Believe. In Gravity.

Last night Elvis and I got to observe something you don't see very often: a very high-budget, high-tech Las Vegas strip performance go spectacularly wrong.

Apart from this incident, I could review the Criss Angel/Cirque Du Soliel show, Believe, in two words: don't go. It's pretty bad. I don't like to say that about performers, because I know what it's like to put yourself out there, but - yeah, it's just pretty bad.

I've never seen Mr. Angel before, so I don't know what he's like on TV. But he doesn't really do much of anything in the show. I mean, he pulls some doves out of his sleeve, and otherwise he mainly runs around the stage and strikes poses while dressed like a Hot Topic store blew up on him. The whole thing was sort of like a bad homage to Nine Inch Nails videos, only without the music. Occasionally he'd put drapes over things and make them disappear - which is really not an awe-inspiring feat on a stage fitted out with wires and trapdoors. We could see the lines sometimes. Sloppy.

And there were giant bunnies. Very creepy giant bunnies. Matisse no like weird giant bunnies. Uh uh.

But Elvis and I were having fun anyway, because we always have fun, so it wasn't tragic. We were seated in the second row, right in the center, and we had cocktails, and we were cracking jokes to each other. And some of the Cirque Du Soliel dance numbers were okay. (Although, only some, and only okay, which is highly unusual for Cirque Du Soliel.)

And then Mr. Angel started gearing up for what was obviously The Big Trick. They put a white leather straitjacket on him (I liked that) and hoisted him up in the air by his ankles, a la Harry Houdini. I'd say he was about, oh, maybe thirty feet up in the air? Or more.

Then they flew him out over the audience, so he was actually behind us, more or less centered over the house. And they shone a spotlight on him as he dramatically wiggled out of the straitjacket. Ta-da.

So that was fine. Then the house and the stage all went dark for an instant, and then... Things went wrong somehow. There were some voices yelling, and the house lights came up to show us Mr. Angel still up high in the air, still upside down by his ankles. He was closer to the stage, but he was still out over the seats. And he was not happy. Not at all.

The obvious end of the trick was: they were supposed to fly him back to the stage in the dark, and drop him into a waiting trunk, from which he would then triumphantly emerge a moment later. "Ha ha! Look, here I am!"

However, something went wrong, and what we heard Mr. Angel yelling was: "Don't use the automation, don't use the automation!" It was not the voice of a man making a casual suggestion. I inferred that he meant: "Don't move this line I'm hanging from." I don't know what happened to make Mr. Angel think he was in imminent danger of falling thirty feet straight down onto his head, but that is clearly what he was afraid was going to happen.

At first we thought it was part of the show. But after a minute, it was clear that no, this was serious. A voice came over the loudspeaker, "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated while this problem is taken care of...." A dozen tech guys with headsets swarmed around the edge of the stage and the house floor, barking orders at the booth and reassuring Mr. Angel, who managed to stay reasonably calm.

But I myself have done a lot of inverted suspensions with Max. I have hung by my ankles with my head at least twenty feet from the ground, and I know what it felt like when I was afraid that I was going to fall. No one I have played with has never dropped me, or even come close. But still, it was really not a pleasant feeling. Elvis and I were close enough to see Mr. Angel's face, and he looked like he felt exactly the same way about it as I did.

I looked as carefully as I could, but I could not tell what was wrong with the rig. I don't think it was the ankle harness, and the hardware connecting him to the line looked okay. But all the techs seemed to agree with Mr. Angel that something bad might happen. This was not an: "Oh dear, Mr. Angel's trick went wrong, how embarrassing. But he's perfectly safe." No, the energy was definitely: "Criss, don't move, we're going to get you down, but do not move."

To rescue him, they dropped two more lines down to the techs, who hooked them together into a U-shape and put a big wide padded strap on them. They flew that up to Mr. Angel, who instantly seized it in a death grip, slipped the strap around his torso, and unclipped himself from the bad line.

The whole incident took about six or seven minutes. That's a long, long time when you think you're about to fall. To his credit, when Mr. Angel landed on the stage, he turned and thanked us for our utter silence and stillness during the rescue. He cracked a joke about the joys of doing live entertainment - but he had that pale, cold-sweat look to him.

There was a brief "intermission" and then - they went on with the show. Because that's what you do. I thought, "Well, it was already pretty bad before, so at least they don't have to worry about it being bad now."

But it makes you think. I've heard about a couple of bad suspension-related falls lately in the national bondage scene. Not fatal, luckily, but bad. This is a Vegas production costing millions of dollars, and employing highly trained people who lift things up in the air professionally. And still, something went wrong - something I suspect had the potential to be very bad indeed. Thank god it didn't, because whatever one thinks of Mr. Angel as a performer, one would not want him to fall on his head. He didn't seem to feel that his magic powers would save him if he did fall. I don't think yours would either. Be careful, people. Be very careful.

Having a wonderful time in Sin City, sinning. Meanwhile, the new Stranger column is up. It's about the recent changes on Craigslist. Enjoy!

Travel Notes (In Which I Am Very Parenthetical)

I'm off to Las Vegas today, to spend some time with Elvis... (That's a nickname, by the way. I am not going to actually hang out with a dead person. I am not that kinky.)

We're staying at Encore again, which we both loved last time. (Writer's dilemma: using the phrase "encore again" feels redundant, even though it's not. Hmmn, how about: We are staying at the hotel called "Encore" for a second time? No, clunky. We are staying at Encore, the same place we stayed last time? More correct, but I just don't like it. Oh well, to heck with it, you know what I mean.)

We have tickets to the Criss Angel/Cirque du Soleil show, so that should be a lot of fun. There was also some talk about going to a gun range where they let you fire machine guns, which seems noisy but entertaining. And I plan on getting some serious bikini time. (Probably not while I'm firing a machine gun, although that seems like a highly amusing photo op.)

I'm back late Saturday, so if you want to see me next week, drop me a note or a voicemail. (It seems like I should have something in parenthesis here, just to keep the rhythm. But I don't have any additional thoughts. Bye!)

It's time for another podcast with Mistress Matisse and Twisted Monk... In this one, we read some letters and talk about the very sticky issue of dealing with parents who get too nosy about their adult-children's sex life. Or: What To Do When Your Parents Find Out You're Kinky - And They Aren't Happy.
About ten minutes.

I love popular-science author Mary Roach's writing so much. If you have not read Stiff and Bonk, you're missing out. (Her other book, Spook, is okay, but not as good.)

Now here she is to tell us some very odd things about sex - both human, and animal...

Occasionally I am reminded that some newer kinky people don't know stuff about BDSM culture that I take for granted. Like the Hanky Code.

I read a lot of online forums about BDSM, and I regularly see someone - usually a heterosexual person - talking about how they wish there was some subtle but clear way that BDSM people could signal to each other in public: "Hey, I'm kinky." Hmmm, what about a lapel pin? Or maybe - a necklace? Lots of options are suggested, and then rejected for various reasons.

And I have to smile, because this is a perfect example of reinventing the wheel. As with many sexual things, the gay men got there way ahead of the rest of us and figured all this out. Thus - the hanky code: a color-coded bandanna tucked in the back pocket of a pair of jeans that indicates sexual preferences.

To indicate that someone is wearing a hanky, we speak of them "flagging" and also of "flagging left" or "flagging right." A hanky (or flag) worn in the left back pocket - or in any way on the left half of someone's body - means they are a top. A hanky on the right means they are a bottom.

Sometimes people tie the hankies around their arm, or thread them through the epaulets of a motorcycle jacket. Same principle applies.

You can flag more than one color at a time. However, if you have, say, eleven different hankies hanging off your body, people may think that you're a bit... indiscriminate.

Now, over time, the range of colors listed in various hanky codes has grown to a truly absurd degree. And there are some differences between the gay men's lists and the lists used (although not very much) by lesbians. One sometimes sees some variations regionally, too, although I think the internet has erased a lot of the old East Coast/West Coast differences.

In my opinion, the important ones are: black and gray, which always mean heavy SM and bondage, respectively.

Red is also easy to identify, although for men it means fist-fucking and for women it sometimes means bloodsports, so you're going to want to be clear about that before you go home with someone.

Yellow is a good one. Three guesses what that color is for.

And then there's about a hundred other colors. But if you can tell the difference between "Air Force blue" and robin's egg blue" - especially in a dark bar - well, you've got better color sense than I do. You should definitely ask.

I don't know if there ever was really a time and place where simply wearing a hanky meant someone could just walk up to you and start doing whatever. But that's definitely not what you should do, or expect, now.

It is, however, a perfectly reasonable way to start a conversation with someone at a party - or after exchanging a few significant glances with them in the produce department of the grocery store, for that matter. "Nice hanky. Is that apricot, or orange?"

Some days I really want to spank Rob Brezsney.

Scorpio Horoscope for week of May 21, 2009
"It's your choice, Scorpio. You could be a creative dynamo who changes the course of local history -- or you could be a plain old boring sex maniac. What'll it be? We here at the Free Will Astrology Libido Management Center encourage you to at least partially sublimate your unruly mojo into beautiful works of art, innovative business solutions, and brilliant strokes of collaboration. You don't have to stop boinking altogether; just make it the second most important thing you rather than your raison d'etre. "

But, but, but...! Oh all right, fine. Fine!

Damn.

Male Model Call

Note: This is not a shoot I'm organizing or participating in. I'm just posting this information for a friend of mine, the lovely and talented Lady Lydia McLane. This is all the information I have on the matter, I cannot answer any questions, so please direct all inquiries to her!

***

Call For Male Submissive Models!

Website: The website is currently in creation. We currently have 5 adult websites all containing fetish/BDSM content.

Details: FemDom/BDSM shoot with male sub and female top with 1 or more Mistresses, including anal play. Gay, Bi or straight men encouraged to apply. No prior work with acting, adult sites, or modeling is required. The activities we are looking for are bondage, CBT, electro play, strap-on, plugs, caning, whipping, stress positions, forced exercise, and other corporeal and clamp play.

ID & Paperwork: 1 unexpired US Gov. issued ID with Date of Birth and a secondary ID with all releases and 2257 information provided.

Compensation: $200-300 depending on your limits.

Dress/Costumes: If you have leather or rubber clothing then please bring a few pieces. Mostly you will be naked.

Description: Please be height, weight proportionate and between the ages of 21 and 40. Provide the following information...
height
weight
hair color
brief previous history with other websites or personal BDSM history

Contact: beltaneinc@comcast.net

Thank you for your time,
Lydia McLane

So this week, for a 12seconds video, I talked Monk into showing me his naked push-ups.

Well, I sort of tricked him into it. See, he always tells me about the mean stuff his personal trainer does to him - you people think I'm sadistic? You have no idea! I sometimes get really envious that this guy gets to hurt my boyfriend so bad. And I don't even get to watch!

(Monk would let me sit in, but he usually goes early in the morning. Nu-uh. Not even for hot boy-on-boy action do I get up at that hour.)

So tonight when we were talking gym-porn, I casually got out my phone, hid it behind my back, arranged my face into an innocent expression, and said, "One-footed push-ups? I don't understand, darling, what are those?"

These. Aren't they nice? (Probably not safe for work. )

Subject line from modeling-spam:
HIGH PAYING TOPLESS EMINEM PHOTO SHOOT/UNCUT EMINEM VIDEO SHOOT

Wow, Eminem is uncut? I really did not need to have that information. TMI, TMI...

And I don't care if he is topless - I am not going to top him. (Okay, that's silly, I know, but my inner editor rails against banal composition.)

I will not be answering this email. I used to model for other people a fair amount, but I don't much anymore. It's too time-consuming, and I'd rather create my own shoots to get images that are useful to me. Someone else's art, as meaningful as it is to them, is not what I need for my professional site. (Needless to say, photos of me, topless, with Eminem would certainly be... interesting. But not really something I'd use professionally.)

And modeling is work, too. I used to sneer when I'd see models on TV or whatever talking about how hard it was. And then I started doing it, and found out: they were right. No, it's not like digging ditches. But it sure isn't just sitting around fluffing your hair and smiling, either.

Want to experience what it's like to model? Do this: stand up and get into a strenuous standing position. Try this - a yoga "King of the Dance" position. Now, hold that. Hmmn, try leaning your head all the way back. But turn your chin so that you're looking into the lens. Come on, just twist your neck more. But relax your face, you look like you're straining. Now put one arm straight up into the air. No, no, no, that doesn't work, put it down again. Close your eyes. Smile. A little bit. Not too much. Point your toes. No, your other toes. Can you look sort of languid and sad? But still somehow kind of enthusiastic and happy, too? Okay, now hold that while I fiddle with my lights. Oh, wait, this memory card is full. Don't move, I'll be right back!

Do that for three hours or more, preferably in a room that's really, really warm. And in my case, do it wearing spike heels and a really tight, restrictive outfit. A tightly laced corset? Perfect. Breathing is so overrated. Which would you rather do, breathe or look beautiful?

Yeah, that's work, my friend. As with childbirth, after it's over, one often forgets the bad part and enjoys the end result.

But it's work. It hurts, too. I have been so sore and exhausted from photo shoots, you'd think I bottomed in a heavy scene. Every time I do a shoot, I swear that the next time, I am going to do a bedroom setting just so I can lie down. I don't care if bedroom sets aren't Mistress-y. There are simply some limits to the level of pain I will endure in order to look all dominant.

In the last few days, there has been much discussion in the sex worker blogosphere about Craigslist's announcement that they will soon shut down the "Erotic Services" section.

I have expressed my opinions about sex workers and Craigslist in the past, several times, and I will probably do so again soon, in The Stranger.

In light of that, I have a question for you, my dear readers. I would like to talk to a woman who is actively engaged in doing sex-for-money, and who has used Craigslist regularly in the last six months to get clients.

I am seeing a lot of commentary about the CL decision, but I have not read or heard anything from anyone who actually, herself, fits that description. I would like to talk to a woman whose professional life is going to be immediately and actively impacted by this.

Thus, if you don't currently have sex-for-money, this is not you. If you have sex-for-money but you don't use Craigslist, this is not you. Opinions from those two groups of people abound. Can I talk to a woman who really used CL "Erotic Services"?

If you choose to talk to me, I can promise you that your privacy, your anonymity will be completely protected. No one but me will see your email address or other information, ever.

Drop me a note at MistressMatisse at gmail.com

At last, another podcast. (They were held up by a software-translation problem, but Monk fixed them. Yay!)

In this one, we talk about hierarchy in poly relationships. Polyamorous people can geek out ad nauseum about stuff like: "What does primary mean? What does secondary mean? Do I need these terms? Are they useful or limiting?"

So if you get off on that kind of analysis, you'll loooooove this podcast. It's heavy polyamory theory.

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

I know, I'm bad for posting nothing but video links the last two days. There will be a real post tomorrow. Meanwhile, enjoy footage from SEAF.

There's no new episode of the polyamory web-series "Family" this week. They are doing interviews with the three main actors, though. So, here's eight minutes with performer Ernie Joseph, who plays Ben.

One of the interesting things about this interview is that there's no discussion of Mr. Joseph's personal views on polyamory. I imagine that's at least partly due to career concerns, a concern I don't condemn him for.

But one of the benefits of a show like this is that it raises people's consciousness. I'd be interested to know if the actors who do not identify themselves as poly feel that they now have a greater understanding of polyamorous culture. Perhaps we'll have some discussion of that in the future.

Question for Seattle Escorts

I’m writing a column for The Stranger about couples seeing escorts. If you’ve spent time with couples, and you’re interested in giving me some of your thoughts and opinions about that, drop me a note, and I’ll send you the interview questions. They won’t take long to answer, maybe five-ten minutes.

I will NOT use your professional name in connection with the remarks, everyone’s privacy will (as always) be protected.

If you haven’t read my column before, the archives are here.

Email me at MistressMatisse at gmail.com

Thank you!

Here's the new column in The Stranger, about kink bloopers... Just about everyone I talked to about this column had a lulu of a story for me. It was hard to pick just a few. Enjoy reading about the painful errors of other good tops - as long as you don't repeat them!

Schedule Notes

EDITED at 6pm Thursday May 7th...

Here's what I know about my availability for the next few weeks...

I'm booked the rest of this week.

I have time next week Tuesday the 12th and Weds the 13th.

Maybe a little on Thursday the 14th.

Friday the 15th I'm unavailable.

The week of the 18th to 22nd is still pretty free.

I'm out of town Monday the 25th through Thursday the 28th.

And then I'm out of town again from Weds June 3rd to Saturday June 6th.

Hope that's helpful to my friends...

Highlights From A Family Wedding

So every other Seattle sex blogger – and several from other places – have blogged about how great SEAF was. The Thursday night party certainly was lovely. But since I spent the weekend in Orlando, Florida at my brother’s wedding, guess what? I’m writing about that instead.

The whole event was very nice. The dress I picked out, after all that agonizing, turned out to be perfect. I wasn’t a bridesmaid or anything, thank god. I have pals who have impressive collections of bridesmaid’s dresses, but I’ve never been one, and I see no reason to break up that winning streak now. I instructed my brother very firmly that I was not to be given any official role in this wedding other than guest.

I actually haven’t been to that many weddings, period. So this was my first exposure to some of the silly wedding-reception traditions I’ve seen in movies, like throwing the garter, lots of teary speeches, a DJ who plays cheesy music and tells everyone what to do, ect.

It was also my first experience of a wedding reception that went on for hours. And hours. With an open bar, and a lot of toasts. Everyone, including my mother's rather prim sister, got pretty well lubricated. (Watching my sweet but staid aunt dancing to “The Humpty Dance” was an experience I’m not sure I can do justice to with mere words.) My brother’s wife is Italian, and her family is very nice – and very Italian. Her mom reminds me of a petite Mercedes Ruehl. I think they have a greater ability to handle alcohol than my Anglo-Saxon family.

But they like my brother, so that’s all fine. I remarked to the Mercedes Ruehl-ish mother of the bride that my brother was a sweet man. She replied, in a heavy Jersey accent, “A sweeta man nevah lived!” With the accompanying palm-out, wrist-snapping hand gesture. Seems he’s got his mother-in-law firmly in his corner.

The other amusing thing about the weekend: I hadn’t thought about the fact that my brother would naturally invite a bunch of his childhood/teenage pals to the wedding. Since my brother is two years older than me, that means: people I also know from my childhood/teenage years. To include - the first guy I ever dated. More specifically, the first man I ever had sex with.

The night I arrived at the hotel, I walked into the bar where everyone was meeting up, and thought, “That guy looks familiar, who is that?”

And he grinned at me and said “Oh, fine, don’t recognize me.”

I about fell down on the floor. I was not expecting the first person I saw to be my teenage sweetheart. I met him when I was fourteen, we started dating when I was not-quite-sixteen, and I haven’t seen him since I was about twenty-one. We did have an email exchange not too long ago when, through some social channels, he made the connection of “my old girlfriend” to “Mistress Matisse.” I was pleased to hear from him then, and he was highly amused by my career choice. He’s married to a really sweet woman and they have two adorable children. I’m so glad he’s happy.

And you know what? Spending a little time around him reinforced my opinion that he was a good choice for me as a young girl. Looking back now, I can see where he exercised self-discipline and integrity towards my virginal teenage self. He had a reputation for wild behavior among his male peers, and he was by no means a seventeen-year-old saint with me. But he was a gentleman about the things that mattered, and I respect him for that. I’m glad I had him for my first lover.

We had a lot of fun kidding around and catching up. And we agreed that while we’re both different people now, we are also still, in many essential ways, the same people we were then. He was teasing me over something at one point, and when I reacted, he said, “Oh how cute - you still do that thing where you stomp your foot and try to scowl.”

The First Boyfriend was not, by any means, submissive. But I told him, “You know, I can recall telling you about sexual fantasies I had about women, and about kinky stuff. You were extremely cool and supportive about all of that, even stuff that wasn’t about you, or anything you would be personally into. Thank you for that.”

“Of course I was.” He looked genuinely puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Yeah. A very good choice for my first sexual partner.

The Bindings Project - Teaser from Aaron Nanto on Vimeo.

This is a teaser for Monk's show at SEAF. It's going to be great!

What am I doing this weekend? Well, while ya'll are all basking in the glow of great sexy art and going to workshops by Mark Yu, I am going... to Orlando. Yes, it's my brother's wedding. I could kill him for picking this weekend, but - c'est la vie.

So watch for my Twitters about the Shakespeare-on-the-Gulf family-comedy that will no doubt be transpiring in Mousetown. But at least I get to catch the Thursday night show. Yay!