Updated Availability
Hey Seattle people: If you’re think of trying to see me, this coming week is a good time to do that. I have some time free, and I’ll be traveling a good bit in weeks to come. So, drop me a note soon if you want to get time with me.
For long term planning, here is my travel schedule through November.
I’m out of town, at Folsom Street Fair, from September 25th- 28th.
I’m in Vegas from October 6th to the 9th.
I am in Atlanta from October 23rd through Oct 28th.
And I am in Vegas from November 3rd through the 6th.
(Note: I mention cities only because my pals like to know where I am. I’ll be with an intimate friend on all of these trips, except for Atlanta, which is a family gathering. But either way, I am not available to do private sessions. Sorry!)
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
After way too long of an interval - blame it on our busy schedules - Monk and I got together in the usual zombie-proof sound studio and recorded some silly rants.
This one is a little short, only about seven minutes, but we hope it makes up in entertainment what it lacks in length. It's a letter from a reader who asks about sustaining BDSM energy in a long-term relationship. Enjoy!
This one is a little short, only about seven minutes, but we hope it makes up in entertainment what it lacks in length. It's a letter from a reader who asks about sustaining BDSM energy in a long-term relationship. Enjoy!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Old Attachments
I did something significant lately. Significant to me, anyway. I cut off my old phone number.
It’s the one I got when I first became Mistress Matisse, in 1997. It was a land line then, and I recall that the landlord of my apartment inquired why I needed a second phone line – because of course I already had one.
I told him it was for my dial-up modem. He looked slightly confused – he was definitely not a techie guy - but just shrugged and nodded his head. I had a cell phone as well, but I think it was much cheaper to add a second land line than get a second cell phone, so that’s what I did.
When I moved out of that apartment, I was successful enough as Mistress Matisse that I could, in fact, get another cell. I arranged to have US West seamlessly forward the phone number to it. This was apparently not something most people knew you could do at the time, and it led to some amusing calls from phone-predators who, because it looked like a land-line number, would try to spook me by claiming they could trace me, find my address, and menace me somehow. I’d laugh and hang up. Good luck with that, halfwit.
It’s certainly the phone number that I’ve had the longest in my adult life, and I kept it until about a month ago. You see, for a sex worker, keeping the same phone number is highly desirable. That way your guys can always find you, without having to hunt down a print ad - or now, a website. If they have to look too hard to find you, they’ll probably give up and find someone else.
But truthfully, I have not listened to a voice mail from it in - oh, a year? Maybe more. And I haven’t routinely answered it for about two years. I very rarely see new people anymore, and the few I do meet contact me through email, with a referral from someone I know.
So I didn’t have time even for the perfectly-nice guys, and I was simply tired of dealing with the annoying and time-wasting phone calls. The reasonable thing to do was get another phone, and give the new number only to people I know and like. So I did.
Still, I was reluctant to let the old one go. What if my income suddenly dropped off and I had to start drumming up new business? That’s not how I want to structure my career anymore, but… better keep it, so if I had to, I could activate things at a moment’s notice.
It’s that Cinderella fear – the idea that wow, this is all going so well, and I’m happy and successful and busier than I can handle – but what if the clock strikes twelve and it all vanishes like a soap bubble? Better keep all the old options open, even if you don’t need them now.
There’s nothing wrong with keeping one’s options open – to a degree. But at a certain point, links to the past become anchors, not options. They weigh you down. You have to trust yourself, and trust the universe, that you’ll keep moving forward. Life looks a lot different for me than it did even a couple of years ago, and I’m trusting that I will never need that phone number again.
I did something significant lately. Significant to me, anyway. I cut off my old phone number.
It’s the one I got when I first became Mistress Matisse, in 1997. It was a land line then, and I recall that the landlord of my apartment inquired why I needed a second phone line – because of course I already had one.
I told him it was for my dial-up modem. He looked slightly confused – he was definitely not a techie guy - but just shrugged and nodded his head. I had a cell phone as well, but I think it was much cheaper to add a second land line than get a second cell phone, so that’s what I did.
When I moved out of that apartment, I was successful enough as Mistress Matisse that I could, in fact, get another cell. I arranged to have US West seamlessly forward the phone number to it. This was apparently not something most people knew you could do at the time, and it led to some amusing calls from phone-predators who, because it looked like a land-line number, would try to spook me by claiming they could trace me, find my address, and menace me somehow. I’d laugh and hang up. Good luck with that, halfwit.
It’s certainly the phone number that I’ve had the longest in my adult life, and I kept it until about a month ago. You see, for a sex worker, keeping the same phone number is highly desirable. That way your guys can always find you, without having to hunt down a print ad - or now, a website. If they have to look too hard to find you, they’ll probably give up and find someone else.
But truthfully, I have not listened to a voice mail from it in - oh, a year? Maybe more. And I haven’t routinely answered it for about two years. I very rarely see new people anymore, and the few I do meet contact me through email, with a referral from someone I know.
So I didn’t have time even for the perfectly-nice guys, and I was simply tired of dealing with the annoying and time-wasting phone calls. The reasonable thing to do was get another phone, and give the new number only to people I know and like. So I did.
Still, I was reluctant to let the old one go. What if my income suddenly dropped off and I had to start drumming up new business? That’s not how I want to structure my career anymore, but… better keep it, so if I had to, I could activate things at a moment’s notice.
It’s that Cinderella fear – the idea that wow, this is all going so well, and I’m happy and successful and busier than I can handle – but what if the clock strikes twelve and it all vanishes like a soap bubble? Better keep all the old options open, even if you don’t need them now.
There’s nothing wrong with keeping one’s options open – to a degree. But at a certain point, links to the past become anchors, not options. They weigh you down. You have to trust yourself, and trust the universe, that you’ll keep moving forward. Life looks a lot different for me than it did even a couple of years ago, and I’m trusting that I will never need that phone number again.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Polyamory in Pop Culture
MTV aired its "True Life" documentary titled "I'm Polyamorous." Poly in The News blog has a write-up of it.
And another episode of the web-cast series about polyamorous people, "Family."
Also: Monk and I are (finally) recording more podcasts tonight! Send us your questions about poly, kink, sex work, or anything else weird, and we'll answer them together - while making a lot of dirty jokes, of course...
MTV aired its "True Life" documentary titled "I'm Polyamorous." Poly in The News blog has a write-up of it.
And another episode of the web-cast series about polyamorous people, "Family."
Also: Monk and I are (finally) recording more podcasts tonight! Send us your questions about poly, kink, sex work, or anything else weird, and we'll answer them together - while making a lot of dirty jokes, of course...
Monday, September 14, 2009
From The MailBag
Little known fact about me: I have, in my possession, an unusual and highly specialized machine. This very rare machine – normally not seen outside of FBI offices and the chambers of certain Supreme Court Justices - rivals anything you ever saw in a Batman or James Bond movie. It is a device so cunning, so technically advanced, it can analyze writing samples and detect whether something was written while someone was masturbating! Yes, it’s true! I have a Wank-O-Scope!
Normally a member of the public, such as yourself, would not have access to the findings of such a classified piece of technology. Wank-O-Scope read-outs are extremely hard to understand if you aren’t a highly trained professional like me. But just today, I’ll feed this sample through the Wank-O-Scope and interpret the results for you.
So okay, let me just insert this little doohickey here, push these buttons, and enter the secret code. Then I’ll don my protective headgear, and flip the clear plastic cover off the red button that says DANGER - DO NOT PUSH - WANK-O-SCOPE!
Now, stand clear, everyone. Children, do not try this at home. And for God’s sake, do not look directly at the Wank-O-Scope blast!
Zap! Bzzzzz....Ka-bam!
May I have the envelope, please? (And would someone keep Kayne West off the stage?) The Wank-O-Scope sez: congratulations, you’re a wanker! So your punishment is: take some remedial writing classes and let go of any now-creepy teenage obsessions you had with school officials. Then find someone in real life to spank you and stop bothering busy ladies.
i wanted to ask your advice, about a punishment that i feel i deserve. i know you have lots of experience with punishments (spankings). i graduated high school in 2000. :) in 2000, i was 19 years old, ready to graduate. :) i was very excited about graduating. :) during the school year, it was about April 2000, when we were in art class, and the teacher went out of the room, and what happened was, i walked over near her desk, there was a can of spray adhesive, and i have no idea why, but what i did, was i sprayed the teacher's plants with the spray adhesive. it was very wrong of me, and i regretted it. i did get called to the principal office. i was originally gonna be suspended for 3 days, but i talked the principal into letting me give up my senior dismissal, so that i wouldn't be suspended. We had a school assistant who was there, her name was Mrs. X. She was a very strict woman. deep down, i knew i deserve to be suspended. a few days after i was given the punishment of, no senior dismissal, i began to wonder what it would be like, if i was punished by the school assistant, Mrs. X. i thought about how if she called me to her office, and was gonna punish me. i graduated, and continued to have these feelings of needing to be punished. i thought about how i deserved to be punished, and really wanted her to punish me. i began to imagine myself going into her office, closing the door, and her putting a paddle and cane on her desk, and me bending over her desk, and being severely spanked by her. 9 years later, i still have those feelings, of needing to be punished. i don't believe Mrs. X is working anymore, she left my high school, but i looked online to see if i could find her email address, so that i could tell her how i wish i had been punished by her.
i still feel very guilty about the whole thing, and i feel, i do deserve a very severe, and sound spanking. i've heard self-spanking can be affective, and i want to set a day, where it's a punishment day for me. i have a leather belt, a thin whippy bamboo cane, a wooden spoon, and i also have a butt plug. i was wondering, if you could sentence me to a punishment. Thank you, so very much. :)
Little known fact about me: I have, in my possession, an unusual and highly specialized machine. This very rare machine – normally not seen outside of FBI offices and the chambers of certain Supreme Court Justices - rivals anything you ever saw in a Batman or James Bond movie. It is a device so cunning, so technically advanced, it can analyze writing samples and detect whether something was written while someone was masturbating! Yes, it’s true! I have a Wank-O-Scope!
Normally a member of the public, such as yourself, would not have access to the findings of such a classified piece of technology. Wank-O-Scope read-outs are extremely hard to understand if you aren’t a highly trained professional like me. But just today, I’ll feed this sample through the Wank-O-Scope and interpret the results for you.
So okay, let me just insert this little doohickey here, push these buttons, and enter the secret code. Then I’ll don my protective headgear, and flip the clear plastic cover off the red button that says DANGER - DO NOT PUSH - WANK-O-SCOPE!
Now, stand clear, everyone. Children, do not try this at home. And for God’s sake, do not look directly at the Wank-O-Scope blast!
Zap! Bzzzzz....Ka-bam!
May I have the envelope, please? (And would someone keep Kayne West off the stage?) The Wank-O-Scope sez: congratulations, you’re a wanker! So your punishment is: take some remedial writing classes and let go of any now-creepy teenage obsessions you had with school officials. Then find someone in real life to spank you and stop bothering busy ladies.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
A fashion post, for those of you who like such things…
I could not find a good picture online of the dress from the Twitpic yesterday! I’m surprised, even Barney’s doesn’t have it - on their own website! But I see that the designer, Derek Lam, also has a white version that is very similar – a little lower-cut, I think – and also super-yummy, at least in the pictures. A good little black dress is great, but I like wearing white dresses as well. It messes with people’s heads when I wear white.
So I liked both of them, but I think I’ll defer buying them.
Speaking of color: I did find this picture of a Derek Lam dress that would be very hot – except that it’s a terrible color. They call that mauve? Uh, no, that’s mud, is what that is. Ew. Too bad, the cut and style is lovely. (Designer Rick Owens does this a lot as well – good styles, but in terrible, ugly colors.)
What I may have to go back to Barney’s and buy is this skirt. The designer, Dries Van Noten, calls this fabric “reptile”, and that’s a good description. It’s got texture and shine, but it’s not puffy, or crunchy. And it fits like a skin, too! Really gorgeous. And a girl just can’t have too many pencil skirts, can she?
I could not find a good picture online of the dress from the Twitpic yesterday! I’m surprised, even Barney’s doesn’t have it - on their own website! But I see that the designer, Derek Lam, also has a white version that is very similar – a little lower-cut, I think – and also super-yummy, at least in the pictures. A good little black dress is great, but I like wearing white dresses as well. It messes with people’s heads when I wear white.
So I liked both of them, but I think I’ll defer buying them.
Speaking of color: I did find this picture of a Derek Lam dress that would be very hot – except that it’s a terrible color. They call that mauve? Uh, no, that’s mud, is what that is. Ew. Too bad, the cut and style is lovely. (Designer Rick Owens does this a lot as well – good styles, but in terrible, ugly colors.)
What I may have to go back to Barney’s and buy is this skirt. The designer, Dries Van Noten, calls this fabric “reptile”, and that’s a good description. It’s got texture and shine, but it’s not puffy, or crunchy. And it fits like a skin, too! Really gorgeous. And a girl just can’t have too many pencil skirts, can she?
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Read Me Elsewhere
The new column in The Stranger, in which I talk about the optimum intervals for going down on women. (I'm currently drafting a follow-up column about blow-jobs.)
Also, I have a new article here, in FilthyGorgeousThings.com. It is not free, but if you don't wish to subscribe, you can buy access to my piece for a very small fee. It is, however, a good website, and I recommend it.
The new column in The Stranger, in which I talk about the optimum intervals for going down on women. (I'm currently drafting a follow-up column about blow-jobs.)
Also, I have a new article here, in FilthyGorgeousThings.com. It is not free, but if you don't wish to subscribe, you can buy access to my piece for a very small fee. It is, however, a good website, and I recommend it.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Facials - Not The Spa Kind
Last night at Puck's birthday gathering, one of the dinner-table discussions was whether it's inherently demeaning to have a guy come on your face. (I love the conversations I can have with my friends. I really do.)
My feeling is that it's not - unless it's a scene and you both want it to be, and that's hot to you. And I was interested to find that the three other women and two men present agreed with me.
"So you take the Eleanor Roosevelt point of view - that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent?" I asked the woman sitting next to me.
"Yeah. If I was with some guy and he tried to make me feel all demeaned by coming on my face, I'd be like: whatever with you, phhffft!" She turned her head, lifting one shoulder in a very feminine gesture of dismissal. "I wouldn't feel bad, it would just be stupid of him."
Across the table, her partner - who has a gift for rapier-like ripostes - tapped his finger on his chin thoughtfully and remarked, "You know what you should say if a guy tries to do that? Be demeaning by coming on you, I mean."
What? what? we all asked.
He put on a wide-eyed, innocent expression and spoke in a girlish voice. "Is that - is that it? Oh... Okay, no, it's cool, I just... thought there would be more. Huh... Is it always like that?”
We howled with laughter.
He shrugged. "There's always a way to turn things around."
Last night at Puck's birthday gathering, one of the dinner-table discussions was whether it's inherently demeaning to have a guy come on your face. (I love the conversations I can have with my friends. I really do.)
My feeling is that it's not - unless it's a scene and you both want it to be, and that's hot to you. And I was interested to find that the three other women and two men present agreed with me.
"So you take the Eleanor Roosevelt point of view - that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent?" I asked the woman sitting next to me.
"Yeah. If I was with some guy and he tried to make me feel all demeaned by coming on my face, I'd be like: whatever with you, phhffft!" She turned her head, lifting one shoulder in a very feminine gesture of dismissal. "I wouldn't feel bad, it would just be stupid of him."
Across the table, her partner - who has a gift for rapier-like ripostes - tapped his finger on his chin thoughtfully and remarked, "You know what you should say if a guy tries to do that? Be demeaning by coming on you, I mean."
What? what? we all asked.
He put on a wide-eyed, innocent expression and spoke in a girlish voice. "Is that - is that it? Oh... Okay, no, it's cool, I just... thought there would be more. Huh... Is it always like that?”
We howled with laughter.
He shrugged. "There's always a way to turn things around."
Monday, September 07, 2009
I finally saw Inglorious Basterds over the weekend, and a couple of people asked me what I thought of it, so… Spoilers/plot discussion follow!
It dragged a bit, mostly at the beginning. The opening sequence with Nazi officer Hans Landa and the French farmer, for example, could have been tightened up considerably. Still, there was always a payoff at the end of the scene. Was I the only person who watched Landa drink that glass of milk, and remembered Samuel Jackson drinking the Sprite of the boy he’s about to murder in Pulp Fiction? In Tarantino movies, people who come into your house and suck down your beverages are most likely about to kill someone.
The actor, Christopher Waltz, has won awards for the role, but I actually found Landa a little too cheerfully, charmingly evil. He needed a touch more menace for my taste – a little more Christopher Walken, or perhaps John Malkovich.
Loose end: Later, in the strudel scene, did Landa realize that Emmanuelle Mimieux was actually Shoshanna Drefuss? I was unable to tell. I thought he did, when he drank another glass of milk, but it was never made clear.
Emmanuelle Mimieux was, of course, a tragic heroine. And beautiful - Tarantino made Melanie Laurent look like a gorgeous young Ingrid Bergman in the shots of her preparing for the premiere. But will those girls ever learn: once you've plugged the villain and he's down, go shoot him again in the back of the head! As soon as I saw the oh-so-smug Frederick Zoller fall, I thought “He’s going to sit up in a minute, all bloody, and shoot her.” Which was sort of academic, since (I think) she and her lover were planning on dying in the fire anyway. But still – if you’re going to kill the bad guy, kill him very, very thoroughly.
Brad Pitt and his Basterds, on the other hand, were nothing if not thorough. I wish they’d gotten more screen time. I am lost in awe at how well Pitt did with his part. “Aldo The Apache” was such a cartoon-character of a role, with the accent and the scar and the hillbilly imperturbability, it would have been easy to push it into sheer burlesque.
But Pitt was able to make Aldo work, somehow. I’m amazed at how Pitt was able to contort and hold his face in that odd, bulldoggish expression. Did he have prosthetics on his chin and forehead to give him that look?
(The character of the English officer, Lt. Hicox, was actually much more of a cartoonish, stiff-upper-lipped Brit, although I had a sense that Tarantino did that on purpose. And I did not even recognize Mike Myers in his little bit as an English officer.)
Quibble: The scene where Landa slips the shoe, Cinderella-style, onto Bridget von Hammersmark’s foot and thus identifies her as a traitor was good – but I would have liked it better if the shoe had not fit. Remember: there was another woman in the tavern, the young barmaid. It could have been hers. There could have been a big build-up of tension and then – the shoe obviously isn’t her size. Hammersmark would have breathed a sigh of relief, thinking herself safe, and then Landa would have killed her anyway. That’s how I would have done that scene.
Can I just admit how much I loved that Tarantino used the “Cat People” theme song in his movie? That’s such a great, cheesy, slick eighties-pop-ballad. Was it anachronistic? Maybe, but the whole damn movie is alternate history anyway, so why get hung up on little details like that? I remarked to Monk, “That song was on a lot of my early ‘sex mix’ tapes.” He replied, “Honey, that was on everyone’s ‘sex mix’ tapes.”
So I don’t think it’s my favorite movie in the world, but I enjoyed it well enough, and I think, basically, it’s Quentin Tarantino. If you like Quentin, and you’re all right with brutal, violent imagery, and you’re in the mood for a movie that has nothing at all to do with actual history of the Nazis and World War II, then you’ll probably like the film. The man has a definite style, and I have to admire him for doing what he wants, exactly the way he wants.
It dragged a bit, mostly at the beginning. The opening sequence with Nazi officer Hans Landa and the French farmer, for example, could have been tightened up considerably. Still, there was always a payoff at the end of the scene. Was I the only person who watched Landa drink that glass of milk, and remembered Samuel Jackson drinking the Sprite of the boy he’s about to murder in Pulp Fiction? In Tarantino movies, people who come into your house and suck down your beverages are most likely about to kill someone.
The actor, Christopher Waltz, has won awards for the role, but I actually found Landa a little too cheerfully, charmingly evil. He needed a touch more menace for my taste – a little more Christopher Walken, or perhaps John Malkovich.
Loose end: Later, in the strudel scene, did Landa realize that Emmanuelle Mimieux was actually Shoshanna Drefuss? I was unable to tell. I thought he did, when he drank another glass of milk, but it was never made clear.
Emmanuelle Mimieux was, of course, a tragic heroine. And beautiful - Tarantino made Melanie Laurent look like a gorgeous young Ingrid Bergman in the shots of her preparing for the premiere. But will those girls ever learn: once you've plugged the villain and he's down, go shoot him again in the back of the head! As soon as I saw the oh-so-smug Frederick Zoller fall, I thought “He’s going to sit up in a minute, all bloody, and shoot her.” Which was sort of academic, since (I think) she and her lover were planning on dying in the fire anyway. But still – if you’re going to kill the bad guy, kill him very, very thoroughly.
Brad Pitt and his Basterds, on the other hand, were nothing if not thorough. I wish they’d gotten more screen time. I am lost in awe at how well Pitt did with his part. “Aldo The Apache” was such a cartoon-character of a role, with the accent and the scar and the hillbilly imperturbability, it would have been easy to push it into sheer burlesque.
But Pitt was able to make Aldo work, somehow. I’m amazed at how Pitt was able to contort and hold his face in that odd, bulldoggish expression. Did he have prosthetics on his chin and forehead to give him that look?
(The character of the English officer, Lt. Hicox, was actually much more of a cartoonish, stiff-upper-lipped Brit, although I had a sense that Tarantino did that on purpose. And I did not even recognize Mike Myers in his little bit as an English officer.)
Quibble: The scene where Landa slips the shoe, Cinderella-style, onto Bridget von Hammersmark’s foot and thus identifies her as a traitor was good – but I would have liked it better if the shoe had not fit. Remember: there was another woman in the tavern, the young barmaid. It could have been hers. There could have been a big build-up of tension and then – the shoe obviously isn’t her size. Hammersmark would have breathed a sigh of relief, thinking herself safe, and then Landa would have killed her anyway. That’s how I would have done that scene.
Can I just admit how much I loved that Tarantino used the “Cat People” theme song in his movie? That’s such a great, cheesy, slick eighties-pop-ballad. Was it anachronistic? Maybe, but the whole damn movie is alternate history anyway, so why get hung up on little details like that? I remarked to Monk, “That song was on a lot of my early ‘sex mix’ tapes.” He replied, “Honey, that was on everyone’s ‘sex mix’ tapes.”
So I don’t think it’s my favorite movie in the world, but I enjoyed it well enough, and I think, basically, it’s Quentin Tarantino. If you like Quentin, and you’re all right with brutal, violent imagery, and you’re in the mood for a movie that has nothing at all to do with actual history of the Nazis and World War II, then you’ll probably like the film. The man has a definite style, and I have to admire him for doing what he wants, exactly the way he wants.
Friday, September 04, 2009
You know, every now and then I have to post pictures of something scary just so ya'll don't forget I am, actually, very mean.
Don't misunderstand me: I'm sweet. I am undoubtedly the nicest, sweetest sadist you'll ever meet. But just because I'm sweet doesn't mean I don't also really enjoy putting needles in people's nipples. Because I do.
Don't misunderstand me: I'm sweet. I am undoubtedly the nicest, sweetest sadist you'll ever meet. But just because I'm sweet doesn't mean I don't also really enjoy putting needles in people's nipples. Because I do.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Notes About My Schedule
For my friends who like to plan ahead: I’m out of town Sept 26th to the 29th – I’ll be at Folsom Street Fair. (And that looks like it’s going to be a very, very interesting trip indeed.)
I’m back for a week, and then I’m in Vegas from Oct 5th through the 9th.
It’s looking like I might be going to Atlanta for the last week of October, or the first week of November, but I’ll post dates for that when it gets firmed up.
So now you know. And knowing is half the battle. (The other half? Stapling someone's balls to a chair. Heh.)
For my friends who like to plan ahead: I’m out of town Sept 26th to the 29th – I’ll be at Folsom Street Fair. (And that looks like it’s going to be a very, very interesting trip indeed.)
I’m back for a week, and then I’m in Vegas from Oct 5th through the 9th.
It’s looking like I might be going to Atlanta for the last week of October, or the first week of November, but I’ll post dates for that when it gets firmed up.
So now you know. And knowing is half the battle. (The other half? Stapling someone's balls to a chair. Heh.)
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
I love fashion. Especially when it looks like this.
Photo on the left? Eh. I don't do belts, generally, and those boots are odd. But: nice gymnastics, guys.
Photo on the right? Yum. Love the jacket (even with the belt), love that skirt! Love the shoes, and love the boy - although he doesn't look appropriately frightened. Hate the hair, but who cares about that. Nice set, too.
Full spread, for W magazine, with more pretty pictures.
Photo on the left? Eh. I don't do belts, generally, and those boots are odd. But: nice gymnastics, guys.
Photo on the right? Yum. Love the jacket (even with the belt), love that skirt! Love the shoes, and love the boy - although he doesn't look appropriately frightened. Hate the hair, but who cares about that. Nice set, too.
Full spread, for W magazine, with more pretty pictures.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
I was reading a message board lately and saw someone talking about “open poly versus closed poly.” And I thought: what is the point of that term? It really baffles me.
“Closed polyamory,” as I understand it, is: more than two people in a sexual/romantic relationship who do not have sex or become romantically involved with anyone else outside their group.
If that’s how the people involved want to do their poly, that’s completely and utterly fine with me. But - why is it necessary to stick the word closed on the front of it? I do not see that system of poly as being somehow so different than other systems that it needs a discrete category. It just sounds like the speaker is trying to minimize the situation. “Okay, so we’re not monogamous. But we’re like monogamy + one. We opened up our relationship and let just this one other person in (or just these two other people, or however many). And then we closed the door again, boom! So we’re not like those other poly people, all open and stuff.”
Well, the people in the original dyad had to be open at least long enough to find another person, didn’t they? And let’s be realistic, most relationships – both mono and poly - end. So what happens when one of them does? Do the people remaining in a relationship switch over to being open again until they meet someone else, and then go back to being closed? If the relationship can be opened, then what is the advantage of designating it as closed in the first place? It’s not like people are taxis, and have to turn the light on the roof off and on.
I have no quarrel with words like triad, quad, or group marriage. I think those are clear, useful terms. And I'm mostly okay with the term polyfidelity, although it always reminds me of the movie High Fidelity with John Cusack.
As I said, people get to do poly however they want. If you want to have a designated group of people who have sex only amongst themselves, more power to you. But when phrases seem designed to minimize something, or distance the reality of a situation, then those phrases bother me. They remind me of chicks who have girlfriends but say, “Oh, I’m not really a lesbian, I just love her.” I have never met any homophobes who gave out The First Pussy Is Free! exemptions, so why bother with the limp denials? Likewise, I have never met an anti-poly person who would say, "Well, if you're just non-monogamous with these few people, that's all right."
I could channel John Cleese in the Bring Out Your Dead scene from Monty Python and The Holy Grail. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.” In my opinion, you got the name, you might as well play the game.
“Closed polyamory,” as I understand it, is: more than two people in a sexual/romantic relationship who do not have sex or become romantically involved with anyone else outside their group.
If that’s how the people involved want to do their poly, that’s completely and utterly fine with me. But - why is it necessary to stick the word closed on the front of it? I do not see that system of poly as being somehow so different than other systems that it needs a discrete category. It just sounds like the speaker is trying to minimize the situation. “Okay, so we’re not monogamous. But we’re like monogamy + one. We opened up our relationship and let just this one other person in (or just these two other people, or however many). And then we closed the door again, boom! So we’re not like those other poly people, all open and stuff.”
Well, the people in the original dyad had to be open at least long enough to find another person, didn’t they? And let’s be realistic, most relationships – both mono and poly - end. So what happens when one of them does? Do the people remaining in a relationship switch over to being open again until they meet someone else, and then go back to being closed? If the relationship can be opened, then what is the advantage of designating it as closed in the first place? It’s not like people are taxis, and have to turn the light on the roof off and on.
I have no quarrel with words like triad, quad, or group marriage. I think those are clear, useful terms. And I'm mostly okay with the term polyfidelity, although it always reminds me of the movie High Fidelity with John Cusack.
As I said, people get to do poly however they want. If you want to have a designated group of people who have sex only amongst themselves, more power to you. But when phrases seem designed to minimize something, or distance the reality of a situation, then those phrases bother me. They remind me of chicks who have girlfriends but say, “Oh, I’m not really a lesbian, I just love her.” I have never met any homophobes who gave out The First Pussy Is Free! exemptions, so why bother with the limp denials? Likewise, I have never met an anti-poly person who would say, "Well, if you're just non-monogamous with these few people, that's all right."
I could channel John Cleese in the Bring Out Your Dead scene from Monty Python and The Holy Grail. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.” In my opinion, you got the name, you might as well play the game.
Monday, August 31, 2009
From The Mailbag
Oh, sweet reader, you are asking me to wade into one of the meanest, nastiest, longest-running debates in feminism. And my response is: I don’t care. I really do not give a damn if other people think my sexuality and feminism are compatible or not.
(I will say it’s slightly odd that your friends are using Sarte to defend their position, given that Mr. Being and Nothingness isn’t generally the darling of the feminist movement. What, no Audre Lorde? But hey, it’s been a long time since I was in a Philosophy class. Maybe perceptions have changed.)
My position is that if you think I’m a feminist, you’re right. And if you think I’m not a feminist, you’re right. What I definitely know that I am as kinky as hell. Don’t like that? Then don’t get in bed with me - in any sense of the word. But I do not define and practice my sexuality by any philosophy but my own.
In closing, The Story of O is not only a work of fiction, it’s a period piece. There’s nothing wrong with that, if you like it. But it is not a good basis for theorizing about women in the BDSM community today, and I would not cite it as a source to skeptical listeners. For more current discussions about BDSM and feminism, go here.
Ever since I read The Story of O, I have been having some interesting thoughts on BDSM and Feminism. None of my friends are practitioners... I have been arguing the point that BDSM is compatible with feminism, as a woman who is in the dominant role would be actively exercising power over another person. The submissive role is also an expression of feminism, as the woman, comes to realize her own agency, and then of her own volition delegates that agency to another party.
My friends however, argue that's its violence against oneself (belief that comes from Sarte) to ever surrender agency, and furthermore, its anti-feminist to ever surrender any agency, as its is the ultimate goal of feminism to empower women to use their own agency, to be equals, not to subjugate themselves.
I have responded to this by mentioning that we all surrender our agency each and everyday when we walk into the work place, as another person delegates what our job should be, and with in what parameters we can operate.
I know that response is not great, but its the best I come up with on such short notice. I have a feeling that you would weigh in on the side of BDSM and Feminism being completely compatible, and I would love to hear what your response would be.
***
Oh, sweet reader, you are asking me to wade into one of the meanest, nastiest, longest-running debates in feminism. And my response is: I don’t care. I really do not give a damn if other people think my sexuality and feminism are compatible or not.
(I will say it’s slightly odd that your friends are using Sarte to defend their position, given that Mr. Being and Nothingness isn’t generally the darling of the feminist movement. What, no Audre Lorde? But hey, it’s been a long time since I was in a Philosophy class. Maybe perceptions have changed.)
My position is that if you think I’m a feminist, you’re right. And if you think I’m not a feminist, you’re right. What I definitely know that I am as kinky as hell. Don’t like that? Then don’t get in bed with me - in any sense of the word. But I do not define and practice my sexuality by any philosophy but my own.
In closing, The Story of O is not only a work of fiction, it’s a period piece. There’s nothing wrong with that, if you like it. But it is not a good basis for theorizing about women in the BDSM community today, and I would not cite it as a source to skeptical listeners. For more current discussions about BDSM and feminism, go here.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
(Warning: there is NO sex or naughty stuff in this post. And like Pascal, I made it long because I lacked the time to make it short.)
Mistress Manners
I asked for questions from the Twitter-spere, and here’s one I got...
I presume this refers to social invitations – parties and so forth. I am further going to presume that for the purposes of this post, we are talking about events held in someone’s home or any other private space controlled by them.
As a party-giver, this is a subject close to my heart. So first let’s talk mainstream etiquette, because I think even that is often not adequately understood. My theory is: because many poly/kinky people are also geeky, the Geek Social Fallacies sometimes come into play. I am only slightly geeky, and I’m actually pretty traditional when it comes to social etiquette. It’s my Southern upbringing.
Let’s start with the big one: With very rare exceptions, I think it is terribly rude and crass to say “Oh, I heard you’re having a party, can I come?”
If your significant other is invited to a social event, and you’re really and truly not sure the invitation included you, then it’s acceptable for the invited person to ask. For most social events, it’s nice to ask both halves of a couple. But there are actually people in the world who are close to my partners, but not to me – and vice versa. And it’s completely conceivable that they’d want to have him over for, say, an intimate dinner party with eight carefully selected guests, and I’m not one of the other seven. That’s utterly fine with me. If you host an event, you get to have it exactly like you want it.
The invited person should phrase the question in such a way as to give the host a graceful way to say, “No, that person is not invited.”
One may not pretend to misunderstand as a ploy to try to wangle invitations.
If the invitation – either verbal or written – says “bring a date,” or “you plus a guest,” then the invited person may bring ONE guest without further clearance from the host. One.
If you really feel that there’s someone that your-dear-friend-the-host would enjoy having, who hasn’t been invited, then you may go to the host, and verbally and charmingly grovel, and sweetly acknowledge that you’re being terrible, and then ask him/her if you may invite other people. The groveling/acknowledging part? Not optional. I have done this myself. If I can do it, you can do it. As before, you must give the host a graceful out.
(Also: if they say yes, bring an extra-nice host gift.)
If the invitations say anything like “Bring your friends - all are welcome - the more the merrier - feel free to forward this”, then obviously it’s fine to arrive with pals, or tell them about it and have them show up on their own.
Even when it's specified that you don’t actually need an invitation, I think it’s always nice to talk to the hosts and tell them you’d like to come. (Or drop them an email, or message them on Fetlife, or whatever medium seems appropriate.) But that’s extra credit.
That’s mainstream good manners. And this will shock you, but it’s not dramatically different for kinky people or poly people.
The only special thing kinky people need to remember is that social events may or may not be kink-friendly. Obviously if someone invites you to a play-party, you can assume that, at the very least, wearing your leather pants would be okay.
Other types of events may be more ambiguous. I was married once – not to Max – and we had two weddings. One was kinky, and one was family, and you would not believe the lengths my then-husband and I went to in order to make sure our kinky pals did not show up to the family one in chaps and leather corsets, tugging their submissives along on leashes. It was An Issue, believe me. If there is the slightest doubt in your mind, ask. If you can’t ask, err on the side of caution.
For poly people it’s slightly more complex. Here’s how I do it: For the purposes of most social invitations issued to me, Max = my partner. We are an easily recognizable social unit.
Monk is also my partner, of course. And in some ways we too are a social unit, but since we don’t live together, I feel that doesn’t usually apply to social functions. In that sense, Tambo is his partner.
There have been times when Monk and I, specifically, have been invited somewhere. That’s also happened with Max and Puck. That’s all perfectly okay, in my view.
If you do not have a spousal-equivalent, then I think it's all right to ask for clarification. (As always: give the host a graceful out.)
What is true is that Monk and Max and I all move in the same general circle. It’s rare for me to get invited to a large social event that Monk isn’t also invited to. That eliminates a lot of problems, because the main difficulty I see with polyamory and social interactions is “I got invited to an event with one partner, and I want to bring a different partner,” or “...and I want to bring ALL my partners.” That’s where it gets tricky.
Far be it from me to tell someone who is, and who is not, their partner. Never would I wade into such shark-infested waters. What I will say is: if an invitation was issued to Max and I, and Max elected not to go, I would not just show up with Monk – or anyone else - without asking my host if that was all right. I think it’s just basic courtesy to let people know who you’d like to bring into their home. And as a host, I would probably not be hugely offended by such a one-for-one request.
Extra bonus points: But before you ask for a social substitution, ponder: is there a reason why my other partner wasn’t invited? It might be because the host doesn’t know him/her. Or it might be, for example, because the host’s other partner had a bad break-up with your other partner six years ago, and still thinks he’s a giant prat. That sort of scenario is not at all impossible, in the often-incestuous world of poly. You’ll want to have the facts before you start that conversation.
If you want to bring multiple people who were not invited – you’re back to the charmingly grovel/sweetly acknowledge/give the host an out set of rules. But essentially, just because you are intimately involved with someone does not mean they should automatically expect to go anywhere you get invited. It’s the host’s privilege to choose who they want to entertain. And it’s sort of like sex – he/she doesn’t need a compelling reason not to want someone. If you ask, and the host displays any reluctance, mentioning not enough space, the amount of food, any social excuse at all, you should drop it. Only a boor would ask for further justification.
If you cannot bear the idea of attending a social event without all your partners, and your host doesn’t wish to invite them, then the solution is simple: don’t go.
Mistress Manners
I asked for questions from the Twitter-spere, and here’s one I got...
(Can you address) poly etiquette issues like when do invitations include all the partners or selected ones - differences between etiquette for poly, kinky and mainstream that you have noticed.
I presume this refers to social invitations – parties and so forth. I am further going to presume that for the purposes of this post, we are talking about events held in someone’s home or any other private space controlled by them.
As a party-giver, this is a subject close to my heart. So first let’s talk mainstream etiquette, because I think even that is often not adequately understood. My theory is: because many poly/kinky people are also geeky, the Geek Social Fallacies sometimes come into play. I am only slightly geeky, and I’m actually pretty traditional when it comes to social etiquette. It’s my Southern upbringing.
Let’s start with the big one: With very rare exceptions, I think it is terribly rude and crass to say “Oh, I heard you’re having a party, can I come?”
If your significant other is invited to a social event, and you’re really and truly not sure the invitation included you, then it’s acceptable for the invited person to ask. For most social events, it’s nice to ask both halves of a couple. But there are actually people in the world who are close to my partners, but not to me – and vice versa. And it’s completely conceivable that they’d want to have him over for, say, an intimate dinner party with eight carefully selected guests, and I’m not one of the other seven. That’s utterly fine with me. If you host an event, you get to have it exactly like you want it.
The invited person should phrase the question in such a way as to give the host a graceful way to say, “No, that person is not invited.”
One may not pretend to misunderstand as a ploy to try to wangle invitations.
If the invitation – either verbal or written – says “bring a date,” or “you plus a guest,” then the invited person may bring ONE guest without further clearance from the host. One.
If you really feel that there’s someone that your-dear-friend-the-host would enjoy having, who hasn’t been invited, then you may go to the host, and verbally and charmingly grovel, and sweetly acknowledge that you’re being terrible, and then ask him/her if you may invite other people. The groveling/acknowledging part? Not optional. I have done this myself. If I can do it, you can do it. As before, you must give the host a graceful out.
(Also: if they say yes, bring an extra-nice host gift.)
If the invitations say anything like “Bring your friends - all are welcome - the more the merrier - feel free to forward this”, then obviously it’s fine to arrive with pals, or tell them about it and have them show up on their own.
Even when it's specified that you don’t actually need an invitation, I think it’s always nice to talk to the hosts and tell them you’d like to come. (Or drop them an email, or message them on Fetlife, or whatever medium seems appropriate.) But that’s extra credit.
That’s mainstream good manners. And this will shock you, but it’s not dramatically different for kinky people or poly people.
The only special thing kinky people need to remember is that social events may or may not be kink-friendly. Obviously if someone invites you to a play-party, you can assume that, at the very least, wearing your leather pants would be okay.
Other types of events may be more ambiguous. I was married once – not to Max – and we had two weddings. One was kinky, and one was family, and you would not believe the lengths my then-husband and I went to in order to make sure our kinky pals did not show up to the family one in chaps and leather corsets, tugging their submissives along on leashes. It was An Issue, believe me. If there is the slightest doubt in your mind, ask. If you can’t ask, err on the side of caution.
For poly people it’s slightly more complex. Here’s how I do it: For the purposes of most social invitations issued to me, Max = my partner. We are an easily recognizable social unit.
Monk is also my partner, of course. And in some ways we too are a social unit, but since we don’t live together, I feel that doesn’t usually apply to social functions. In that sense, Tambo is his partner.
There have been times when Monk and I, specifically, have been invited somewhere. That’s also happened with Max and Puck. That’s all perfectly okay, in my view.
If you do not have a spousal-equivalent, then I think it's all right to ask for clarification. (As always: give the host a graceful out.)
What is true is that Monk and Max and I all move in the same general circle. It’s rare for me to get invited to a large social event that Monk isn’t also invited to. That eliminates a lot of problems, because the main difficulty I see with polyamory and social interactions is “I got invited to an event with one partner, and I want to bring a different partner,” or “...and I want to bring ALL my partners.” That’s where it gets tricky.
Far be it from me to tell someone who is, and who is not, their partner. Never would I wade into such shark-infested waters. What I will say is: if an invitation was issued to Max and I, and Max elected not to go, I would not just show up with Monk – or anyone else - without asking my host if that was all right. I think it’s just basic courtesy to let people know who you’d like to bring into their home. And as a host, I would probably not be hugely offended by such a one-for-one request.
Extra bonus points: But before you ask for a social substitution, ponder: is there a reason why my other partner wasn’t invited? It might be because the host doesn’t know him/her. Or it might be, for example, because the host’s other partner had a bad break-up with your other partner six years ago, and still thinks he’s a giant prat. That sort of scenario is not at all impossible, in the often-incestuous world of poly. You’ll want to have the facts before you start that conversation.
If you want to bring multiple people who were not invited – you’re back to the charmingly grovel/sweetly acknowledge/give the host an out set of rules. But essentially, just because you are intimately involved with someone does not mean they should automatically expect to go anywhere you get invited. It’s the host’s privilege to choose who they want to entertain. And it’s sort of like sex – he/she doesn’t need a compelling reason not to want someone. If you ask, and the host displays any reluctance, mentioning not enough space, the amount of food, any social excuse at all, you should drop it. Only a boor would ask for further justification.
If you cannot bear the idea of attending a social event without all your partners, and your host doesn’t wish to invite them, then the solution is simple: don’t go.
Monday, August 24, 2009
This may surprise you, but there are still some kinky things I haven’t done yet. Not many, but some. However, that list has gotten shorter lately. What new experience have I tried? Fisting boys.
(If you’re not into reading about boys being on the receiving end of anal penetration, this would be your cue to leave.
Still here? That’s consent in my book. One more thing: If you’re someone who plays with me, but is never going to get fisted in his whole life, I don’t want you to read this and think “Oh god, I can’t do that, she must not really enjoy playing with me.” That is not the case. I don’t want to do any one thing to the exclusion of all others. This is not a competition - everyone I play with brings something special to the scene. Okay? Okay.)
Now then… I am not new to the idea of getting my whole hand inside someone - I have fisted quite a few women’s pussies. But I hadn’t done any anal fisting. Why not? Well, I have known some anally-accomplished boys, and a couple of them were game to try it, but they were all as cherry at handballing as I was. For my first boy fist-fucking adventure, I wanted someone who’d done it before - someone who knew his own ass very well, and someone I could trust to tell me exactly what I needed to know, moment by moment. To include, “We need to stop now.”
Because anal fisting is not something you just (pardon the expression) plunge into. There is a distinct difference between my hand and a dildo. (Even a big dildo.) Fist-fucking is one of those kink things where, if you don’t do it right, you can damage someone. I don’t mean damage as in “Ow, I’m kinda sore,” I mean damage as in peritonitis. That's bad.
There is also the matter of preparation. I’ve done a lot of anal play, so I’m not freaked out by a little santorum. But I knew that for fisting, someone needs to know how to clean themselves out appropriately. It’s a matter of safety and comfort as much as esthetics. Shit can be gritty. You do not want to rub a gritty substance into delicate tissue.
So I’d read books, and I’d seen some very lovely demonstrations of the art, and I’d talked to knowledgeable people, but the perfect person just hadn’t come along yet.
And then - he did. (Hey there, darlin’!)
So we made a date, and I spread him out and lubed him up and did various pervy things to get us both in the mood, and then I popped on the glove and said “Okay, talk me through this.” I kept pushing - slowly, slowly – and asking questions. “Is it better if I put more pressure this way, or that way? Does it feel good when I do this?” He was exactly what I needed to him to be: communicative, enthusiastic, confident in his own abilities, yet displaying a charming awareness of his vulnerability.
It’s really quite something to watch your hand vanish into someone else’s body. As with many things about BDSM, it instantly re-sets your understanding of what a human body can do. The inside of a woman’s pussy feels, I don’t know, muscle-y-er? That’s not a word, I know. But once you’re past the anal ring, the inside of a boy’s ass feels softer, more velvety. (At least, this boy’s does!)
You can definitely feel the prostate gland, and that’s nice to stroke, but there are other fun places to touch, too. It’s delightful to just wiggle your hand the slightest bit - and elicit a big reaction. It’s tremendously intimate, too. I could feel his heart beating. It’s sort of amazing to feel that and think, Well, yeah - your hand isn’t that far away from it!
And that’s why I do BDSM: I like to play with people’s bodies, and I like it to feel very, very intimate.
(If you’re not into reading about boys being on the receiving end of anal penetration, this would be your cue to leave.
Still here? That’s consent in my book. One more thing: If you’re someone who plays with me, but is never going to get fisted in his whole life, I don’t want you to read this and think “Oh god, I can’t do that, she must not really enjoy playing with me.” That is not the case. I don’t want to do any one thing to the exclusion of all others. This is not a competition - everyone I play with brings something special to the scene. Okay? Okay.)
Now then… I am not new to the idea of getting my whole hand inside someone - I have fisted quite a few women’s pussies. But I hadn’t done any anal fisting. Why not? Well, I have known some anally-accomplished boys, and a couple of them were game to try it, but they were all as cherry at handballing as I was. For my first boy fist-fucking adventure, I wanted someone who’d done it before - someone who knew his own ass very well, and someone I could trust to tell me exactly what I needed to know, moment by moment. To include, “We need to stop now.”
Because anal fisting is not something you just (pardon the expression) plunge into. There is a distinct difference between my hand and a dildo. (Even a big dildo.) Fist-fucking is one of those kink things where, if you don’t do it right, you can damage someone. I don’t mean damage as in “Ow, I’m kinda sore,” I mean damage as in peritonitis. That's bad.
There is also the matter of preparation. I’ve done a lot of anal play, so I’m not freaked out by a little santorum. But I knew that for fisting, someone needs to know how to clean themselves out appropriately. It’s a matter of safety and comfort as much as esthetics. Shit can be gritty. You do not want to rub a gritty substance into delicate tissue.
So I’d read books, and I’d seen some very lovely demonstrations of the art, and I’d talked to knowledgeable people, but the perfect person just hadn’t come along yet.
And then - he did. (Hey there, darlin’!)
So we made a date, and I spread him out and lubed him up and did various pervy things to get us both in the mood, and then I popped on the glove and said “Okay, talk me through this.” I kept pushing - slowly, slowly – and asking questions. “Is it better if I put more pressure this way, or that way? Does it feel good when I do this?” He was exactly what I needed to him to be: communicative, enthusiastic, confident in his own abilities, yet displaying a charming awareness of his vulnerability.
It’s really quite something to watch your hand vanish into someone else’s body. As with many things about BDSM, it instantly re-sets your understanding of what a human body can do. The inside of a woman’s pussy feels, I don’t know, muscle-y-er? That’s not a word, I know. But once you’re past the anal ring, the inside of a boy’s ass feels softer, more velvety. (At least, this boy’s does!)
You can definitely feel the prostate gland, and that’s nice to stroke, but there are other fun places to touch, too. It’s delightful to just wiggle your hand the slightest bit - and elicit a big reaction. It’s tremendously intimate, too. I could feel his heart beating. It’s sort of amazing to feel that and think, Well, yeah - your hand isn’t that far away from it!
And that’s why I do BDSM: I like to play with people’s bodies, and I like it to feel very, very intimate.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Reader Letters
I had two immediate responses to this letter. The first one to reflect on how often people ask me questions that really, they already know the answers to. The writer expresses it perfectly: “we all have to make our own decisions about what risks are acceptable.” I am no different than anyone else in that regard, and neither are my partners.
Take me and Monk, for example. Monk rides a motorcycle. I drive a car. I think a car is safer. Monk admits that it probably is, but he likes his bike.
And indeed, he had an accident a little over two years ago and broke his collarbone. But he’d been careful. He’d worn his helmet and his leather gear, and because he mitigated his risks that way, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. His passenger wasn’t badly hurt, and I think that was more important to him than his own injury.
He still rides his bike. I don’t want to ride a motorcycle, but I think if he wants to, he should get to. Even if I occasionally worry about his safety. Which I do even though I myself could just as easily be hurt in a car accident.
It’s not always logical, what we think is an acceptable risk and what isn’t. You gather the information, you think about what’s important to you, and you make your choices. If I was going to drive someone somewhere and they said "Before I get in the car, you have to guarantee me that we won't be in an accident", I'd think they were being foolish. I've never been in a really bad car accident, but there are no guarantees in life. If you can't deal with that, don't get into a car with me. Or anyone.
Sex is no different. I wear a seat belt - I use condoms. I am careful when I drive - I am careful when I have sex. But I don’t twist myself into a fever of anxiety every time I engage in either activity. I won’t live my life that way.
(My second response was this: perhaps I’m misreading the intent, but my initial interpretation of this writer’s question was that she wanted me to detail exactly how I am sexual with my partners. Like, exactly. But surely – surely! – she isn’t really asking me about my own private sexual practices and the practices of my partners? I must be reading this wrong. Because I would never dream of sending a stranger an email asking them to publish such highly personal information on a website. That would be very inappropriate. I’m sure the writer didn’t mean to imply that she wanted that.)
Basically, you manage risks by managing risks. Worrying about risks isn't managing them, and that's a mistake I see often people make. They don't do anything - they just worry. So whatever it is you want to do, this is my advice: get very well-educated about it. Assess the situation as it is, not as you wish it would be. Consider all the possible outcomes of your choices, from perfect to catastrophic. Think about what you'd do in each of them. Talk to the other people involved. And accept that every day you’re alive, you’re taking risks.
I've been reading your blog and columns for quite a while now and have found your thoughts on BDSM, sex work, and polyamory extremely interesting. However, there's one subject that you don't talk much about, and that, in multiple-partner relationships is pretty critical: STD's. I know you're not a doctor, and I understand that we all have to make our own decisions about what risks are acceptable, but I'm very curious about what precautions you and people you know consider to be reasonable when people have a lot of partners, either serially or in parallel. Obviously, condom use and regular STD screenings are important. But how do people deal with the risk of diseases that can't be blocked very effectively by condoms, particularly herpes? I'd be very interested to hear what you have to say on the subject.
I had two immediate responses to this letter. The first one to reflect on how often people ask me questions that really, they already know the answers to. The writer expresses it perfectly: “we all have to make our own decisions about what risks are acceptable.” I am no different than anyone else in that regard, and neither are my partners.
Take me and Monk, for example. Monk rides a motorcycle. I drive a car. I think a car is safer. Monk admits that it probably is, but he likes his bike.
And indeed, he had an accident a little over two years ago and broke his collarbone. But he’d been careful. He’d worn his helmet and his leather gear, and because he mitigated his risks that way, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. His passenger wasn’t badly hurt, and I think that was more important to him than his own injury.
He still rides his bike. I don’t want to ride a motorcycle, but I think if he wants to, he should get to. Even if I occasionally worry about his safety. Which I do even though I myself could just as easily be hurt in a car accident.
It’s not always logical, what we think is an acceptable risk and what isn’t. You gather the information, you think about what’s important to you, and you make your choices. If I was going to drive someone somewhere and they said "Before I get in the car, you have to guarantee me that we won't be in an accident", I'd think they were being foolish. I've never been in a really bad car accident, but there are no guarantees in life. If you can't deal with that, don't get into a car with me. Or anyone.
Sex is no different. I wear a seat belt - I use condoms. I am careful when I drive - I am careful when I have sex. But I don’t twist myself into a fever of anxiety every time I engage in either activity. I won’t live my life that way.
(My second response was this: perhaps I’m misreading the intent, but my initial interpretation of this writer’s question was that she wanted me to detail exactly how I am sexual with my partners. Like, exactly. But surely – surely! – she isn’t really asking me about my own private sexual practices and the practices of my partners? I must be reading this wrong. Because I would never dream of sending a stranger an email asking them to publish such highly personal information on a website. That would be very inappropriate. I’m sure the writer didn’t mean to imply that she wanted that.)
Basically, you manage risks by managing risks. Worrying about risks isn't managing them, and that's a mistake I see often people make. They don't do anything - they just worry. So whatever it is you want to do, this is my advice: get very well-educated about it. Assess the situation as it is, not as you wish it would be. Consider all the possible outcomes of your choices, from perfect to catastrophic. Think about what you'd do in each of them. Talk to the other people involved. And accept that every day you’re alive, you’re taking risks.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The One-Penis Policy column continues to generate a great deal of comment, both on the Stranger page and on various social-networking sites. I’m mildly surprised at the level of emotion my opinion seems to provoke in people. So – not that I think this is going to make the people who are upset about it feel any better – but let me just clarify a few points.
If you haven’t read the column, this will make no sense to you. Everything here is in relation to that article. Go read that, then come back.
First, note that we’re not talking about acknowledged, full-time D/s relationships, that’s a whole other discussion. Assume that 24/7 dominance and submission do not come into play here. I would have thought that since I didn’t mention D/s anywhere in the column, people would understand that it wasn’t a factor, but that seems to have been unclear.
I am not suggesting that the woman in the hypothetical couple is obligated to have sex with other men, okay? She gets to make that decision. And you know what, if she chooses not to sleep with other guys because she knows her male partner wouldn’t like it – well, that’s her choice.
Of course it’s her choice anyway. But there is a huge difference between your partner saying, “No way can you sleep with other men. I cannot handle that" and your partner saying, “It would be hard for me. I’d rather you didn’t. But the choice is yours.” One is pressure, and one is stating a preference.
We can get off on a whole tangent about how much influence it’s healthy to let your partner’s feelings have over your decision, but that’s a somewhat different conversation. I've heard the argument that it's a loving thing to do, that the woman in case is sacrificing her wishes to help ease her partner into polyamory. I'm not saying that can never be true.
(The woman-easing-man-into-poly idea actually amuses me greatly, given how that flies in the face of the myth that women don't really want to be poly, but men get them to be so unwillingly. Hah.)
So if a m/f couple said "Okay, for six months, she's going to date only other women, and then we'll see how that goes and how we feel," I would not think that was terrible. Setting a fixed time for the training period makes it much more palatable to me.
And notice also that he's not dating anyone. Although if he wanted to date other men, I think that would also be perfectly reasonable.
But a permanent system in which the man is explicitly permitted to fuck other women, but the woman is explicitly forbidden to fuck other men? How exactly is that easing anyone into anything?
I am utterly unimpressed with any talk about how it’s really about STDs or pregnancy. For one thing, both those can be controlled with a pretty high degree of success. Trust me on that, I’ve been doing it myself for years. Sexual health education, careful management, and planning ahead eliminate a lot of the risks in multiple-partner situations.
Besides, it takes two to pass an STD, or get someone pregnant. I find it hypocritical in the extreme that a man would want to have other female sexual partners himself – thus exposing them to those possible risks – but say it’s too much risk for his original partner. Frankly, I think that type of attitude should not be dignified with the name polyamory.
If the original piece pissed you off, what I’m going to say now will really inflame you: Just because two people are engaged in a certain system of behavior does not make it “all right, because it’s their choice.” There actually is such a thing as a bad personal choice.
So yes, I do think there are better ways and worse ways to run a relationship. Outside of consensual D/s, I think it’s inherently better to have as few “rules” as possible for other adult human beings that one is having an equal partnership with. I think that’s being controlling – not in the sexy way – and I think it negatively impacts both people involved.
I think if there’s an obvious inequity in the relationship, it should at the very least be openly discussed, and it should be a goal for both people to bring about a change to that.
And I think the basis for the One Penis Policy is basically insecurity and sexism.
Now, feeling of insecurity and sexism are both pretty common (to both men and women), and neither of those things makes someone a Bad Person. But they are traits that can be changed, and being less insecure and less sexist will make someone a better person.
Who am I to make all these judgments? I’m me. Who else would I need to be? I’m a person, I have an opinion, and I'm talking about it. Why shouldn't I? Obviously I have no power to compel anyone else’s choices, nor do I have any wish to. But that fact that people are getting upset that I dared to state this opinion is very interesting, isn’t it?
If you haven’t read the column, this will make no sense to you. Everything here is in relation to that article. Go read that, then come back.
***
First, note that we’re not talking about acknowledged, full-time D/s relationships, that’s a whole other discussion. Assume that 24/7 dominance and submission do not come into play here. I would have thought that since I didn’t mention D/s anywhere in the column, people would understand that it wasn’t a factor, but that seems to have been unclear.
I am not suggesting that the woman in the hypothetical couple is obligated to have sex with other men, okay? She gets to make that decision. And you know what, if she chooses not to sleep with other guys because she knows her male partner wouldn’t like it – well, that’s her choice.
Of course it’s her choice anyway. But there is a huge difference between your partner saying, “No way can you sleep with other men. I cannot handle that" and your partner saying, “It would be hard for me. I’d rather you didn’t. But the choice is yours.” One is pressure, and one is stating a preference.
We can get off on a whole tangent about how much influence it’s healthy to let your partner’s feelings have over your decision, but that’s a somewhat different conversation. I've heard the argument that it's a loving thing to do, that the woman in case is sacrificing her wishes to help ease her partner into polyamory. I'm not saying that can never be true.
(The woman-easing-man-into-poly idea actually amuses me greatly, given how that flies in the face of the myth that women don't really want to be poly, but men get them to be so unwillingly. Hah.)
So if a m/f couple said "Okay, for six months, she's going to date only other women, and then we'll see how that goes and how we feel," I would not think that was terrible. Setting a fixed time for the training period makes it much more palatable to me.
And notice also that he's not dating anyone. Although if he wanted to date other men, I think that would also be perfectly reasonable.
But a permanent system in which the man is explicitly permitted to fuck other women, but the woman is explicitly forbidden to fuck other men? How exactly is that easing anyone into anything?
I am utterly unimpressed with any talk about how it’s really about STDs or pregnancy. For one thing, both those can be controlled with a pretty high degree of success. Trust me on that, I’ve been doing it myself for years. Sexual health education, careful management, and planning ahead eliminate a lot of the risks in multiple-partner situations.
Besides, it takes two to pass an STD, or get someone pregnant. I find it hypocritical in the extreme that a man would want to have other female sexual partners himself – thus exposing them to those possible risks – but say it’s too much risk for his original partner. Frankly, I think that type of attitude should not be dignified with the name polyamory.
If the original piece pissed you off, what I’m going to say now will really inflame you: Just because two people are engaged in a certain system of behavior does not make it “all right, because it’s their choice.” There actually is such a thing as a bad personal choice.
So yes, I do think there are better ways and worse ways to run a relationship. Outside of consensual D/s, I think it’s inherently better to have as few “rules” as possible for other adult human beings that one is having an equal partnership with. I think that’s being controlling – not in the sexy way – and I think it negatively impacts both people involved.
I think if there’s an obvious inequity in the relationship, it should at the very least be openly discussed, and it should be a goal for both people to bring about a change to that.
And I think the basis for the One Penis Policy is basically insecurity and sexism.
Now, feeling of insecurity and sexism are both pretty common (to both men and women), and neither of those things makes someone a Bad Person. But they are traits that can be changed, and being less insecure and less sexist will make someone a better person.
Who am I to make all these judgments? I’m me. Who else would I need to be? I’m a person, I have an opinion, and I'm talking about it. Why shouldn't I? Obviously I have no power to compel anyone else’s choices, nor do I have any wish to. But that fact that people are getting upset that I dared to state this opinion is very interesting, isn’t it?
Monday, August 17, 2009
What I'm Reading
While I was in Bellingham over the weekend, Elvis and I stopped in Village Books and I picked up a couple of things.
I’ve been meaning to get this for a while: Waiter Rant: Thanks for the Tip--Confessions of a Cynical Waiter, by Steve Dublanica. My father’s in the hospitality business, and I’ve waited tables and tended bar myself – the only kind of jobs I’ve ever had that didn’t require someone taking off their clothes. (Although now that I think about it, some of the uniforms I had to wear were rather… abbreviated.) So I’m sure I’ll enjoy that.
I also got this: Diamond: The History of a Cold-Blooded Love Affair, by Matthew Hart. I am a complete sucker for “The History Of…” books. I bet I have twenty or more books with titles that contain that phrase. It hardly even matters what it is. I read a whole book about the history of cod, for heaven’s sake. Yeah, the fish. I’m serious. Even while I read it, I kept thinking to myself, I cannot believe I am reading a book about codfish. It was actually sort of interesting, in a more-than-I-ever-needed-to-know type of way.
But diamonds are much more interesting to me than fish. Much. Although I can't logically explain why. They're sparkly rocks. That's nice, but why do I care? From a strictly biological point of view, something I can eat (like a fish) should be more compelling to me than sparkly rocks.
And yet, if someone gave me a dead fish in a velvet box, it would not really make my sparkly-loving heart go pit-a-pat. When it comes to diamonds, however, I am pure Lorelei Lee. Perhaps this books will give me a better understanding of why. The reviews make mention of another, related book called The Last Empire: De Beers, Diamonds, and the World, which I think I’ll order.
While we’re on the subject of history, I am also pleased to note that Diana Gabaldon’s new book is coming out soon. Okay, sure, it’s fiction, but they are impressively researched. Ms. Gabaldon is right up there with Michael Crichton in that department.
Besides, I just like the series overall. I usually dislike time-travel stories, but this author handles it exactly right, in my mind: she doesn’t dwell too lengthily on the mechanics of it. I don’t want to get bogged down in stuff like that. It’s magic, okay? Just tell me that, Author-person. Tell me in a way that’s understandable and that fits with the story overall, and then get on with the action.
That’s one of the reasons I don’t read for a lot of science fiction – I do not care how, exactly, the rocket ship flies, or how people teleport through space, or how they shoot laser beams out of their eyes, or whatever. Do not stop the action and teach me a damn physics class – and then explain for page after page about how these characters are able to do something that technically, they should not be able to do. I don’t understand most of it, and I don't care. To me, it’s magic. Get on with it.
Also? Don’t make me learn a whole alien language to understand your dialogue. It should be done like writing a character who speaks with an accent – give me a phrase or two, an occasional word here and there, but do not make me consult a alien/otherworldly glossary every third sentence. Publish an armchair-companion if you want to maunder on about space engineering and the linguistics of Zoran-4. But don’t bog down the story with it. (Unless of course you’re Douglas Adams. But unfortunately, you probably aren’t.)
EDIT: a Doubting Thomas just sent me an email. “Twenty? Name them.” Okay, from where I’m sitting, I can see: Salt, tea, oysters, coffee, chocolate, caviar, the telegraph, tobacco, cocaine, absinthe, electricity, sexuality (numerous ones) sex work, (again, numerous different ones) smallpox, hotels, vampires, stage magicians, surgery, oil painting, photography, and marriage.
Those are not, by any means, all the books about history I have. Not by a long shot. But those are the ones I can see from my desk, that have the word “history” somewhere in the title, and that focus on a specific object or concept, rather than a time period or a geographic region. I do not possess a cod, and I don't have that many diamonds either, but I have a truly ridiculous number of books.
While I was in Bellingham over the weekend, Elvis and I stopped in Village Books and I picked up a couple of things.
I’ve been meaning to get this for a while: Waiter Rant: Thanks for the Tip--Confessions of a Cynical Waiter, by Steve Dublanica. My father’s in the hospitality business, and I’ve waited tables and tended bar myself – the only kind of jobs I’ve ever had that didn’t require someone taking off their clothes. (Although now that I think about it, some of the uniforms I had to wear were rather… abbreviated.) So I’m sure I’ll enjoy that.
I also got this: Diamond: The History of a Cold-Blooded Love Affair, by Matthew Hart. I am a complete sucker for “The History Of…” books. I bet I have twenty or more books with titles that contain that phrase. It hardly even matters what it is. I read a whole book about the history of cod, for heaven’s sake. Yeah, the fish. I’m serious. Even while I read it, I kept thinking to myself, I cannot believe I am reading a book about codfish. It was actually sort of interesting, in a more-than-I-ever-needed-to-know type of way.
But diamonds are much more interesting to me than fish. Much. Although I can't logically explain why. They're sparkly rocks. That's nice, but why do I care? From a strictly biological point of view, something I can eat (like a fish) should be more compelling to me than sparkly rocks.
And yet, if someone gave me a dead fish in a velvet box, it would not really make my sparkly-loving heart go pit-a-pat. When it comes to diamonds, however, I am pure Lorelei Lee. Perhaps this books will give me a better understanding of why. The reviews make mention of another, related book called The Last Empire: De Beers, Diamonds, and the World, which I think I’ll order.
While we’re on the subject of history, I am also pleased to note that Diana Gabaldon’s new book is coming out soon. Okay, sure, it’s fiction, but they are impressively researched. Ms. Gabaldon is right up there with Michael Crichton in that department.
Besides, I just like the series overall. I usually dislike time-travel stories, but this author handles it exactly right, in my mind: she doesn’t dwell too lengthily on the mechanics of it. I don’t want to get bogged down in stuff like that. It’s magic, okay? Just tell me that, Author-person. Tell me in a way that’s understandable and that fits with the story overall, and then get on with the action.
That’s one of the reasons I don’t read for a lot of science fiction – I do not care how, exactly, the rocket ship flies, or how people teleport through space, or how they shoot laser beams out of their eyes, or whatever. Do not stop the action and teach me a damn physics class – and then explain for page after page about how these characters are able to do something that technically, they should not be able to do. I don’t understand most of it, and I don't care. To me, it’s magic. Get on with it.
Also? Don’t make me learn a whole alien language to understand your dialogue. It should be done like writing a character who speaks with an accent – give me a phrase or two, an occasional word here and there, but do not make me consult a alien/otherworldly glossary every third sentence. Publish an armchair-companion if you want to maunder on about space engineering and the linguistics of Zoran-4. But don’t bog down the story with it. (Unless of course you’re Douglas Adams. But unfortunately, you probably aren’t.)
EDIT: a Doubting Thomas just sent me an email. “Twenty? Name them.” Okay, from where I’m sitting, I can see: Salt, tea, oysters, coffee, chocolate, caviar, the telegraph, tobacco, cocaine, absinthe, electricity, sexuality (numerous ones) sex work, (again, numerous different ones) smallpox, hotels, vampires, stage magicians, surgery, oil painting, photography, and marriage.
Those are not, by any means, all the books about history I have. Not by a long shot. But those are the ones I can see from my desk, that have the word “history” somewhere in the title, and that focus on a specific object or concept, rather than a time period or a geographic region. I do not possess a cod, and I don't have that many diamonds either, but I have a truly ridiculous number of books.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Letter of the Day
Well, I can see both sides of this. I have certainly heard some version of this line myself, lots of times, and I do understand being annoyed by it. If nothing else, people who say it tend to act like no one could ever have possibly have said it to you before, when in fact, you’re heard it 943 times. Anything grows annoying with repetition.
One generally hears it from a man the first time he sees you, and one always hears it after the sexy part, whatever it is, has been completed. Having someone say this to you as they are literally pulling up their pants is enough to try the kindest woman’s patience.
(As I write this, I’m wondering: do male sex workers get this line? Either from other men, or from women? Or is this an exclusively male client/female sex worker thing?)
I am acquainted with the writer of this letter, and like me, she participates actively in the sex-positive community. Within that world – what I sometimes call “the love bubble”, a term I yoinked from Jane Duvall – being a sex worker is not considered highly scandalous, nor is it assumed to be the last refuge of the otherwise-unemployable. There is a range of opinion even there, but most folks will at least admit the possibility that a smart person might decide to be a sex worker for all the right reasons.
But we must remember: most clients of sex workers do not come from the sex-positive community. They live in a world where being a sex worker can never be viewed as a smart choice. In that world, a woman who “sells her body” (and what a stupid phrase that is) must be either morally corrupt or too dumb to have any other options.
If you’re a sex worker hearing this line, take comfort in the fact that at least the client has realized you don’t actually fit that description. I myself have certainly met sex workers who were as dumb as a box of rocks, so also understand that the guy may well have personal experience of that cliché.
True, it’s exasperating to have to deal with the assumption that while he is saying you’re smart, he somehow also thinks you were unaware that you could do something else for a living. But try to be charitable and assume that you rocked his world so much you temporarily lowered his own IQ fifty points or so. It's better for your own blood pressure if you can frame it to yourself not as "He has no respect for me" but rather as "I am a new experience for him."
One of the many unacknowledged roles of a sex worker is to be a sexuality educator. This is a teachable moment. So don’t answer from a defensive place, that’ll close the door on an opportunity to raise his consciousness. My suggested response? “Well, in my world, this is not viewed as something that smart girls don't do. I like sex, I'm completely comfortable with my sexuality and other people's as well, so I enjoy this. My friends think I'm very smart for doing something I like and making extra money too!"
If you are the client of a sex worker: do not say this, okay? You may think it’s a compliment, but it’s actually the reverse: it suggests you expected her to be an idiot. And she’d have to really be an idiot not to know she has other options. She’s choosing to exercise this one, and you should assume that she knows more about her life than you do, and that she’s better positioned to make choices.
If want to make pillow-talk about your everyday lives, you could say, “So, a girl as smart as you must have lots of other irons in the fire. What do you do when you’re not making people glad they’re alive?”
"I've recently gotten into a bit of sex work, and so far I really enjoy it. Most of the clients I've seen have been nice guys who are respectful and fun to be around - at least for an hour, anyway. And although I'm still getting used to the idea of sometimes viewing sex, something so inherently personal and intimate, as a commodity, I feel a lot better about myself after making a guy's day by showing him some stress-free attention and getting him off a time or two than I do about (her other job.)
Honestly, I have about a million questions I want to ask you right, but I'll start with the one that seems most important so far.
What do you do when a client says something like, "You know, you're a smart girl; why do you do this?" First of all, could that be any more insulting? And secondly, why doesn't he consider how much money he's paying me? I do it BECAUSE I'm smart!
If someone I was dating had that attitude about my choice to do sex work, I'd kick him to the curb, but a professional setting is entirely different, of course. Money is the primary reason I'm doing sex work, not to educate men about sex-positive feminism. At least clients with this attitude seem to be the minority, but I haven't yet figured out how to deal with this issue.
But I expect more respect from someone with whom I've just had sexual contact, even if it was a business transaction. Is that the wrong mindset for a pro?"
Well, I can see both sides of this. I have certainly heard some version of this line myself, lots of times, and I do understand being annoyed by it. If nothing else, people who say it tend to act like no one could ever have possibly have said it to you before, when in fact, you’re heard it 943 times. Anything grows annoying with repetition.
One generally hears it from a man the first time he sees you, and one always hears it after the sexy part, whatever it is, has been completed. Having someone say this to you as they are literally pulling up their pants is enough to try the kindest woman’s patience.
(As I write this, I’m wondering: do male sex workers get this line? Either from other men, or from women? Or is this an exclusively male client/female sex worker thing?)
I am acquainted with the writer of this letter, and like me, she participates actively in the sex-positive community. Within that world – what I sometimes call “the love bubble”, a term I yoinked from Jane Duvall – being a sex worker is not considered highly scandalous, nor is it assumed to be the last refuge of the otherwise-unemployable. There is a range of opinion even there, but most folks will at least admit the possibility that a smart person might decide to be a sex worker for all the right reasons.
But we must remember: most clients of sex workers do not come from the sex-positive community. They live in a world where being a sex worker can never be viewed as a smart choice. In that world, a woman who “sells her body” (and what a stupid phrase that is) must be either morally corrupt or too dumb to have any other options.
If you’re a sex worker hearing this line, take comfort in the fact that at least the client has realized you don’t actually fit that description. I myself have certainly met sex workers who were as dumb as a box of rocks, so also understand that the guy may well have personal experience of that cliché.
True, it’s exasperating to have to deal with the assumption that while he is saying you’re smart, he somehow also thinks you were unaware that you could do something else for a living. But try to be charitable and assume that you rocked his world so much you temporarily lowered his own IQ fifty points or so. It's better for your own blood pressure if you can frame it to yourself not as "He has no respect for me" but rather as "I am a new experience for him."
One of the many unacknowledged roles of a sex worker is to be a sexuality educator. This is a teachable moment. So don’t answer from a defensive place, that’ll close the door on an opportunity to raise his consciousness. My suggested response? “Well, in my world, this is not viewed as something that smart girls don't do. I like sex, I'm completely comfortable with my sexuality and other people's as well, so I enjoy this. My friends think I'm very smart for doing something I like and making extra money too!"
If you are the client of a sex worker: do not say this, okay? You may think it’s a compliment, but it’s actually the reverse: it suggests you expected her to be an idiot. And she’d have to really be an idiot not to know she has other options. She’s choosing to exercise this one, and you should assume that she knows more about her life than you do, and that she’s better positioned to make choices.
If want to make pillow-talk about your everyday lives, you could say, “So, a girl as smart as you must have lots of other irons in the fire. What do you do when you’re not making people glad they’re alive?”
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