In Which I Sort Of Go All Fangirl

The lovely and talented Belle de Jour was good enough to grant me an interview recently, in the wake of her coming out as (gasp) a intelligent, emotionally balanced woman who did sex work for a while, had nothing particularly terrible happen, moved on with her life, and has no regrets about having done it.

Apparently that's a really shocking concept for a lot of people in the media. (Or at least, they pretend it is.) And a lot of them have tried to shake her from that position. But I saw a clip of Belle on TV not long ago, and I was thrilled because she was perfectly poised and composed, and she just seemed so blessedly normal.

I mean normal in the most flattering sense. Anytime I see a sex worker on a talk-show, I pretty much expect her to come off looking like a train wreck. Because that's the kind of person talk-show producers want to have on their shows, and most of the time, that's who they get. Particularly when the topic has anything to do with sex that's the slightest bit non-traditional.

And if you aren't a train wreck when you walk onto the stage, you'll probably be one by the time you walk off. I have known sexual outlaws who were able to hold their own with aggressive media people who were clearly trying to trip them up - Allena Gabosch comes to mind, and Veronica Monet - but most of us aren't trained for that, and so we get flustered and look stupid.

But when I watched Belle, she just seemed - sane. Calm. Rational, even. Just... normal! I was immensely pleased - and absurdly proud of her, even though I didn't have a thing to do with it.

Okay, so, enough fangirling.

You can read the Stranger's version of that interview here. However, since my column space at The Stranger is strictly limited to not-quite 500 words, I never have enough space to talk about everything I really want to. Here's the questions and answers I couldn't make fit in the Stranger piece.

Thanks again, Belle!

***

Mistress Matisse: There’s this habit I’ve seen in a lot of women in sex work that I call thinking in “Sex Worker Units.” Whatever one earns per hour, one forms the habit of translating those dollars into time and making spending choices accordingly. A woman who thinks in Sex Worker Units will look at the price tag on, say, a dress, and think, “$900? Hmm, that would only take me 3 hours to earn.”

I find it generally skews towards being freer with money - three hours doesn't really sound like very much, really. It's easier to justify dropping cash on this or that.

The other way of saying this, that I used to hear a lot among dancers in particular, was "I'll make it back." As in, "I spent X dollars at the mall today, but it's okay, I'll make it back tonight." As if one had temporarily mislaid the money, but would soon find it again.

For good or for bad, these ways of thinking about money seems to be a hard habit for women who leave the sex industry to break. Belle, do you still catch yourself thinking of money as Sex Worker Units? (If you ever did. I suppose not everyone does.)

Belle de Jour: You know, I don't. But the main difference between you and me is that sex work was like an agreeable summer job for me, whereas it's your real vocation and talent. I tend to think in "scientist units". (As in, if I get that research grant, I can squeeze that extra conference in Rome this year...)

Mistress Matisse: What is the question that no interviewer has yet asked you, that you wish they would? (And what’s the answer?)

Belle de Jour: I wish they'd ask what I think of funding in research and academia. Not everyone in my situation would have chosen this (sex work), but plenty do. It's a crime when the slightly dim are running the banks into the ground and the truly clever are fighting over a pittance. People think once you're in science you have a job for life - I know people who sell shoes and make more than me, and I have to fight for my position every year. And we wonder why no one takes climate change science et al. seriously - it's because scientists are so little valued.

***

Go buy Belle's books! And DVDs of her TV show, too. UK Amazon here, US versions on Amazon here and here. Powell's online is here.

Podcast Follow Up

"I was really looking forward to listening to you podcast from Dec 14 as it covered how to meet kinky romantic partners' which is something I'm struggling with in my own life. But your answer was simply 'go where the kinky people are.'
Yes, I'm sure that's true however for those of us just getting started that leaves the entire question of where are the kinky people completely unanswered. How about touching on a couple of places to meet kinky people in your next podcast? I know you are loathe to reveal the super secret European houses that have branched out to the NW ;) but I'd really be in your debt if you could give the newbies a few hints."

Completely unanswered? Oh yes, my goodness me, how could I have overlooked that? I suppose it's because in the five-plus years I've been blogging (not to mention nine years of Stranger columns), no one has ever asked me where to meet other kinky people. Ever. It's a complete non-issue. Every other kinky person in the world is born knowing this, and if you don't - well, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you're clearly not kinky.

All right, all right, that's not very nice of me, is it? But my dear man, you must understand, I have given far more than hints on this subject. This is one of the two most-frequently-asked questions I get, and I have not merely touched on it - no, I have manhandled it. I have spanked it. I have shaken it by the scruff of the neck. I daresay I have thrown this question to the floor, kicked it around, ridden it until it was exhausted, and put it away wet.

I am far from the only sex blogger who has addressed this question, by the way. It was sloppy seconds long before I came (so to speak) on the scene. So for you to offer me a date with it, as if it were a virgin - well, that arouses my sarcastic side. Sorry, it's an occupational hazard.

(Especially if you are looking, as your question implies, in the Northwest. I post about events in the area all the time.)

So, want to get lucky? See that box up there in the left corner? That's a search box. If you want answers, make that box your little bitch. Fill it up with what you want and punch that question mark until you're satisfied. Do it over and over, phrasing it a little bit differently every time, and that little box will give it up to you.

Am I making this sound sexy enough? Because I've been telling people for years now to SEARCH the blog, because whatever it is you're wondering about, I have probably written about it before.

(Extra credit search points: hunt through this domain with Mistress Google. The Blogger search doesn't seem to go all the way back through the archives, but she has a long reach.)

Of course, it's a free country. You can write me, and you can wait around and hope I'll see fit to answer you - without utterly filleting you in public. But there is a quicker and less potentially mortifying way of getting information. I'm hoping if I make this option sound hot, people will actually do it.

I suppose some of you do, and you get no credit for that, because I don't know about it. So those of you who searched before you wrote me, you're awesome. Pat yourself on the back for me, or on the behind, or wherever you'd enjoy it most.

EDIT: I realize that in this post, I have indulged myself in a bit more vulgarity than I usually do. Oh well, it must be the holiday spirit. By which I mean: the cocktails I had before writing this.

I am off today to spend a couple of days out of town, so while I'm doing that, here's a new podcast!

Monk and I answer a letter about how to meet kinky romantic partners, and then a letter from a woman who is struggling with her feelings about humiliation in BDSM porn and erotica, and who is wondering if being African-American is part of that.

Take-home quote: "It's only porn if you make money from it. If you're not going to make any money from it, it's not porn, it's erotica."

(Ten minutes, definitely not work safe.)

A Question For The Kinky Neurologists

Yes, it's a letters sort of week. But on this letter, I am putting out a call for suggestions. It's a tricky one, and I'd like to help this reader if I can.

Dear Mistress Matisse,

(Edited a bit for length. She said some very sweet things about my writing that made me smile.)

Thank you for helping to lay the groundwork that allowed me to come to a more fully actualized possession of myself as a masochist.

...I developed epilepsy due to a small laundry list of complications that occurred during my pregnancy. I have grand mal seizures and intense migraines now both of which are brought on primarily by too much stress; mentally, emotionally, or physically. I am being treated by a neurologist and I am medicated. My seizures have limited what I am able to do or the extent to which I am able to engage in a range of activities - I am contacting you in regards to what is perhaps the most viscerally frustrating.

My appetite for pain (bloodplay, floggings) and psychologically intense scenes (like rape fantasies) now far exceeds what I know I should really be putting myself through. Watered down scenes leave me restless and unfulfilled and while I can occasionally find satisfaction in primarily submissive play, in my heart I will always be a painslut. I enjoy being physically overpowered and it is nearly impossible for me to find my own pleasure without pain.

I suppose my question is simple yet infuriatingly vague - what should I do? My primary partner is new to BDSM (not that I'm exactly a veteran myself) so while he is wonderfully attentive and willing to learn, he doesn't have the experience or the intuition to be overly helpful. I'm almost always sexually frustrated now, and I'm at a loss as to how to reconcile my new limitations with the deliciously cruel treatment I crave.

Wow, this is a tough one. I get a lot of questions like this, from people who want to do BDSM, but who are challenged by various medical conditions. Usually I can come up with some suggestion. If you can't be hit with anything, if you can't have your skin broken, if you're not very strong, if your hearing or your vision or your speech or your balance are compromised - there are ways around most things. I've done BDSM with people in wheelchairs. You have to be creative, and it may not look just like the porn movies, but there's usually a way.

This one, though? I'm rather stumped. If you just flat can't be in any sort of pain or stress, regardless of how it's induced, then - my dear girl, you have my profound sympathy, but I don't know what to tell you.

Have you talked to your doctor about this? I think that's important, although I think you should go very carefully with that conversation. I would not use words like painslut and masochist. But you could certainly talk about how you and your partner like very vigorous sex, very intense sex.

But here's the one thing I can do for you: I can ask everyone else who's reading this: what do you know about this? Medical people in this field, and and other kinky people who have epilepsy - talk to me. What can this woman do? My email is MistressMatisse at aol.com, or at gmail.com.

I'll post replies here, and/or cut out the text and send it to her. Either way, everyone's anonymity will be preserved. Help me come up with some suggestions for this girl!

From a Letter...

...I find myself 9 years into a triad with myself (male) and my original partner of 17 years and our other partner of 9 years and I'm struggling with a terrible bout of jealousy. It's one of those watershed times in our lives. We're opening an art gallery and I just got done with the total renovation of it myself and am exhausted, at least 2 of us are in the midst of an in-depth re-evaluation of our lives and choices, my original partner and I..... wait. ..... blah blah blah..... that has nothing to do with jealousy.

To the point and question, since I know you have a very busy life and don't know me at all.... do you have a way to deal with jealousy when it comes up? I'm 49 and have never really felt it but am having crazy, unsupportable jealousy with one of my partners. I'm asking about everyone I know how they deal with it in the hopes of finding a method that works well with me.

First let me say: you’ve been in a triad for nine years? You, dear man, should be proud of yourself. I think triads are the most difficult of all polyamory structures to sustain long term. So that speaks well for your ability to create solutions to your current issue.

Jealousy is an unpleasant emotion – you know that already. The thing about jealousy, though, is that it’s chameleon-like. It’s a symptom of a problem, but what exactly the problem is varies greatly.

This letter is fairly brief. I think you meant to be respectful of my time, which I do appreciate. But without having a hunch about why you’re feeling this way, it’s hard for me to offer solutions.

Does the partner you’re feeling jealous about have a new partner? If that is so, then I’d give you advice about handling a new person in your partner’s life. A lot of poly people have written about that, though, so perhaps you’ve already read up on the usual solutions.

However, I have seen people become jealous even when their partners do not have a new love interest. You allude to a lot of big life-changes, and then you dismiss them. Not so fast. Those can be very stressful, and they might be causing some generalized anxiety that is manifesting itself in jealousy. Our brains are odd – if we’re feeling anxious about something and we’re not clearly in touch with that, sometimes we unconsciously re-route the anxiety to, shall we say, a different exit. Especially if, to our unconscious mind, that problem seems like one that can be more easily fixed.

For example, someone who recently suffered the death of a loved one might have a flare-up of jealousy. The mind says, “I feel the pain of a loss, and there’s nothing I can do to make that pain stop. I’m afraid of feeling this again. Thus, I’ll attempt to control the behavior of my partner, so that I don’t lose them as well. That will distract me from my pain and soothe my anxiety.”

If you have had some loss, or you think that you might soon have one, then that might be causing this jealousy.

The other thing that occurs to me is: if this is really an unprecedented problem, it's very strong, and it seems to have no very definite cue, then this could be a brain-chemistry issue. Now, I don’t think that every emotional problem must have a pharmaceutical solution. And I am not attempting to diagnose you. But jealousy is just another word for fear. Or, as the medical profession would put it, anxiety. So when I hear “crazy, unsupportable jealousy” one of the possible interpretations I can put on that is: “I’m having intense anxiety, I can’t manage it easily, and it’s negatively impacting my life.”

If the usual methods of handling jealousy are not working, it’s not getting better with time, and the jealousy is really impacting your daily functioning, then my next suggestion is: go to your doctor and tell her/him that you are having trouble with anxiety and you’re wondering about medication.

If you can afford it, I would also suggest you find a good counselor. Finding one who is open-minded enough to not try to push you towards monogamy as the solution to your problem is the challenge here. If you want to see a talk-therapist and you can’t find anyone who seems poly-friendly where you are, drop me a note and tell where you live, and I’ll see if I know anyone. Alternately, you might find a poly-friendly therapist who would do phone sessions with you.

I hope that’s helpful to you.

Links to writings about managing jealousy in polyamorous relations. One, two, three, four and five.

Letters That Fail

M. Matisse,

I couldn't help notice you mentioned Jae in your blog the other day. You haven't mentioned her in quite some time. Couldn't help wondering if you two had a falling-out. I know it's none of my business but you, at one time, talked about her often. I imagine your readers are curious too. Might make a interesting post, "When A Domme And Sub Part."

Recently you talked about the passing of your cat but you never mentioned if you'd get another one. Again readers might like to know.

I get a lot of perfectly nice, appropriate letters from people.

This would not be one of them.

I think I know who wrote this letter. There’s a certain man in Seattle who has approached me several times, first electronically and then in-person, to ask me about the exact status of my relationship with Jae. And - even more annoyingly - where she is and how she can be contacted. This is, I believe, the 4th time he’s done this.

His behavior is so astoundingly inappropriate that it leaves me almost speechless. A complete stranger thinks it is okay to walk up to me at a public event and demand information about my intimate relationships? Uh, no. That’s a really big no.

I don’t think he’s dangerous. I just think he’s unbelievably rude. No, if there’s someone likely to be dangerous in this situation, it’s me. Because I do not lose my temper easily, but if I do – oh, it won’t be pretty.

I gave him a civil non-response the first time he emailed me, and ignored him thereafter, and when he caught me in person and asked again, I spoke to him rather sharply. There were other people present, though, and one of them had the wit to draw him away before the conversation devolved too far. And then someone else had a talk with him, so I though we’d dealt with this problem. It seems not.

It is possible that the writer of this letter is not the same man who cornered me in public. But it would be a striking coincidence if they weren’t. I’d prefer not to believe in multiple people being so insensitive. "When A Domme And Sub Part." Good lord, that is really offensive. Obviously you are not even a frequent reader, because if you were, you’d know I loathe the abbreviation “sub”.

But regardless of vocabulary, prying for juicy details about what you think is happening in my private life is tacky. Had it occurred to you that if someone was estranged from an intimate partner, that having strangers demand details of that rift might be, oh, upsetting to them?

And in the same breath, you’re bringing up the death of my cat and asking if I’ve gotten another one? Are you serious?

Let me be clear: It’s fine to ask me advice about something intimate that’s happening in your life, if you wish to. It’s fine to ask me things like what public events I’m attending, where I like to go for dinner, where I got such-and-such a dress. It’s fine to ask me if I’ve ever tried a particular BDSM technique or a particular polyamory structure.

But there are questions one does not ask a stranger. At the very least, one pauses and ponders, “Does this question have the potential to be painful or distressing? And do I have any pressing need for the information - or am I just being nosy?”

At some level, this person knows he’s being inappropriate. Notice the repetition of the phrase “I couldn’t help”, and the attempt to deflect responsibility and distance himself from what he’s asking by saying he thinks my readers would want to know.

No, Mr. Writer-Of-This-Letter, you want to know. And you could indeed have “helped yourself” from writing this email. But you asked, so here’s the answer: you are not entitled to any information about the precise status and nature of my relationship with Jae – or anyone else in the world.

You see, my private life is, by definition, private. If I write about something, then that’s carefully-chosen information I’ve decided I’m willing to share. But the fact that I’ve shared some information does not mean that I am obligated to offer up anything you want to know, just to satisfy your prurient curiosity. That's like saying that if I wear a short skirt in public, you’re entitled to come flip it up and look underneath it. I’d deliver a swift kick to anyone who did that in person. You should not be surprised to find yourself on this end of a written one.

So in the future, don’t just say “Oh, I know this is none of my business, but..." and then proceed to try and make it your business. Stop and tell yourself: "No. This is none of my business."

The new Stranger column, talking about my recent Kink.com shoot, is here.

Also, as I do every year, I donated a two-hour session to the Stranger's annual charity auction, Strangercrombie. This year the auction benefits Country Doctor, Urban Rest Stop, and Senior Services. Last year, we raised more than $50,000, so this auction is going to be a real shot in the arm for those cash-strapped and very important organizations.

So this is the one time of year you can buy a session with me via credit card. Through eBay, no less! And yes, I'll honor it, even though I don't really take new people very much anymore. It's good for a single person or for a couple.

Strangercrombie bidding ends on Friday, December 11th at 5 pm. Go! Buy me! Buy other cool things! Or people! But buy something, please. Those services could really use the help.

Dan Savage had me back again as a guest on his podcast, and we had a lovely, silly time answering the call-in questions about kinky sex. Episode #163, listen to that here!

Letters To The Mistress

I'd like to politely ask your opinion on something I've come across and I'm asking you because nowhere else have I read someone writing about BDSM and everything around it with better accuracy and insight.

A female friend of mine (she's very vanilla and wonderfully sensitive) was recently confronted with the 'dark' past of her new boyfriend: he hasn't had a relationship before without BDSM and after being together for two and a half years, he's starting to miss it. So he asked her if she's okay with him starting a dom-sub relationship with someone else.

To get to the point: I don't want to help her or him, what they do is their business, but I'm moved by my curiosity. How were your experiences? Do you know about people who have dom-sub relationships without sex? If so, do you know what it was like for them, specifically?

I know what it’s like for them very well, because one of them is me.

And not just me, either. I have known many people who have dominant/submissive relationships without sex. It’s not uncommon.

What’s also quite common are relationships in which sex is not strictly off-limits, but very infrequent. I had a woman named Jae, who I have written about before, in a dominant/submissive relationship with me for a couple of years, and we had sex, oh, maybe half a dozen times?

And it wasn’t because she wasn’t sexy, it was simply – not what we were about. Being someone’s Mistress is different from being her/his lover.

Non-sexual doesn’t mean cold and distant. I was affectionate and loving with Jae. It was very definitely an intimate relationship. We did a lot of physical BDSM. I simply found it more… effective to not have sex with her very often. It made the occasions on which I did very special and meaningful.

But my hunch is that none of this will be helpful to your friend. I’m guessing that she is not polyamorous. If she was, the non-sexual question would not arise. My experience of monogamous people is that many of them would be highly uneasy about their partner having an emotionally intense, intimate relationship with someone else, even if it did not include sex in the very strict and literal sense of the word. (I have known people who got aroused and could achieve orgasm from certain types of non-genital stimulation - like spanking. So there’s the whole issue of defining what, exactly, the word sex even means.)

The uneasiness is apt to be even more pronounced in the case of a vanilla person handling his/her lover having a type of partnership they don’t understand, like a D/s relationship.

So my prediction is that this will be a relationship challenge that they will have to work through in some manner. It’s do-able, and I wish them the best of luck, but I imagine that it will be tricky. Tell your friend she can write me, if she wishes.

***

Now, my response to you: That “confronted with the 'dark' past” remark? I want you to hear me saying this to you in a mild, gentle tone of voice: Knock that shit off. Really. Do not empower, even as a joke, negative attitudes about BDSM - especially when you are talking to a BDSM person.

You probably did think you meant it in a kidding way, but it's also gauche, at best, to make that sort of joke to me, because it presumes you and I have such a level of intimacy that you can abjure politeness about my sexual orientation. We do not. As you are a stranger to me, I must entertain the idea that you're indicating your literal feelings on the matter. That seems in contradiction to you writing me in the first place. But I say this to you so you can understand how people might misconstrue what you say, and sharpen your communication in the future.

That’s my accurate insight on that matter.

A couple of pictures from the everythingbutt.com shoot! Click on them, they get bigger. Or go see the whole thing!

This is not a rant. But it is a suggestion to my guys – and the men who visit other sex workers.

A lot of men have a dedicated email account that they use only for sexy stuff. And very often it’s a web-based email that doesn’t show up on their desktop or their handheld device. For a lot of guys I know, that’s the only way I have of communicating with them.

I understand the reasons for all that and I have no objections. Privacy is a good thing.

(I do have phone numbers for some of my guys, but in my situation, calling a gentleman is… Well, it’s rather like giving a girl a facial: you better be very, very sure that it’s okay before you do it, or it’s going to be a mess, and she’s going to be very annoyed with you.

So some guys have my phone number, but I don't have theirs, and that's all right. I only give my phone number to people I know very well, so I do not have to fear random-whoever calling me, thus I don’t even save the numbers of their incoming calls. If someone specially says, “You can call me, use this the number,” and tells me any rules about days/times/etc. for calling, then okay, I'll call them. Otherwise, calling people is a huge no-no. I hear about ladies doing this occasionally and I am horrified by the bad manners of it. Do not ever call clients unless he gives you the number and explicitly states that it’s all right.)

Anyway, back to that dedicated private email system. What happens sometimes is this: the guy uses that email to talk to me, we make a date, confirm it, and then - he doesn’t check that email anymore. That’s the flaw in that system. It's an omission that can lead to some wasted journeys. I almost never cancel dates, but I had to cancel some this week because of being ill. One of those gentlemen showed up anyway – because he hadn’t checked that account.

Getting no answer at the door, he called me, and I had to say, “Oh honey, I’m sorry, I’m not there. I’m sick. I sent you an email.”

It’s a shame for him, he could have saved himself some time. And I feel bad for him. But as reliable as I am, I am human. Unforeseeable and unavoidable things do happen to me sometimes. They happen to everyone.

So if you use that system, check that email even after you make the date! Ideally you’d check it the night before that date, the morning of, and perhaps an hour or two before. But at least check it before you show up, because otherwise a useful level of privacy turns into a cutting off of useful information.

I wish I had something terribly interesting to say. However, I don't. Besides: don't get stomach flu, because it is no fun. But I'm assuming you already knew that.

I was so pleased about getting back to blogging 4-5 times a week, too. And then I got derailed.

Today, I'm working on a Stranger column, and a FilthyGorgeousThings.com piece, and when I get them sent off later this week, I'll have time to blog in more than just a placeholder fashion.

Monk and I plan on recording some podcasts next week, and I'm pleased to say that I've been invited to be on Dan Savage's podcast soon, too. So stay tuned for all those amusing things. I shall return.

A new Stranger column about types of tops.

Now I'm off to have some early-birthday festivities with Armani... bye!

I’m working on a Stranger column about my overall experiences of shooting with the Kink.com site, EverythingButt.com. But today I’ll just answer some of the questions that people have emailed me about it.

Why EverythingButt.com? Because the director, Lochai, is a pal of mine from the BDSM scene. I ran into him at Folsom Street Fair, and he asked me to come model. And I actually do a lot of ass play, so it seemed like a good fit, if you’ll pardon the expression.

What exactly did you do in the shoot? There’s some spanking, and a lot of really pretty ass-fucking. I think it’s a very sexy shoot that will appeal to people who like sensual dominance, and even people who may not think of themselves as having a specific fetish for anal play, but who like to see beautiful women having kinky sex.

Did you know the submissive? No, I had never met Bobbi Starr. I’d seen pictures, so I knew she was quite lovely, but I had no idea what to really expect from her, and from the overall scene. I did not know what the theme of the shoot was going to be until that morning. That’s how it usually works in porn. But it was a type of scene I like, and Bobbi was great.

Will you have pictures/video from the shoot? Yes, I’ll have some images. I don’t think I get video clips, although kink.com always has free trailers.

Are you going to model for of the other Kink.com sites? I don’t know. I haven’t been invited to. If one of the other directors asks me – or if Lochai asks me back - then I suppose I’ll decide when it comes up.

Are you going to model for any other BDSM porn sites? I might, if someone asked me, and I had a good feeling about the company, and the concept of the shoot. I’d be hesitant to do a BDSM porn shoot where I didn’t know any of the people involved in the production. So I don’t say “I would never…” But I’d have to be quite sure we were all on the same page about things.

I want to be a porn model! How much did you get paid? How much I got paid is between me and the IRS. But Kink.com posts their general pay rates here.

Did you see lots of other hot and kinky things happening while you were there? Nope. I saw a few other models walking around in the halls and such, but nothing kinky. It’s not like being at a play party.

One random thing I noticed: porn people seem very, very concerned about santorum. Like, very. I myself have been playing with people's asses for a long time, and I am a little casual about it. No, I am not into scat. Yes, if you want me to play with your ass, you should definitely clean it up. (I cannot tell you how many boys I have seen over the years who did not even wipe themselves properly. I’m serious. I think little boys do not get trained about wiping themselves as much as little girls do, or something.

Here’s how you do it, gentlemen. While you are still sitting, wipe, and then look at the toilet paper. Is it dirty? Drop it, get a fresh handful and wipe again. Repeat this until the paper shows no smudges. Is that clear? The while you’re sitting part is important because it means your ass is more spread open and thus easier to clean.)

So we’ll assume that the outside of your ass is clean. If you just want a few fingers or a smallish buttplug, not too much deep, serious fucking, then cleaning the inside is pretty simple. One of those disposable enemas is probably fine. They’re in the drugstore, usually less than a dollar. They have some chemicals in them, and some people don’t like that, so if you don’t, dump out the fluid and refill it with lukewarm water. Do this at least an hour or so before you want to play, because sometimes small amounts of water don’t come out right away. So if you do the anal-douche and then immediately fuck, that water will come out on your partner. Not the end of the world, but not what you planned.

For more advanced fucking, more advanced cleaning techniques are required, but that’s beyond the scope of today’s post.

But Ms. Bobbi Starr clearly knows those techniques, because her ass was as clean as a whistle throughout a four-hour shoot - and some very large toys. I would not have been surprised or upset by a little bit of schmutz. Shit happens, you know? It's not the goal, but it’s sometimes the price of admission. You do want to be aware, because shit can be gritty and make anal fucking uncomfortable, but otherwise – that’s what black towels are for. Change your gloves, change the condom, wipe it up, whatever – and keep fucking.

(And yes, wash up carefully afterwards. But you should be doing that anyway.)

So that’s my philosophy. But not in porn, no no. Every time a toy came out my co-star’s ass, there was a whole little flutter with the director and the camera crew about "Is it clean? It's not dirty, is it?"

I was like, “No, it looks fine, but hey, it’s no big deal.” However, my view was clearly the minority. I briefly wondered if it was a legal issue of some kind. I know there are some elements in porn that, theoretically, make prosecutors more likely to tag you with an obscenity charge.

But that seems unlikely. I was left with the assumption that kink.com – and porn people in general - know what their viewers like, and they know what the viewers get turned off if they see. And seeing anything brown was clearly a no-no.

Which would explain why the bathroom in the Armory has shelves and shelves full of disposable enema kits – both the pre-filled kind and empty single-use bottles – for free use by the performers. Art does not imitate life when it comes to anal sex in porn.

Last Night
I want you to imagine an enormous warehouse. Huge. Big enough to comfortably house, say, a DC-9. It might be even bigger, but the bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling only dimly illuminate the raw and rather dirty walls and concrete floor, so the furthest corners simply fade into unmeasurable blackness.

There’s some detritus here and there – pallets, tarps, boxes – but it’s mostly empty, except for four cars parked in the center of the room, and in one far corner, an RV. A gallery runs around the perimeter of the room, at second-floor height. The lights don’t reach it, so it’s impossible to see what – or who – is up there.

And in one corner of this vast, chilly room, there’s a hot tub. And in that hot tub, quite alone, and naked, is me – lounging against the jets and smiling to myself at the oddity of it. Here I am, in what is arguably the kinkiest place in town, and I am engaged in that most vanilla of all the pseudo-sexy experiences, hot-tubbing. Alone. Edgy, huh? Not so much.

I am choosing to ignore the fact that there is a security camera nearby, and there is a security guard sitting, with a bank of screens in front of him, just a few hundred feet away from me. He’s around a corner, out of sight, but there is no door between us. But what the hell - if the camera is on, and he sees me - well then, he sees me. It seems silly to cavil, when after tomorrow, he’ll be able to very easily buy much better quality images of me. (However, he has been strictly polite and professional to me, not so much as a flicker of anything else, even when we had to go exploring together to find this hot tub. He himself was unaware that it here, and while his English seems fluent enough, he literally did not know the meaning of the phrase “hot tub”. He seemed a little confused even when I pulled off the cover and showed it to him, splashing my hand in the water. But he shrugged and left me to it.)

Soon I will get out, dry myself, and go up the stairs and down the long hallway to the little dormitory-style room I was assigned and go to bed. My shoot doesn’t begin too early, but I have a feeling the building will come to life tomorrow morning and be a very different place than the silent, echoing place it is now.

Okay, I know, it's totally teenage-girl to blog about my horoscope. I might as well go buy a Twilight t-shirt, right? (Not that I don't know some grown women who have one.... Ahem. Not naming any names or anything. And I have nothing whatsoever against fluffy fiction. But god, those books are boring fluffy fiction. I'm just saying.)

But Rob Brezney is so cool. And I'm convinced that sometimes, he lives under my bed and takes notes. This is what he says for Scorpio for the next seven days.

A 13-year-old girl shocked everyone by winning a plowing contest in England. Driving a 12,000-pound tractor and pulling a five-furrow plow, Elly Deacon did a better job than all of the middle-aged male farmers she was competing against. What's more remarkable is that she was a newcomer, having had less than a week's experience in the fine art of tilling the soil with a giant machine. She's your role model for the coming week, Scorpio. Like her, you have the potential to perform wonders, even if you're a rookie, as you prepare a circumscribed area for future growth.

Glad to know I can look forward to winning the plowing contest I have coming up. Heh.

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I have blogged before about how I am not one to be chatty with strangers. I can be a trifle reserved even in places where “the roof constitutes an introduction”, but with random strangers in public places, I am generally very aloof. Most of the time, that’s simply because I am preoccupied with my own thoughts. Or I'm just not in the mood to be social, and I am pretending I'm invisible. So I try not be out-and-out rude, but any attempts to strike up a conversation with me in a grocery store line or on a street corner will not flourish. It’s just…how I am.

I know people who are the opposite: friendly and prone to chatting with anyone who crosses their path. Usually I just shrug and dismiss it as a matter of personal style. Occasionally, though, I think: Huh, other people seem to enjoy those conversations, so maybe I’m missing out on something here.

But I should know better, because somehow that talking-to-strangers thing just never works out well for me.

Latest example: The other day I had an errand to run in Nordstrom Medical Tower. It’s a tall building, and it can be a long elevator ride from the lobby to the upper floors. Two women got on the elevator with me. And for some reason, I consciously decided that I would emulate Max and be friendly to these two strangers.

(You’d think I’d know better. I have had several notably bad – if amusing in retrospect – encounters with people on elevators. But no, I never learn.)

Thus, I said, “Good morning.” For me, that is a wildly effusive thing to say in this situation.

One of them, an older lady who reminded me a bit of my own grandmother, smiled and said good morning back, and observed that the sky looked as if it might rain later. I agreed that it was indeed rather cloudy.

My other elevator companion was a stocky, thirty-something woman, wearing glasses with thick, dark frames, and a white lab coat over office attire. Her black hair was straggling out of a haphazard-looking bun, and she had a tangle of three or four ID badges on brightly-colored lanyards around her neck. She was carrying a thick stack of file folders in one arm. She murmured a response to my greeting and began fiddling with her folders.

My social duty done, I pulled out my Blackberry and started scrolling through Twitter posts. The older lady got off the elevator, leaving me alone with the lab-coated woman.

The doors closed. Then I heard her make an impatient sort of huffing noise. I looked up and met her black-framed gaze inquiringly. Is one not supposed to be text-messaging in elevators now?

“Oh,” she said in an explanatory way, “I just had a very bad encounter with someone.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, rather automatically. What, the old lady? Me? No, she’s talking about something else.

“People can be such assholes, can’t they? Goddamn it.”

Whoa, swearing. Is that a conventional response to someone in an elevator saying good morning? Seems like we’re upping the conversational stakes here. Not in a good way.

I made some noncommittal noise, nodded sympathetically, and turned my face down towards my phone again. We’re done talking now, all right? The numbered buttons next to the door lit up and then went dark, one by one, as we ascended. Not very quickly, though.

“I mean, it’s the end result that matters, right? What’s best for the people involved?”

Unwillingly, I looked up at her. She was shifting from one sensibly-shod foot to the other, and clawing ineffectually at the locks of hair that were hanging around her face. She made the huffing noise again, pressing her lips together and blowing air out her nose in irritable little bursts.

“Really,” she said, speaking more quickly, “it doesn’t matter is everyone else thinks you’re crazy, right? If it’s for the best? Even if everyone else thinks you’re absolutely fucking insane?”

Um, yeah – it actually might matter if everyone else thinks you’re crazy. Because, you know, you might be. And here I am, in the damn elevator with you. I just hope one of those badges around your neck doesn’t say License To Kill on it.

When I choose to engage in it, I am rarely at a loss for polite social chitchat, but being in an elevator with an angry, swearing stranger who is proposing that insane ends justify insane means – well, that stumped me.

Just then, the elevator emitted a ping! sound. Saved by the bell. I said something like, “hope that works out okay,” slipped sideways through the doors as they were still opening, and made my escape down the hall.

You see, this is what happens to me when I say good morning to people.

Goodness, I really blew off blogging this week, didn't I? Ah well. We'll resume our regularly scheduled rants and observations next week.

Meanwhile, there is a fresh Stranger column up.

I also have a publicly-available piece up on FilthyGorgeousThings.com, about BDSM euphoria.

And Monk has some video footage of a show he did at Columbia City Cabaret recently.

So there, be entertained by that!

Complete and Unedited Email! Plus, remarks on kinky coffee...

SUBJECT: Rashead from Bangladesh

Hello,
What is your Father's name do you know?
If yes, I will become your HUSBAND. Right?
Rashead.

Um, no. No, I don’t know my father’s name. Nope. No idea whatsoever. I'm an orphan. Of two orphan parents. What a shame.

(Actually, I think this email is a game. Meaning I don’t really think this is from a guy named Rashead who thinks he could marry me. It’s too weird, and yet not weird enough. The sentence structure is too good for someone whose grasp of reality is so loose. But hey, I’m not one to pass up good blog fodder when it’s served right to me.)

***

So, about this coffee shop thing: I keep getting email from people telling me about a coffee shop in San Francisco called Wicked Grounds. It’s described as “San Francisco’s first and only kink café and boutique.”

It's sweet of people to think of me and send me notes about things. That's just fine and dandy, I like that. And yes, I do know about the café. I didn’t get around to dropping by when I was down for Folsom, but it sounds like an absolutely charming place. I think it’s lovely that SF has a kinky café, and I wish them much success.

However, the idea of a kinky coffee shop is not really a novel one to me - or to anyone who's been in the Seattle kink scene for a while. Here in Seattle, we had our first one open in 1995: Beyond the Edge Café. It was open for about five years, and then the owner of that café, Allena Gabosch, went on to help create The Wet Spot, now known as The Center For Sex Positive Culture.

Here's a Stranger article from 2000 that mentions the cafe, in context of the greater Seattle fetish scene. It's interesting reading. (And no, not just because it mentions me.)

Now we have The Little Red Bistro, which is not a BDSM café exactly, but more of a generally sex-positive and kink-friendly space. With really good food.

So I’d definitely visit Wicked Grounds when you’re in San Francisco, but don’t think we don’t have options right here in Seattle!