Hey, Dear Readers, especially you fashion people - I am looking for this top.



The designer is Bailey 44. It was at Nordstrom but now, alas, it is gone. If you happen to spy it for sale anywhere, drop me a note, please....

So I got handled by a lot of strange women yesterday. And I spent a lot of money for the privilege, too.

Let me back up a bit. I have had hardly anyone booked to see me this week. Usually when it’s slow I try to shake the tree a little, entice some more people into my clutches. But this week I just decided to say the heck with it and let it be slow. I have been taking care of a lot of little personal chores, and I decided to book a bunch of time-consuming girlie-maintenance stuff. I have a facial today at the Calidora Spa in U Village, for example. I like the facials I get at my dermatologist's office, but you have to book so far in advance there, and of course they have no evenings or weekends, so I thought I’d go see if Calidora was any good. Wish me luck that they don't do something terrible to my face.

But yesterday I got a manicure and pedicure at this little salon near The Big House, called Hoa. I’ve been getting my nails done there for a few months now, and they’re very nice.

They were particularly nice yesterday. I am a heavy tipper, especially with spa-type service stuff. If you’ve ever hustled for tips as a major chunk of your income, then you know how really happy it makes you when someone is generous, so I am. I think word has gotten around about that at Hoa. They always massage your legs up to the knee when they give you the pedicure, and they usually massage your arms up the elbow. But I got what seemed like an extra-long foot and leg massage, and the girl doing my hands was rubbing up my arms, to my shoulders, and then my neck. It was extremely blissful.

I said as much to the girl massaging my shoulders. Many of the ladies there do not seem to speak a whole lot of English, although it’s sometimes a little hard to tell. But she understood my smile and my sigh, and she smiled back at me and rubbed more firmly. Seeing us, the girl doing my feet smiled too. I mentally added another five dollars to both their tips.

So I’m sitting there is this big black massage-chair with the rollers going up and down my back, with one girl massaging my feet and legs and another lady massaging my arms and shoulders, thinking, “This is like sex.” And then I thought, “Actually, this is like being the client of a sex worker. And I am totally fine with that.”

An hour later I emerged from Hoa, fingers and toes gleaming, and went to Nordstrom to just quickly return a bra I’d bought online that didn’t fit. Or so I thought.

I gave the bra and receipt to the salesgirl. She said, “Did you want to get something else?”

I replied, “Well, I’m looking for a bra with a really smooth line for under tight knits. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Have you been fitted here before?”

I admitted I had not.

Well, that would never do. Ignoring my unfinished protests, the salesgirl conducted me to the dressing rooms, led me into a little cubicle and closed the door, brandishing her tape measure. “Let’s just have you take off your shirt.”

Meekly I obeyed. She turned me around and lassoed me with the tape. “First we’ll just get your rib cage measurement.” I could feel her breath on my hair.

“Okay,” she said briskly. “I’ll be right back with the Measuring Bra.” I wondered if the Measuring Bra was like The Sorting Hat. Was it going to sing a song about my boobs?

She returned with a beige lacy bra that looked like something my grandmother would have worn, with big high cups. I must have looked dubious, because she said, “Oh, it’s just the Measuring Bra. We’ll find you some different ones. But let’s just take you out of that bra and put you in this one.”

I thought, I just laid eyes on this girl ten minutes ago and she’s telling me to take off my clothes. And I’m doing it. Is this how people feel when they come see me?

I took off my bra. The salesgirl - or Mistress Underwire, as I was beginning to think of her - eyed my breasts and held out the Measuring Bra to me. I have never had anyone hold out a bra for me to slide my arms into, it was sort of strange. I had to step up fairly close to her to get all the way in. Hi there. Nice perfume. Then she turned me around and hooked me up in back.

“Now I want you to just bend over at the waist.”

Okay…. I’d heard about this, actually, bra fitters telling you to bend over. So I did. It was a small room, not much bigger than a closet, and my ass bumped into her hips slightly. In the mirror, I had a glimpse of her standing up close behind me, adjusting the straps, as I leaned forward. I have a mirror hung next to my spanking bench in my dungeon, and I see myself in that position with people a lot – only I’m the one standing up straight. But not, until now, had I ever seen anyone posed like that in a Nordie’s dressing room.

She had me stand up and turn around. The Goddess Of Uplift studied my breasts thoughtfully, tugged at the sides of the bra slightly, and then said, “Let me just…” And stuck her hand into the cup and repositioned my boob. Then she put her fingers under the cups of the bra and shook my breast gently. And then she did the same with the other one.

Now, I wasn’t upset by this, you understand. I was quite clear it was all in the line of duty. But – you have to admit it’s a bit funny. Maybe it’s just me, but I couldn’t help thinking, Um, yeah, you’re playing with my breasts, there. Just sayin’.

I think it would have been different if I’d come in expecting that. But since I didn’t, I was a bit bemused by having a strange woman dressing me up in lingerie and arranging my boobs - which she referred to as "breast tissue" - to her satisfaction.

Of course, I'd been wearing the wrong size bra. I think you always are when you go to a bra fitter. I thought of myself as hovering between a big B cup and a small C. But according this lady - no, that was wrong, I should wear a D. Which is hard for me to fathom, but okay, bring them on, I'll try them.

So the Demi-Cup Domina went away and came back with an armful of bras, and matching panties for everything, plus some yummy blue lace lingerie, since I’d mentioned that to her. And she tugged and shook and got me properly strapped into everything. She was a positive whirl of Nordstrom-ly helpfulness, in a sort of just-do-as-I-say-and-no-one-gets-hurt sort of way.

I’m kidding, really. She was fine and she found me a lot of stuff I needed. Obviously one doesn’t tip salespeople, but I hope she gets a nice commission off me.

She’d probably make a really good dominatrix, though, if she ever wanted to go that way.

Feel like shopping? I have some eBay auctions up, and I’ll be adding some shoes and boots to them later today…. Check it out.

Bad Example

So, a few weeks ago I was shopping at QFC on Broadway and I had a curious experience…

I had been working out at the Gold’s upstairs, and while I do shower and change afterwards, it was my opinion that I still looked a bit... like I’d just been to the gym. But no matter, right? I’m just picking up a few things at the store.

I was standing in the produce department, studying the cut pineapple and wondering whether I’d rather have Muscat grapes, when I became aware of someone standing close behind me, rather closer than I like strangers to stand. I didn’t turn around, you understand - my perception was based only on sound, and the vibration of another human being that one can feel on one’s body. I presumed it was someone who was, like myself, wanting some fruit, so without looking back, I shifted slightly to one side to allow them access to the display.

The presence shifted with me. O-kay…

A voice behind me spoke. “Would you like to go out with me?”

Now, like everyone else, I have gotten used to fact that people now have all manner of conversations on their phones in public places, and now that half of them have earpieces, you can sometimes hardly tell that they’re actually on a phone unless you look closely. It’s occasionally confusing, trying to tell the Bluetooth users from the crazy people muttering to themselves, but one tries. So for a moment I assumed that I was overhearing someone’s phone conversation. Then I looked around.

There was a man standing close behind me, staring at me with an intense, unsmiling expression. He was…sort of average looking. I mean, he was neither very tall nor very short, neither fat nor thin, and neither notably handsome nor strikingly ugly. He was maybe in his thirties, although he might have been a haggard twenty-something or a young forty. He was dressed in what I think of as standard Capitol Hill drag: loose-fitting pants, baggy t-shirt, and a hoody, accessorized with earphones trailing from his ears, down his neck and snaking away to an unseen device in some pocket.

(As an aside, I dislike it with people with earphones actually in their ears talk to me. If you have the damn things in your ears, I assume that sound is coming out of them and that you can’t hear me. I think you should take them out when you interact with people.)

He was a little scruffy-looking, and my mind danced momentarily with the idea that this was a street person employing some flirtatious brand of panhandling. There was something about the fixed stare…. But at second glance – no, probably not. Just a trifle unkept, probably on purpose.

Okay, did this guy seriously just walk up to my back and ask me if I wanted to go out? No way.

And then I thought: Oh, wait – I get it! This guy is a reader, he’s recognized me, and he’s kidding me. This was mere days after I’d posted about the What Not To Say affair, so I could see why he’d think it would be funny to tease me. And I go to this grocery store all the time, people have done the “hey-aren’t-you?” thing to me there before. (Which is fine.)

So I raised an eyebrow at him and smiled slightly, saying nothing and waiting for him to break into a smile and acknowledge the joke.

He didn’t. He just stared at me. No smile.

After a few seconds, my assurance that he was joking faltered. I think I said something like, “You’re kidding me, right?”

He replied, “You’re very beautiful.”

Ah. Okay. This is for real. I took a step back. “No. No thank you.” And then I walked away and hid in another part of the store for a little while until I could go back and get my fruit. And mused on exactly what this man had done wrong, and what he had done right.

He did, at least, have the grace to not follow me when I walked away. And while a guy giving me a fixed-unsmiling-stare always makes me think less of brooding indie-rock types and more of serial killers, I wasn’t scared by him. (Although I was mildly annoyed about feeling compelled to linger in the frozen foods, when that wasn’t what I was shopping for.) So that part was not terrible.

And I have to admit, it always catches me wrong-footed when I think I look not-my-best and some guy hits on me. I suppose when I’m all dressed up, I expect to attract a bit more attention. But if I’m just running errands in jeans and t-shirt, I walk around absorbed in my own thoughts, assuming I’m invisible. However, I am assured that I am not. Huh.

But still and all - that was one of the most doomed-to-failure-pickup attempts I have ever been subject to. I mean, I have said before that asking to be granted erotic access to a woman’s body before she’s decided that she’s attracted to you is poor strategy. Let me just expand on that idea and say that you should make a woman aware of your existence as a unique human being before you actually ask her out. Is that really such a radical idea?

I was telling Monk this story and he shook his head. “You’re in the produce department and the guy couldn’t come up with an opening line? Oh man, that’s too easy. Hey, do these tomatoes look ripe to you? Or Wow, weren’t the bananas thirty cents cheaper last week? That’s how you start out.”

Yeah, I mean - say something. Clue me in to what's going on, before you start asking pointed questions. Not that I’d have accepted a date with this man no matter how smoothly he’d engaged me over the strawberries. But I would have at least smiled and declined a bit more sweetly.

Weekend Fashion Blogging

In the wake of some bad customer service, Intermix has offered me a very hefty discount on my next purchase. So what can I do but buy something? (I've had several good experiences with them, so I feel confident it was an isolated incident.)

What do you think? This, in the bright blue? Or is it too turquoise-y?

I like this shade of blue better. But I have other dresses in this cut, and I'm wanting something one-shouldered for summer. Decisions, decisions... And yes, I'm still on the blue thing. I'm liking bright rich yellow and deep emerald green these days, too, though.

What I also really like is this top and pants from Versace. Unfortunately Neiman's customer service is always excellent, so I can't really justify the price. Love the sleek techno look of it, though.

***

Also: I got a really, really nice gift yesterday. I'm not saying what it is, because the giver and I agreed I wouldn't, it's too unique. But wow, it's awesome. Thank you!

Want an an example of a professional challenge I faced recently? Okay, here’s a story for you….

Let me start by saying I don’t do things like this except with people I’ve known for many years, who have repeatedly and convincingly told me that that it would be okay. No, not even just okay – that they would love it if I created a little surprise like this for them. Really, really love it, with no qualms whatsoever. I have had guys beg me for things like this and then freak out when I made it happen, so I rarely do it any more. But this was a special circumstance.

So having established that, on with the story….

A dear man, a friend of some years standing with me, did me a favor recently. We’ll leave out the exact details, but suffice it to say that there was something I needed that would have cost me plenty, and he got it done for me. Lovely man.

Thus I was inspired to do something sweet for him, to show my appreciation. But what? I wondered. Then I recalled that this man, who I will call Bob, had expressed curiosity about pretty transsexual escorts. She-males, as they are sometimes called. I am happy to facilitate fantasies. The problem? I didn’t know any TS sex workers personally.

Sure, I could have just picked an ad out of the back of The Stranger. But you see, I am picky about who I let come to my house, and even more so about who I introduce to my friends. People become my clients partly because I have an excellent reputation. I am not about to sully that by creating a bad experience for them. And having been around the sex industry some years, I have witnessed some vivid examples of just how bad things can be. Not any encounters I ever set up, you understand, but working for other people.

So my fear was me finding a TS escort, arranging for her to come and play with me and my guy, and something goes wrong.

Like she doesn’t show up.

Or she shows up, and she is nothing like her pictures. To mean: she’s ugly as hell.

Or she shows up drunk/stoned off her ass.

Worst case: an ugly chick, with bowed legs and a five-o’clock shadow, shows up, drunk, in a car with three guys who she calls her “security”. And then she proceeds to make a huge screaming scene out in the street when I refuse to let the four of them into the house. (Because I would refuse.)

Those are just a handful of the bad possibilities, and the reason they come so quickly to mind is that I saw all of them happen when I worked for out-call escort services. I always felt bad for the guy whose house it was, but relieved that I could just get out of there quickly before the situation escalated into a Cops episode. It’s tricky enough screening clients, I don’t want to have to sweat screening other sex workers as well. Thus, I do not generally have other ladies I don’t know come play with me and my friends.

But still – it seemed as if a girl like myself should be able to use her resources and find someone nice. Thus, I asked around, I talked to people, I checked references, I studied photos, I emailed. And in the end, I settled on the girl I thought would be best and crossed my fingers. Don’t you boys think I don’t know how you feel when you’re arranging to meet a new lady. It’s nerve-wracking.

As the day approached, I talked to Jae. “I want you to be there. I’m going to be busy playing with him, I want you to let her in, show her the bathroom so she can change, bring her down when she’s ready, and just generally stick close to her. I don’t want a stranger wandering around my house unaccompanied, that makes me uncomfortable. And if anything happens that shouldn't be happening, you contain it and then come get me, fast.”

Jae replied, “Oh, hell yes I’ll be there, I want to see this, it’s going to be hot.”

“That is certainly my fondest hope.”

The appointed day came. Bob knew I had something special in mind, although he didn’t know exactly what. I had him nicely tied to my bondage chair when I heard the doorbell ring.

Okay, she's here. That's good. I hope.

Footsteps, and a murmur of voice - Jae's and another one, female. No sounds of trouble.

Minutes ticked by. The suspense was killing me. I'd told Jae to bring her down when she was ready. Had something gone wrong after all?

I secured the blindfold more snugly over Bob's eyes and said, "I think I'll go see if our guest has everything she needs. Don't go away." A muffled snort of laughter from Bob, who was quite aware he wasn't going anywhere.

I walked upstairs to find Jae sitting on my couch, in an attitude of complete attention, next to... a pretty woman. Young, taller than me, slender, with smooth skin and big doe-like eyes. Oh yes indeed, I thought, this might work out just fine.

Now I knew why Jae hadn't brought her downstairs. Blue-eyed little Jae has a weakness for dark-haired, exotic-looking women. I am well-acquainted with the expression she gets when she's flirting. She was wearing it now. I shot her a glance that clearly said, "This girl is not here for you, missy. You are neglecting your duties." Interpreting it correctly, Jae jumped to her feet. "Oh, hi, Ma'am. Are you ready for us?"

Nice try, Jae, I thought, as I introduced myself to the girl, who I will call Lisa. As Lisa stood up to greet me, I could see why Jae had been chatting her up - she was wearing only a pretty bra, panties and high heels, and she really was quite lovely.

And extremely feminine-looking: she was exquisitely coiffed and made-up, as shaved and waxed and polished as could be, all as flawlessly as a china doll. I wonder where she got that lingerie? I thought, feeling suddenly conscious that I was overdue for a manicure, and that the damp weather was making my hair frizz a bit. She's actually not the first tranny girl I've met who had amazing maquillage skills. As Jae put it later, “I'm a bio-girl, how is it that a chick with a dick can make me feel so butch, and a little scruffy?”

I put thoughts of nail polish aside and talked to Lisa. She was soft-spoken and perhaps a bit shy, but she seemed sweet and pleasant. I could see why she might feel a bit shy. True, she was a professional escort, but this was not your average client situation. I explained to her a little more about Bob, the types of things he and I did together, and what I wanted her to do. She nodded and agreed.

We went downstairs and I presented Bob to her. He was just as fascinated by her as I was. So, to my intense relief and pleasure, the three of us had a very nice time together. I wouldn’t say Lisa is the naturally-dominant type, although hey, with some time and coaching, who knows? She did watch me put needles in Bob’s nipples with cautious curiosity. And she really was quite lovely and sweet, and a charming addition to the scene in other ways.

As she left later, she said, “Call me anytime…” Who knows, perhaps our paths will cross again.

I know, I know - I haven’t done a real update in days, just these little placeholders. I'm working on a story about a recent new experience: having a male-to-female transsexual escort come and join me for a session. It was very interesting.

But while I felt fine for part of the day today, jet lag has now seriously caught up with me, and I think I should go to bed very very early.

So, here’s a video clip of me torturing Monk in the most heinous way possible. (Ten seconds, has sound, work safe.)

Kinky stories soon...

I'm heading home to Seattle today, after what has been a very nice little family get-together. I really love the beach. But I miss my life, so I'll be happy to get back...


So one more silly Disneyworld photo. We could not persuade the Disney people to put Mistress Matisse and Twisted Monk on these, but they grudgingly consented to do this for us...



Now I'm packing my bag and getting on a westbound plane. Bye!

Want to see something kinky?

Monk and I in bondage together... Disney-style.

Family Vacation

This is not going to be my wittiest update ever…. I’m just warning you. I’m a little over-stimulated, by the sun and Mickey Mouse.

So my updates have been meager because my darling mother does not really understand the concept of wireless internet. I think she thinks it’s like broadcast television, something that’s just there and that she need not think about. So the condo she rented – which is very large and very nice and right smack dab on New Smyrna Beach – does not have any internet connection whatsoever. Gah.

When I mentioned this lamentable state of affairs to my dearest mamma, she told me she was perfectly okay with me going down to this café half a mile away to check my email once a day. It won’t take more than, what, twenty minutes, right sweetie? Lordy. My mother really does not get it. But she’s sweet and I love her – and thus, you all will largely have to go without me until I get back to civilization on Monday night.

Short version: the flights were fine, my family is fine, the weather is great, and Monk is being an angel. We swam in the ocean Thursday and got only slightly sunburned, and today we went to Disneyworld, which was rockin’. Monk had never been to any theme park of any kind, can you believe it? We had a great time. But now we're a little wiped out. Disney does that to you.

So, pictures to follow over the weekend, thanks to Blogger’s post-date posting feature. Meanwhile, I’m back to the beach. Bye!

I am in last-minute running-around-like-a-crazy-girl mode, before I fly out Wednesday morning to go here…



I am looking forward to the beach, given how insane the weather has been here lately. (Snow? Hail? What the heck, people?)

Thus, I don’t have anything particularly profound to say today. Want some random trivia? Okay…

Friday night I spent the evening doing a role-playing game with some pals. No, not sexual role-playing, I mean RPGs. Yes, I am that nerdy, and I make no apologies. It's fun, it's a bit like writing interactive fiction. Only without that pesky writing part, so I guess it's more like plot-brainstorming. Which, as every writer knows, is the fun part.

At the beginning, game-master Grimwish was explaining the different characters, and he said, “And one of the characters is a bloodthirsty Amazon warrior." And then he looked right at me.

I said, “Okay, I’ll play that.”

And Grimwish said, “Oh good, I was hoping you would.” Um, thank you, I think? (I admit I got right into the role.)

***

Shopping: I bought a pink stun gun on eBay. It’s so cute! 100,00 volts.

***

But that had nothing to do with Jae’s gifting of a stun gun to our hostess at a social gathering on Sunday. That was none of my doing and any repercussions should be directed at Jae. But I am highly amused at the combination of raging pervert and thoughtful debutante in Jae’s idea of a hostess gift.

***

My super-best friend Miss K is having an important anniversary today. I believe they call it her birthday, in the group to which she belongs. Happy Five Years, Miss K – I’m very proud of you, and I love you.

Whoops. I got distracted last night with other things and forgot to put up a post for this morning. But here it is - the new column...
And Happy Friday!

I'm a busy girl today...

A note about scheduling. I'm out of town soon - I leave April 23rd and return April 28th. I am booked this week, and I have a little bit of time Mon the 21st and Tues the 22nd. If I know you and you'd like to see me one of those days, best contact me ASAP.

I will be available once again the 29th.

(I'm going to Florida to visit family and no, I will not be available for professional sessions while I'm there, sorry.)

***

Also, I so need a print of this cartoon. I cut it out of the New Yorker when it was published and had it on my refrigerator for years. But it got old and fell apart. I'm thrilled to have found it again, thanks to an alert reader, and I'm definitely going to have to order a desk print of this. It's... my life, in one frame. Love it.

A friend reminds me that I haven’t done a reading list in a while. He’s right. Here are some of the books on my bedside table…

*Lord John and the Hand of Devils by Diana Gabaldon. This is a short story collection, and I’m not usually a huge fan of short stories. I prefer more time to get to know characters. But I like the Outlander series, and I enjoyed all the Lord John books. The author has a touch I envy with writing historical fiction, giving just enough period color and language, without overdoing it. It's a knack.
I was also quite amused to see that one of these stories was solicited from her by none other than prolific editor Maxim Jakubowski. Mr. Jakubowski is also the editor of The Mammoth Book of Sex Diaries, in which a large chunk of this blog was published. Which means that as professional writers, there is only one degree of separation between me and Ms.Gabaldon. That just seems sort of crazy, somehow.

*The Snake, the Crocodile & the Dog (Amelia Peabody Mysteries), by Elizabeth Peters. As I’ve mentioned before, when I am sick, I want comfort reading. So when I had the flu a few weeks ago, I started working my way through all my Elizabeth Peters books once again. I have loaned so many out over the years (read as: given away, because they never came home) that I have some holes in my collection. Thus, I had to make a run through Powell’s when I was in Portland and fill in the gaps. No one does fast, fun, silly mysteries like Ms. Peters. I want to be Amelia Peabody when I grow up. (Although some people might tell you that I already am the Amelia Peabody of the kink world. And that’s okay with me.)

*Charlatan: America's Most Dangerous Huckster, the Man Who Pursued Him, and the Age of Flimflam, by Pope Brock. This book must be read to be believed. In the words of Publishers Weekly: “John Brinkley…got his start touring as a medicine man hawking miracle tonics and became famous for transplanting goat testicles into impotent men. Brinkley built his own radio station in 1923, hustling his pseudoscience over the airwaves and giving an outlet to astrologers and country music. His nemesis was Dr. Morris Fishbein, who took aim at Brinkley in JAMA, lay publications and pamphlets distributed by the thousands. Even after the Kansas State Medical Board yanked his medical license in 1930, Brinkley ran twice for governor of Kansas and almost won.”
Yeah. This guy took goat testicles and implanted them into men’s scrotums, claiming it would give them erections and make them fertile. Because everyone knows goats are horny, right? It’s exactly as bad as it sounds. Not so much medical regulation back then. (And on a side note: love the author’s name: Pope. That’s cool.)

What I think I'll buy next: Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions, by Dan Ariely. Behavioral economics is the new sexy science, isn’t it? There’s a lot of stuff published lately about why we do what we do, but this one looks like it talks about individual motivations as well as group forces and dynamics. Both in my personal as well as my professional life, observing and predicting patterns of people’s behavior is a strong interest of mine. I’ll let you know if it’s good.

The whole “Naughty Meme” thing amuses me, because it’s a look into what other people think is shocking. But I always screw up the curve for everyone, and frankly, some of these questions baffle me.

Have You Ever....

Taken a picture naked? Yes. I’ve also had pictures take OF me while I was naked, which I suspect is what the intent of this poorly-structured question was.

Made money illegally? Who, me? I don't know what you're talking about.

Had a one night stand? Is this really still considered shocking?

Been in a fist fight? Um, hard to say. A little slapping and shoving in the strip-club dressing room, but I’m not sure it rose to the level of “fist-fight”.

Slept with your best friend? Yes. I’ve had sex with her, too.

Had sex in a public place? Yes.

Ditched work to have sex? Yes. Even when having sex (with other people) WAS my work.

Slept with a member of the same sex? You have got to be kidding me.

Seen someone die? Is this really in the same category with a same-sex encounter? No.

Ran from the police? Define run. Back in the day, I was at some illegal raves that got shut down, and I departed through a door other than the one the police were using. I did not dally. Call it what you will.

Woke up somewhere and not remember how you got there? Well, I was always able to make reasonable surmises, but there have been a few occasions when the exact sequence of events was fuzzy.

Worn your partners unmentionables? I quote Hannah on this one: “unmentionables? Who says that these days?” I’ve worn panties belonging to my girlfriends, but boy underwear would make a line under my jeans.

Fallen asleep at work? No.

Used toys in the bedroom? I think some of these questions are tame enough to make me fall asleep. Who wrote this meme, my grandmother?

Ran a red light? Yes. No one died, though.

Been fired? Yes. But only from straight jobs. Never from a sex work job.

Been in a car accident? Yes, but why is this question here?

Pole danced or done a striptease? Only about ten thousand times.

Loved someone you shouldn't? It is better to have loved and lost… My problem is that they usually refuse to get lost, so: yeah.

Sang karaoke? Only once. With much champagne. I think that’ll last me my whole life, too.

Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? I told myself I wouldn’t meme.

Laughed so hard you peed your pants? Probably, although it wasn’t traumatic enough to stick in my mind.

Caught someone having sex? Yes, although I wasn’t exactly shocked.

Kissed a perfect stranger? No, we’d known each other intimately for at least two minutes.

Shaved your partner? Yes. And other people as well.

Given your private parts a nickname? No, this seems silly to me.

Ever gone in public without underwear? Like, every day.

Had sex on a roof top? Yes. (Hi, Jett…)

Played chicken? I assume this means in motor vehicles. No, what a dumb thing to do.

Mooned/flashed someone? Yes.

Do you sleep naked? Yes.

Blacked out from drinking? Blacked out is too dramatic a term. But I’ve made a sudden decision to go to sleep.

Felt like killing someone? Like the author of this meme? Yes.

Had sex more than 5 times in one day? Well, it’s sometimes hard to say where one episode of sex starts and the next one begins. I have had sex with more than five people in one day, though, so: yes.

Been with someone because they were in a band? Nah, I’m not a groupie.

Taken 10 shots of liquor in a day? I’m not dead, which given my low alcohol tolerance I think I would be, so the answer to that is no.

Shot a gun? People, I’m from Georgia.

Gone outside naked? Yes, even aside from the time when I worked at a nudist resort.

I need to find the “Memes for Serious Perverts” page.

Letter From A Reader: Nazi Play

I'm sure I'm not the first person to ask you how you feel about this, but hopefully if enough ask you'll do a column/blog post about it. How do you feel about Max Mosley's Nazi "orgy"? Where is the line? Are there some things that are just morally unacceptable? Like, say, getting turned on by concentration camps? Here is a Slate piece on it (which digresses into talking about BDSM in general) and the original article (ultra-sensationalized but apparently true). I know you're a very busy woman and I certainly don't need a reply, but I'm sure lots of people would love a column or post on it.
http://www.slate.com/id/2188752/
http://www.newsoftheworld.co.uk/3003_nazi_orgy.shtml

Actually you are the first person to ask me about it. I have been vaguely aware of seeing something about “Nazi orgy” in the paper, but you know, I often choose not to clutter up my head with stories like that. So I have not been paying attention to this one, and it’s not been a topic of conversation among me and my friends.

And even if I’d read the story, I doubt I’d have chosen to write something because to me, this is not news. It's just gossip, right up there with the latest Britney Spears trainwreck. I don't care about this guy's sex life, and I don't know why anyone would care beyond a moment's "oh, wow, I bet he’s feeling pretty embarrassed right now.” I am not too high-minded to be interested in some types of gossip. But being a sexual outlaw myself, I have a fair amount of sympathy for anyone whose sexuality is a subject of leering "Oh-that's-terrible! Tell-us-more!" kind of scrutiny.

But since you ask: Many people have politically incorrect fantasies. I bet you, Dear Reader, have some erotic turn-ons lurking your fantasy life that you would not care to see published to the world. Most people do. I certainly do. (And no, I’m not telling you what they are.)

You can tell your sex drive “Oh, hey, this sexual turn is morally unacceptable!” And you can choose not to act on it. You may even succeed in repressing it and not thinking of it consciously – very much. Sometimes that works. But a lot of times, the more you try to repress a turn-on, the more intense it gets. I'm not minimizing how bad the Holocaust was. But this? Is not the Holocaust. It's some guy getting his kink on and being unwise (or unlucky) enough to let it be videoed.

So where's the line? When it's non-consensual. To include: under-age people, and anyone who is either temporarily or permanently not capable of giving informed consent. That's not okay. Otherwise, do as you will. I may or may not want to watch, but that's my responsibility.

Our sexual fantasies go where it's forbidden because it's forbidden. I’m guessing all the baggage this guy got loaded down with as a kid makes this whole thing even more taboo and thus sexier than it would be to the average person.

So the only difference between this guy and lots of other people is that he has the money and the nerve to indulge himself. Do I personally think Nazis are cool? No. I find this particular scenario distasteful. But do I think there's any harm in dressing up in Nazi uniforms and pretending you’re in a prison camp? Not really. I don't find it sexy, but I don't find furries or adult babies sexy, either. However, liking Nazi uniforms, or diapers, or people in "furry" costumes doesn't necessarily make you a fascist, or a pedophile, or into bestiality. It’s a game, not reality.

And this guy is actually not responsible for the actions of his older relatives, so all that business about his father and Unity Mitford is beside the point. So, basically, if he wants to do Nazi role play with a bunch of sex workers, it’s no one’s business but his and theirs. And his wife’s, if she wants it to be. If he wants to draw dramatic inspiration from real life events, maybe he’ll ask her for a punishment scene.

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.