I amused myself by going into the blog archives to see what I was writing about on January 20th in 2005. It turned out to be one of the Silly Phone Calls posts. You can read that here, if you like: link opens in a new window.

The Silly Phone Calls posts were always a big hit - with certain people. I flatter myself that some of them are very funny stories. But still, I officially stopped doing Silly Phone Calls some time back for two reasons.

Firstly, I had mined a lot of my best material. Monk and I have often observed that many of our best early blog posts were the stories we’d told before. Even a writer can hone a story out loud, get the best turns of phrase, gauge the audience's reaction, and tune up the tale based on that. Many of the most popular early Silly Phone Calls posts were written versions of anecdotes I’d regaled my friends with already.

Granted, I had many years of talking to weird strangers on the phone to draw from, so I had plenty of well-polished stories. But eventually, every well runs dry. Since I no longer have a public phone number – and oh, how I do not miss that – I have no fresh material.

But the deeper reason was: I found that sometimes those posts hurt people’s feelings – not the random callers, but people that I know and like in real life. That surprised me. See, I know I’m a dominatrix and all, but inside my own head, I don’t think of myself as a scary badass. I think I’m a pussy-cat. And not even a particularly sharp-tongued one, at that. I just thought I was being cute with those posts. But mere text on a page robs one’s words of certain nuances, so people interpret it differently than intended.

When sex workers talk about our dealings with clients, we tend to position ourselves as the potentially vulnerable ones, and our clients as the ones who must prove themselves to be not dangerous, not disrespectful, not unkind. And certainly there’s plenty of evidence to back up the wisdom of that. I’m not suggesting otherwise.

But – I decided that I wanted to be more sensitive to their vulnerability, too. It’s easy – and often satisfying - to crack jokes at a population we often see as having more power than we do. But when I heard about some of my guys being hurt by things I said, I realized - they actually don’t feel as powerful as an outside observer might assume.

It was one of those moments when something you already know crystallizes into a new form. I’m a dominatrix - I put people into vulnerable positions when they are in my dungeon. That part is obvious. But it sharpened my understanding of how, even in a professional situation, my emotional power over my clients doesn’t end when they leave my house.

I have power, and it’s not necessarily the type of power I set out to get - but I have it. So I have to use it carefully, and not leave bloody weals on boys I like. Unless of course I mean to.

***

EDIT: True, I occasionally sharpen my claws on people who write me letters and ask for advice. But that's different - they generally say, "You can write about this." That's consent, in my book.

Here's a brand-new podcast! (Even though it’s only Monday. I’m busy writing a column.)

In this one, TwistedMonk and I answer a letter from someone who is new at being the top in a scene, and who is struggling with what to do when people don’t disclose important medical/emotional before the play starts. Short answer: it's not perfect, but even when you ask them, people do that. Roll with it.

Then we hear from someone who wants to know how to cover bruises, so we discuss strategies for that. I talk about my stripper days of putting make-up on my ass… And mention some other kinky activities that leave marks on socially-visible areas of the body.

Enjoy listening!

Oh, The Media!

First, I have a new column over at The Stranger. And yes, it's about the "Alexa Dicarlo" issue. If I had had my way, this column would have come out two weeks ago. Alas, one cannot always have things as one would wish. Still, it's my hope that if I inspire any fresh debate on the matter, it will be calm, civil and reasoned. Although really, there's not much more to be said, is there? Perhaps my remarks will serve as a finale.

On a much sexier subject: last weekend, my darling Monk went to Vegas for the Adult Video News awards - the Oscars of porn, if you will. He taught a bondage class at the Erotic Heritage Museum, and he arranged with Carnal Nation to be their roving reporter. There's lot of fun videos of him, including one where he interviews Bobbi Star and they talk about me. Eek!

More clips:
A Look At Male Chastity Devices
Talking to the makers of wireless, musical vibrators.
Monk interviews Princess Kali
Monk talks to the Porn Church - and remains amazingly polite.
Monk putting "I Love Anal" stickers on people.

There's lots more on the CN site, so go check it out...

Time for a new podcast!

This one's a lulu. Let me preface it by remarking that Monk and I are practitioners of safer safe, and we want to help people learn how to do safer sex. We are sympathetic to people who are nervous about STDs.

That said, there is a right way and a wrong way to handle this conversation with a new partner, and in this podcast, we read a letter from someone who definitely did it the wrong way.

I don't usually sum up podcasts, but the take-away lesson from this is: if you have STD questions, ask them before you fuck. Asking someone about their health status before sleeping with them is a reasonable thing to do, provided you exercise some tact and charm about the matter.

On the other hand: Wooing someone online, meeting them, having a date, fucking them, going home, and then IMing them to ask them about those red spots on their leg? Gauche and insensitive is the kindest way I can describe that. I wouldn't speak to you again either. Take the spanking and learn a lesson from it: open your mouth before you unzip your pants.

Letters and Snark
I get a lot of unsolicited offers to be my slave, and most of them are about as eye-rolling as you'd expect. Anyone who sends me letters like that has clearly not troubled themselves to learn much about me.

(Most eyestrain-inducing? Emails asking to be my slave that are copied to a bunch of other mistresses. Because that's how you make a woman feel special, yeah.)

This one was a bit more creative - which is not always a good thing. First of all, it was a font so curly that I couldn't read it at first. And it was formatted this way, with the center-alignment.

So, without further ado... Complete and unedited letter of the day.

I am a slave woman of Paris.
I will be in USA for vacation of six months.
I look for Mistress or BDSM club for mine total training of Pain culture.
I also have to be available to be taken back in photo and video
I think to be your interest to have a woman of Paris as me I am.
Can you help me ?
with devotion
chienne

I am a Mistress woman of Seattle.
Six months of vacation? Incomprehensible to Mistress woman.
For Parisian, six months of US food, fashion, and art equals total training in Pain-ful Culture.
Sorry, for photo and video, must ask Mistress woman of Japan.
I think to be baffled by your English, and I also have to be mock you, since Parisians have to be mock Americans as me who can’t speak French as I am.
With confusion
Mistress

It's Wednesday, and it's a new podcast!

Monk starts off with a letter from a busty sex worker asking how to handle phone calls from men curious about her exact bra size. I’m embarrassed to say that the word “motorboat” is mentioned. I also talk about my oft-repeated bit of sex work advice, “Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want read out loud in court.”

Then we hear from a reader who thinks that only male dominants (not female ones) get teased, or harshly critiqued. I laugh for a while, and then I explain how that’s not true. Although I do offer an admittedly harsh critique about people who say “dom-may”.

About 12 minutes, not work safe.

A few more pictures from New Years Eve.

One of Puck and I in our party dresses. (Forgive the clumsy crop. My utterly amazing party-assistant, K, is in the original photo, and my photo editing skills are rudimentary.)

Note the fabulous shoes.

We seem to have a party tradition of stuffing more bodies into the various cages we own than they were really designed to hold. Cages aren't a significant fetish of mine - although they are a useful thing, on occasion. And if you have a cage and want to get people into it, throw a party.

This particular cage is a tight fit for one smallish person. With two, things get very friendly.

A slightly different angle.

And, a bird's eye view. Lovely scenery!

New Stranger Column
There's usually a seven-day lag time in between me turning columns into the Stranger and them hitting the street. (Either the actual street or the digital one.) There was an even longer one than usual this time, because the Stranger staffers wanted to get the annual "We Regret These Errors" issue all put to bed before Christmas so they could take off for the holiday. That means I wrote this particular column about three weeks ago, and that's just long enough for me to have sort of forgotten what exactly I said.

Goodness. I think I was in a mood when I wrote it. Look, I'm a nice person, really. I'm a little like Jessica Rabbit: I'm not bitchy, I just - write that way.

Anyway, have some champagne. Happy New Year!

A post inspired by a brief conversation with a friend: why you should not write client data down.

I have known sex workers who kept records. Nice, tidy, accurate records of who they saw every day, a few words about the personality and hobbies of the guy, to facilitate small talk, and then some notes about what he liked sexually, and if/how much he tipped. It often looks something like this:

12/ 01/09 John Smith: nice guy, heavyset, likes football. Lots of oral, reverse cowgirl, likes his nipples played with, tends to be noisy so make sure windows are closed. Usually tips $50. Phone xxx-xxxx, email Johnsmith@blah.com

This is a terrible, terrible idea. Do not do this, ever. Why? Let me count the ways this can go wrong.

Bad scenario number one: a nice person gets a hold of your little book of records*. Your roommate’s lover, the plumber, the landlord, your mother. Do you really want them to see a record of all the people you’ve had sex with for money, and what you’ve done with them? That’s going to lead to some very awkward conversations, at best.

Bad scenario number two: a bad person gets a hold of your records. (See: your roommate’s lover, the plumber, the landlord. Hopefully not your mother.) Hmm, I have no scruples and I’m holding a bunch of information rich in blackmail potential. Or at the very least: embarrassing, privacy-violating scandal. Remember the Jason Fortuny flap on Craigslist? That sort of thing.

Bad scenario number three: you get arrested and law enforcement finds your records. I’m not a lawyer, and this is not legal advice. But my layperson’s opinion is: that’s a bad thing to happen. That seems like fairly damning evidence against you. Plus, you’ve potentially incriminated all your clients.

Bad scenario number four: you get arrested, law enforcement finds your records, your smart attorney succeeds in getting it ruled inadmissible to your case, but – the police turn it over to the IRS. And the IRS says, “According to these records, you made fifty thousand dollars last year. But you only reported thirty thousand dollars. We’re going after you for tax evasion.” This precise series of events happened to a woman that I once knew. The result wasn’t pretty. This is why in addition to not keeping records about my clients, I pay those taxes. Oh Lordy, yes I do.

I have seen people keep notes they thought were very cryptic.

12/ 01/09 John S. Nice. Football. Lots O. Rev C. Shut windows! One star.

That might help you in the first two situations, although you still have to come up with some reasonable explanation for your mother as to what the records are. If you don’t keep contact info, I suppose the blackmail/scandal possibility is contained. But it is my impression that those records might still be used against you legally. If you know what you’re looking for, most “codes” are not particularly hard to figure out.

Of course, you could write something like this:

12/ 01/09 John Smith. Dogs barking, can't fly without umbrella. Mary had a little lamb. All your base are belong to us.

And then in three months, when John Smith calls you for another date, you’re going to look back at that and think, “What the hell does that mean?”

Yes, it would be nice if one could check one’s notes and see that John Smith loves the Green Bay Packers, always tends to run about ten minutes late, and likes a finger in his ass. But this is one of those little challenges to life as a sexual outlaw. If this stuff was easy, everyone would do it. You’re going to have to train your memory instead.


*Or whatever electronic equivalent of a Little Black Book you're using. And do not talk about password-protected to me. That will help avoid innocent accidents, but a clever and determined sixth-grader can get around many passwords.

Las Vegas Kinky People!

My dear Monk is coming to your town very soon - go see him in action. The class is called “Sensual Rope Bondage for the Not-So-Vanilla” - so if that describes you, you'll like this event.

Where: Erotic Heritage Museum, 3275 Industrial Road, Las Vegas, NV
When: Thursday January 7th Class 7:00-9:00pm. Private Q&A session 9:00-9:30pm
Cost: $50 per person

It's part of a larger spectrum of kinky events that weekend, he has more details about it here on his blog.

Monk is as much a performer as he is a teacher - you can see a recent video of of him here at the Columbia City Cabaret. He's great fun to watch in action, and it's even better when he talks, too.

I hope the Sin City folks make him feel very welcome!

Random Sexiness


I love this video clip. Love. It. I don't know about the rest of you ladies, but I do not intend to have a sexless old age. Nope. So go on, you sexy old ladies. And old men, too!
Video yoinked from The Sexademic.

Oh, and because I know you want to know: eighty-six. He was a small man, an native-born Irishman who stood about five feet tall and weighed perhaps a hundred pounds soaking wet. I think he'd been a jockey.

But he'd have himself a few sips of single-malt, and he'd get as frisky as a twenty-year-old. This was when I lived in Florida, and I recall thinking that this guy was probably quite the Lothario, among the "mature living" trailer parks and apartment complexes. Lot of bored and restless older ladies there. I teased him about it, and he winked at me and said, "Well - I will say, I don't have to cook me own dinner very often."

Maybe those ladies served vanilla ice cream for dessert...

It's time for... a fresh podcast!

(The page formatting continues to show the headline all wonky. I don't know why, but ignore it. Click on the little icon, and it'll play just fine.)

Now, I must warn you, I think this one gets to a new high in completely non-serious silly riffing. So just disregard all that talk about Monk parking a Buick in someone's ass.

Also, there's a whole bunch of insane nonsense about doing an all-musical-version of the podcast. Do not try to make any rational sense out of that. And do not follow Monk's instructions about emailing me, imploring me to do an all-musical-version of a podcast. Because I will not.

Then we get to letters. A reader asks us about making kink toys out of everyday thing – so we talk about pervertables, always a fun topic. And Monk offers us all the reasons why rope is so wonderful.

Then we read a letter from a kinky reader asking us why BDSM people don’t like to kiss. (We kid the guy a bit, but then, we do that to everyone.)

Meanwhile, I’m off to get my hair done, and then get massaged and generally pampered. A little pre-Christmas treat. Bye!

Let me tell you a story…

Some years back, I used to do a lot of photography. I miss it, but it’s a hobby I just don’t have time for anymore.

I got interested in photography by doing art-nude modeling. (Art-nude meaning: not commercial porn. How do you know if you’re modeling for art shots? You don’t wear shoes, you don’t look at the camera, and you don’t smile. That’s my tongue-in cheek definition of art modeling versus porn modeling.)

Since I was used to nude modeling, when I started doing photography myself, I did a lot of artsy nude self-portraits. Made perfect sense to me. I was the perfect model: free and always available when I wanted to shoot. And since I was trying to learn photography – a hobby that can absorb any amount of time and money you throw at it – I posted those pictures of myself on a photo-critique site.

Now, this was in 1999/2000, before chicks taking naked pictures of themselves and posting them on the web was so common. Some of the people on that site were perfectly calm about my images, but some people really got upset over these not-at-all-explicit nude photos. And oddly, part of their problem seemed to be that I said these were photos of me.

(Note: I posted these under my photography-name, not as Mistress Matisse. No one there recognized me as her. Or if they did, they didn’t say so.)

So there was some drama about my artsy naked self, but I tried to ignore the nasty personal cracks and just talk to the cool people and learn what I could from the valid critiques. I did learn things, too.

I’d been hanging around this site for, oh at least a year, when one day I got an email. The administrators of the site were going to be in Seattle the next week, and they wanted to know if I wanted to get together and have a drink.

What, me? I was very flattered. These people were like real photographers and stuff! So I agreed, and we made a date. At the appointed day and time, I arrived at the restaurant – it was The Pink Door, downtown – and saw them. It was a man and woman, a married couple. I went over and greeted them and sat down.

We started making polite chit-chat about their visit to Seattle, and how long I had lived here, and etc. And I thought, “Something funny is going on – there’s a very odd energy happening here, between the two of them, and from them towards me. What’s up with this?”

Then I realized: These people had not truly believed I was real until I walked in. That's why they had contacted me and asked me to meet them - to see if the woman in the photos would actually show up. Neither of them – but particularly the man – had believed I really was who I’d said I was. His wife seemed a trifle less astonished to find that I was the woman in those photos, I did take them myself, and I could nerd out with them about shutter speeds and focal distances, in a manner that only a photographer would do. But both of them were so clearly surprised by me, a real woman who would post nude photos of herself on the web, and talk to strangers about them!

I did not say any of this aloud. I just smiled into my cocktail, because I felt amused by it. It was like a little practical joke they’d played on themselves.

So we had our polite conversation, finished our drinks, said our lovely-to-meet-you goodbyes, and went our separate ways. The next week, they announced on the site that they were letting me choose what image was going to be Photo Of The Week. It was a stamp of approval: she’s real. The personal sniping at me on the site dropped very noticeably.

That’s a completely true story. My point? I know exactly what it’s like to have people not believe you’re real, until you prove it. So, if the much-discussed Alexa Di Carlo really is who she says she is, then I know just how she feels.

It’s easy to say I shouldn’t have to prove who I am, people should just trust me and not question. But not that’s how the world works. We all participate in systems that require us to provide some proof of identification. And we also have things like college degrees, which say, in essence: I know stuff. A bunch of other smart people taught it to me and gave me this piece of paper to show you, so you’ll know you can trust me.

Because that’s the issue: trust. If you don’t have someone’s trust, you can argue the details with them all the livelong day, and it will not avail you. You will never gain an uneasy person’s trust by such a strategy.

How do you get trust? You give it. I know about this. You might say that as a dominatrix, I am a professional gainer-of-trust. If people did not trust me, they would not let me do what I do. I must not only get their trust, I must keep it, and keep adding to it. If I could not do that, I would not have the career that I have.

Alexa, if you are who you say you are, here’s how I see this: a noticeable number of your readers have told you, “We don’t trust you.” Now, if all you want to do is tell sexy stories and re-post erotic images, you’ll always find an audience for that, so I could see where those readers wouldn’t matter to you.

But I had the impression you wanted to offer something more meaningful – advice and real information. If that’s what you want, then your readers must trust you. Thus, it’s a mistake to answer the we don’t trust you readers by saying, “So what, I don’t care.” That would not be smart in a one-on-one relationship, and it will not serve you well in your relationship with readers, either. It’s a defensive response, it undermines your credibility.

In order to keep everything you’ve created with your blog, you have to find some way to recapture their trust. This is the pivotal point - you have to make a gesture here. If you can’t or won’t do that, I’m afraid your personal brand, “Alexa Di Carlo”, will be permanently tarnished and will probably go the way of most blogs – fading into nothing.

I personally can think of a lot of trust-gaining strategies, but let me offer you one that I can help you with. I’m guessing you know the mother of all sexual advice-givers, Dan Savage, author of Savage Love? Dan and I are old buddies - he’s the one who gave me the column in the Stranger, back when I first started writing about sex. Dan also has a podcast. I’ve been on it several times. Why don’t you consider asking him if you could be a call-in guest? I think it would be a good way for people to “meet” you – just letting listeners hear your voice would go a long way towards getting some trust back. But since no one will see your face, your anonymity will be preserved. All you have to do is talk on the phone for a little while.

Here’s what I would do to help you: write a letter introducing yourself and your blog to Dan and pitching him the idea of you being a call-in guest. Send it to me, I’ll forward it to him with a personal note from me, to make sure he gets it. Obviously I cannot guarantee you anything, it's not my podcast. But I’ll do what I can to help you.

I’ll do that for you - even though I’m not sure I can trust you. Because I know what it’s like to be doubted, and I know you only gain people’s trust by giving them yours.

Fact or Fiction

I was interested to see the whole Alexa Di Carlo debate come to a public boiling point a few days ago. I’ve been hearing about it for months, in private conversations, and there have been some not-very-veiled blog posts on the subject. I did wonder, though, if the question would ever come out in the open.

What’s the controversy, you ask? Is the sex blogger/escort who calls herself "Alexa Di Carlo" really what she says she is? Monica Shores of Carnal Nation doubts it. Read what she has to say if you haven’t already, otherwise this post won’t make a great deal of sense to you.

However, the deeper question is: why would anyone create an elaborate and fictitious online persona as a sex worker? The answer to that one is obvious to me - it's the same reason why anyone blogs: for the attention. It worked, too.

And is there anyone reading this who has never pretended to be someone other than who they are while online? Come on - not even once? On an email list, in a chatroom, or a profile, or a message board, while IMing, sometime, someplace? There’s nothing inherently evil about playing make-believe online. It can be a fascinating pastime. How do you think Second Life got so popular?

But the real payoff of creating a fictitious online persona isn't changing your own behavior, it's about changing how other people perceive you, treat you, talk to you. As a female sex worker, you can talk to people about sex, and have them talk back to you, in ways that would not happen if you represented yourself otherwise. You can express desires that you'd be uncomfortable with in other contexts, and you can elicit details of other people's sexual feelings in return.

That's an appealing idea to a lot of people. Being a sex worker is a mysterious and yet iconic sexual identity. Everyone knows who we are - except, no one really knows who we are. If you want to create a fictional character, it doesn't get any better than that.

True, if Alexa is a created persona, then she’s a very carefully-wrought one. What kind of person would do all that? Well, I would imagine he’d be a well-educated and intelligent man.

Yes, I said a man. It’s possible that a woman would create a fantasy persona of someone like Alexa, but I strongly doubt it. A woman would do it differently. I do not think that Alexa Di Carlo is a half-truth, a woman telling a story that’s factual in some ways, but not others. No, if Alexa is fiction, then she is complete fiction, from start to finish. And if Alexa is someone’s Galatea, then her Pygmalion is a man.

This hypothetical creator is probably someone who researches his interests exhaustively, and who is detail-oriented. It’s probably someone who deals with computers in a professional context, and who doesn’t have a lot of people looking over his shoulder to see what he does with every moment of his working day.

More important, he is someone who is not getting a certain need met in his real life. And for someone to invest so much time and energy indicates that it’s a deep, ongoing need. It may be that he has gender issues he feels he can’t explore openly, and so creating the persona of Alexa would be his way of expressing that part of himself. Or it might be that he doesn’t feel satisfied by his sexual partner(s), and so the character of Alexa is the lover he’d like to have, his fantasy woman. Either way, creating Alexa would indeed be a labor of love for someone.

But you don’t care about my speculative profiling, do you? You’re thinking, “But Matisse, Matisse - do you think Alexa Di Carlo is real?”

I admit that at one point, I myself was curious about that. Then I thought, “Why, exactly, would this really matter to me?” And I couldn’t think of an answer that satisfied me.

I don’t think the existence of that blog is going to substantially add or subtract from any sex worker’s day-to-day existence. I have heard concerns that explicit stories by (supposed) sex workers lead to boundary-pushing by clients. As in:
“But Alexa Di Carlo says she loves to (do whatever sexual thing the guy is trying to persuade you to do).” The clearly indicated answer to that is “Well then, you should go book a session with Alexa Di Carlo.” And we know how that’s going to go, don’t we, ladies? They'll call you back.

Yes, if one dwells on it, one could get annoyed about someone publishing a lot of stories and opinions one feels misrepresent sex workers. The things the person calling herself Alexa Di Carlo says certainly do not match up with my views and experiences of sex work - which is pretty extensive. Neither do they seem consistent with the views and experiences of any sex worker I have ever known - which is quite a few.

However, if you let yourself get lathered up about people saying things you don’t agree with, you’re going to spend a lot of your life pissed off. It isn’t like the persona of Alexa Di Carlo is running for Senate or something. It’s just a web site. The web is full of all kinds of people saying all kinds of crazy things, many of which are not true, and I can read or not read them, as I see fit. I must exercise my judgment about what to believe and what to regard skeptically. So should you.

I support Monica Shores writing that article, it raises good questions and concerns. It’s fine to discuss these things openly. But - whoever writes Alexa Di Carlo’s blog is going to keep on saying whatever she pleases, whether sex worker activists like it or not. I’m choosing to not lose any sleep over that. If you’re a sex worker, I don’t think you should either. I doubt we’ll ever know the truth for sure, and there’s not a great deal any of us could do about it, even if we did absolutely know. If you don’t like what she says, then please, start talking yourself, and offer us your perspective.

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."