I had a lovely, lovely time with Roman last night…details on that later, since I'm about to plunge into a busy day.
I will note that - big event here - Roman stayed over last night. Meaning, he slept with me in the literal sense, as well as the euphemistic. That's only the second time in a roughly six-month relationship. (Usually we play at my studio, and then we both stagger home at some ungodly hour.)
Sleeping with a secondary has generally been a limit for him, and the first time we did it, during the Week Of Wickedness, he was sort of endearingly nervous about breaking his own rule. But it was fine, and then lately he told me, "I'd like to do that again." So we played at my house, and then slept together, and it was…very sweet. A nice marker for a relationship.

Meanwhile, if you're in Seattle, don't forget about my darling primary partner Max's bondage class this Sunday…I'll be there with him, doing my kinky Vanna White impersonation. (No sequined dresses, though.)

Fixed Point Bondage - Soft Flesh, Unyielding Objects
Sunday December 5th
2:30 PM to 5:30 PM at the Wet Spot in Seattle

Remember Little Nell on the railroad tracks?
Learn how to tie your lover to a variety of objects, from posts to chairs to bamboo poles.
This month's workshop presents a number of ways to tie your partner to something else. We'll cover a few basic knots and techniques, do a very nice demo, and then spend the bulk of the workshop practicing positions involving fixed points and/or pieces of bamboo.
The positions presented are broadly adaptable and don't require special hardware or equipment. In fact, we'll be using the furniture, posts, doors and other fixtures in ways guaranteed to get your creative juices flowing.
While some familiarity with rope and bondage will be useful, this workshop assumes no previous bondage experience. The knots presented in the workshop are all pretty simple - the fun is in the things we'll do with those basic knots.
Most of the class will consist of hands-on exercises so you'll have plenty of time to practice and enjoy what you've learned. And, as always, the handout distributed at the workshop will help you when you practice at home.
If you can, come with a practice partner. If you don't have a partner, come anyway and we'll make sure you get a chance to practice the basic techniques. Rope Bottoms - this is your chance to meet some rope tops - come learn and get tied up!
Some rope will be provided for the workshop, but bring four 10’ lengths and three 20-30’ lengths of 3/8” rope if you can.

Registration and Fees
Workshop fee: $30
Workshop + party (Wet Spot members only): $35

Wet Spot membership is NOT required for the workshop. Please bring ID to verify that you're at least 18 years old.

The "Bondage is the Point" party afterward is limited to Wet Spot members, who will receive a $5 discount if they attend both the workshop and the party.

Apparently I should have cultivated a taste for caviar instead…Bad weather and pest problems have created a tomato shortage. That's bad news for me, since la pomme d'amour is one of my favorite foods, either cooked or raw. QFC sells me a whole lot of those vine-ripened tomatoes in the little plastic boxes, even though they're so bloody expensive I think that I could buy good quality heroin for less money. And now they're going to be more so, apparently. Sigh.

Interesting article about managing jealousy in poly relationships…

A twistedly humorous page about military discipline - or, not.

Speaking of discipline, here's something kinky: Steve Unfreid, a principal at a Christian school, was fired for being voluntary whipped in front of two students. Steve, Steve, Steve - those paperback books you've been hiding in the garage? Those are fiction. Really.

And speaking of being voluntarily whipped...I have a date with Roman tonight, and I'm definitely of a mind to be evil. No flogging, I don't think. I did that last time, and one doesn't want to be too predictable. However, Roman has thrown down a gauntlet or two lately, and hey, call me easily manipulated, but I do like to rise to a challenge from a lover. (Of course, Roman rises to challenges very nicely himself. I do like that in a man.)
There may well be pictures. Perhaps even video. Possess your souls in patience, and maybe I'll post one within a few days...

Event Notes…

So the Sex Life Live show taping at ReBar last night went well. (Much more fun this time than the last time I worked with Dane, because I was actually sick as a dog for that one.) We had a good-sized crowd, and they seemed to enjoy me, as well as Allena Gabosch, Caroline from The Stranger, and Monk. You'll have to check Monk's blog for his version of events, but I think we done good. When the show goes live on the Sex Life website, I'll post a note…

Best left-handed compliment of the night: in the midst of a swirl of people talking to me after the show, a sweet young thing rushed up, saying, "Mistress, mistress, mistress!" excitedly.

Erg. Now, I'm quite fine with being introduced to people as "Mistress Matisse", because that is my professional title. But in fact, I really prefer people wanting to converse with me one-on-one to just address me as Matisse. Unless I'm actually playing with you (or you are my contracted personal submissive), calling me "mistress" – well, it's just a shade too familiar.

But that's a very fine point of BDSM etiquette, and not one most people could be expected to know. This girl clearly meant no harm, so I smiled at her. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to tell you, I've been reading your column, and I kind of had a certain mental image of you from that, and I just had to tell you; wow, you're like, so much hotter in person than I thought you'd be! It's amazing!"

Um. Okay. Thank you. I think. (What, do I write like an ugly person?) I do give her credit for good intentions - it was obvious she meant to be paying me a compliment. But – hmmn.

I just smiled again and thanked her for coming to the show.

I also met someone else who is a blog reader – or so her friend claimed. So, greetings to The Woman in White Overalls.

A note about video clips, because I got a plaintive little email about this today - because of the bandwidth issues presented by maintaining a permanent archive of all the clips, the clip will be replaced each week. (Or I should say, each clip will be replaced by its successor. I may not have something video-able every single week.)
What that means is that if see something you love and will want to watch again and again, download it to your hard drive - for your personal use only, of course - because it will go away soon.

So, it's Video Clip Day, and this week I've decided it time to show you the latest bizarre toy in my collection: The Fucking Machine. Now, before you get all excited: this clip is just of the machine. There is no victim attached, sorry. (If some cute girl or boy volunteers themselves as a video star in the future, I'll think about that.)

But I thought it might amuse those of you who've not seen such a thing before. And even if you have, like snowflakes, few fucking machine are precisely the same...

I was going to lay a music track over this clip, but Max said, "Oh no, you should let people hear the the sound it makes."

Be aware that this mechanical delight lives at my house, not at the location where I see my clients. So if you are thinking of coming to see me in my professional capacity, you need not fear it's insistent attentions.

As usual, hosting for the clip has been generously provided by Twisted Monk, a man who is not afraid to accessorize his cock with miniature mariachi hats and tiny guitars. (Don't try this at home, kids, he's a professional.)
Click Here To See "The Fucking Machine"

Downloaded from ITunes lately…

All My Life, by Foo Fighters
Barrel of a Gun, by Depeche Mode
Bela Lugosi's Dead, by Bauhaus
Born Under A Bad Sign, by the Neville Brothers & Buddy Guy
Brave and Crazy, by Melissa Etheridege
Can't Get You Out Of My Head, by Kylie Minogue
I Put A Spell On You, By Screaming Jay Hawkins
Nights In White Satin, by The Moody Blues
Paper In Fire, By John Mellancamp
Personal Jesus, by Johhny Cash
Rubberneckin' by Elvis, the Paul Oakenfold Remix
Sex Is Violent, by Diamanda Galás & Jane's Addiction
She's Tight, by Cheap Trick
Show Me How To Live, by AudioSlave

I have very eclectic taste in music, and since I'm not a music-scene hipster, I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers (and friends) to expand my musical horizons. Any suggestions?

Miss K and I were sitting in Hana during one of our weekly dinners, talking about work.
"So there's this guy I saw once, a long time ago, who's still calling me. I mean, I saw him when you still had your old dungeon, off Dexter Avenue," she began.
"God, that was five years ago. You saw him once and he still calls you?"
"Yeah, and I didn't like him, so I don't want to see him again. And I've got his number programmed into the phone so I usually know not to answer. But this one time a couple of days ago I didn't look at the caller ID before I picked up, and of course, it was him."
"Fuck, don't you hate that?"
"Yeah, and it's like – how do you say 'no' and get off the phone gracefully?"
"What'd you do?" I asked.
"Well, he hardly lets you get a word in edgewise - he was going on and on about wanting to see me again. He has this panty fetish, and I don't mean sexy panties, I mean he has a thing for granny panties." She made a face. "Really ugly big white polyester granny panties."
"Let me guess – he brought you some to the session you had with him and asked you to wear them?"
"Yep. And I did. If you're paying me, and you like ugly panties, hey, I'll put 'em on for you. Whatever floats your boat." She took a sip of her water. "Within reason, that is. If they want really weird shit, I send them to you." She grinned.
"Oh, thank you ever so much, dear," I said. "But I can do without any guy who's still calling the same escort for five years even though she never calls him back. That's a little freaky."
"You're telling me. So I said to him, 'You know, honey, you should call someone else, because I really don't think we're very compatible'."
"How'd he take that?"
"Oh, he started trying to persuade me to change my mind. He said, 'No, no, you don't understand, I've been dreaming of you all this time'."
"All this time? What is he, Rip Van Winkle?"
"Oh, wait, it gets better," she said. "Then he tells me how he wants to see me so much, that I was a goddess, that our session together was the best one he ever had, etc. And he wanted to know if I still had the panties that he gave me in our session together."
I laughed. "He wanted to know if you'd saved his granny panties for five years? Well, I'm guessing they'd be in perfect shape because you never, ever wore them again."
"Yeah, except I think I used them to wipe bird shit off my car right after I saw him. So I explained to him that no, I didn't have his panties - and he asked me 'Why not? Did you gain weight or something?'"
"Smooth talker, huh?"
She snorted. "Yeah. I said, no, I hadn't, that I was still the same size as the last time he saw me, and I was going on to say that I didn't save them because I didn't want to do another session with him, but he interrupted me and said, "Tell me what you look like again?'"
I started to laugh. "Wait, wait, wait – you're saying this guy told you that you were a goddess, and that he's been dreaming of you for five years, and then asked you what you looked like?"
She pressed her tongue deeply into her cheek and nodded, eyes closed in disbelief.
I laughed harder. "What did you say?" I asked, when I caught my breath.
"What'd you think? I said, 'What, you've been dreaming about me for five years but you don't remember what I look like?'"
"To which he replied…?"
"He said, "I remember that you're tall."
I laughed again. "Oh, that's special."
"Yeah. But it was fine, because it made me feel much less sorry for him when I told I never wanted to see him again."
"Boorishness does make it easier to be clear, doesn't it?"

I wouldn't normally do another link roundup so soon after the last one…but I'm having a busy few days, and I don't want you, my loyal readers, to go without any entertainment from me. So, presented for your approval...

I've been watching – with horror – the advances made by anti-evolutionists in terms of children's textbooks. When I came across this page of disclaimer stickers for science textbooks, I had to laugh, although my laughter is heavily tinged with incredulity. I mean, what next – the world is flat?

You knew it was only a matter of time before the BK chicken spawned some cheesy but amusing imitators. If you haven't already, go see the Virtual Bartender:
Suggested orders: butt, splits, kiss her, topless, cowgirl, kiss, wet, yoga, banana, pillow fight, fight, kick, sleep, jiggle, naked, tattoo, jump, pour beer, drink beer, sing, stretch, dance, lick, hummer, wave, tickle, hat, strip, breast, dance on bar, be a pimp, magic, karate, robot, shoes, show me something, spin, read, write, hair, belly, gymnastics, fire, spread, pitcher, kiss me, hand stand, arms, phone number, I love you and laugh.

And here's a newer blog, written by someone I know, chronicling her life as an emerging kinkster… I think that's always worth encouraging.

More and better posts soon....

So, to those of you here in the USA, Happy Thanksgiving... Max is downstairs right now, gearing up to cook the big traditional dinner, which I think is amusing considering just how un-traditional we are. But he enjoys it, and he's definitely the chef in this family – I can cook some basic meals, but I prefer to just be the assistant on occasions like this.
And in any case, the whole big-traditional-meal thing is a gentle compromise on my part, because left to my own devices, I'd go out for Chinese and a movie and skip the whole thing. T-Day is just not my favorite holiday. It just reminds me of tedious family get-togethers where, in lieu of real conversation, everyone just bickers mildly over exactly the same meaningless things they bickered about last year, to the soundtrack of the endless games of televised football. I'm fond my parents and my brother, but I'm not close to anyone in my extended family. We just don't have much to talk about.

For that reason, I haven't gone to visit my blood family on Thanksgiving for, let me think - at least seven years. If I have to do the turkey and all, let it be with friends. So Miss K and her husband and Roman and his wife are coming over, which will be nice.

Actually, when I think about it, I'm not really into any organized holiday. Christmas is sort of nice, I suppose, but most of the other big ones – July 4th, New Years Eve, Halloween, Valentines Day – I'm pretty whatever about. I resist being told by someone else when exactly I should feel merry or thankful or romantic.

But dinner with friends is always a good thing, so I'll enjoy that. And if you're doing The Bird, I hope you enjoy it, too.

Hey, it's Tuesday, and that means it's Video Clip Day.

This week's clip: Mistress Matisse Pierces a Nipple. This would be a temporary piercing, often called a "play-piercing", not the permanent kind you put jewelry in. I myself don't think this clip is particularly disturbing, but yes, I am pushing a needle through flesh, so don't look if this idea flips you out. There's also a quick glimpse of some naked boy-bits, so it's definitely not work-safe.
For those of you who are interested in learning more about this, SubRosa has written an interesting post, with a good photo, about play-piercing.
The footage was shot by my friend Gwen, and special thanks to my brave and anonymous play-partner, who generously allowed us to make use of his body.
Once again, hosting for the clip has been generously provided by Twisted Monk, just because he's a fabulous guy.

Click Here To See "Needle Play"

A little linky goodness for you….

If you didn't already, go read my column…This week's topic: Poly Conventional Wisdom.

Another Seattle blogger thinks about porn movies…

Politically, I must be a something of a centrist, because I've been reading this blog and it all seems pretty reasonable to me.
…Although there are some interesting things on this more liberal Seattle blog, too.

KinkFriendly.com – "a searchable database for all Kink Friendly and Kink Aware businesses, professionals and web sites worldwide." Looks a bit embryonic as yet, but I like the idea.

If you're a single guy who's thinking about going to a swinger's club, Monk has some words of wisdom for you…

Oh, and check this out - here's what you get if you transpose a few letters while typing in this URL. I'm not sure whether to be flattered or terrified that these people evidentally think I'm important (Evil? Satanic?) enough to warrant setting up this page. (Thanks to Chris for sending me this...)

News Flashes...In two week, The Stranger is going to start publishing a sexy-events calendar, and I'm going to be writing it. That means, if you're producing a public sexually-oriented event, you should drop me a note and tell me all about it.

And speaking of sexy events, there is going to be a fetishy party at The Rebar on Nov 30th, with Dane Ballard and The Stranger Lustlab. (This is the same guy who interviewed me back in October.) I'm still a little fuzzy on what, exactly, the show consists of, but I'll be there, The Twisted Monk will be there tying people up, Lustlab is giving stuff away, and Dane will be talking dirty. More info on this as I get it, but mark your calendars.

Today is my birthday....So thank you, all of you who sent me friendly birthday wishes - they are much appreciated!

Since some of you expressed some curiosity yesterday about my date with Roman – and since he's given the okay to me writing about it in some greater depth – I suppose I could talk some more about that…
I knew he had a special surprise of some kind planned for this date in honor of my birthday. And I knew better than to take his mock-hints about Mexican wrestlers, midgets and trained llamas seriously. But I really had no idea what he had planned, and it's hard to explain why I enjoyed what he did so very much without first giving you some backstory.

You see, back when I was a teenager, and I was figuring out that gee, my sexual desires didn't line up with what the other kids seemed to get off on, the internet wasn't yet a part of people's daily existence. So it was a lot harder for a young person who was…questioning their sexuality, to find much evidence of a sexual world beyond very tame vanilla heterosexual monogamy. I was already a bibliophile, and in spite of what James Walker once said, I had occasionally found some vague intimations of who I might be by searching through books.

But the first real clue I ever had that there might be a culture that embraced me was…The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I was sixteen years old. I went into the theatre at midnight with a group of friends, without really knowing what I was going to see. I watched the movie, and watched the strangely dressed people cavorting in the aisles, and I knew there was something there for me. As I watched Frankenfurter, that bitchy, dominant, omnisexual drag queen, wreak sexual havoc on Brad, Janet, and Rocky, I saw what I wanted. I wanted to be him: dangerously transgressive yet irresistibly sexy. And I wanted to fuck him, the hot hungry man/woman, with whom nothing would be too much or too far. I wouldn't have to explain what I didn't yet have words for - he would know who I was. He would know what I wanted.

"At the late night, double feature, picture show…
I wanna go…Oh ohhhhhhh…
To the late night, double feature, picture show…"

I went back the next weekend. And the next, and the next…
The idea of getting all excited about a rather cheesy B-movie with a few only mildly naughty sex scenes will probably seem quaint to the under 25-crowd. But you perverts from my generation – you know what I'm talking about. Back then, Rocky Horror was the only place, in a lot of smaller towns and more conservative places, where a teenager could go and be openly freaky without too much fear of reprisal. (Plus, it does feature the young and quite yummy Susan Sarandon running around in white cotton panties.)
That's how I came to be a Rocky Horror regular for several years. Yes, I was in the cast for some of that time. (I was Magenta.) Yes, I have the bootleg copy of it on video with Japanese subtitles, from back before you could buy it legally. And yes, I still remember all the words to the songs, and all the audience partici – (Say it!) -pation lines. I haven't been for years, but still, whenever I see a snippet of the movie somewhere, or hear the music, I smile, because I remember how it felt to finally find a place where I felt…at home. Roman and I have talked about this, and he understands perfectly. He's a Rocky Horror alumnus himself.

So when I sat on my couch with a blindfold over my eyes, and the sound of Tim Curry's rich, throbbing voice came to my ears,
"How d'you do,
I see you've met my,
Faith-ful handy-man…"
I threw back my head and let out a shriek that was part delighted laughter, and part disbelief that no, I couldn't possibly see what I thought I was going to see when I took off that blindfold. He didn't really – he couldn't have…
"Okay, you can take off the blindfold now," said Roman.
He did.
Whiteface makeup with dark drag-queen eyeshadow halfway up his forehead, lushly painted red lips, a long black cape and – oh, my – fishnet stockings and fetishdiva six-inch platform heels. Roman danced and pranced around the room for me in those high heels like he'd been punching the clock at the Lusty Lady forever.
"But by night I'm one hell of a lov-a-hhrr!" With a dramatic flourish, he threw off the cape to reveal a black satin corset with garters, a silky black thong, and of course, a string of white beads, just like the ones Frankenfurter wore. With the fishnets and heels – it was…perfect. Just perfect.
"I'm just a sweet transvestite from Transexual, Transylvania." When he shook his barely covered package in my face, I howled like an overstimulated small-town girl at her first Chippendales show.
And I was definitely overstimulated. This is what went through my mind - try to imagine them all flowing through your head in rapid succession, several times in a row.

Oh, my god, look what he did for me! Look at all the trouble he went through to do something he knew I'd really like! This is so sweet and special!

Oh, my god, look at his cock in those shiny stretchy underwear. That's fucking hot.

He's really good in those heels. He must have been practicing. And, wow, they make him look about seven feet tall. Oh, yeah, bend over, oh yeah - nice buttcheeks, baby…

What a sweet, thoughtful, special thing to do for me. What a wonderful, kinky, nasty boy he is. I think I'm going to have to fuck him raw.

I was saying some of this out loud, of course, in between catcalls and wolf-whistles and various other sexually appreciative noises.

"So I'll remove the cause - but not the symptom." As the music faded, he planted one high-heeled foot – (Where did he get those shoes?) on the couch between my knees.
"So," he said, panting just slightly, "want your other present?"
"There's more? Did you bring Rocky as well?"
"No, I asked (insert name of Roman's good friend), but he passed. Didn't want to bleach his hair blond."
I stared up at him. "Hair…Oh my god, that's why you look so different. You shaved off your beard!"
He let out a whoop of laughter. "That's why I look so different?"
I flapped my hand at him. "Oh, you know what I mean! But darling – your nice beard. You shaved it off – for this? For me?"
He smiled, his teeth gleaming whitely against the dark, glossy lipstick. "No big deal, it'll grow back."
"You are absolutely the coolest thing alive, did you know that? Okay, if there's more, bring it on."
He brought me a gift-wrapped package slightly smaller than a shoebox. I tore off the paper, opened it, examined the contents.
"Oh my. Well, look at these pretty things…" I stared at him, arching one eyebrow questioningly. "For tonight?"
He nodded.
"You're ready for this?"
He nodded again, giving me Frankenfurter's come-hither look.
"All right then, baby…let's go downstairs."
So we did, and there, dear readers, is where I draw the curtain. Because certain things that happen between a girl and her drag queen in the dark of the night should remain…private.

"Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me!
I wanna be dirty!
Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me,
Creature of the night…"

Good god...A completely fabulous date with Roman last night, which resulted in my stumbling into bed at 5am. And far too early this morning: clients, email, phone calls, aarrggh...And I'm supposed to go the gym this afternoon, double aarrggh. It's gonna be a two-Rock-Star-day, I can tell.
But worth it...

Yes! Yes! Oh, I am so very, very happy right now. I got a note today from Dan Savage (the editor of The Stranger) telling me that in two weeks, my column will be back in the paper version of The Stranger.
This is fabulous news. I've been trying to be patient, but I really missed being in the paper, and I'm very pleased that, after five months of being only in the online-version of The Stranger, I'll be back in the actual paper again. (Don't worry, non-local readers, I'll still be online, too.)
And, the extra-cool part: I'll be at 725 words instead my previous 400-word-limit. Whittling something meaningful down into 400 words was always a challenge, but I can do something with 725 words.
Happy, happy girl! What a nice almost-birthday present!

I need a volunteer. I found this link to - brace yourself - a Christian FemDom site, and I just cannot bring myself to go explore it. Someone else has to go and come back and tell us about it, because I'm sure it's just rife with opportunities for spoof and sarcasm. But I just can't do it.

I've tried. I enter the URL, I get to the entry page, I look at the warnings and the cheesy tiled graphic and my hand, with any conscious volition, moves the mouse to the upper right corner and hits that tiny X to click it away, away, away.

I did gather my courage to click (on a picture of a frigging cross, no less) and enter the body of the site just once. But some terrible MIDI music began playing and I shuddered so violently that I accidentally (?) closed the window. I took it as a sign from God.

So I need a volunteer. Some brave pervert, with a snarky sense of humor and the ability to remain undaunted by the unholy marriage of christianity and kink that has spawned this GeoCities website. Go forth, and report back to us. We'll be praying for your safe return.

Okay, I think it's time for another video clip...This is taken by me rather than of me - it's footage from a private BDSM play-party where my lovely friend Trinity was suspended by her ankles. It is a bit choppy, because I was trying to avoid getting the faces of any camera-shy party guests in the frame. And it's obviously not work-safe.
Hosting for the clip has been generously provided by Twisted Monk, just because he's a sweet guy. We'll probably take it down after a week or so, or if the traffic to the clip is so very heavy that we're threatening to suck up all of his bandwidth. But in the meantime, enjoy!

Trinity Suspended

A photo from the archives, just because...It's from my self-portrait series, Dec 2002.

Meanwhile, I'm spending my day puttering around the house, doing all those little things that one keeps meaning to do and getting too busy to take care of...
And perhaps doing a bit of quiet contemplation as well, on the topic of my upcoming birthday, six days from now. Max is going to take me out for an intimate dinner alone somewhere, which is exactly what I think I'd really like. I adore all my friends, but the social whirl gets me a little...dizzy, sometimes. And since there are a number of other big events coming up soon, I decided I'd save my social diva energy for those.

Speaking of social occasions, and my opinions about how to behave at them: there was a bit of a snafu with the column last week - but it's up now, and correctly formatted, yay!

And speaking of November birthdays...I'm not really into astrology, but it's fun to read about it sometimes. I was amused to see that Clean Sheets has some sexy astrological lore about me and my possible partner combinations. But she doesn't seem very sanguine about me and any of my boys...Max is a Taurus, and I do have a history of picking Taurus men. (Not on purpose, it just turns out that way.) And Roman is a Leo, and doesn't that just fit him? But according to the author, I should be choosing Virgo or Pisces, and I've never had a lover with those signs that I know of. (I admit I haven't really kept serious track of these things.) So, not something I'd steer my life by. But entertaining, and we're all about entertaining around here.

Video clip of Trinity tomorrow!

"Why don't you have any tattoos?" People ask me that sometimes – meaning, people who've seen enough of my body to be certain that in fact, I don't.

While it's true that lots of kinky people in Seattle do have tats, it's actually not a legal obligation. And I'm not the only pervert I know with no ink. Why, I live with another: Max. But I think I can count the other un-tattooed kinksters I know on one hand, so yes, we are in the minority here.

Why not? Well, I've just never had a burning desire for one, and I think if you're going to have the damn thing for the rest of your life, you better be real sure you want it. (Yes, I know, now there are laser treatments to remove them, but I'm told that's a long and rather expensive process, and that it doesn't always yield perfect results, either. I'd prefer that any time and money I spend - and any discomfort I endure - in my dermatologist's office be spent gilding the lily that I am, rather than dealing with self-inflicted wounds.)

I might have been more impulsive when I was younger, but even then it was clear to me that the clients of my chosen profession disliked tattoos. The vast majority of my clients were (and still are) middle/upper middle class white guys living in the suburbs, leading relatively traditional lives, and their ideas about beauty are fairly, well - mainstream. (I'm not saying you can't make it as a sex worker if you have tattoos. But I think it's a handicap.)
Sure, I could have gotten by with a dainty little anklet or something, but if I were going to get a tattoo, that is not what I'd get. I'd probably get a big-ass Celtic blackwork piece. Go big or go home, a friend of mine likes to say - I took the latter option.

I don't have any permanent piercings, either, except my ears. Again, I've just never felt a big desire for any.

The only body modification I've ever done is of what I would call a semi-permanent type - cuttings. When BDSM people say cutting, what they mean is: someone takes a sharp implement, like a surgical scalpel, and makes light cuts in someone elses skin, usually no deeper than a cat scratch, and usually in a design or shape of some kind.

A lot of people squick when I mention this, and that always perplexes me a bit, especially when the squickees have tats themselves. On the scale of such things, a cutting blade doesn't seem any more intrusive into the body that a tattoo needle. Cuttings are usually completed much more quickly, and I definitely don't think it's any more painful – it's always seemed to me like it would be less so.

For the adventurous among you, I do have some photos from a shoot I did of a friend getting a cutting. (And the finished product here.) Don't go if you faint at the sight of blood.

What you essentially wind up with is a drawing in/on your skin. When it's fresh, it looks a lot like a red tattoo. Most people choose shapes and designs that have meaning to them, although lots of people also just like the endorphin buzz they get from the process. I've done cuttings on people as part of a BDSM scene, although I got mine as just a body-mod experience. Either way, cutting is a careful, measured activity, and you must observe all the reasonable safety precautions – sterile tools and a clean area, etc.

As the cut heals, it goes away, but sometimes it leaves a very faint scar in the shape of the original cut. If you like the scar effect, you can re-do the cutting over again until it becomes more raised and noticeable. I haven't done that myself, but I've admired it on other people.
So you can just call me the Mies van De Roe of the body modification set. No tatts, no permanent piercings, just those very faint lines that are visible in certain angles of light.

I have this question that I used to use as an icebreaker at cocktail parties, and it’s this: If they were making a movie about your life story, who would you want to play you?

There are a number of possible variants, like: Salary-is-no-object, or B-movie budget? Do I get different actors for different ages of my life? Do they have physically resemble me?

I still haven't found exactly the right person to play me yet, and that may be because I'm not the biggest film/TV buff. I suck at remembering most actors names – I usually have to call up my brother, who worked in Hollywood and knows all this shit, and say something like, "Who was that girl who was in that movie, you know, with the car and they drive it over the edge of the cliff at the end?"

He'll sigh patiently and say, "Geena Davis." When it comes to movies, my brother can read my mind. (Thank god that's the only area in which he has that skill.)

So, while I don't think it's strictly necessary that the actor physically resembles you, I do think they should seem to possess some trait that you identify with. That's why when I play this game, some of my choices over the years have been: Jennifer Jason Lee, because she's so freakin' intense. Or: Madonna, because she can convey someone who's driven and determined. (But only if it was a musical.)
If Annette Bening was a little younger, I would love to have her play me, she's fabulous. Catherine Zeta-Jones would get my okay, too.

Various suggestions from other people have included:
"Sarah Michelle Gellar". Yeah, okay, I can see that.
"Andie McDowell". What? "Well, I've always had a thing for her. And she's got a southern accent, too." Mmmmn, I don't think so.
"Ellen Barkin". Not sure I really see that, but I think she's cool, so, all right.
"Rose McGowan". A little on the goth side, but okay.
"Linda Fiorentino". Oh, now you're talking. She hasn't done much lately, but I loved her in "The Last Seduction".

I have decided that come what may, Max must be played by Kevin Spacey. Quiet, low-key, until he unleashes his inner barracuda. If Kevin absolutely isn't available, perhaps John Malkovich, if he could convey a little more warmth that he usually does.
Roman? I think…Jim Carey. Tall, irresistibly boyish and cute, and tons of kinetic energy. Or maybe, just maybe, Tim Robbins - if you gave him speed. A younger John Travolta could have captured his charm, but while I like Mr. Travolta, I think he's peaked.
Jake? Oh, that's a hard one. Vin Diesel? But I'm just saying that based on looks. Nicolas Cage might capture Jake very well, though. Very intense, and just slightly...left of center, somehow.

So – who would play you?

Phone Messages I Did Not Return – A Retrospective…

Obviously I didn't get all these on the same day…But they are just a few messages lately that have stuck in my mind…

Beep!

"Hello, Mistress Matisse, my name's Jim, we haven't met before, but I wanted to make an appointment with you for this Saturday night around nine. Oh, yeah, I saw on your website that you don't usually do weekend appointments, but I'm only going to be in town that one night, so that's the only time I can do it. So give me a call back, please, at XXX-XXXX to confirm the appointment and tell me your address. Thanks."

Can you say, "rude arrogant asshole who thinks rules don't apply to him"? I knew you could. No, Jim, you don't confirm appointments you don't have, and you don't assume I'll see you - I talk to you and then I decide if I will accept you. In this case, the answer is no. So don't wait by the phone for my call, baby.

Beep!

"So, I like, saw a mistress once and I don't remember her name – and I was wondering if are you her? My name's John, and I'm like 24 – except it was two years ago, so I would have been 22 then – and I have brown hair and I wanted to get pissed on. Call me back at XXX-XXXX. Peace."

Well, it's nice that he made it clear that I actually wasn't the woman he saw – a 22 year old? No way! – because I'd hate to think I played with anyone who sounded this stoned.


Beep!

" 'Allo? 'Allo? Miztress? 'Allo? You call me, yes, Miztress? Call me now,
XXX-XXXX!"

Oh, I think not.

Beep!

"Mistress, I know I don't deserve to see you, I'm a worthless piece of shit, I'm scum, but if you wanna see me so you can tell me to my ugly face what a lame-ass fuckhole I am truly am, call me at XXX-XXXX"

Can't say I have the slightest urge to see a lame-ass fuckhole, thank you just the same. Sounds a bit redundant somehow, doesn't it? Does this technique work with other women, I wonder?

Busy, busy girl….Glad you enjoyed the video clip. I've got another one in the chute that's quite different – it's a clip of my lovely friend Trinity being hung by her ankles at a party recently. Onfuego won't host it, though, because she's nekkid. So Monk (of TwistedMonk.com, best hemp rope vendor in the world) has graciously offered to host it on his site. A round of applause, please, for Monk. Look for that in a day or two.

I'm way booked up with clients this week – I spent all yesterday afternoon playing with one of my all-time favorite boys, and then he and I went out to a great dinner. He's back in my clutches today for another extended session with me and a lovely friend of mine…I hope she'll enjoy him as much as I do.

A busy day Thursday, too, but Friday is mine – I'm going to spend a little time with Roman and then Max and I are going to go see a play.

The days do go by quickly sometimes…

That pesky thing called Real Life has been rather busy lately, but for your entertainment, here's another video-blog entry...

Snippets of my life lately…

I recently administered a caning to man while wearing – at his request - a red PVC ball gown, complete with tight-laced bodice, puffy skirt, and a train. I felt like a fetish Scarlett O'Hara.

Roman and I had a writer-to-writer discussion about conflict as a plot device while he went down on me. (Obviously he had to sort of stop licking me to talk, but it was still damned impressive. I know I lost my train of thought a few times.)

Jake and I talked about the increasingly incestuous little band of perverts that's floating around the edges of my social life these days. Except for me, I think all of the small pool of women that Jake is playing with, or has played with lately, is/has also played with two or three other guys – by which I mean, the same two or three other guys. That's not inherently bad, you understand, it just makes social events where everyone is going to be there a little – unpredictable. For example, the bondage class/party tomorrow night. I have no idea who's coming with who, or what mix-and-match configurations might result. I'm going with Max, that's all I know. And anyone who wants him to tie them up should be very nice to me.

I've been unsure about talking about this here – but, what the hell. I recently became the proud owner of a fucking machine. I've always wanted one, and I'm extremely pleased by this one. Not only does it work like a charm, but it even looks cool. I'd post a picture of it, but I need to get Mike's permission. You remember Mike, my previous secondary? Well, actually, Mike came back onto the scene a little while back. Naughty of me not to have told you, but I can be that way sometimes. Things with the other girl didn't quite fly, so Mike turned up, being as charming as he can be, which is considerable. I thought about playing hard to get - but he seduced me back, because he knows one of my major fetishes.
You see, Mike is a metal artist. He works in other mediums as well, but that metal thing, mmmm-hmmmn, it's sexy. And so is Mike.
So Mike built me a really cool fucking machine, and I foresee having a lot of fun with it. There's something so delightfully relentless about machines. They just don't care about you one little bit. (This is also one of the reasons why I like playing with electricity.) So if someone set this machine in motion and walked away, well, it would just keep on pumping until I – whoops, I mean they – came back. Doesn't really matter whether you like it or not.
Oh, that's sexy. Very sexy.
But the thing is, Mike has a very distinct style in metal art, and if you knew him, and you saw a picture of this machine, you'd immediately recognize it as his work. Now, he may not care, but I need to check with him first. So perhaps we'll have a picture of the machine – probably without a victim attached – sometime.

So, hopefully the new Stranger column should be up today. I don't know why it's apparently not being put up on Thursdays any more.

This would make me slightly happier. I cannot stand John Ashcroft, he's the worst of the bible-thumpers we have in office these days. Ashcroft Likely to Leave AG Post.

Oh, you know, I'm not trying to stifle anyone's freedom of expression or anything, but "community outreach" like this hurts us as much - or more - as it helps us. Sex slave, dominatrix claim they are feminists.
The submissive, in particular, really needs some training before she's ever put in front of another bunch of vanilla people. Jesus, telling people you met your top when you were fourteen, that you once tried to commit suicide, and that your top had you get breast implants, and that you don't think you could leave? Oh, that all makes you look real healthy.
I totally support this woman and her partner structuring their relationship however they want. But when you're doing a public speaking engagement, there are things you talk about - and there are things you don't.

And apparently Penn, of Penn and Teller, has a kinky streak. How charming.

Enjoying Yourself is Sexy

I got a sweet email from a client after a recent session. It's very flattering, but more than that, it's interesting. You see, he's been to see a lot of different pro doms, and so he's able to compare and contrast me with a number of other professionals. A lot of my guys have never seen another dominatrix, or maybe they've seen just one or two. So I was curious about this rather experienced gentleman's opinion.

I think that there are a couple of things that make you stand out. One is that you convey far more than most ProDommes that you are enjoying the session, what you are doing, and my reactions. I'm not nearly that outgoing myself; I just seem to go naturally quiet in session, and my reactions are much more physical than verbal. But as I've told you, your responsiveness really does inspire me to want to take more for you, since you make it so evident that you are enjoying the activities.

Mistress Matisse's Tips for Dominant # 16: If you tell them, and show them, that they're pleasing you, they will work as hard as they can to keep doing so.

The second thing I think I can safely say now that you've seen me three times, and I trust you consider me to be one of the "good guys" who has read your rules page, and respects your boundaries. I think I can say without you getting the wrong impression that you conduct a very sexy session. You are far from the dispassionate, either almost purely D/s or almost purely sadistic demeanor that I've experienced from most other ProDommes. I'm one of the people who believe that BDSM play is very much about sex -- not having sex, not sex acts, to be sure, but still very sexual in nature. To me at least, you convey that sense of a BDSM session being a sexual experience, and very fun!

An example of a client who's a very good match for me. Always nice when it works out this way.

I think that many other ProDommes are very inhibited in that area, even those who conduct sessions with a laughing, fun-loving demeanor. Few are willing to let go and convey the sense that yes, a session is very sexy, and yes, that it's sexy fun. That may well be for good reason, such as a result of bad experiences with clients who get the wrong idea; or they may hold to the prudish philosophy of "it's not about sex; it's about submission." Or it may be their personality, just the way they are, and I don't mean to be critical of that, since I don't think I'm very demonstrative during a session, either. But you are, and you conduct a very sexy session, and to me that is another thing that makes you a lot of fun to play with.

To me, this speaks to the virtue of simply being yourself in BDSM, as opposed to adopting a fake demeanor because you think it's more "domly". Like him, I'm not dissing those who have a different style, if it's a genuine reflection of who they are. But even though I get occasional flak from the "real and true mistress" types, I'm not interested in pretending to be jaded, bitchy or cold. It's nice to have boys who appreciate me exactly as I am.

All right, tomorrow we go back to sex and kink...but a few final thoughts for the day of mourning.
Looks like a lot people had the same idea... Still, there are at least Ten Reasons Not To Move To Canada.

For myself, I'm going to try focusing on the fact that the people who helped elect Bush will now expect him to fix what's wrong. And that's going to be rather difficult.

Well, I'm pretty depressed this morning. This reminds me of when Newt Gingrinch and Co. swept into office. Jesus.
So, be aware - if you aren't already - that I will delete any comments I don't like. It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, so if you're in a celebratory mood, take it to one of the more like-minded blogs. I don't want to hear it today.

Oh god, I have a nasty feeling I'm going to be stuck looking at that monkey boy's ugly face on TV for the next four years. Jesus. I've heard that "we get the government we deserve", but I think that, actually, just slightly more than half of us do.
I should look at the bright side: I'm not going to get drafted, I don't have kids to inherit the huge debt we're running up, and since Washington state is looking to remain strongly Democratic - a female Democrat governor and two Democratic female state senators, that's a historical first - at least I don't have to worry about my being able to get an abortion should an unfortunate accident happen.

Obama won. That's not surprising, given that his opponent is an insane carpetbagger. But I'm glad, I think he's got a great career ahead of him.
I am keeping a very tight rein on my hope about the big one...Tick tock, tick tock.

God, I'm going to be a fucking basket case all day. Thank god Blue Eyes is coming to see me, I can vent some of my tension on his nicely helpless body.
And then perhaps, as Monk recommends, a stiff drink. Or else I'll go to the gym and run until I'm too exhausted to be tense.
I hate waiting.

Haven't done a reading list for a while…

The Boxer Rebellion, by Diane Preston. No, it's not a book about guys in satin shorts beating up Don King. "In the late 1890s, a virulently resentful peasant movement spread across northern China; foreigners nicknamed its adherents "Boxers" for the martial-arts exercises they practiced en masse. When the movement erupted into open violence in 1900, the imperial government supported attacks on foreigners that escalated into a siege of the foreign embassies in Peking. Diana Preston's The Boxer Rebellion is an account of the 55-day confrontation that alarmed the world." (Snipped from the Amazon site.)

How To Use Adobe Premiere 6.5, by Douglas Dixon. Because thanks to Roman, I now have good video editing software. It's already bristling with Post-Its.

Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates Of Human Societies, by Jared Diamond.
You've probably heard of this one – it won a Pulitzer, and it's been sitting on my desk for a while, waiting its turn. It's pretty dense, but very interesting.

Turning Life Into Fiction, by Robin Hemley. From Amazon: "…this is an enlightening and even inspiring guide to utilizing elements of one's own life and of one's family history as fodder for writing novels and short stories... Journal keeping is heavily encouraged…" Okay, I think I've got that part going on.

Jacobite Spy Wars: Moles, Rouges and Treachery, by Hugh Douglas. The Jacobite story was one of history's longest running spy sagas. Adherents of the exiled branch of the house of Stuart after the Glorious Revolution of 1688, the Jacobites sought the restoration of James II. A reminder that there's nothing much new under the political sun.

In a bit of possible market research, I've also been reading some "chick lit" novels – and I hate to sound like a snob, but my god, they're terrible. I've read a best-seller called The Devil Wears Prada, as well as Good In Bed, one called Mr. Maybe, and a couple of others whose titles have already left my mind – and I was severely unimpressed with all of them. And these are the trade-sized paperback, not the smaller size, which means I was shelling out ten to fifteen dollars apiece for these things.
I know no one is pretending this genre of books is great lit-ra-choor. But Jesus, even for beach or airplane reading, it was pretty flat. I like reading fluffy fiction sometimes, but only if it's good fluffy fiction. I could write a better novel than some of these authors.

So, maybe I will…

Never-Ending Story

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Uh, hi, my name's Jim, and I have a question.
Me: Okay, go ahead.
Caller: So, I used to see this girl named X a while back – you know, she's an escort.

I know exactly who he means, she's a friend of mine. But I don't know where this is going so I just say….

Me: Go on.
Caller: Well, her old number doesn't work anymore and I want to see her again. She told me she knew you. Do you have her new number?

Now, I have a general policy: I don't give out other people's phone numbers without asking them. And I most especially don't give out people's numbers to strangers. For one thing, the fact that this guy doesn't have her contact info says to me that she may not really want him to have it. It also indicates that he ain't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, because a half-decent Google search would turn up a website for this girl.

But frankly, none of this is my dog. She's my friend, but we're not business partners, and I don't want to be involved in any of her dealings with her clients. I find it sort of gauche for him to even ask.
Rather than explain all of this to him, however, I try to take the shortest distance between two points.

Me: No, I don't have a number for her, sorry.
Caller: Oh - that's weird, because she told me you two were good friends.

Damn. I gotta speak to her about telling people that.

Caller: Are you going to see her around, do you think? Can I give you my number and have you give it to her and ask her call me?
Me: Look, I don't know when I'll be seeing her, I don't want to be in the middle of this.
Caller: Well, I just really want to see her and she doesn't have an ad in the paper anymore. Is she still working?
Me: Okay - stop. I don't know where she is, I don't know what she's doing, and I don't want to be a go-between. If you can't find her, I can't help you.
Caller: But isn't she a friend of yours? I think you wrote about her in your column once.

He's not going to let me be polite about this.

Me: Listen to me: this conversation is inappropriate. I am not going to give you any information, and I am not going to carry any information for you. Goodbye.

Click. I hang up.

Several months go by. In the interim, I speak to the woman in question about this call, and she responds by saying, "Oh, that guy? Hell no, I don't want him calling me, that's why I didn't give him my new number."
"Do you owe him money or something? Because he sure was hot to find you."
"No, he's just a total pest. Everyone else in town has probably cut him off, too."
I thank her for confirming my decision and dismiss the matter from my mind.
Until…

Ring ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Uh, hi, my name is Jim, I talked to you a couple of months ago, I'm the guy looking for X.

Oh, fuck.

Me: Jim, I told you, I don't have any information for you.
Caller: But I thought you might have seen her by now. Are you sure you don't have her number?

Oh, I do not like people who won't take no for an answer, and this guy also has the sort of whiny, nasal voice that's like fingernails on a blackboard to me. I have a vivid memory of my college drama professor railing at all of us to "speak from your diaphragm, not through your nose!" So while I have a lot of patience - that's a lot of patience to lose. I'm losing it with this guy.

Me: Get this in your head: I am not going to give you her number. If you can’t find her, you'll just have to call someone else. But I am not a fucking pimp, so do not call me again looking for other girls, do you understand?

Caller: But I really want to –

Click. I hang up.

It's been several months. He hasn't called back. I'm hoping I can score one for brutal clarity. But I'm not assuming.

"Oh, I am so blogging about that!" That's become a phrase in my vocabulary, and if you tell me a really good story, don't be surprised to hear it.

For example, Miss K and I were having our usual dinner at Hana this week, along with Lynn, another local luminary in the fantasy-fulfillment trade, and of course we got into weird-ass phone calls discussion.
Miss K said, "Oh, I got one. Crazy!"
"Tell, tell," I said.
"It wasn't an irate spouse, exactly," she began. "It took me a while to figure out just what this woman wanted, because she was so indirect. But what we eventually got to was: she wanted me to call her if her boyfriend ever called me."
"Wait," I said, clutching my head. "Some woman called you. She says she has a boyfriend. And she wants you to notify her if said boyfriend contacts you about a session."
"That's right."
"You would of course be able to identify this man using the sophisticated voiceprint technology on your cell phone."
She laughed. "Apparently she thinks so."
"And you would do this…why, pray tell?"
"Damned if I know."
"Oh. I thought maybe she offered you a high-ranking political position in her imaginary kingdom or something."
Miss K shook her head. "But it gets weirder."
"Oh, god. What?"
"Well, then she started asking a bunch of other questions and it turns out she's always wondered about being an escort herself. So she wanted me to tell her all about how to do that."
"Which, naturally, you refused to do."
"Hell, yes, I refused, I'm not about to talk about that with some whacko. But she kept asking, and I kept saying I wasn't going to talk about that. You keep thinking they'll hang up, you know, but she kept coming up with questions."
"Yep – that's pretty fucking weird." I then told Miss K and Lynn about the "Secretary Man," star of this week's Stranger column. "But your call is so charmingly bizarre, do you mind if I write about it?"
"Go right ahead," said Miss K.
So I did…

PostScript: A big "Happy Birthday" goes out to T. - along with my thanks, for being so extremely cool.

In the comments on the video clip yesterday, Tantalized told me I seemed kind, and then asked me:

"Now, can that kindness and engagement carry over into your professional role? Or do clients expect the Bitch Goddess?...Are you an actress who disappears into her role or one whose spirit comes through no matter what part she is playing?"

I'm a good performer. But I'm not a good actress. It's rather like the difference between Tim Robbins and Jack Nicholson. Tim Robbins has played dozens of different types of roles - he's a great actor. Now, Jack Nicholson is great, too, but whatever role he plays - he's always Jack. He's a performer, not an actor.
I'm like that. I can play me really well - but I can't make myself disappear and be someone else. The persona of "Mistress Matisse" is a facet of who I truly am - so it's very genuine. But it's not divorced from the rest of me, and so in my sessions, I'm also (sometimes) kind, and I'm usually engaged. I don't play the angry bitch with my clients, that's not my style. Doesn't mean I'm not sometimes severe and strict, if I wish to be, and it certainly doesn't mean I'm not sadistic. I always tell people I'm the sweetest sadist you'll ever meet. I've had a number of boys look at me in bewilderment, as they writhe around in pain - pain I'm happily inflicting - and say "But you look so nice!" Protective coloration, I always say. Lets me sneak up on you, and then even afterwards, you won't quite be able to wrap your head around the fact that this smiling, sweet-looking girl just beat your ass bloody. (Mwah hah hah hah haaaaa! My evil plan is working!)
Hope that answers your question, Tantalized...

Okay, people - I'm going to try introducing something new here: video clips. I've been playing with my DV camera lately, and I think it would be cool to have some "vlog" entries here occasionally. I found a place to host them - a site called OnFuego.com, which, so far, seems very cool.

We'll start with a pair of clips from the night Roman and I drank absinthe together. We shot a lot of video that night, but these clips are from late in the evening, after much of that licorice-flavored liquor had been consumed, and we're both a mite tiddly. We decided we'd interview each other, and we thought it would be best if we did that naked. (Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time.)

These clips are basically of me talking, although you do hear Roman's voice here and there. Intoxication did lend itself to a certain lack of inhibition on my part, although it also led to a slight tendency for me to slur my words (more than I normally do). So you'll have to balance those two things.

Also, the picture quality isn't stellar, because these clips were too dark and so I turned the brightness up, which of course messes with the sharpness and color balance. And bear in mind, I'm using a painfully basic video editor, Windows Movie Maker.

But, those caveats aside, you may find them entertaining...

Go here to watch "Naked Public Life I & II"

From The Mailbag

HELLO , I HOPE YOU CAN HELP ME . I'LL GET RIGHT TO THE POINT . I'M TRYING TO FIND OUT WHERE I CAN GO TO HAVE SEX ALL THE TIME ( EVERYDAY , ANYWAY) I HAVEN'T HAD SEX WITH A WOMEN ( OR ANYONE ELSE EXCEPT MYSELF ) FOR 12 YEARS !!!! I'M VERY TIRED OF MASTERBATING AND PORN . I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH PEOPLE !!! I
AM WILLING TO TRY ALMOST ANYTHING -- ANY SUGESTIONS YOU HAVE WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED !!! VERY SINCERELY , .....

Well, he's direct, you can say that for him…But I'm not sure if he thinks there's some mythical Never-Never Land where people fuck all the time, or if he's asking me for the address of a brothel, or what.

Hello sicko, why dont you stop telling yourself that you are worth more than any normal woman. By playing your lil dominatrix games. what a coverup such total bullshit as i have never read in my life, you must call me this you must respond to me in this way. fuck all that crap. I cant believe you get people to pay you for that. These people must all be weak and stupid to let you control them in any way shape or form. No I wont sign my name, and I dont care if you like it or not. your just another stupid female like all the rest no matter what you think of yourself, I beleive somebody has a god complex dont we??. Well here is some advice-GET OVER YOUR DAMM SELF. dont bother trying to find me cause you wont.

Believe you me, buddy, I'm not going to bother trying to find you. I'm guessing none of the rest of us stupid females will either. Get ready to masturbate for twelve years.

Dear Mistress Matissa,
I am in love with you. You are my type.In other words you are the lady of my dreams. You are very beautiful.
I know that you receive lots of e-mail from other people..
I just want to tell you my feelings.
I am sorry for taking from your time.
best regards,
Boots lover.

Pointless, really – but rather sweet just the same.

My name is X and I would like to know if you sell videos? I am into the following:
I am looking for a lady spanking a short tiny man over her knees while seated on straight backed armless chairs. A traditional domestic role play scene
* I am looking for a big height differential and a superior amazon component to the scene.
* i am also looking for videos that feature these same tiny men dangling helplessly over the knees of the girl with their legs off the ground while over the knee of the girl
* I also prefer to see the lady dressed in regular clothes spanking a naked man
* I also like the domestic role play themes(teacher/student) etc...
Do you have videos like this or can you do a custom video? Thank you for your attention to my query...

Well, I'm told there are a fair number of midgets living here in Seattle – I'm sure at least one of them might be willing to work as a fetish actor. But still - I'm only five-foot-five, and I just don't think I can pull off the Amazon thing.

My name is X and i am a submissive man. i have been a passing gas sniffer for over 20 years for beautiful GODDESSES like yourself. i have been able to amuse a few MISTRESSES with this service. i would love to amuse you also your HIGHNESS as you are so very beautiful and deserve a good gas sniffer. i apologise if i have offended your HIGHNESS but if you might be interested please e-mail…

Another guy with very specific tastes - so to speak. But not a fetish I'm interested in exploring...

Dear Mistress:
You have a very nicely done web site. I have a few thoughts that I would like to run by you. Being a dominitrix is actually a very submissive thing for a woman to do. You are fulfilling mens fantasies by providing them with the speech patterns, treatments, objects, and fetishes that they desire. You may enjoy this but that is only because you are ultimately serving the submissives who are the ones who are really in control. You are presenting your body in an objectifying and degrading manner. Selling yourself as a mere sex object who exists to please men.
I do not mean this as an insult, I am interested to get your response to these assertions.

Yeah, there's a certain brand of guys who always try this line on me. The fact that in my world of kink, submissives actually have the ability to ask for (and recieve) types of play they like seems to upset them. They're usually self-described "natural" tops. That means they just popped out of the womb knowing how to dominate women, so they disdain things like learning actual BDSM technique, or thinking about how they can enhance the experience for the bottom. It also means they're lazy bastards who use being a "dominant" as an excuse to disregard their partner's needs.
The rest of it is standard anti-sex-work crap. And I love how he decides that I'm being degraded. Silly little me, I thought that would be my decision. But I'm sure he thinks I'd be better off barefoot and pregnant with his child - except I'd put poison in his coffee.
So yes - I'm sure you'd like me to give my attention to you and your ass-ertions. But even though I'm really so submissive, I'm not going to give it to you...

An Incident

I related this story to Max over dinner and we had an interesting chat about it…

So, Miss K and I have just finished dinner at Hana, as we do every week, and afterwards I decide to walk upstairs to the bathroom, which is not in the restaurant proper, but actually in the rear of the little shopping complex where Hana is located.
As I walk up the stairs, I see a man, who'd been sitting near us in the restaurant, walking up the stairs about six steps ahead of me, presumably heading to men's room. He turns and looks back at me, and sort of grins.
"I saw you on Saturday," he said.
Now, I guess immediately what he's talking about. He means, "I was at the Wet Spot on Saturday night and I saw you there." I was indeed there, and while I have zero memory of seeing him, I believe that he saw me.
But for some reason, I don't like it that he's said this to me. I've said it before – I can be a snooty bitch at times, especially if I'm being addressed by a strange man in a way I find, well, slightly presumptuous.
I raise one eyebrow in a way that anyone who's ever bottomed to me would recognize. "Really?" I say, coolly.
"Yeah," he says, staring at me.
I look away and shrug slightly to indicate I don't quite take his meaning, and more subtly, that I don't particularly wish to. If he was smart, he'd stop now.
"You know – over in Magnolia," he says instead.
His coyness irritates me further. We're alone on the staircase, so why play word games? Since he's obviously not going to let it go, I say, "At the Wet Spot."
"Yeah, yeah." He's still staring at me avidly – it's almost a leer - and he's not an attractive sight. He's a rather unkempt-looking man who resembles no one as much as Jack Black (the "School of Rock" guy) with less hair, and rather less charm. There's some vague taste of that childhood sing-song, "I know what you did" in his tone and his gaze, and I'm touched by a tiny flicker of awareness that yes, we actually are alone on this staircase. I’m not truly worried, but the animal-instinct part of me makes a few quick what-would-I-do-if? calculations.
I say nothing further and my arctic stare seem to finally communicate to him that I don't want to be having this conversation, because he starts up the stairs again. As I reach the landing behind him, he turns back again and makes a final remark to me – something about how maybe he'll see me again sometime. I've forgotten the exact phrasing. I make some noncommittal noise and turn away.

Later I asked myself – why did that displease me so? I'm not trying to say I shouldn't have felt the way I did. I think I'm completely entitled to my feelings, and to act on them almost any way I want, within the bounds of basic civility. And while I was definitely frosty to that guy, I wasn't openly rude.

But I'm trying to isolate what, precisely, I didn't like. It could have been as simple as the fact that he's a strange man, and he's approaching a woman alone, not quite on the street but damn close, to discuss his having seen her at a fetish event. It looks like a clumsy attempt at a pick-up. I mean – why else do it? What's the motivation?

Max asked me, "So, what if it had been a woman?"

Good question. I probably still wouldn't have liked it, because I generally don't talk to strangers in public places. (Strangers at, say, a party are quite different. There are cases where "the roof constitutes an introduction". That doesn't apply here.) But I probably would have been somewhat less frosty to a woman, because it's quite rare, in my experience, for women to almost-leer in the way this man was. I'd probably think she was a bit gauche, but harmless.

"Okay," said Max, "what if he'd been a really attractive man?"

Oh, that's a tough one, because I don't generally do lust-at-first-sight. You usually have to hang around a little while before I start to get schwinged by you. But I have seen people of both genders who immediately made me think, "Oh yeah…"

But I think I probably still would have stiffened up, because to me, personality is more important than looks. And if he had the kind of personality that make him feel it was cool to initiate a conversation with a stranger about something as relatively intimate as her presence at a BDSM club, well, I'd probably cease to find him attractive.

I'm interested to hear what you other ladies thing think. What would you think about this? And what would you have done?

I know I haven't written much for a few days. I'll do a real entry either later today or tomorrow...Until then, linky goodness!

Apparently Max could have Angelina Jolie for his slave..."I've never been tied up," she says. "I have a feeling the person that does it will be The One. I think that's what I'd like." (But who knows what she'd be like to live with, so maybe it's just as well she doesn't take his calls.)

Holy shit - my notoriously conservative hometown paper, The Tampa Tribune, has actually endorsed Kerry for President. It's the first time in forty years they've endorsed a Democrat! Will wonders never cease?

I know someone who's a Jack Black fan. I wonder if they've seen this: The Jack Black Jerk-Off Tape!

And I was amused to find myself quoted in this scholarly paper on sado/masochism. I should email the author and find out just where it's been...

I'm writing a column, and thus I lack the time to write here today. Instead, since we're on a roll with this picture thing, here's an antidote to yesterday's scariness.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Why, Matisse, that's a completely gratuitous shot of two women's behinds." But I say, "No, that's a picture of me checking in with my co-model and submissive-for-the-shoot, Madison." See, I was just being a good dominant and making sure she was okay with all the stimulation I was dishing out. (Note the cane in my hand.) It wasn't until I heard the flashes pop behind me that I realized what a little tableau we must be presenting. It's often the unscripted images you get from a photo shoot that wind up being the most interesting.

Okay, you asked for it, you got it – a page of cock-and-ball torture photos - with just one pussy shot. I had taken down some of my old gallery pages, so this is a page I just threw up last night. It’s not fancy, but you may find it…educational, at the very least.

Now, before you click, be aware: I didn't bother with thumbnails, so it's a graphics-heavy page. If you don't have high-speed internet, it'll take a little while to load.

Obviously, it is not work-safe.

And it's pretty intense, so if you think it's gonna flip you out, don't go look. I mean, if you're reading this blog on a regular basis, you're probably not too-too squeamish, but if you just got here – well, you've been warned.

The Week In Review

Warning: This entry contains some rather graphic descriptions of advanced SM play. Skip this one if you squick easily…

I was talking to a client on the phone this week - a guy I genuinely like, but who tends to be a bit bratty at times. He wanted a next-day appointment.
"Oh, no can do, sweetheart, I'm booked up until – let's see – next Tuesday."
He sighed in exasperation. "Now, Matisse, what are we going to do about this schedule of yours? You're far too busy."
"Well," I replied slowly, "I could try to be less good at my job, or less physically attractive."
He doesn't say anything.
"Or, I could raise my rates. I'm guessing that would free up my schedule some."
He makes a doubtful "mmmmmm" noise.
"But I'm sort of guessing most people would rather that I didn't do any of those things."
We agreed that he'd prefer calling earlier for an appointment next time to any of those other three options.
This was a tough week to try to get to see me, because I had two different 3-hour sessions booked, and that's a chunk of my work-week gone right there. I'm actually developing a small group of multi-hour guys who see me very regularly, and when I add up the number of client hours I book per month, and the percentage of those hours that I spend with that small handful of boys – well, it's just interesting, that's all.

This was a big week for "cock-and-ball torture", otherwise known as CBT. (Although, really, that's true more often than not around my dungeon.)
I don't really like the word "torture" in this context, it sounds too third world country-ish - but I have to admit that some of the stuff I did this week would probably make Amnesty International blanch.
I did a really lovely scene with my carpenter, Mr. Wood, who makes my dungeon furniture. He's a wonderful, talented, deeply kinky man, a masochist, and we've been trading our respective skills for about five years now. Sometime I marvel at the fact that his dick still functions at all, because I have done some really insane shit to it - at his request, and with his encouragement, you understand. Mr. Wood has taught me a lot about advanced CBT, and while I know some other guys who are heavy CBT fans, Mr. Wood is in a class by himself. I've beaten his dick until it's all black and blue, I've hung ten pound weights off it, I've stepped on it wearing heavy spike-heeled boots, I've stuck it so full of needles it looks like a pervy pincushion, I've crushed it in a vise, I've put metal rods the size of a pencil down it, and I've electrified it so intensely I felt sure that if I stuck a GE bulb in his mouth, it would light up a la Uncle Fester. (Photo links available upon request – but don't be faint of heart.)

This week I've been a little extra-concerned about the general health and well-being of Mr. Wood's dick, because when we were playing the other night, I got a shade too enthusiastic with the violet wand, and burned the head of his penis with it, right next to the piss-eye. Whoops.
I became aware of this when I looked down and saw this small round thing that looked like a rather big drop of pre-ejaculate on the tip of his dick.
Hey, wait a minute, I thought. Mr Wood doesn't drool.
Then I realized, oh shit, that's a blister.
He wasn't too worried about it, but I know how burns can get infected if you don't take care of them, so I reminded him about that several times. I'm quite fond of Mr. Wood (really - I am!), so I can't have him getting some nasty flesh-eating bacteria thing.
So that was the CBT highlight of the week, but as the days went by, I spanked cocks, I squeezed balls, I poked, pulled and electrified, and I put (many, many) clamps on that special bit of helpless dangling flesh. It was rather a festival of penis persecution around here.

I'll now wait, with amusement, for the comments of terror and horror to begin – since I know all you squicky kids read this entry, anyway…

Update: The new Control Tower is up. And now, a small pre-emptive strike to avert some of the hurt-feelings emails I will surely get: Boys, this column is not about you. (Unless you actually are the Professor, which I doubt.)
As I say in the first line of the piece - most clients are wonderful people. So if you are a client, or a potential client of mine, the fact that I occasionally write about some of the exceptions to the rule should not, in any way, suggest to you that I don't like you or that I wouldn't like you.
Conflict makes for an interesting story. That's why really sweet guys who treat me wonderfully are actually less likely to get an article written about them. (Which is something to remember if you'd prefer to stay out of print...)

Okay, first off: I don't know why my newest column hasn’t yet appeared in The Stranger website. Emails have been sent, but I have no control over the process, and no information, either. Hopefully it'll be up soon…

But this should amuse you in the meantime - especially if you're a woman! One of those, "God, I wish I'd written that," kinda rants ….

I promised someone I'd post this link, and now I cannot recall who. Sorry about that, whoever you are, but here it is: One of my self-portraits (that I actually wound up making a bit of money on, amazing!)…My back on a book jacket.

Oh, this is really funny -and it's some local talent, too! I Screw Republicans.

Speaking of screwing and Republicans...I hope that arrogant bastard gets barbequed. Read all about Bill O'Reilly's tawdry little sexual (harassment) fantasies. God, they're so…banal.

Word Whores
Now and then I'll coin a phrase while talking with a friend, and something about the phrase will catch our fancy, and it'll become a staple in our conversations. If it's a particularly useful expression, it'll seep into conversations I have with other people, and once I've explained it's exact meaning to them, they may pick it up and begin to use it. Thus is a small private lexicon born…

The most successful example of my private vocabulary is the phrase, "Not my dog." About a million years ago, (not really, it only seems like that ) Miss K and I and our then-partners were watching a movie together – "The Pink Panther Strikes Again". There's a scene in which Inspector Clouseau (Peter Sellers) walks up to a hotel desk. There is a clerk sitting behind the high desk, reading a paper, and there's a dog tied up to the front of the desk. Inspector Clouseau looks at the dog and asks the man, "Does your dog bite?"
The man answers, "No, Monsieur."
Clouseau bends down to pet the dog and it growls and bites him. "I thought that you said your dog does not bite!" Clouseau exclaims in great indignation.
The man leans forward over the desk and peers down at the dog there, and then says to Clouseau, "Oui, Monsieur - but that is not my dog."
Miss K and I thought that scene extremely funny, and somehow also, profound. And soon thereafter, the phrase "that's not my dog" entered our conversation. When Miss K and I began saying that, we meant: "If you blunder into a negative situation because of your own badly-made decisions, don't come crying to me to take responsibility for it."
The discussions we use the phrase most often are about jealousy: "Oh, she's upset that I'm dating her ex-lover? Hey, that's not my dog."
Codependent behavior: "Look, if her boyfriend wants to play video games all day instead of looking for a job, that's not her dog, she should be focused on her own career."
And unreasonable expectations: "Your client was mad because he couldn't get a same-day appointment with you? Definitely not your dog."
A number of my other friends have picked up on this phrase over the years, and even my mother, who is a therapist, liked it and now uses it with her clients, a fact I find very entertaining.

A recent addition to the private lexicon: "a princess moment". This one came into being in a conversation between Roman and I. When you have a princess moment, you're sort of having a moment of jealousy or envy, but it's been so heavily leavened with a sense how really, really silly you're being that you have to laugh at yourself even as you think, "No, no, don't you understand? I want that! It's all about meeeeeeee! Me me me me meeeee!" This phrase is especially applicable when a) the person you're being jealous/envious of has in no way taken anything away from you in obtaining their good fortune, and b) you're already so loaded with good things that, Christ, you probably couldn't even handle any more. Complete disregard of both those facts is essential to the princess moment, as is the total awareness that your emotional response is rooted in the unrestrained Id of a two-year-old. It's an example of having two contradictory emotional responses at one time. You just have to laugh about it.

Interesting article in the New York Times about the call-girl industry. It's not too far-off from how I experienced it, although I always worked locally, and the pace was nothing like what's described here. The agency-owner I worked with for the longest - about three years - was also fairly high-strung, although not as bad as the woman profiled for this article. And like this woman, she was also quite good at her job. (And she still is, from what I hear.)

The part about the owner outing an errant girl to her boyfriend and family was rather chilling, though. No one I ever worked for ever did such a thing – at least, not that I know of. And I think it's a bad idea. Unless an agency is paying protection to the police – something that may be more common in NY, although I understand it's rare here in Seattle – an angry ex-employee could easily turn the tables on an agency and call the cops on them. Simple prostitution is a misdemeanor, but pimping – well, that's a felony. And if you're running credit cards and crossing state lines - oh, now you've got the IRS and the Feds to talk to, and I'm sure that's a conversation I wouldn't want to have.

Yet another reason, as if I needed one, to be a one-woman show…

Absurd Phone Call Of the Day

This was so absurd that I almost suspected it of being a trumped-up troll…

Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
(There's a sound of music or a TV or something in the background, but no one speaks.)
Me: hel-looo?
Caller:….oh, uh, yeah, hi.

This guy's dead in the water already. He cannot even manage to conduct a phone call properly – when he called me! Plus, he sounds too young – early twenties, I'm guessing.

Me: Can I help you?
Caller: Uh, yeah, do you take credit cards?

Oh, now he's past dead, he's a rotting corpse. If you can't put your hands on cash, I don't want to know you.

Me: No, I don't.
Caller: So, well, what other forms of payment do you take? Do you take checks?

You want to give a check to a sex worker? Who is this, Jerry Springer? No. I only take checks from guys I really like and trust who I've been seeing frequently for, oh, at least four years or more. That's a small club, and this boy ain't never going to be in it.

Me: No, it's cash only.
Caller: Oh, cash only, huh? (Sound of other voices in the background.) Um, well, like, could you call our friend and convince him?
Me: What? Oh, you have got to be kidding.
Caller: No, if you like, call our friend - he's like, our boss – and convince him to give us some cash we'll come see you.

There some requests that are so nonsensical that it's not possible - and indeed, not necesssary - to conduct myself like the upscale professional that I am. One has to just respond from a very basic level.

Me: You know, that's about the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You're out of your mind.
Caller: (Laughs.)
Me: There is no way I'm calling anyone.
Caller: No?
Me: No.
Caller: Okay, we'll talk to him, and if we can get some cash, we'll call you back.
Me: Oh, please do. I'll be waiting by the phone.

Click. We hang up.

There are some really odd people in the world.

Stars in Alignment

Sometimes poly is very complicated, but sometimes the stars just line themselves up in a way that makes things perfect for everyone involved. I wound up having a date with Roman yesterday, some of which was planned, and some of which was unexpected.

Roman and I had planned to go, on Saturday afternoon, to do a certain Top Secret Thing together. And believe me, my dear readers, it's killing me - but killing me - not to be able to tell you about this Top Secret Thing. My god, do I so wanna spill.

But I can't. Not until after Roman's wife's birthday. No speculation, please, she reads this blog. After the 28th, I'll tell you all about the Top Secret Thing, and believe me, it's highly amusing.

Okay, so after the Top Secret Thing, Roman was going to bring me home, and I was going to spend the evening with Max.

Now, I can tell you that the Top Secret Thing did not involve Roman and I fucking, and gee, I don't think Roman and I have spent more than about fifteen minutes alone together without fucking since this whole relationship started. Spending an entire afternoon in his company without (too much) sexual interaction - well, let's just say we were both painfully aware of holding our mutual sexual energy in check. But hey, this wasn't that kind of date, we had another agenda and we stuck to that, and we enjoyed each other's company, of course, and that's all, and that's fine. And we'll say a sweet good night to each other and go our separate ways. We're mature adults, and we can keep our hormones in check. Really.

So I'm in the car with Roman and I call Max to say I'll be home soon. He doesn't answer the home line, so I call his cell and leave a message. Shortly after I hang up, my cell rings.

It's Max. "So, remember how I told you I needed to talk to Maura about some things?" he says.

I laugh, because as soon as he says this, I know exactly what's happening, and what's going to happen. "Yes, I do."

"Well, I'm over at her place now, and we're talking. I actually might not be home for awhile."

"Oh, so you're not going to be home for awhile?" I say out loud. I'm listening to Max, but I'm also watching the streetlights slide across Roman's features as we drive. He keeps his face politely blank, as one does when one is pretending not to listen to someone else's phone conversation - except that in the brief flashes of light, I see one corner of his mouth curl upward slightly. I slide my hand a little further up his thigh, feeling the muscles flex as he moves his leg from the brake to the accelerator.

"Oh, it'll be about twelve, twelve-thirty?" I say. The clock on Roman's dashboard reads 8:32 in dim green numbers. The corner of his mouth curves still higher.

"That's fine, darling, I understand, you needed to spend some time talking with her." And he does, so I'm genuinely glad he's doing that. I'd be just as supportive even if I wasn't sitting next to a hot guy who's radiating sexual energy for me. I enjoy my time alone; I write, I read, I get a lot of personal stuff done, I try to get to bed early - all good things.

But, as luck would have it - I actually am sitting next to a very sexy guy. (And his wife is out of town, to boot.) What a lucky girl I am!

Max and I finish the conversation - in which he tells me he hopes Roman and I have a nice time, because he also knows exactly what's going to happen - and we make kissy noises into the phone and hang up. I shut off the phone and look over at Roman, who is still affecting not to have heard anything, although the grin is decidedly broader now. "So," I say in a playfully casual voice, "Looks like I have the rest of the evening free. Want to come in for a while?"

Oh, yeah. It was one of the times when poly is a very, very good thing.