Notes About Mundane Life

Caterers: I need someone to make me a bunch of carry-out hors d'oeuvres for a party. I have had my pal Galahad do food for me on several occasions, and he’s great, but it’s time we let him out of the kitchen.

I want stand-up finger-food, nothing too messy, probably around 200 pieces, give or take. No serving required – I have that covered - just hand off the goodies the day of the party and take your cash.

I may wind up doing Costco for this, but if you’ve got a better idea, email me.

***

I know it’s not the weekend, but I’m going to talk about shopping anyway. Ladies, I went downtown yesterday to the Nordies sale, and actually, it was pretty underwhelming. There just wasn’t that much, and what there was – well, you could see why it was on sale. (Except lingerie. There were actually a lot of cute undies.)

I was mainly looking for a casual spring jacket, and I couldn’t find a thing I liked. It’s all short trench coats, and I don’t want anything with a belt. Burberry has some short light jackets, but I tried them on and wow, they’re very matronly looking. I may have to go for this Moncler jacket, even though I’m really not sure about that belt.

***

From the Slightly Overzealous Salespeople Department: I also was browsing for bedsheets in Bed Bath and Beyond yesterday. I didn’t think I was doing anything all that unusual, but... I like to throw all the options in the cart and then when I’ve looked over all the displays, look at what I have and see which ones I actually want to buy. I was doing that, and while I did so, a saleperson – a youngish guy – kept coming to see if I needed anything. Like, every three minutes. Which is not an inherently bad thing to do, although one usually doesn’t get that level of attention in a big-box store, and I don't generally like to be hovered over.

But then things took an odd turn, when he remarked, “Wow, that’s a lot of sheets.”

I had three sets of sheets in the cart. I wouldn’t have thought that was a noteworthy amount of linen. So I just shrugged, without making eye contact, and made some noncommittal remark.

“Why do you need so many sheets?”

I thought, “How am I supposed to answer that question?” I mean, why do people usually need bed sheets? You work at a housewares store and you have to ask this?

I briefly considered being a smart-ass. “I’m going to a Klan rally and I want to be the best-dressed girl there.”

Or, “I used all the old ones to wrap my late boyfriend’s body in before I threw it off the pier.”

“I’m a bed-wetter. Sometimes I piss on things in the daytime, too.”

I mean, really. Sometimes when people say silly things, it would serve them right if I did say something smart-ass. But I don’t, because I don’t want to deal with the fallout. And I didn’t want to be mean, I just wanted him to go away and let me consider the merits of Grand Percale versus Royal Sateen.

I was telling a pal about this and she said, “He wanted you to say, I need all new sheets because I just got divorced and my ex got all the bedding. And then he’d have hit on you.”

That made me laugh. I think women should try not to just assume that any guy who speaks to them has romantic intentions. But maybe that was it. Or maybe he was just competing for Salesperson of the Month or something.

But what I did was just say nothing and give him the raised-eyebrow look that usually brings boys to order in my dungeon. He went away. I settled on a nice set with 6oo thread-count, in sort of a muted plum color.

The week of letter-answering continues...

Dear Matisse,
I’ve gotten into fairly light BDSM play -- short sessions, nothing too extravagant -- and keep running into people who feel that the only way to be a good dominant is to have had extensive experience as a submissive. I'm really not into subbing, not wired that way and while I have had a few experiences, mostly it's play acting and that isn't giving anyone what they want either. I don't see myself subbing again in the future (never say never, but it seems unlikely) Do you have an opinion about this topic?

Yes, I have an opinion. I am of the opinion that you should excise the word “sub”, and “subbing”, and all other variants and diminutives of the word “submissive” from your vocabulary, forever. I hate all those terms, they are so…inelegant. They are clunky, ugly faux-words. That is my opinion.

Oh, you meant about you bottoming? Sorry, I was having a writer’s moment, there. Sure, I have an opinion about that, too: don’t do anything you don’t want to do. If you don’t wish to bottom, then don’t.

It is a rather old-school BDSM belief that all good tops spent time bottoming - I was certainly taught that when I came into the scene. But I have seen that idea fade quite a bit from the culture, so I’m a trifle surprised that you’ve encountered it. If you’d signed a female name, I’d suspect you’d run into some male tops who were making a play for you by saying this. But you seem to be a guy. (You still could be getting hit on by men, but I haven’t heard as much about gay guys using this as a come-on.)

I do think if you played with someone who was a more skilled and experienced top than you are, you’d learn something. For example, Monk is a top. Our relationship now could be described as “switchy free-for-all”. But we did some more structured scenes when we were first dating. I’m the only person he’s ever bottomed to – which flatters me - and he says it taught him a lot. I could tell. There were times when we played when a look would flicker across his face, and I could almost see him making a mental note, “Oh, yeah, that’s a really good trick she just did, I should do that next time I top someone.” And I’ve picked up techniques and style ideas from him, too.

So I think it’s often a very educational experience for tops to bottom. But it’s not an absolute necessity. I have played with a couple of tops who had never bottomed who were extremely skilled. (And some other great ones who did so few times as to be almost never.)

I also asked a dominant man I know, who has never bottomed, what he had to say about this question...

What a great question. My first thought - any statement that includes the phrase "the only way" is likely to be off base - and probably offensive to boot. Presuming that "one size fits all" is rarely a path to understanding.

Topping requires a raft of technical skills like how to handle a flogger, how to tie a knot and how to negotiate. It also requires a bunch of softer skills and attributes - communication, empathy, attention to detail, integrity. Sure - some of these skills can be learned through by bottoming. Most can also be learned through observation, education and practice.

It's valuable to know what an implement feels like. I'll often smack myself with a new crop to get its measure. And I (accidentally) hit myself plenty of times while I was learning to use a single tail. Still, every person and every scene is different. Spending years as a bottom won't tell you what your partner is feeling - only they can tell you that.

So don't let other people define your path for you. If you want to bottom and feel that it would be a useful way to gain topping skills, great. If you'd rather go to workshops and work with mentors, that's fine too. Whatever you do, realize that your skills will always need development and that you are always limited by your experiences. Does that mean you're an inadequate top? I don't think so. It just means you're not perfect.

Play within your limits, pay attention, keep getting better and have fun.

I definitely agree that if you get into intense sensation play, I think you should have the sensations you’re going to do done to you. You don’t have to do it to an extreme. But I don’t think you should be cutting someone’s ass to ribbons with a cane or a single-tail, or sticking 18g needles through their bits, if you’ve never gotten hit or poked yourself. You need to understand what you’re dishing out. So experience what it’s like to get even one stripe on your flesh. Get pierced with even one 25g needle. It’ll make you appreciate what your bottoms take for you all the more.

I'm on a letter-answering kick lately...

Dear Mistress Matisse,

I'm thinking about sleeping with someone for money. I've never done this before. He posted on craigslist and we've corresponded. So far I have been really clear about why I'm considering this (money) and what my boundaries are.1 I've asked for proof that he is STD-free.2 I'm planning on first meeting him at a safe, public place.3 This guy seems able to compensate me well (he's offered to pay back my student loans). 4 Do you have advice on a reasonable way to get paid and how much to ask for?5 Can I go about this in a way that minimizes my legal risk?6 Should I ever go to his house or should I insist on meeting in hotels? 7 Should I sleep over? 8

I'm not desperate for money and I don't want to open a business doing this, but this seems like a good opportunity - I like having sex and making some money would be nice. I'd just like to minimize the risks to myself, my health, and my future.

So, Why Not Have Some Summer Fun?

There’s something a bit off about this letter to me. It’s like it almost rings true, but not quite. I’m simply not believing in it. It may well be from a guy, because horny guys always think they’ll get attention from me if they say they’re women. And the unnecessary capitalization in the last line is odd.

Plus, it seems a bit like the writer wants to be spoon-fed. She makes no mention of any research she’s done, even on my blog, about how to manage this. That always makes me more inclined to help someone.

But, just on the off-chance this writer is sincere, I will give her and all of you the fifty-cent answer to these questions.

1. That’s good, but count on having to communicate that more than once.

2. That’s not something sex workers ask for. But if he’s willing to provide it, fine. It doesn’t mean you’re not taking some risk, but that’s part of game. I find it strange, though. Would you demand this from anyone you had sex with or do you mistakenly imagine having sex for money is somehow higher risk than having sex with a guy you met in other circumstances?

3. Once again, that’s fine, but don’t assume just because the man didn’t show up to Starbucks carrying an chainsaw, then he’s a perfectly safe date and you needn’t consider the matter anymore.

4. He’s going to pay back your student loans? Sweet Jesus, that sounds like a lot of money.

5. A reasonable way to get paid is for him to give you the cash. You can certainly make other arrangements, from Paypal to taking a check, but that’s up to you. As for the amount, see answer number four: I think you’re doing all right there. Spoon-feeding moment: If you want to know what other call girls make in your area, Google the words "escort" + the name of your town, and cruise the web pages that come up.

6. The way to minimize your legal risk is A) not to do it, or B) make sure you don’t do it with a police officer. You’ve chosen not to take option A. Now, teaching someone how to break the law and not get caught is not within the realm of this blog. I’m not a lawyer and I don’t give legal advice. The only quick opinion I would offer is: it just seems unlikely that a vice cop would invest a ton of time coaxing a solitary amateur into a committing a simple misdemeanor. I doubt that it would be considered efficient use of taxpayer money. But that’s a risk you take.

7. Completely up to you. Some girls like hotels because they feel physically safer there. Others feel they lack privacy. It’s your call.

8. It's your choice. There actually are no union rules about stuff like this, and I can't tell you what your personal boundaries are.

Amazon would be your best friend at this point. I can’t write you a whole book, but a lot of other women have, and I suggest you read some of them. Best of luck to you.

I was so busy last week I forgot to post the link to the newest column. So, a little belatedly, here it is: all about my orgasms.

***

I wanted to say a public thank you to loyal reader Van. Van is someone who always had something interesting to say about what I’d written, and when I decided to go comment-less, he missed that feature so much that he spent time and effort creating a message board where people could post comments and discuss this blog. That was very sweet of him and I was touched by that.

But for some reason, it never really took off. Neither of us is sure why. But since it was really not being utilized, it’s been taken down. Requiescat in pace, Matisseans Board.

Still, I’m grateful to have readers like Van. I’ve never met him in person, and since he lives in another country, I probably never will. But he’s a cool guy who made the effort to create what he wanted, and I always respect that.

So it's somehow gotten to be 1 am and sleepy around here again. This time, instead of pretending to discuss literature, I thought I'd give you art. But with semi-naked chicks, so you don't get too bored. I went into the photo archive and pulled out, more or less at random, two images I took some years ago. (Possibly NWS.)

Here's a very early one of my self-portraits, one I always liked, although it drew mixed reactions from critics. It's been chopped up and generally mangled about in Photoshop, which accounts for it's odd shape. It was taken about 1999. (Long-time pals will recognize the bathroom of my then-dungeon.)

This second one is from one of my short-lived photographic obsessions, shooting color film through a red filter. Mostly it's just too bloody dark, unless you light the bejesus out of whatever you're shooting. But I also had a phase of shooting people with masks on, and I liked the way this one turned out. Probably taken in 2003, I'm not sure. (Long-time pals will recognize the bondage chair I had when I first opened up shop in 1998. Looks sort of like a kiddie chair next to the one I have now, doesn't it?)

Have a lovely sunny weekend!

I meant to write a longer post for today, but wow, it's Wednesday night at midnight, and I'm a little tired... I had a rather eventful day, and then a nice large glass of champagne.

So, for now, here's three new books I'm wanting. (one, two, three.) I say wanting, not reading. You see, I have a Kindle, because I have the most fabulous friends in the whole wide world. And while I wasn't sure how much I'd use it... it's become a little bit addictive.

True, the whole e-book thing isn't quite perfect. I really like having the physical book, with pages to turn, et cetera. But those who know me know how charmed I am by instant gratification. And that is a feature of the Kindle. Want it? Read it now.

Thus I am unreasonably annoyed to note that none of these books are immediately available on Kindle. What? I have to wait? No! Oh, all right, fine, I'll order them, like in the old days. Maybe they'll be delivered by covered wagon or something.

Oh dear, that's pretty bad, isn't it? As my mom used to say, in that mother sing-song guaranteed to annoy small children, "I think somebody is tired...." When I was a kid I would always protest vociferously: I was not tired! But it's the sign of being a real grown-up that you want to go to bed.

So I will...

Letter From A Reader

I pulled this from the inbox. The writer greets me and says some nice stuff, and then gets to the issue…

I've had a D/s relationship with a submissive girl for almost a year. It's partly virtual because we do not live in the same place, but we have been together and taken the D/s relationship into real life too. It is the first time for both of us. We are also pretty much in love with each other…. We are both around 38 - she just broke up a marriage of 7 years. I mentioned going into a new relationship in such a short while was maybe not a good idea. She decided to go on. And everything has really been fine. Except these last months where I have not been handling the long distance communication things so well. It gets me cranky.

She is now free from a marriage that gave her hard times and did not help much with her self esteem, so she is happy and enjoying her freedom (I don't mean sexually), finding herself again, etc. I understand all of that, and share the joy for her. But, I feel this is not a point for someone to be submissive to someone else….I feel her attention is not as centered, she is not too disciplined, and all of this has been pissing me off a bit.

So I said I needed to take some space, and did. This, meaning less emails, less chat, less cam, etc. Now she says she doesn't want to be a burden for me, that she wants me to want her, etc., and that she can't be submissive if she feels she is a burden. She will come live closer soon, in a couple of months. But now she said until she comes she needs to feel free and so wants to lay things down for a while until we meet again, that it is for the better and that she still loves me and still wants to be my sub, that she adores me and has never felt so strong.

Ok, fine. Sorry for the rant, but, my question is: This attitude of hers has made me feel very angry. I decided to take space, she thinks it's better to stop for a while, sort of even saying it will be better for me. I have felt like she is taking over the control of the relationship by deciding something like this. I said I only want her here if she wants to be here, anything else is not good for me.

So, how does a Dom handle a situation like this? Where he feels the sub is somehow taking control of the situation? It makes me feel uncomfortable. Sort of like the person who was under me is now on top.

We both love each other a lot, I know this.

I get a lot of emails about, “How do I handle X situation in a D/s context?” And my answer is often, “Dominance and submission have nothing to do with your problem.”

You see, I’m 100% behind anyone who wants to live in a 24/7, dominant/submissive arrangement. If that’s what you want, that’s great. But it is my observation that very, very, very few people really give up total control of their lives, for good. Like, very few. People will give up some control, some of the time, as Master Abe Lincoln might have said. But when a dominant runs up against an emotional boundary, boom, that’s it. All of a sudden the submissive who’s been talking about his/her complete and undying submission stands up and says, “No, uh-uh, I don’t want to do this.”

And that’s normal. That’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do. People often don’t know their limits until they get to one. You two are both very new to D/s. When you began this, she could not have known what would be okay for her and what would not. Neither could you. So I don’t blame either of you, you’re learning as you go. But that's occasionally a bruising process.

Many, many kinky relationships are essentially romantic/sexual partnerships with a twist. Stripped of all the trimmings, this is a long-distance love affair that’s faltering. That happens. You’ve pointed out all the reasons it has for faltering. Can it be saved? I don’t know. But what I do know is that the fact that you’re dominant and she’s submissive is beside the point. So, my Dear Reader, this is a boyfriend-girlfriend problem, and you should put aside any idea that you being dominant means you get to control her emotions in that way.

I can’t tell you exactly why she’s doing what she’s doing, or who’s right and who’s wrong, or anything like that. I grant you that she’s doing a somewhat classic conflict-avoidance thing by saying “It would be better for you.” She shouldn’t use that line, but it’s a small offense. And really, weren’t you doing the same when you said, "I feel this is not a point for someone to be submissive to someone else"?

But it’s not about who’s right and who’s wrong. I would say: yes, why not take a break? If she’s going to be moving physically closer to you soon, that seems like a natural place to resume spending time together and see if you two can pick up what you had again.

Sometimes – and I don’t know if this is you or not – but sometimes I think people gravitate to a dominant role because it makes them think they’ll be safe from being hurt. They think that they’ll be able to control their relationships, and that their heart will never be broken. I wish that were true. But it’s not. If anything, the deeper intimacy of intense and taboo love means that you risk more hurt, more disappointment. It’s a trade-off for the powerful pleasure we take in what we do. You might consider if that underlying belief is playing a part in your feelings of anger with her, because letting go of that idea will make your emotional life as a dominant much smoother.

I wish you both luck…

Hot Or Not?

I am very bad about listening to voicemail on the 329- number. I let it stack up for days. But eventually I get to it….

BEEP: Uh, so like, if I was in Seattle I’d come see you. You’re really hot. But I’m in California. Do you know any mistresses in California? Who are like, really hot? Could you call me and tell me about them? Like, how to find them, and what they’d do to me? And if they’re hot? Hotness is really important to me. END OF MESSAGE

You have got to be kidding. What am I, Google? No, I will not call you and tell you how to find all the many, many pro dommes located in the very large state of California. That is not my job.

I wonder how this man found me. Occasionally, even now, I get calls from people in all kinds of distant places who somehow got my number, and who say they don’t have internet, and thus cannot find BDSM resources online, and want me to do it for them. I feel sorry for people who are limited in this way, but I really can’t spend tons of time searching for local phone numbers for folks like this. They just need to brave the public library and get online.

So it's unlikely enough when someone wants me to find them a phone number for a munch coordinator in Deer Creek, Minnesota, or Bartow, Florida, or Gardiner, Maine. But this guy wants me to find him a pro domme? Oh, please.

If he’s not in Seattle, then I assume he’s not looking at my ad in a paper copy of The Stranger or The Weekly. Thus, he must be able to get online. So the question is: why is he asking me to do his searching for him? Answer: he just wants me to call him back and talk dirty about pro dommes to him. There are girls who do that professionally, and it’s pretty cheap these days, too. I would not be one of them.

So you’ll have to find the hotness by yourself, buddy.

A Calidora review, for those of you who are interested in such things....

My experience: not terrible, but not perfect, either. Here's why...

Before you get services, you have to do an "complexion analysis" session where they take close-up photos of your skin, show them to you, and then basically sales-pitch you on buying packages of services. I am a very educated skin-care-services consumer, so I was quite prepared to be clear about what I wanted from them and what I didn't. And it wasn't a super-hard sell or anything, they didn't push me when I said, "No, I'll just try the one regular facial today."

I was at the University Village location, and it's a very pretty space. The staff were all very friendly and pleasant.

The facial itself was fine, mainly a pretty standard spa facial. My only problem was that I told the girl giving it to me, "Don't do anything that's going to made me red." (One's skin is often a bit flushed and red for a few hours after a regular facial, that's normal. But I didn't want to do anything that would make me more red than that.)

But then she suggested a treatment with lactic acid. Now, I have not ever had any kind of acid peels. But I know they usually make you red.

So I said, "Is it going to make me red afterwards?"

"No, it's very mild," she replied.

"All right, I'll try it."

Well, guess what? Yeah. I was red. Not like people-staring-at-me-in-the-street sort of thing. But I looked like I had a mild sunburn for about 2 days. Makeup took care of some of it, and it didn't ruin my world or anything, but still - I asked, she said no. I understand that people respond differently, but I think she should have given me a better answer. She either didn't know it could happen, which isn't great, or she just wanted to sell the treatment, which also isn't great.

My skin looks fine now - in fact, it looks nice. So it wasn't a bad treatment. Just bad communication.

I love and adore the people at my dermatologist's office, but that's a M-F, 9-5 situation, and scheduling stuff is often challenging. I tried Calidora mainly because they're open evenings and weekends. I'm not saying I'd never go back, but I don't think I'd trust them to do anything new and different. And based on this imperfect communication about what could happen, I would definitely not advise getting anything serious, like injectables, there. Go there strictly for simple maintenance.

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.

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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.)

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

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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.

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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.