervous. So the omens were not favorable. But I wasn't willing to be left at home, either.

And going turned out to be the right thing. I was pretty weak, and I'm still a little low-energy, but I've gotten steadily better all weekend, and all my pals been even more sweet and attentive to me than usual. Everyone was fetching me chairs, and getting me water, and just generally waiting on me all weekend long. I love my friends.

I did not play, I definitely did not have the strength for that. Which did not keep my pals Miss H, and Miss S, and Mr. SF, from all taunting and goading me. (Their time will come, heh. I am not going to forget a single thing any of ya'll said, and I look forward to reminding you of your remarks when I have you in more compromising positions.)

The conference itself was great as usual, although one of the presenters I was really looking forward to wound up not coming - because he got the flu. Kind of hard to hold it against him under the circumstances, but I was bummed, because he was going to do a "Sounds and Catheters" workshop and I'm always interested in hearing what other teachers have to say about that.

So in the daytime, I mainly just sat in the social area and schmoozed, and in the evening I sat in the dungeon and watched scenes and schmoozed. That's about all I was up for. But I wore my white Herve Leger dress and my new D&G shoes to the dungeon Saturday night, so I looked pretty even if I couldn't do much. I did buy a few new toys, and I did facilitate several of my friends getting to play with other of my friends, and that's always nice. I wished Monk was there, and Jae too, but otherwise it was a nice social weekend.

I also heard a story from a female pal which I will entitle, "The Single Worst Thing I Have Ever Heard Of A Man Saying To A Woman He Was Attempting To Flirt With." It's... Well, it’s just astonishingly, jaw-droppingly wrong.

But I'll tell you that tomorrow. See you in Seattle!

All right, I am forced to admit it - I am have been struck down by the Martian Death Flu that stalked so many of my friends this past winter. I was pleased that I had escaped it, and then - boom.
Thus I have not been blogging. Hell, I haven't been sitting up right very much.
This came on late Saturday, and I expect to be fine by Monday. The question of what I'm doing this weekend is hanging precariously in the balance, however, since I am booked to leave for Portland today, and that seems...iffy. I'll keep you posted, now that I can be out of bed for more than five minutes at a time.
Bah. Stupid flu.

Oh, my Dear Readers, I've neglected you shamefully, haven't I? Here's a podcast of Monk and I talking about what's going on in our professional lives lately...

More soon!

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It sort of baffles me when people read things I didn’t write…

Like this blogger, who has somehow gotten the facts turned backwards.

"I have read on Mistress Matisse’s blog that she has a couple of “servants,” submissives who do her housework for her."

No, I do not have “slaves” who do my housework for me. I wrote a whole column about how I don't have household slaves, because while it's certainly fun if you want to create D/s relationships, it is not at all time-efficient in terms of actually getting housework done.

And this reader, who has a perfectly legitimate question, which I am completely unable to answer.

I remember you had a column a few months ago where you mentioned a friend who was very knowledgeable about BDSM during pregnancy. I recently found out I'm pregnant, but I haven't found a lot of reliable looking/trustworthy sites that discuss what's safe and what isn't during pregnancy. Does the friend you mentioned in that article have a blog? Do you have any recommendations for any other sites that you know are reputable? I'm sorry to bother you but you're one of the people I trust on this sort of topic.

Well, first: congratulations! And second: no, you're not bothering me, but I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I do not have any pals who are experts on BDSM during pregnancy, and I can't find any place I said that I did. Send me a link, anyone, if you see where I did, and I'll eat my words.

I know three kinky women who are now or were recently pregnant, and if they are inclined, I can get a quote from them about what they did and didn't do, but I think you’re gonna need to talk to your own doctor about this.

But here’s some things I really and truly did say: a new site, PinkNighties.com, who did an interview with me – check them out!

A letter from a reader...

I have been curious for some time regarding the femmes. Where are the feminine girls/ladies/women in Seattle? Granted, I don't get out as much as I would like to but I do travel all over from Everett to Federal Way and I have yet to find the femmes. I can see why a guy would be bewildered in a most playful, erotic and open minded city as Seattle. I have been here for over 11 years and have not seen the femme ladies of Seattle.

There are lots of women here who seem to be more butch than the guys. There's nothing wrong with being butch, assertive, smart and making dollar to dollar - I have got no problem with any of that - however, a guy like me would really appreciate some stilettos and a nice walk that I can't stop staring at. I mean, some hip motion that begs me to crash my car - that's what I'm talking about!

My lesbian roomate goes on and on about how there are no lesbian femmes here either - in the most "out" city next to San Francisco. She may as well go back to Kansas! Where are the femmes? Both of us are competing for the same type of women here. Please help!
Is there a club or a secret hideout where the femmes are (both straight and gay would be great)? Is there a secret society online that I don't know about?

I’m rather baffled by this letter. Dear Reader Of Mine, I think you are confusing your terms. The words butch and femme, in this context, refer to the sexual/gender identity/presentation of non-heterosexual women. Got that? Queer women.

When a heterosexual woman wears high heels and makeup, etc, I do not call that being femme. That’s called being feminine. It does not get a special word because it’s often considered to be “normal” for straight women. I am not personally endorsing that view, and it is certainly not the only way of expressing the concept of femininity.

As you have noticed, many straight women do not do this, or at least not all the time. It's a hell of a lot of work and expense, for one thing. And it may astonish you to know this, but a lot of women don't want to be stared at by random guys driving down the street. I myself have had times when I fervently wished such a person would crash his car.

So there are any number of reason why women don't look/dress in super-feminine ways all the time. However, that doesn’t make them butch. A butch is a queer woman who self-identifies as such and who does generally adopt some ways of dressing and acting that people would call masculine. But being a butch has nothing to do with income, intelligence or assertiveness. For that matter, neither does being femme, or feminine.

It is noteworthy that many not-heterosexual women do not classify themselves as either butch OR femme. They are simply… not-heterosexual women. And there’s a broad range of butch and femme looks and manners.

(One rarely hears straight women refer to themselves as butch. However, I have heard queer-aware straight women use the label femme. I think that's a tiny bit rude. If you're a straight woman who wears girly clothes and looks/acts in ways that generally line up with societal norms, you don't need a special word to describe your presentation and emphasize that you're doing it on purpose. Femme lesbians do, because many people still assume that lesbian = butch. So let the queer girly-girls have that word, okay?)

However, Dear Reader Of Mine, none of this pertains to your dating options, because you’re a guy, and thus I really don't think you and your roommate are competing for the same women. (Yes, a queer woman of any flavor can choose to fuck a man. But I think it’s better for a man to assume that a woman who calls herself lesbian/gay/queer/whatever is unavailable, as far as he is concerned. If she wants to make an exception for him, she can let him know that.)

What I’m hearing is that you think Seattle women don’t dress up much. You’re right, they don’t. This is a town where people go to the opera and swanky restaurants in clothes they bought at REI or Costco. It’s just the way it is. You want dressed-up women? Go to Chicago. The women there knocked me out with how stylish they were.

And if there was a secret hangout of the femmes/feminine women – besides, say, Sephora, or the Nordstrom shoe department - I couldn’t tell you about it, could I? If I did, they’d have to kill me.

A few final remarks...I'm amused, in a rather cynical way, how much more outraged people who aren't sex workers have been over the Eliot Spitzer issue than those of us who are. I'm hearing a lot about the hypocrisy!

Yeah, that's true. But that's the way the game is played, you know? I don't expect any different from a politician and an officer of the court.

I simply hope that giving that NYT interview nets the girl involved, "Kristen", the recording contract she's so clearly after.

I was masochistic enough to read the threads about this on a few feminist blogs, and good lord, I had to close the window and go do some deep breathing. Such a maddening combination of prostitutes are dirty whores whose lives should be made as unpleasant as possible AND/OR prostitutes are deluded victims who need to be protected from themselves whether they like it or not. The truly talented people are the ones who can hold both positions at the same time, switching deftly from one to the other as necessary. And don't bother trying to tell them there's another option, because look, they have statistics to back this up!

Oh, statistics? Oh well, all right then, those of us who actually are sex workers will sit down and shut up and let ya'll decide what we deserve, thank you ma'am. I do not even participate in such threads. I have learned through infuriating experience that this is not a discussion based in reason, it's based on ideology, and you will never argue an ideologue out of their position.

However, a pal sent me this little round-up of all the logical fallacies being bandied about. It was quite refreshing. (You'll have to click through a Salon ad, but it's worth it.)

EDIT: I see that the author of the article I linked to has linked back to me, how nice. Thank you, Glenn Greenwald.

I respect that he also linked to another piece with a different point of view than mine, that's what he should do. However, I am highly skeptical of this “Ruth Henderson” person. A lot of what she says about the behaviors of clients rings true enough, although it's nothing that hasn't been said before. But this part makes me shake my head.

And then one day, usually between the ages of 25 and 28, once they’d developed that knowing, experienced look that clients instinctively disliked, they found that themselves in a classic bind: they were addicted to high living but could no longer pay for it; they had no marketable skills...

She's saying that at 28, a woman is too old to be marketable as a sex worker anymore. And that's about the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Who the hell was she booking for, Barely Legal Lolitas? I myself am definitely over 28. And I am doing just fine, as are all the sex workers I know - and that's a lot - most of whom are also over 28. What an absurd thing to put forth...

Schedule, Travel, and Bikinis…

Some notes about where I will be, and when, and why. (And some musings about the fashion requirements thereof….)

I’ve got some travel coming up, and I also just have some blocks of time already booked up. So if you’re wanting to see me in the next six weeks or so, here’s my schedule.

(Note: this was current when I hit “Publish”, but obviously I’ll get more booked as time goes by. Carpe diem.)

Monday March 17^th: One appointment open, between 2-4 pm .

Tuesday March 18^th: Time available.

Wednesday March 19^th: Time available.

Thursday March 20^th : Already booked

Friday March 21^st: One appointment open, between 4-6 pm .

Monday March 24^th and Tuesday March 25^th : Already booked

Wednesday March 26^th: One appointment open, later afternoon.

Thursday March 27^th – Monday March 31^st: Out of town for Kinkfest.

I’m back and available as of Tuesday April 1^st.

After Kinkfest, I’m in town and have plenty of time available until April 23^rd. I’ll be out of town from April 23^rd to the 28^th.

I’m going on a family vacation in Florida. Yes, really! And Monk is going with me, though, so that will be fun. (Wait until my mother gets a load of his tattoo, that’s going to be an interesting conversation.)

Mainly we’re just going to relax on the beach, but it turns out that Monk has never been to a theme park! Which just boggles my mind, since I’ve been to lots. So I think we’ll do a day at Disneyworld, just because it’s a cultural experience everyone should have.

I find it rather amusing that I have tons of stuff to wear for the upcoming BDSM conference, but I have nothing to wear in Florida! This is going to stun you – not - but there actually isn’t a ton of hot-weather clothing available in Seattle right now. I need some shorts and some beach sandals, and another pair of sunglasses, all of which are do-able here. But I also need a couple of bathing suits, and that’s going to be tricky. You see, my mother will be slightly-but-noticeably disapproving if I am sashaying around in a tiny thong bikini. I try to be sensitive to her views, however there is no way I’m buying one of those one-piece skirted jobs. That’s just too conservative for me. I’m going to try to split the difference and get a two-piece with a not-too-much-cleavage top and the boy-shorts type bottom. I might be able to get away with this one, it's sharp-looking, and it is a one-piece, so... Wish me luck, ladies, we all know how exasperating shopping for a bathing suit is, it’s even worse than buying blue jeans.

While I am on the subject of this trip, let me just insert two thank-you’s here. One is to Monk’s wife Tambo, who is the coolest thing in the world for being so completely fine with Monk going out of town with me. And the other shout-out is to the guy who scored me a pair of first-class airline tickets to Orlando. Flying coach down to Florida would be a level of hell that I do not wish to endure. You rock, my friend.

Bye!

For those who you liked the "that's not my dog" expression, here's some more of my personal lexicon of slang, specifically phrases to do with break-ups…

“It’s in the room…” a phrase coined by Miss K and I when I was getting divorced some years back. It refers to the idea that once your relationship begins to seriously falter, the possibility that you two might break up becomes like this unacknowledged third entity that lives in the house with you. Like a ghost that hovers over you while you lie in bed with your backs to each other, or blows a cold breeze around you as you eat a tense dinner, but which you both pretend you don’t see or feel. If someone says, “Do you think Chris and Pat are going to break up?” And I reply, “Yeah, I think it’s in the room,” then I mean, “Unless some fast and dramatic steps are taken, the relationship is going to end.”

“Propping up the corpse…” This is the next phase, which happens after the, “it’s in the room” stage. The relationship is now past saving, and the ghost in the house has turned into a smelly rotting mess that no one really believes will ever live again, but which the couple is not quite prepared to bury. Propping up the corpse refers specifically to the too-little, too-late efforts someone might make to save what's already dead. “Chris and Pat are going to therapy, but after everything that’s happened, they’re just propping up the corpse.”

(Yes, I know that corpses usually then become ghosts, and not vice versa. These are just expressions, people.)

What made me think of these expressions is a letter I got from a reader asking for my advice…

“My girlfriend and I decided to open our relationship, a decision into which we put a lot of thought and effort....There seemed to be no real downside to it, especially given the fact that I knew my own mind pretty well, and even though I'd never been in an open relationship, I was sure that our understanding of how it would work would be OK for me. She actually HAD been, previously, and thus I was sure no problems would arise from her quarter.”

When she found a prospective 'secondary' boyfriend, I was sort of happy for her. He seemed a bit bent on the idea of making her 'his' from what she told me of him, but she didn't see that in him, so I was OK with it. She wanted to go visit him for the weekend, all the way across the state....Prior to this, she'd said "I'll feel bad if you don't get laid while I'm there. You should fuck [my friend]!" Over the course of the weekend, speaking to her on the phone (twice!), I said that I was going to attempt that, to which her response was, "Have fun!"

At this point, I have no doubt that you can forsee something horrible occurring.

Indeed, I had sex with her friend, simply for lack of anything better to do… Nothing emotional, just something to do while we were waiting to watch a movie that was taking a long time downloading....

Upon arriving home, she got upset about this. She's completely alienated her former friend, and by her own admission subconsciously/accidentally sabotaged our relationship, potentially fatally. She says that she wants to get past it, but now she's unilaterally changed the rules that we established to govern the 'openness' of our relationship to suit her new desire to interact with this fellow whenever possible - to the complete detriment of our own currently faltering one....

I'm at a loss for what to do. We have plenty of polyamorous friends, and I've suggested that she speak to ANY of them for advice on the current dilemma, rather than talking to him about it. She acknowledges that it's a good idea, then completely fails to do it....

...She's acknowledged that her current feelings are due to infatuation, but that she's also willing to entertain thoughts of ending our relationship if she feels that she's being forced to choose. I told her in reply to that that she needs to learn to control her emotions - that infatuation is like a drug, and if it becomes that unhealthy, she needs to cut it off and maybe try again when she can handle it. She nodded, but I really think the point went in one ear and out the other….”

My answer: it’s in the room with you two, and I hate to say it, but I think you are very close to propping up the corpse.

You both made some rookie errors here - she’s dating someone not supportive of her existing relationship, and changing the rules to get her New Person Fix.

And you slept with someone because you had nothing better to do? Good lord. I would not repeat that explanation if I were you, because it does not reflect well on you as a gentleman. Nor does it make you sound very thoughtful or examined about what exactly you're doing here. “I have a slow internet connection, so let’s fuck," does not equal polyamory, in my book.

But none of this would be unrecoverable if you both wanted to fix it. However, one person cannot save a relationship, and it sounds like she’s about halfway out the door. My guess is she just wants you to say, “Pick him or me”, to which she’ll promptly say, “Okay, him.” It’s an exit strategy I have seen before.

So if she remains unwilling to do any work to salvage this, then you can either feed her the parting line she obviously wants, or you can just leave yourself. I suppose she might come after you if you leave first, although I wouldn’t count on it.

That downside you two didn’t foresee? This would be it. Lots of monogamous relationships end in breakups, too, so it isn’t like polyamory was necessarily the cause. In this case it looks more like the method. It reminds me of the grim phrase “suicide by cop”. I wonder what would the phrase be in this case… (relationship) “murder by poly” ?

Here's a photo of me from karaoke Saturday night, looking slightly sweaty and bedraggled and singing about how my champagne brings all the boys to the yard. Or something. Note the dollar bill that Monk stuffed into my jeans.
I just regret that I didn't notice that they had AC/DC's tender, sensitive ballad "Big Balls", because I definitely would have done that one instead.
























On more serious topics - lord, I bet I got a dozen emails pointing me to the Eliot Spitzer story. Very interesting. I have just written a column about some aspects of the situation, so I can't say too much about it. But yeah, I imagine this is being rather stressful for him. Sources say he'll resign, but personally, I hope he doesn't.

If I sound like I have some sympathy for him - well, I do. He got hoist on his own law-and-order petard here, and he definitely should have to cop to that. (No pun intended.)

And on a purely practical note: really, Mr. Spitzer, what were you thinking crossing state lines in a matter like this, when you know that means the Feds can get involved? If you'd kept it within NY borders, you'd have had a chance of hushing it up.

So yeah, he did something dumb, and he's a bit of a hypocrite on the issue. Hey, he's a politician. Hypocrisy comes with the territory. I admit, I don't know everything there is to know about his career up until now, but at this point, I am not prepared to burn him down.

Sex is a matter that makes fools and hypocrites of a lot of us. The only way stuff like this will ever stop being an issue is if people refuse to back down from it. You damn their eyes and stay, Eliot. But keep your petard in your pants for a while.

Wow, that karaoke party? That was a bit surreal. A whole bunch of us were stuffed into this not-very-large room, it was very warm, and as the evening went on, and - at least on my end of the couch - more champagne was consumed, we were all laughing and singing with increasing enthusiasm and volume. Some of us were moved to get up and dance a bit, so with the noise and the heat and the music, it was rather like being in a twenty-by-twenty foot nightclub. Highly amusing.

(Did I sing? Well, you could call it that. Am I going say anything else about that? Hell, no. I think we all agreed that karaoke rooms were like Vegas - what happens there, stays there.)

So I'm recovering from that new cultural experience. Meanwhile, listen to a new podcast. Monk and I talk a little bit about the upcoming leather conference, Kinkfest, and then read a letter from a polyamorous reader who asks about poly rules. (The referenced column is here.)

***

Also, a note to my clients: This Wednesday is completely free for me. If you've been trying to get time with me, shoot me an email before someone else snags it.

I have not felt like much like writing this week. So I’m glad many of ya’ll liked the column, and were kind enough to send me notes saying so. Those are always nice emails to get.

***

A friend of mine who is in grad school is doing a paper about issues for older female-to-male transexual/transgender people. She is “…looking for input from 57+ yr old FTMs on the issues they face specific to the tranny experience as relates to aging, especially psychosocially.”

If you’re an older FTM who’d be willing to answer some questions for her, drop me a note and I’ll forward it to her. This is a queer woman who has had long-term FTM partners, so she’s hip to all the basic issues. You won’t have to answer any uninformed questions or teach her FTM 101. It would be a big help to her.

***

I feel I should warn you all… I am going to a birthday party for a pal Saturday night. It’s a karaoke party. Yes, really – they rented a private room. And I might, just might, actually contemplate singing. If I have enough champagne. (Yes, it’s being a fairly champagne-heavy week around here. I feel I deserve it.)

But you see, I absolutely do not sing unless I have champagne. And ideally, everyone who hears me should have a lot of champagne too, because I sing really badly. I know everyone says that, but I’m serious – when I sing, dogs howl.

Still, if my listeners are rendered sufficiently uncritical by alcohol, I can sort of fake my way through novelty-type songs. As long they don’t require any sustained notes. Meanwhile, Monk is trying to convince me I should sing something by Journey. Oh yeah, because tone-deaf moi could so hit those notes. Right. I’m thinking Lou Reed’s “Take A Walk On The Wild Side” because Lou is basically talking to music in that number.

But if your dog starts howling for no apparent reason Saturday night – whoops, sorry about that. Just wait about three minutes, it’ll stop. And maybe you should have some champagne.