The Sticky Question
An Instructional Tale....

Once upon a time, a young man came to see me for the first time. He was slightly nervous, which is only natural, and I tried to make him feel at ease. He told me he wanted a foot-worship session, so we spent an hour together primarily engaged in that pleasant activity. I'd been wearing my spike-heeled thigh-high boots for over two hours straight already, I told him, and so my feet were quite ready for some sensual attention. We also did a little soft flogging and some bondage, but our time together was primarily about his mouth on my feet.
But I love having my feet kissed and touched, so I enjoyed myself, and it was, ahem, quite clear that he was enjoying himself also. And at the end of the hour, well – let's just say he demonstrated his pleasure fully.

So that was all very nice. But then afterwards, as I was walking him towards the door, he stopped and said, "So, um, can I ask you a question?"

I smiled. "Yes, what is it?"

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I don't wanna be rude or anything."

I didn't like the sound of that. In another setting, I would have known instantly what he was going to ask me, because I've heard it before. But asking me The Question wouldn't make any sense in this context. I waited for him to continue.

"So, like – have you been tested?"

Tested? I thought. For what, athlete's foot?

Look, I came of sexual age in the time of AIDS. I have no experience of a sex life that didn't include that risk. Other STDs are serious, too. So it's not like I don't understand worrying about such things. I'm right there, baby.

I take my maintaining my health – including my sexual health - quite seriously. I get tested on a regular basis, and I've also been vaccinated against hepatitis, which many people aren't, although everyone should be. And I've done something equally important: I've educated myself about what STDs are out there and how one can, and cannot, catch them - something this boy didn't seem like he had done.

I raised one eyebrow and said, slowly, "Honey – you kissed my feet. You're not going to get an STD doing that."*

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, I was just wondering…" He looked at me, clearly still wanting an answer.

"All right...Yes, I've been tested, and I'm a completely healthy person. But you know what? The smart time for you to ask someone that question is before you do anything with them. Because what are you going do if I tell you no, I haven't been? And what would you do now if I actually told you I had an STD? Not that anyone would tell you. Why should they? If they're immoral enough to knowingly expose you to an STD, they're sure as hell immoral enough to lie about it."

I was talking about it with Miss K later, and she shook her head. "Yeah, I hate it when they do that, it scares me. Even when it's before we do anything. It makes me wonder how careless they'd be with someone if she convinced them she was 'clean'. I always say something like, "Yes, I've been tested, and I'm perfectly healthy. But you know what – you shouldn't trust me. You shouldn't take some strange person's word for something as important as this. You need to decide what level of risk is okay for you, and you should be careful and take precautions. And if you cannot afford to take any risk whatsoever, you should not be doing this, because even with precautions, nothing is 100% guaranteed."

"I see what you're saying," I said. "But still, part of what annoyed me about this situation was that he waited until afterwards. I hate it when someone comes to see me, asks me to do something, and then afterwards freaks out about what he's done and tries to act like it was all my doing, and he didn't really want it. I think asking that question afterwards is as much about projecting some generalized anxiety as it is about STDs."

She grimaced. "Yeah, the not-taking-responsibility thing is bad. I don't recall ever forcing someone to go down on me at gunpoint. If you decide to do that, it's your choice."

"Amazing how someone's perspective changes after they've had their orgasm, isn't it?"




* Medical note: I am aware that while it would be highly, highly unusual, it's not flat-out impossible for someone to catch something from foot-kissing. Hepatitis, for example, can live outside a person's body for some time, and if I'd somehow gotten hep germs on the skin of my feet, he could have licked them off and...
But realistically, I think you're in more danger from unwashed fruit, sticky public-restroom doorknobs or food handlers with dirty fingers.

You know how I said sex work had busy weeks and slow weeks? This would be a busy one. So while I'm off making hay, enjoy these kinky links...

A story sent to me by blog reader Lief : Porn Club at UW. How delightful.


Carol Leigh, aka The Scarlot Harlot, is teaching "Whore College" in San Francisco. That woman rocks.

I haven't had time to look over this "slave training" site, but I have seen references to it on some BDSM discussion lists I'm on. If anyone with time to kill wants to scope it out and give me their two cents, I'm listening.

And in keeping with the educational theme for the day, I remembered lately that my friend Cleo DuBois does teach classes in how to become a pro domme. Cleo is a charming woman and a well-respected dominant, and while I haven't met the co-instructor Sybil Holiday, if Cleo thinks she's good, that's all I need to know. Aspiring mistresses, go here.

More Pictures…

Because I'm too busy to write. Some of these are quite innocent, some are art-nudes and one is rather kinky. Enjoy...

The Veil
Veil 2
Waiting By The Tracks
Beautiful Back
Nude in an Empty Room
Nude with Mask
In The Cage

Tips For Sex Workers

When you start working in a new place, keep your head down and your mouth shut around your co-workers for a little while, until you spy out the lay of the land. Every multi-person working environment has its little hierarchies and customs. Try not to fuck with them first crack out of the box, because it'll take your co-workers longer to learn to trust you.

Giving a client a sob story to elicit money is usually a bad idea. It doesn't always work, and he almost certainly will not want to see you again, because he wants to feel good and you'll just be a downer.

Sex work has busy weeks and slow weeks. Make hay while the sun shines, but don't max yourself out for more than a week or two at most. You'll burn out.

If you think you've discovered a new dodge or angle on an illegal form of sex work that will prevent you from being arrested – you're wrong. Whatever it is, it's been done. It's all been done. Structure your business any way you want. But you'll have to just take your chances like everyone else, because you won't be fooling anyone.

If you actually fire a client, do not take him back, no matter how much money he offers you.

It's nice to refer clients to other ladies, but be aware that if she burns him, he'll come whining to you about it. And vice versa.

On the other hand, if you discover someone you thought was your regular is also seeing other workers, don't have a hissy fit about it. It's undignified and you'll alienate either one or both of them. And that doesn’t put any money in your pocket.

You can't give someone an experience if they won't accept it. Some clients will not allow themselves to have too good of a time, no matter what you do. That's their choice, and you may not understand why, but there it is. Don't lose sleep over it.

Avoid giving your co-workers advice about their personal love-lives.

If a woman doesn't post her prices in some public place, like an ad or a website, don't ask her how much she charges. (Unless you'd like to hire her yourself.) It's tacky.

A sweet personality and good customer-service skills will get you as much repeat business as a boob job. And you won't have to wait til your stitches come out.

Just Another Day

Wow, I've got a busy day scheduled. Get up, say good morning to Max and Maura, make some coffee for Roman, kiss him goodbye, get showered and dressed, kiss Max goodbye, and then hit the dungeon for three back-to-back sessions with 3 different boys.

(But hey, I'm glad for busy days like this, because the check I wrote to IRS last week just about exsanguinated my bank account. That self-emploment tax, good lord...)

And then two hours at the gym, god help me, where I will try not to drop another fifteen pound weight on my foot like I did Wednesday. Ouch.

This weekend is Max's 2-day bondage class, so we'll be busy with that. And Saturday night I'm going to a very swanky party given by a friend. We'll say no more about that - but he knows how he is...

But enough about what you're doing Matisse, you think. What about me? Well, the new column and the Kink Calendar are up, perhaps they'll entertain you.

Also, if you have a partner and you're kinky, Dr. Gabriele Hoff, a doctor of clinical psychology in San Francisco, would like you to fill out an anonymous survey about BDSM couples. I don't know the lady personally, but it looks interesting...

And lastly, for those of you who said you'd never seen a picture of me smiling...Voila.

Voicemail Hell

Some of the odd ones I've gotten lately…

FIRST MESSAGE:"Uh, Hi Mistress, my name is Doug, I talked to you on the phone about two years ago. I'd like to book an appointment now, I've been, um, thinking about what you said and I think I'm finally ready to do the scene we talked about. So give me a call at…"
END OF MESSAGE.
Well, that's all fine, except of course I have no earthly idea who he is or what we talked about, and he may think I do. If you're not one of my regular boys, I will not remember talking to you longer than a few days. There are just too many phone calls.


NEXT MESSAGE: "Yeaah, well, my name's Bobby, but ya can't call me back, cuz the warden's gonna be home soon. So I'll have to call you back later when she's not around. (pause) Hell, you must be some woman to be booking out 24-48 hours in advance. Mmnn. Yeah, I'll call ya back."
END OF MESSAGE.
Oh, hey, Country Boy, dissing your wife in a message to me like this really doesn't impress me. It's tacky and undignified.
And if you think I'm unusual for booking a few days out, I'm really afraid to think about what kind of sex workers you're used to seeing. Pacific Highway comes to mind, unfortunately.


NEXT MESSAGE: Hi, Mistress, my name is Lisa! I've seen your column and I think you're really great, I really admire you so much, and I'd be really grateful if you could help me out. So, this is my question for you. How do you go about starting a dungeon as a non-profit business? I've thought a lot about how to do this and it seems like going with a non-profit is the best way to go, you know, because of the special nature of the business."

(Edited for length – a lot more talk, with the same lack of clear information.)

"So I'd be really grateful if you could talk to me about this, because I need to get the paperwork started. Thanks a lot! Bye-bye!"
END OF MESSAGE.
Say what? This was one of those really incomprehensible messages – so much so that I played it for Max and said, "What the hell is she talking about?" (His reply: "I have no idea.") The whole message was a whopping three minutes and thirty seconds long, and she managed not to give me any useful information except that a) she admired me and b) she wants to start a dungeon c) as a non-profit.

I have no clue why she thinks I'd know a thing about non-profits of any variety. I don't know what she means by "a dungeon". She may mean something like the Wet Spot, which is actually a not-for-profit organization, so that would kinda make some sense to me. Except that I'm not on the WS board or anything, so why ask me?

Or she may mean that she wants to set up shop as a pro domme, and for some inexplicable reason she thinks it would be a good idea to do some kind of non-profit thing around that? Which makes no sense whatsoever. And either way, I have no useful information to give her – except that she needs to work on her clear-communication skills - so I'm not calling her back.


NEXT MESSAGE: "I'm a bad bad boy, don't you wanna spank me? Ha ha ha ha haaaa!"
END OF MESSAGE.
Oh, god, this guy. He's been calling me off and on for years. It's always the same message, with that wild Riddler-esque laugh. And I've never talked to him live that I know of, he usually calls in the middle of the night. It's harmless, if weird…I have a picture of someone who's a night watchman, or something similar, sitting around somewhere with a telephone and too much time on his hands.
But, you know, it's nice that he keeps in touch.

Warning: This is Matisse geeking out about photography. Skip it if you're only interested in the nasty stuff, because...

In Springtime, A Young Woman's Fancy Turns To Film!

Black-and-white infrared film, to be precise. I haven't been shooting much the last year or so, and this blog is partly to blame for that. One only has so much free time, and I've been spending a chunk of mine writing.
But when the sun comes out and the weather warms up, that's when I like to load up the b/w IR and shoot weird-looking stuff. Or, rather, shoot stuff that the film will render in an interesting way. I don't shoot IR in the winter because strong sunlight is the best light for IR. It's such slow film that you need a ton of light, regardless. And I haven't gotten such good results with indoor shots, with either flash or hot lights.

Some of my IR shots…

Beach at Golden Gardens
The Gateway
Ship
James Monroe School
Model at Discovery Park Beach, Midday
Rose, with Roses
Max, with the Apple (not my-lover-Max)
Models On the Railroad Tracks

I have done some color infra-red, which creates some very strange-looking foilage and landscapes. But it can also be fun, and I think if you got good with it you could produce some wild artwork. Here are two examples of color IR. (This is just how it comes out of the camera, these are not digitally retouched.)
Madrona Tree
Fireplace in the Yard

I haven't shot people in color IR, so that might be worth trying. I have no idea how they'd look.
Right now, I'm mentally framing up some images of Roman, cavorting naked in the front yard at the studio. Yay, tall hedges!

Letters From Blog Readers

I am a young woman who is new to seattle, and fairly new to kink in general and am curious about involving myself in the kink community around the area. any tips for a beginner? My long term partner and I have toyed with flogging, hot wax and other fun things, but i would like to bottom someone, if simply for the experience, and to learn technique, (and maybe to indulge my masochistic side.) I know that you do not run a dating service, nor do you see women professionally, I am simply seeking some of your wisdom!

My advice is: join the Wet Spot. It's the most reliable entry point into the local BDSM community, and it's a safe, well-run, and relatively non-threatening atmosphere. My lover Max is teaching a "Bondage For Sex" class on Sunday, May 1st, and that might be an excellent opportunity for ya'll to come scope out the place. (Membership is required for most WS events, but not for Max's class.)

In your professional opinion (Christ, now she’ll probably charge me!), just how prevalent is the submissive male in our culture? And what if anything do you think the phenomenon says about our society? Susie Bright has said that she sees a definite trend in the number of porn manuscripts that cross her desk containing submissive male themes and that this must be emblematic of deeper fault lines in our culture. I find Elise Sutton’s stuff interesting, but I don’t buy her thesis that a female-dominant society would fundamentally change the world. After all, Elizabeth I, Catherine the Great, Golda Meir, Indira Gandhi and Margaret Thatcher weren’t exactly paragons of peaceful but firm maternal leaders!

The really submissive male? Not terribly prevalent. Of course, I don’t think there are that many genuinely submissives females, either. I think there are a lot of people of both genders who have sexual fantasies involving dominance and submission. But only within the confines of what they find erotic, and only to the degree they want it. Bedroom submissives, we sometimes say.

There's not a damn thing wrong with that, you understand. I myself do not identify as submissive at all, but do I like to get tied up while I have sex sometimes? Hell yes, that's fun. And as a dominant, I've done intense D/s scenes lasting as long as a weekend.
But people who want and can happily sustain the "total power exchange" thing, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week? Quite rare. I've only met a few. (And I've met a lot of kinky people.) I think the number of men interested in kink is simply about a) it being more accessible than it used to be and b) men generally pursuing their sexual fantasies more aggressively than women.

Re: female dominant societies - I agree with you; Ms. Sutton's perspective is interesting, but I don't support the idea that women are fundamentally superior to men, morally or in any other way. Power corrupts, and I don't think that women are any more immune to the temptations of mass political power than men.

Generally speaking, what she does really isn't my style, anyway. I like taking people on an intense trip, but I think part of the fun for me is taking them out of a "normal" headspace and into a submissive one. If they just lived there all the time, I think I'd get bored pretty quickly. No challenge.


An amusing final note: Don't you hate it when this happens during your kidnapping scenes? Of course, only in Holland would they be cool enough not to arrest the people on some obscure charge of "disturbing the public morals" or something…

I had an interesting conversation with a friend the other day concerning something her partner was doing. Her situation was that her partner - her husband, in fact - was continuing to have occasional friendly contact with an ex of hers. (They're poly, obviously.) She was not altogether comfortable with that but she wasn't sure what she wanted to do about it. So she asked me what I'd do if I were her. Here's what I said…

"I myself want to *control Max – or any partner I have - as little as possible, and that's mainly because I think controlling (or trying to control) your partner is an unhealthy coping mechanism that ultimately damages the relationship. If I'm not directly impacted by something my partner is doing, then I usually don't think I should try to control it. So the policy I have with myself is: if it's something that Max is doing when I'm not in the room, then I ask myself to consider very, very carefully if it's mine to control.

"Now, obviously there are times when stuff your partner does while away from you does affect you directly: safer sex boundaries certainly come immediately to mind. So it's not a black and white situation. But overall, I find the when-I'm-not-in-the-room yardstick helps me know if the issue is really something that affects me or not. "

"Huh, very interesting. I assume you mean a metaphorical room, rather than a real one?"

"Yeah, for the most part. And let me be clear - I'm not saying I don't struggle with this issue. There are times when I really want control of things even though they have no measurable impact on me. But it's the standard that I try to live up to."

"So," she said, "hypothetically, what if Max was seeing someone who was a huge drama queen and had terrible boundaries?"

"As long as it doesn't affect my life, that's his choice. I wouldn't want to spend time around her myself, but…"

"What if she showed up at the house and pitched some big drama fit?"

"Now she's in the room with me and that's legitimately my problem."

"What if they were having big dramatic upsets all the time, over at her place, but he was coming home all upset from them?"

I thought about it. "That's sort of borderline. I mean, stuff happens. Your partner is going to be upset about things from time to time, that's part of being in a relationship. So I'd say that if it's occasional, I'd let it go. If it was every week, and he was just beside himself with unhappiness or anger or something to the point where it was a struggle for me to cope with it, then we'd have to talk. But even then I'd try to frame it in terms of "how can we change the situation so that your feelings don't impact me so strongly", rather than, "You can't see her anymore!"

Hmmn," she said. "So you're saying that if my husband wants to have dinner with a crazy person, that's his business and I shouldn't tell him not to."

"Yeah, that's my opinion."

"But what if she thinks-" then she stopped. "Oh, right. I don't get to control what she thinks, do I?"

"Honey, if you could do that, you'd still be dating her."

"What if she calls me?"

"Then she's in the room with you, so to speak, and you can deal with that however you think necessary. And you can tell him that she called you, even though you've told her not to, and he can decide what he wants to do with that information.

"Plus," I went on, "I think that when you do things to control your partner, you set precedents that tend to come back and bite you on the ass later on. I know that one of the other reasons I don't want to control Max's behavior is that I don't want him trying to control mine. And you can't reasonably expect to have a double-standard, so… Do you want your husband telling you who you can and can't be friendly with?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I don't think so. Good point."

I'm still refining my if-I'm-not-in-the-room approach to control within relationships. But conversations like one help me keep sharpening it.


(*Obviously we're not talking about erotic/BDSM-type control here. We're talking about being controlling in a pejorative sense.)

It's looking like a moderately busy weekend around here, but nothing we can't handle. Midori is staying here at the house for a few days while she does the Seattle Erotic Art Festival. Max and I went down to the by-invitation preview last night, and there's some great work there - I highly recommend seeing the show. (Dress warmly, though, because it's a big, high-ceilinged space, and it's chilly. I was wearing a skimpy little outfit and even with my coat on, I was freezing.)

And I have a date with Roman tonight, which I'm looking forward to. We won't be at SEAF, though, as we have other plans...

Meanwhile, the new column and the Kink Calendar are up. This week in the column I answered some questions that blog readers sent in, so if you've written me, check and see if yours is there.

Speaking of questions, someone asked me about "slave training schools", and I would have answered you, but my computer ate your email. Check out this organization, I've met some of the people involved and they're reputable and well-regarded in the BDSM community.

And, just for the sheer amusement of it, it's time to play Dress Up Jesus!

Ring Ring!

Me: hello?
Caller: Uh, yeah, hi – is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes it is…
Caller: Well, I have a question about getting some professional mentoring from you.

Hmmnn, I'm not sure what to make of this. Perhaps he means he wants me to teach him some BDSM skills, which I'd be fine with doing – at my usual rate.

Me: What exactly is it you're thinking about?
Caller: You see, my girlfriend and I are professional dominants, too. My name is (******) and she's (******). And I was wondering if you'd, like, mentor us?
Me: Mentor you?
Caller: Yeah, professionally, I mean. We're, uh, having some trouble kinda getting going. I was wondering if you'd be willing to sit down with us and talk to us about what we should be doing, business-wise.

The simplest and shortest answer here would be to say, "No, I wouldn't", and hang up. But I feel compelled to be a bit more polite about it, because…my momma raised me that way. (Dammit.)

We're going to skip right over the part about him being a professional dominant, because I'm quite sure I don't want to ask. It isn't that men can't do that - I know some male pro doms. But the vast majority of their clients are, of course, other men. So either he's seeing male clients, which is fine, but it's an area of the industry that I naturally have no experience in. Or he's just doing duos with his girlfriend. Or he's sitting around twiddling his thumbs and waiting for the phone to ring with female clients who want a male pro dom. He'll have a long wait.

No, none of that is my dog. But what never ceases to amaze me is how people will call me up and say, essentially, "Hi, we're some complete strangers and we'd like to compete with you in business, will you teach us how to do that?"

Now, understand, I have no problem with other mistresses. This is not like the Highlander movies, where "there can be only one". No, it's very good thing I'm not the only one, because there are far more guys who want to see pro dommes than I can book sessions with - even if I were compatible with all of them, which I'm not. While I don't recognize the names he gave me, I'm friendly with most of the other (reputable) pro dommes in town, and most of them are great gals. So if you tell me you want to become a pro domme, then I will smile and wish you the very best of luck.

But if you want me to tell you how you should do that, then you need a whole lot more than luck, my friend - you need a sharp rap with the clue stick. It doesn't matter what business you're in, that's just not how small business works. I myself am the child of two small business owners and I learned a lot about small business strategy and psychology just by watching my parents. Some of what I leaned is: your competitor has just as much right to be in the industry as you do, and it's nothing personal, so there's no reason not to be courteous to him when you bump into each other at the coffee shop. The two of you might even like each other and get to be buddies – you'll certainly have some things in common.

But you don't give away your secrets, and you don't spend your professional time nurturing those nascent competitors. A lot of people appear to not understand this, which sort of puzzles me since it seems so obvious. But what I have come to believe is that many people are not cut out to run their own business. Even (or perhaps, especially) a sex work business.

I'd probably be less impatient with this call if I hadn't had this exact same conversation many, many times over the years, although usually with women. I don't mind swapping small bits of advice with newer ladies – the "so, how do you handle it when X happens?" kinda thing. But it's my opinion that if you just don't know how to run the business you're in, then the most merciful thing anyone can do is let you fail quickly and decisively, rather than pulling a Terri Schiavo on you. That way, you can go on to do something you've got the skills for. (It's worth mentioning that none of the successful ladies who got started as dommes after I did have ever tried this "will you tell me how to run my business?" trick with me. They didn’t need to.)

Fortunately, I have long since constructed a graceful way out of these conversations - with the added advantage of it being perfectly true.

Me: No, I'm sorry, my attorney has advised me not to do things like that.
Caller: Oh – really? Because we're just, you know, not sure if we should stay with it or quit or what. It's not been going so well. I wanna stay with it, but my girlfriend thinks she wants to quit. I was hoping you could kinda talk to her about giving it another try.

Oh, wow, that's a whole other issue. He wants me to talk his reluctant lover into continuing to work as a pro domme? No, no, no, no, nooooo. There are oh-so many quicksand pits in that conversation, I don't even want to think about it.

Me: You know, I wish you both the best of luck in whatever you decide to do, but as I said, my attorney has advised me that I should not have those kinds of conversations. So I cannot help you, sorry.
Caller: Oh. Well, if you’re sure.
Me: Thanks, goodbye.

We hang up. Maybe when I'm retired, I'll write a book. Do you think The One-Minute Pro Domme would sell?

Well, I was going to write something witty, and...I got busy with other things. So I decided to do a quick photo album page, prompted in part by a question someone asked me this week about how long I've been a pro domme. My long-term clients will recognize a few of these shots, although not all of these went on my professional site.
Now, without further ado: Mistress Matisse, the early years...

Andrea Dworkin died on Saturday. As you may imagine, I was not a big fan of hers, in spite of Susie Bright's assertion that Ms. Dworkin was the one who started women looking at porn with an eye to remaking it for our own pleasure. But Susie is right about one thing: All those people who try to repress sexual freedom by nattering about how "porn is violence against women" - they are the political children of Andrea Dworkin. All those right-wing, sexist, fundamentalist, homophobic, sex-negative white guys. Thanks a whole bunch, Andrea.

And so in honor of Ms. Dworkin, a cool link about writing hot sex scenes. With examples, of course.

A news story that about six different people emailed to me… "Dominatrix-turned-bureaucrat says she endured harassment from her superior -- a former client". She won her case, though. I bet he was one of those "real and true submissives".

Does George Bush know he got shut out of this race? Fix! Fix! I smell voter fraud! Send in Stefan Sharkansky! I demand an investigation!

Max still has a couple of spaces left in the Rope Bondage Intensive class this weekend...

In-teresting...Is this bondage furniture or wacky art? You decide. (Via Mithras.)

Added: Okay, I usually don't do memes, but the SF Gate piece behind this is too funny. My Unitarian Jihad Name is:

Sister Jackhammer of Courteous Debate.

Get yours.

Notes From the Clueless...

I must be PMS lately, because people keep saying things that annoy me. (Or maybe it's just that what they're saying really is stupid. You tell me.)

In Conversation:
"I'd be fine with my girlfriend having sex with another girl, that would be cool. But another guy? No way!"

On the Phone:
Ring Ring!
"Hello?"
"Mistress Matisse?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me how old you are?"
"Well, I could. But I'm not going to. There are photos of me on my site that accurately reflect what I look like. I don't think my precise age has anything to do with abilities as a Mistress."
"Oh. Can you tell me your bust size?"

Via Email:
Dear Mistress Matisse,
I have never done bondage before, however my boyfriend recently told me that he wants to be abused by me. How do I do this? Please answer quickly and tell me everything I need to know, we have a date tonight.

Dear Mistress Matisse,
I'd like to become a professional dominatrix, too. Will you train me?

Dear Mistress Matisse,
Do you give birthday discounts?

Hopefully someone masochistic will schedule an appointment with me this week, so I can take out my irritation on their butt. Or someone who's into serious foot worship, because that's the one thing that's absolutely, unconditionally guaranteed to put me in a happy mood.

A rather late post for today - Roman and I didn't get out of bed and unwrapped from each other until a little later than usual this morning. And then we ran into Max and Maura in the kitchen, and the boys wound up talking about - what else? - hemp rope matters...

Foodie note: Last night I was in a carnivorous mood, so Roman and I went to the Ipanema Brazilian Grill down on First Avenue, and it was quite yummy. If you're a meat-eater, I recommend it.

The new column and the Kink Calendar are up, so go enjoy them...And this week, Roman got quoted in Dan Savage's column, so go read his words of wisdom to aspiring rope tops. I'm so proud of him.

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes.
Caller: I'd like to talk about an appointment.

This is all sounding fine so far. I'm optimistic.

Me: Okay, have you ever seen a pro domme before?
Caller: No, but I'm very interested. I've done a lot of playing around, by myself you know, and I'd like to do a scene with a partner.

Still fine. Lots of people experiment alone, usually as part of masturbating. Boys who like cock and ball torture are the most apt to tell me stories about the creative things they've done to their bits. Sometimes these little tales of auto-erotic-sadism make my blood run cold. "You did what to your dick? With a number two pencil and pair of vise-grips? Jesus, honey, please don't do that – I'm a highly trained professional, let me do the evil things to you. That way you'll still have a functioning penis when it's finished."

So let's see if he's a CBT fan…

Me: Are there particular things you're interesting in exploring?
Caller: Yes, I have a fantasy role play in mind.
Me: Okay, what kind of roleplay is it?
Caller: Well, it's sort of a medical scene. And I like to cross-dress.
Me: Medical play is fine. I don't have much of a wardrobe for cross-dressers but if you'd like to bring your own clothes and dress, I enjoy that.
Caller: And…I like to pretend like I'm pregnant.

Okay…That's different. Not too many things I haven't heard of before now, but cross-dressing as a pregnant woman, that's a new one on me. But, all right, I can deal with that, I suppose.

Then I ask the obvious question…

Me: Pregnant…Okay, so does you being pregnant enter into the role-play?
Caller: Yes. I want to pretend I'm giving birth.

Wow. Okay. We're definitely into unusual-fantasy territory here. I suppress the urge to say, "You want to what?" Because this isn't a fantasy that seems particularly erotic to me. (Especially given that for my whole life, being pregnant and giving birth have ranked quite high on the "Things I Never Want To Experience" list, coming in just slightly behind being in a major airplane crash.)

But since he's the one who wants to give birth, not me, let's see if I can find myself anywhere in this fantasy.

Me: So – what role would I play in this fantasy?
Caller: You'd be the nurse helping me give birth. Sort of a sadistic nurse.

You know, you'd think in this day and age this kind of sex-role stereotyping would be obsolete. But no. A nurse. What the fuck?

Me: I don't role-play being a nurse. I could possibly play being a doctor. But not a nurse.
Caller: Okay, I'm sorry. Doctor. You'd be the doctor overseeing my delivery.

Hmmnn… "Doctor Matisse, sadistic obstetrician". I don't know. I don't think this is really a fit for me.

But I'm mildly curious…

Me: So, how exactly do you act out this fantasy? I mean, what do you…?
Caller: I have a doll.
Me: Okay.
Caller: And I'd want you to, you know, put it inside me.

Whoa. I know what he means when he says "inside" – and it's not a caesarian he's talking about – but I'm a little alarmed that this guy is asking me to put an infant-sized doll up his ass.

Me: Inside you?
Caller: Yeah, it's not that big. It's a Barbie doll.

Ah. Well, that takes care of one problem, although I now have to pause for a moment and consider the fact that I'm talking to a guy who wants to be fucked in the ass with a Barbie doll. And then pretend to give birth to it. The frightening thing is that I can actually sketch it out in my head pretty easily. "Right, first we'd do that, then a little of this, and then I'd…Yeah, and then he'd…And then the…Yeah, right, could work." I could even incorporate some forced breast-feeding. But I'm guessing an episiotomy is out of the question.

But just because I can mentally choreograph it out doesn't mean I actually want to do it, because I don't. For one thing, while I'm quite, quite sure he wouldn't be the first person to get pegged by Barbie, one of my fears would be one of Barbie's little arms would come off while she was up his ass, or one of her permanently-pointed toes would perforate something, or who knows what. So although I generally support the idea of pervertibles, this whole scene just doesn't feel like my cuppa. I think I'll politely decline.

Me: Uh, you know what, this doesn't really sound like my thing. I'm not so much with medical role-playing.
Caller: But you said you did medical.
Me: Well, yes, but what I'm really strongest with is the activities - like cutting and piercing, sounds, catheters, stuff like that.
Caller: Oh.
Me: Sorry, better luck elsewhere.
Caller: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah, I just don't think this is really for me.
Caller: Okay, well, bye….

As we hang up I think to myself, And be sure you tie off the umbilical cord…

Okay, everyone – the pope is dead. He was an old man, he was sick, and he died. That's too bad, I suppose, but old sick people die every minute of every day somewhere in the world, so can we please stop with the "All-Dead-Pope, All-The-Time" news coverage? I'm starting to feel like this version of TV Guide is the real one…

Given his asinine views on birth control, I'm sure the departed pontiff would have dug this site…

And while Johnny Paul probably would have been horrified by this, I'm planning on sending this link to all the guys who write to me asking how to become porn stars.

I don't wear glasses, but I think this looks cool. Max does - but somehow I just don't think he's going to go for the idea.

And this is a link that's been posted a number of other places already, but I think all new kinksters should be required to memorize it. And there should be pop quizzes.
A keynote speech by Laura Antoniou, author of the wonderful 'Marketplace' series of SM fantasy novels, giving a big ol' whack with the clue stick to silly perverts everywhere.

Operator Assistance

I had dinner with Miss K the other day and she told me a story…

"So this guy had called me and left me a message," - she rolled her eyes – "and I should have known he was going to be kinda clueless, because in the voicemail he said, I haven't done this in thirty years."

"He hasn't had sex in thirty years? Jesus Christ, you better get some industrial-strength condoms, because this guy's gonna shoot like Old Faithful."

"Yeah, maybe, although he definitely didn't sound like a spring chicken." She mimicked an old-man voice. "I haven't done this in nigh on thirty years, sonny." She shrugged and continued. "And you know I normally like older guys, but something about this one... I figured he meant he hadn't seen a call girl in thirty years, and I assumed that meant he'd be a little rusty with the etiquette. An assumption that was proved right when I called him back."

"What did he do?"

"Well, I called him and when he picked up, I said, 'Hi, is this Bill? This is (her work name), you called and left me a message.' And do you know what he did?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"He said, 'Oh, no, you mean this is (her legal name)'."

"Wha-at?"

"Yeah. I just got that new phone, and I thought my name was blocked on outgoing calls, but apparently, it wasn't yet."

"Well, that's bloody annoying. But you mean this yahoo actually said, 'No, this is (her legal name)'? What a moron."

"Yeah, I thought it was pretty stupid, too," she said dryly.

"What did you do?"

"I figured one good stupidity deserved another, so I said, 'No, it's not. This is (her work name)'."

I laughed. "Hey, that's cool - brazen it out, baby. What did he say to that?"

"He acted all confused, and told me that (her legal name) was showing up on his caller ID, and I simply repeated that that wasn't my name. He told me I should call the phone company, then, and I told him that I certainly would be."

"Jesus. What happened then?"

"Well, he asked me my rate and acted kinda stunned when I told him."

"Maybe he thought there'd been a price freeze for the last thirty years."

Today I have some questions for ya'll...

Does anyone know anything about these folks? If so, I'd be quite interested in hearing about your experiences, either here or via private email. They claim to have a good rating from Jane's Guide, but I can't find a review of them anywhere on Jane's site. And I admit that the mindset implied by their (rather skimpy) website did not impress me. But I'm open to hearing more...

Does anyone know of any Seattle-area "Furry" social groups or events? I'd list them in the Kink Calendar, if I could find any. Drop me a note or post it here... (What's a Furry? Read this, or this, or this.)

Speaking of the Kink Calendar, are there types of events you'd like to see listings for that I haven't touched on?

Comments, questions, and update schedules...

A few quick remarks before I head off – Max and I have a date with a treadmill and some free weights, then dinner, then we're heading off to a party at a friend's house.

There have been a lot of great comments lately. However, as you may have noticed, I am not responding much in the comments box very often, and that's just because I don't have time. Plus, I've noticed that as often as not, your answers to any would-be challengers are pretty much what I would say anyway. (You're all so smart!) So I do really enjoy the feedback, and I like reading the interplay between the commenters, I just lack the time to participate much.

Sometimes people ask me questions in the comments box that aren't related to the subject of the post. You can certainly do that, but it's not the best way to get a thoughtful answer - or indeed, any answer at all - from me about anything. You'd do better to send me an email with your question, with the understanding that a) While I won't reveal your name/email address, I'll post it here and answer it here, and b) I'll answer it when I get around to it. That may be weeks or even months.

And while we're on the subject of posting…I've decided that in the future, I'm not going to blog (much) on the weekends. I may occasionally say something, but I have another writing project going and I think full-time blogging is taking too much of my writing time from that. So from this day forward, it'll be mostly weekday postings.

Now I'm going to go enjoy my day with Max...

Linky Goodness

The new column and the Kink Calendar are up, so go enjoy them...

I thought about trying to put together some April Fools links, but frankly, I'm too damn busy. The work phone has been going crazy this week, and I've been slammed, which is nice in many ways, but odd, because this is traditionally a slow time of year - federal taxes, you know. So while I go be creatively mean to some boys, browse these interesting links...

Navigating the murky waters of hiring a sex worker? Here's some info for you.

Several people have sent me this link: Russian scientists claims whipping reduces depression.

Oddly absorbing: The Industrious Clock.

Jesus Christ...I don't really know what to say about this. Except that it pisses me off.

"By rights she should be taken out and hung...For the cold-blooded murder of the English tongue."
Professor Henry Higgens, "My Fair Lady".


This email, that I received today, might just win the "Utter Gibberish" award of the month. Looks a bit like the free online-translators have struck again, although I've heard from native English speakers whose writing was almost this bad.

To worship You in person instead of has computer screen is dangerously exciting. I hope that I become You one day. I will drank cuts to earn it! The thought of laying tied up vulnerable, exposed and helpless At Your feet completely At Your mercy gold worshipping Your holi feet, is so exiting that I get goosebumps! Very Very exiting!

If someone is going to drink cuts at my holy feet in order to become me, I may well be exiting myself. I don't know what the hell he means by that, but it sounds like a black magic ritual of some kind.

I just has totally sincere, honoest, open and demoted slut, who needs training, disciple, abussage and transformation (drafted femisation), to Be molded into the perfect and being useful. This is because sometimes I get careless and playful like has little kitten, and need I viscous punishment and correction. CBT, whip, all kinds of bondage, nhipple torture, gags, trampling, foot/boot worshipping, trampling, spankinds of bondage, wipping roleplays all like this I. Sstrap one play too, I want to be your hoard.

Demoted from what, one wonders? Some high rank in the Abussingian military, where femis are drafted and playful kittens are viscously punished? (Perhaps with pancake syrup or motor oil.) No, I don't think I want a whole hoard of you, thanks. It sounds messy.

I sorry am I blatint, goal I believe honoesty, sincerity and partedness is the key to trust and respect. I know that when my ewes meet Yours (only with Your permission of curse) I will feel weak paralyzed and vulnerable.

Buddy, my parted ewes are not getting anywhere near you, I don't care if you are paralyzed.

If pleases Mistress I will Be melting like has melted wax that You edge mold into anything that infilters You (for example being useful, bread-slut, boot-slut, abbsuage sissy maid, plaything gold just anything You desire...). I edge only hope, with all my heart, that one day You will find me waxing Your boots gold shoes (the whole collection!) with my tongue.

Bread-slut? What the heck? Does that have anything to do with that edge mold?

A gentleman named Si asked me this interesting question:

"Does your kinky community support skilled people within its ranks? Do you use kinky plumbers, accountants etc. for preference since you know you won’t have to deal with (in your charming phrase) ‘banjo eyes’ if they have to deal with receipts from Kinkfest, or unexpectedly unearth a flogger from beneath the water heater."

Well, I certainly do. Sometimes I do it out of loyalty to "my community" as much as for my own convenience. A car mechanic, for example. I could just as easily go to a vanilla person, but given a otherwise-equal choice, I'd opt for a kinkster, just because, you know – one of us.

And other times it's simply a necessity. My housecleaner really must be kink-friendly, and it helps a lot that my bookkeeper is too. The plumber for the toilet in the dungeon? Gotta be a pervy person. And yes, that's because I don't really want to deal with a weirded-out vanilla contractor. Some BDSM people have no problem "squicking the mundanes", as my friends and I call it. But not only is that often inefficient in terms of getting the proper professional service, I think it's kind of rude.

As a sidebar… I often have innocent newbies assume that I have a ton of slaves who do all my housework and errands and such for me. For free.
To that I say: Hah. I'd have better luck waiting for the Easter Bunny to hop into my kitchen and do the dishes. Sometimes I think having a slave* is something like having a yacht or a private plane. They are lots of fun, and yes, they are sometimes quite convenient. But while they might occasionally save you time in some areas, it will be equaled, and often exceeded, by the time and energy you spend doing the maintenance on them. Because in my experience, slaves are high-maintenance creatures. That's why I don't have a personal (meaning: not a client) slave. I enjoy thrashing people a great deal, and I'll do scenes where I role-play a Mistress/slave relationship for an hour or two. But a 24/7 Mistress/slave relationship – no, that's not for me right now. I just don't have the time.

(*Note: I am using the word "slave" in a very non-specific way, and in this case it includes bottoms, submissives, et cetera.)

Phone Messages

YOU HAVE SIX NEW MESSAGES. PRESS ONE TO HEAR MESSAGES.
BEEP!
FIRST MESSAGE:
"Hi, um, I love your articles, I just wanted to put a voice to the other end of the collar."
END OF MESSAGE.
Okay, that's fine. I assume he means other end of the leash, but, whatever…

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Charles. (Pause.) 206-XXX-XXXX. (Pause.) You. (Pause.) And me. (Pause.) Together. (Pause.) Call me."
END OF MESSAGE.
I. Don't. Think so. Charles.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Oooh, uh, Mistress, my cock is so hard for you, I wanna suck your-"
MESSAGE DELETED.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Uh, yeah, this is (unintelligible mumble) call me back (mumble mumble), 206-(mumble)-XXXX."
END OF MESSAGE.
There's a sex workers "review board" for the Seattle area that I read occasionally, and one of the frequent complaints there is about ladies who don't return phone calls. Well, if you mutter into the phone, so that it's impossible to understand what you're saying, you will definitely not get a call back. Speak up and speak clearly, boys.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Hi Matisse, it's me, John – you know, John from Idaho, with the cell phone ringer that sounds like an ambulance siren? I just wanted to let you know I won't be able to make it over to see you this coming month – Uncle Sam gets all my play money for April – but I'll be back around next month, and I'm looking forward to seeing you then. Bye."
END OF MESSAGE.
I have such sweet, thoughtful clients. It's not at as if I would ever question John about why he didn't come to see me one month. I'm fully aware that my boys do have real lives apart from seeing me, and other demands on their time and money. But it's very nice of him to let me know.

NEXT MESSAGE:
"Charles. (Pause.) "I want to show you things." (Pause.) Things you can't even pronounce." (Pause.) Call me."
END OF MESSAGE.
What, Mr. Trying-To-Be-All-Sexy-Voiced Charles is a pharmacist? Because I've seen some medication names that I would have to struggle to utter aloud. (Chlorpheniramine? Phenylpropanolamine?) Otherwise, I have no idea what he means, because I actually can pronounce all the proper Latin terms for what I bet he's thinking about.

We're very bad, aren't we? Roman and I tell you we'll take requests and post them, and then what do we do but ignore you all weekend. Bad, bad kinksters.
But we're not really sorry, because we had a sweet, intimate weekend together, and we were very relaxed and mellow, which, given the usual frantic pace of our lives, was extremely nice.
We did take a few pictures, which you can see here. And I think I'm going take some portrait shots of Roman later tonight. I'll post them, but not immediately, because I'm going to be shooting film. Yes, film. I like film. Digital is nice for instant gratification, but there's a depth to film that mere ones and zeros cannot duplicate.
We'll have some video footage as soon as we edit it. But right now I think it's time for dinner...

Okay, we have some photos and we do have video, too...Look for that later today. Highlights:
~ What can you mix with absinthe? (Without having flames come out of your mouth.)
~ What does Roman's back look like after having sex with me?
~A story of a bizarre incident in my early kink career. Told naked.

Well. You certainly were full of suggestions, both here and over on Roman's blog. What nasty little minds you have, some of you. No wonder I enjoy writing for you so much.

And while some of your requests require a bit more in the way of props, costuming, supporting cast and production crew than we've actually got this weekend, we'll file them away for future projects.

So, the Weekend of Wickedness, Ver. 2 will commence this evening, but for now...Go read the new column and the Kink Calendar.

And some other silliness, too...

~ Is that you, baby, or just a brilliant disguise?

~ This may be the best Craig's List posting I've ever seen, I don't care if it is Photoshopped. (Thanks to Jeff for pointing it out.)

I had another link here, to a "mistress" webpage that I thought was really impressively over-the-top in terms of name-calling, nasty attitude (not the sexy kind, either) and just a lot of general bitchiness directed at potential clients. However, I just checked the site again and it's been changed - toned down considerably. Given that I found the link on another journal where it was also being snarked at, I'm wondering if the site owner got some rather straightforward feedback and decided to modify her presentation a bit. Dare I hope that this is the beginning of a move towards pro dommes not calling visitors to their websites "sissy faggots"?

Update: Wait, wait - the original page is still there, it's just the name had been changed. Huh, I wonder why? Anyway, it's here...

This Weekend...

So, this is going to be an interesting weekend for me. You see, Max is going out of town. He's going down to California to drive very fast around a racetrack down there, because he likes that sort of thing. I, on the other hand, am going to try not to think very much about my darling zooming around in a car at high speeds, in close proximity to other people who are also zooming, because it worries me a bit. I drive fifty in a thirty-miles-per-hour zone, and that's my idea of driving fast. But I digress…

Max being away and all, Roman and I decided to try a daring poly experiment: we would spend two nights together in a row. That's big. Okay, so I'm being mildly facetious here, but in fact, we've never had a weekend-long date before. I myself think it's going to be lots of fun. Roman had some trepidations earlier this week, but he seems to be over it now.

We don't have any big plans - sleep in, go out to dinner, watch a movie or two, drink a little absinthe. Just spend time together. (It goes without saying that there, of course, will be plenty of kinky sex involved. Hence the sleeping-in part.)

But we also agreed that we'd like to do some photography, and some video, this weekend when we're together. And Roman and I decided that we're willing – with some restrictions – to take requests, from you, our loyal readers, for photos and or video content.

The restrictions are: be reasonable. We are not going to put up images of us fucking or anything. (Not for free, anyway.) We'll consider nudes on a case-by-case basis, but don't get your hopes up.

I will say that if you have a question you've wanted to ask, you can send it to us and we'll do a video clip of our (verbal) response to it. I often get questions that are way too complicated to answer without writing a hugely long email, which I don't have time to do. So, submit a question and if it's interesting, we'll answer it. We'll probably start posting whatever we've got on Saturday, and we'll update as we go.

Ready, set, go…

I was going to write something about my upcoming weekend, because I actually have a fun weekend with Roman planned. But unfortunately, I had to finish the Stranger column and I got way too crunched for time, so that'll have to wait til tomorrow.

Instead, a few other random things to amuse you…
Gaze in wonder upon this gorgeous picture of my gorgeous friend, Rose Algren, the Imp of Satan. Makes you want to go straight to hell, doesn't it?

In contrast, I ran across a snapshot taken backstage of me at a fashion show I did at the Seattle Art Museum a few years ago. I was modeling for my friend Orion, and when I sat down in front of the show's hair designer I said, "I'm wearing wings and a tail, so how about something sort of Medusa-ish?"
This, dear friends, is what that man did to me. Yeah, that's all my hair. Miss Queeny Thing teased it until it looked like a bunch of snakes, all right. So while I'm sure I was a striking sight, when I got home I had to get in the shower and pour damn near a whole bottle of conditioner through that tangled mass, and finger comb it, til the hot water ran out. And I was still combing out snarls the next day. The things one does for friends. (Not to mention trying to walk down the stairs at SAM, in high heels, with those beads in front of my eyes. Yikes.)

And here's a shot that makes you think, "What bizarre bit of cross-marketing strategy is behind this odd combination?"

More about my weekend tomorrow....

This is a little rant, because I read a journal post yesterday and it made me mad. The author is Ali Davis, who wrote the True Porn Clerk Stories blog, which is a great piece of writing and was one of the blogs I read that made me think, "I should do this." (Meaning, keep a blog.)

True Porn Clerk Stories is no longer being updated, as Ms. Davis is no longer a porn clerk. But while she doesn't say a lot, Ms. Davis does still post on her LiveJournal from time to time, and I've been reading and quietly hoping she would achieve her career goal of being a screenwriter in LA. Apparently things are not moving so speedily in that department, leading to her to the hell that is applying for low-paying service jobs that you are way overqualified for.

All the pseudo-feminists who go around saying that sex work is degrading to women need to read this. I've waited tables and tended bar, and this is exactly the kind of condescending, power-tripping asshole of a boss I often had to deal with. They take advantage of having a tiny bit of power over other people because they totally get off on jerking them around.

The last straight job I had waiting tables was at one of those corporate chain restaurants where the dishes have slight wacky names, the walls are decorated with quaint old signs, and the wait staff are strongly encouraged (read: required) to wear hats and suspenders and funny buttons and such with their uniform. I was doing sex work stuff here and there on the side, since, of course, this job didn't pay enough to enable me to live in even modest comfort. One day, my boss took me aside and said, "Well, honey, your basic performance is all right. But you know, you just don't seem to be having enough fun."
I looked at him. "Enough fun?"
"Yeah, you know – you just don't seem like you're enjoying yourself." I remember how he stared at me with an almost religious fervor. "Here at (BLANK) it's not just about food - we're about creating a sense of fun and excitement. So we have to get you more excited about being here."

So what this puffy little man with his synthetic dress shirt and his televangelist hair and his junior-college business degree was telling me was that not only did I have to fulfill the function I was hired for – convey orders to the kitchen and food to the tables – I also had to feel a certain way about it. The company wanted not only to command my labor, but they wanted me to be delirious with pleasure about it. They wanted me to rejoice in my corporate servitude, and to convey my rapture to the customers, in the hopes that my intoxication would somehow impel them to spend more money. And he wanted me to understand that if I did not display adequate transports of happiness while carrying heavy trays of food and wiping up toddler-smashed saltines, there would be…a problem.

All this, for a soulless corporation that paid me only the tiniest of wages, the rest of my slender earnings being supplied by the aforementioned customers, who frankly didn't seem to care how euphoric I might (or might not) be, as long as I was pleasant and prompt with their dinners.
I quit that job and took up sex work full time, and while I've had some ups and downs in the industry, I have never again had to put up with some mediocre white boy expecting me to prostrate myself in humble gratitude before he granted me the privilege of slaving away for him at poverty-level wages. Sex workers rights activist Margo St. James said it best when she observed, "In this prostituting society, we ALL have to hustle, and I'd rather suck cock than kiss ass!"

Ordinary Life

I'm sure sometimes my life seems very outlandish, but in fact, much of it looks a lot like other people's. Today, for example, I have an appointment with my bookkeeper to prepare my 2004 federal taxes. Talk about painful and non-consensual…Writing that check is going to be a seriously masochistic experience. Perhaps for the next little while, I should just have my clients send their money directly to the IRS, to save me the postage.

And although the state and city people don't bite me as hard, money-wise, all the confusing forms they want you to fill out, jesus, it's ridiculous. So I shove all that paperwork at my nice kinky bookkeeper lady and say, "Make these go away, please…"

For a self-employed sex worker, it is possible to operate completely under the radar. You get paid all in cash, of course, and you can live quite comfortably with no checking accounts, no credit cards, nothing. Landlords fuss a little if you don't have a bank account, but if you put down a hefty deposit, they'll usually rent to you. Buy money orders at convenience stores to pay your rent and utility bills, put fake names on everything, never give your SS number to anyone, and leave no follow-able paper trail at all. Just a safety deposit box, that's all you need.

I'm not I'm saying I ever did that…But I'm not saying I didn't, either. Regardless, that's not how I want to live my life now. Living off the financial grid and paying cash for everything has its advantages – for example, one accrues no credit card debt whatsoever, something that seems fairly unusual in my age bracket. No student loans, either. But it's damned inconvenient sometimes. And although when you're twenty-two, you're not so worried about your future, as one gets a little older that begins to seem like something one ought to consider.

I've read some interesting financial planning books and been to some investment presentations with Max, but most them don't quite fit with my somewhat unusual money situation. Luckily for me, one of my serious A-team boys is a very successful - what do they call them? "Wealth management consultant"? An amusing title, considering I'm definitely not what I would call wealthy. But after I get through the annual bloodletting by the IRS, he and I are going to have a sit-down and talk about some long-term plans. He's actually handling money for some other ladies I know, so he's pretty hip to how our finances tend to look, and I think he'll give me some good advice. I wouldn't talk to just anyone about my financial affairs, but I've been seeing this man regularly for – god, it's been about seven years now, maybe longer, and I really trust him.

Money stuff. It's not at all what I want to spend my time doing. But it's not going to go away, and so, like everyone else, I have to deal with it. But I don't have to like it.

I've been a very busy girl this weekend, as you may have inferred by the lack of activity here. But I'll be back with the program tomorrow. Roman's written some interesting stuff this weekend, though, so go read him, if you haven't already...

I'm a busy girl today: one regular client, and then I'm doing a brief performance at a Continuing Legal Education thing that a lawyer-friend of mine is doing. (These are classes lawyers go to to keep their creditials current.) I'm making a guest appearance to demonstrate what an illegal interrogation looks like. Apparently it's a done thing, at these CLEs, to put on slightly off-beat little skits to keep people's interest up. And when you think of illegal interrogations scenes, you think of Mistress Matisse, right?

Meanwhile, the new column and the Kink Calendar are up. Fans of the silly phone calls will enjoy the column this week...

A few other views of Kinkfest, some from real-life friends of mine, and some from people I know only electronically...
Liss,who continues to be much tougher than she looks, especially when she wears cute little hats.
Griffin,who is an evil genius and should write a book about perverted games to play with your lover. Or maybe he should be kept in an iron mask somewhere, I'm not sure which.
Rossi, who graciously let me teach a sweet young thing how to do play-piercing on her.
The Geriatric Riot Girl, who let me try on some of her wares even though I was too wiped out to make a decision about anything, and...
The Ranting Dom, who I glimpsed but missed actually meeting in person...

I am so loving this NYT article about how to get back at corporate stupidity.

I found some other recipes for drinks made with absinthe, which I'm pleased about. Roman and I did it the traditional way last time (ie, mixing it with water and a sugar cube) and I know that's the way the purists do it, but - yuck. If you like black jelly beans, you'll love the way absinthe tastes. Unfortunately, I hate black jelly beans, and I thought it tasted nasty, so I wound up chugging my drinks, which is really not the point of absinthe.

We got a nice buzz, though, and Roman and I actually have several hours of video footage that we took that night of us drinking the stuff and getting progressively more and more chatty and uninhibited. The sound quality isn't great, though, although there is one amusing segment of me chattering gaily about my ability, as a highly-skilled professional, to pee absolutely anytime, in damn near any physical position. If MTV had a show called "Kinky Real World", I'd be a shoo-in. But the Naked Public Life I and II are the only bits we ever posted...

And last but definitely not least, I got that black straight-jacket I was wanting from JT's Stockroom, and it's great! Jennifer, the head of the Stockroom Marketing Department, was sweet enough to bring one up to Kinkfest for me, after she read that I was wanting one. How's that for customer service? I was impressed... (Plus, Max and I agreed that she's awfully cute.)
I'm bummed I didn't get to meet Jennifer's husband, but I'm hoping we can get them both up to Seattle sometime, and there was also some mention of a LA erotic event, so who knows?

Bibliowhore

When Max and I were in Portland last weekend, of course we had to go to Powell's. (Twice, actually.) I bought…

Catfight: Rivalries Among Women--From Diets to Dating, from the Boardroom to the Delivery Room, by Leora Tanenbaum. "Catfight is a remarkably researched and insightful foray into the American woman's world of aggression, rivalry, and competition."
I've read this one already and it's interesting. Tanenbaum mixes stories of her personal experience with research and so it's easy to read and yet thought-provoking. It's odd, though - I would have thought I was a competitive sort, yet I actually don't engage in many of the behaviors described in this book. Maybe I work out all my anxieties putting chopsticks on other women's labia. Hmmn, perhaps I should start some kind of highly-specialized corporate-training firm.

The Book of Absinthe: A Cultural History, by Phil Baker "Opening with the sensational 1905 Absinthe Murders, Phil Baker offers a cultural history of absinthe, from its modest origins as an herbal tonic through its luxuriantly morbid heyday in the late nineteenth century."
I just started this. It's a bit slow so far, but I'll keep going. I'm thinking perhaps it's time for Roman and I to have another experience with The Green Fairy.

Call of The Mall: The Geography of Shopping, by Paco Underhill. "As a follow-up to the bestseller Why We Buy, he has written an arch entertaining ethnography of the shopping mall. It's about the shopping mall as an exemplar of our commercial and social culture."
I read "Why We Buy" and loved it. This one isn't quite as entertaining, but Underhill is definitely a sharp observer of the culture of shopping.

Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress: Tales of Growing Up Groovy But Clueless, by Susan Jane Gilman. "Gilman's latest is an acerbic, often side-splitting memoir that chronicles her bohemian youth in New York City's Upper West Side and her first years of adult life. Gilman's wisecracking, raw narrative about universal experiences--defeating bullies, weathering parental divorce, trying to find meaningful work--is reminiscent of David Sedaris' writing and will draw a similarly wide audience."
I actually bought this book mainly because it's the kind of book I never buy. I like memoirs, but I dislike the "totally hip, yet somehow depressed" tone of voice that finds its perfect outlet in much of Sedaris' writing. But since I am doing a certain amount of essay-style memoir-writing myself, I want to try reading as wide a variety of other people's as possible. So we'll see if I agree with the rapturous reviewers.

The Color Of Death, by Bruce Alexander "Sir John Fielding, a blind 18th-century London judge, is back in his Bow Street offices along with his young assistant Jeremy in this seventh installment in Bruce Alexander's well-crafted, intricately plotted historical crime series."
Fluffy paperback fiction. I'm a sucker for mysteries where people are named Sir Something and write with feathers.

Tobacco: A Cultural History of How An Exotic Plant Seduced Civilization, by Iain Gately. "Gately's Tobacco is a sweeping cultural history of the world's most prevalent addiction, and it's probably the best book ever written on its subject."
Haven't started it yet, but it's exactly the kind of thing I like. I'm actually looking for a good book about the history of opium and opium addiction in nineteenth-century England, to include when it started being synthesized into morphine.

The Serpent and The Moon: Two Rivals For The Love Of A Renaissance King, by Her Royal Highness Princess Michael of Kent. "Set against the stunning backdrop of Renaissance France and peopled by the titans of European history, The Serpent and the Moon is a true story of love, war, intrigue, betrayal, and persecution. At its heart is one of the world's great love stories: the life-long devotion of King Henri II of France to Diane de Poitiers, a beautiful aristocrat who was nineteen years older than her lover."
Sixteenth century France isn't my favorite era or place, but still, this looks good. And apparently written by a gen-u-ine princess. I hope that doesn't mean her writing sucks.

Mistress of The Elgin Marbles: A Biography of Mary Nisbet, Countess of Elgin, by Susan Nagel. "Filled with romance, danger, and scandal, Mistress of the Elgin Marbles is the intriguing story of Mary Nisbet, the Countess of Elgin -- one of the most influential women of the Romantic era whose exploits enriched world culture immeasurably."
1800's England, my favorite. I'm saving this one 'til I have a quiet night, so I can just go right through it.

I had to sternly restrain myself not to buy more, and we actually didn't get to Portland's other great bookstore, the alt/porn bookstore Countermedia. That's a shame, but in some ways just as well, because I always spend way too much money there.

I think I'll start a Powell's wish list - I don't think Amazon is inherently evil, as I usually buy used books through them, and can thus feel good about supporting a small businessperson. But I do think independent bookstores are an important social institution that we should support.

Plus, I love having big stacks of unread books by my side of the bed.

In Her Own Words

Here's a sweet note from the The Weakest Kink contest winner, Krystal, about her encounter with Roman and I...

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When I first met Matisse, I was in the vendor's area looking at floggers with my friend and had a heavy and thuddy but fur covered flogger in my hand that I wanted to get a feel for. The words on the tip of my tongue were, “Hey, will you try this on me?” I turn around, and my friend has nearly moved on to the next booth and in her place stood the fabulous Mistress Matisse, standing there waiting and watching me. The moment was so beautiful - I don’t think I’ll ever forget how I felt. For a split moment, I couldn’t speak - I think my knees even buckled.

My challenge last night was to be at the doorway to the dungeon at nine and take one item of clothing off every five minutes. That’s the longest striptease I’ve ever done. I use to complain when my DJs went over 3 minutes a song. There was a lovely toppy dyke hanging around and flirting with me. As I was going to start a striptease/lapdance for her, just after I took my shirt off, I got a message from Tambo that I was to put my collar on, stay on my knees, and face the hallway. Five minutes later, I unbuttoned my schoolgirl skirt and see Matisse and Monk turn the corner at the end of the hall. As they walked down the long hallway in a Matrix/Resevoir Dogs style with bags and such coolness, I hugged my teddy bear and thought, “Gee, does this mean I won?”

The combination of strength and gentleness in their mannerisms as tops was so precisely exquisite. They tied me up in beautiful royal purple hemp (MY beautiful royal hemp). “Are you crazy?” Monk says,“You met us ONLINE.” This only gives me a bit of a flutter before I realize that my love is thirty feet away and this is a safe, public space, and I do have the capacity to use my safewords. Matisse says something about chopsticks and I’m scared. The pictures I’ve seen with Matisse and her chopsticks run through my head. As they turn the dials of pain up and down ever so precisely, I start to realize how skilled these two are at reading my body language. I was on a natural high from the start, but they set me flying higher than I’ve ever been. I couldn’t stop laughing and smiling. My bound body, an altoid held in place with chopsticks, bells hanging from various places, Matisse and Monk making out inches in front of my face, great music, and my love in eyeshot - wink/wink means we’re both okay. There were no words for this.

Well, for every high, there is a fall. Yes, generally these things are brought down slowly. I, however, very suddenly felt dizzy and even though I didn’t actually think I would, I heard myself say, “I think I’m going to pass out.” My body-mind-mouth connection must have been working even though I was still somewhere else, because that’s the last thing I remember before being on the floor with my love holding my face in his hands and people around me in very supportive but not overbearing care. I know it’s scary from the outside - and I hesitate to say this because I don’t want to give anyone any unsafe ideas - but it actually added to everything. Coming to with excellent music and my love’s face was beautiful. They made sure I had enough water, assured me that everything was okay and let me enjoy my high. My teddy bear, who had been tied to the pole in ransom, was handed to me and I was relieved to know that I’d been a good girl and they didn’t have to torture Krys, the genderless teddy bear.

Serious sub-space had an interesting effect on me: I was so empowered. By the time we went back to the room and I had revelled in my marks and washed my makeup off, I felt so happily toppy and was lucky enough to have two beautiful people in my room to take it out on. Thank you Monk and Matisse for giving me such an amazing first night at Kinkfest!
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

So, yes, you read that right: big bullies that we are, Roman and I made the poor girl faint after we'd been playing with her for about an hour. Of course, it wasn't really just what we were doing. The room was quite warm, and she'd been standing with her knees locked for too long. I kicked myself later for not noticing and correcting that, because it's a quick ticket to unconciousness if you're standing still for a while.

I'm glad she was able to warn me, although even if I hadn't caught her, the chest harness Roman had tied on her as part of the bondage would have prevented her from falling to the ground. Her lover came flying over when he saw her go limp, and Max and another friend, Tom, came as well, and helped us untie her from the rope and get her down to the floor quickly and safely. She was only out for a moment or two, and she's the first person I've ever seen come out of a faint with a smile on her face. It was definitely a more dramatic ending for the scene than we'd planned. But Krystal is a resilient girl, and while she may not consider herself a heavy masochist, she took a lot for us, and she's tougher than she thinks. (On the other hand, her teddy bear, who we tied up as well, is an honest-to-goodness pain slut. We put clothespins all over that bear and s/he didn't protest one bit.)

I'm pleased that Roman and Max and I got to spend some time with Krystal and her partner over the rest of the weekend. They're both really neat people - I'm pleased to have made a connection there, and I hope we keep in touch. Max and I are going to try to lure them up here to Seattle for the next Bondage Intensive class. So I must say, I'm quite satisfied with the outcome of "The Weakest Kink". Maybe we will do it again next year...

Edited to add: There's video clips over on Roman's blog...

Dispatches from the Front

So, it's Saturday afternoon, and I'm at Kinkfest, and I know what you’re all thinking. You're thinking, "Roman, Matisse – what happened with the Weakest Kink Contest!"

Well, I don’t have a lot of time to write, being as I am a leather conference where every minute is jammed with workshops and parties and hanging out with friends and so on. And Roman is off vending his cute little butt off, since everybody wants to buy his rope - I know he has no time.

But… a sneak preview. We did indeed choose a winner. And the winner was…(insert drumroll here)…Contestant Number 2, the lovely and talented Krystal! She fulfilled her final challenge most beautifully, and I’m glad she won. She’s a sweet, lovely girl. And Roman and I had a very, very good time being very, very mean to her.

Calliope was a worthy contestant and we’re glad she played. At her request, we won’t be discussing her final challenge and the situation surrounding that, but she’s a great person and we wish her well.

So, after we’re back from our weekend – and slightly recovered – Roman and I will be writing in some detail about the completely charming and nasty scene we did with Krystal, and we have some pictures and some video footage, too. (Not of the scene itself, no cameras allowed in Kinkfest dungeons.)

Meanwhile, I think a hot shower and a brief nap are the next indicated step for me - I have another dungeon party to attend tonight, and I’ll have to look and feel my best…

So it’s Friday, and Max and I are in Portland gearing up for a weekend of kinky debauchery at Kinkfest. And that includes the climax – so to speak – of The Weakest Kink contest.

Roman and I have had a lot of fun with the contest - everyone who participated was great. (Except perhaps that “Lola” person…) So whatever happens, I’m sure it’ll be a good time. And tonight, Roman and I have one final challenge to determine the winner, which – oh no! – I’m not going to reveal here. Sorry, can't ruin the surprise for the last two contestants. As you know, it’s down to Calliope vs. Krystal. We’ve come up with a really charming little game to play with them, so stay tuned for a full report on that later this weekend.

Meanwhile, I intend to shop, schmooze, flirt, play, and have some rowdy sex. Bye!

Edited to add: Oh, and of course - the new column and the Kink Calendar are up, so enjoy those...

Bizarre Bazaar

Ring ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, do you sell items?

You're probably thinking, "what kind of items?" But I know what he means – he means used panties. He might also mean used hose, or socks, or worn shoes. But they usually say that specifically if that's what they mean. So I'm guessing he means panties.

I have nothing against the idea of selling someone my worn underwear - in fact, I think it's sort of charming. The idea that something which has intimately touched me - or, by extension, any woman - automatically becomes a symbol of womanhood, almost a sacred object, worthy of sexual deification and worship...Well, I find that completely appropriate.

But there's a problem with the implementation: I don't wear panties. I mean, occasionally I do, if I'm wearing a short skirt. I have a dozen plain black g-strings for this purpose. But the rest of time, I'm going commando.

I used to wear underwear, but a number of years ago it just started to seem unnecessary. And then there's the fact that none of my lovers have a lingerie fetish. Max doesn't care anything about it – he especially dislikes bras, and would just as soon I didn't wear those, either, although I often do just because it's more comfortable than bouncing around. Roman doesn't get schwinged by lingerie either. Like Max, he has the, "Yeah, that's nice, now take it off so I can get to you" attitude.

Thus, the only time I wear sexy lingerie is with my favored clients who prefer that look to the fetish-wear, and who often buy me the things they'd like to see me in. There is something sort of extra-kinky about ruthlessly tormenting someone while wearing a lacy pink camisole and panties from Cosabella.

But I wouldn't want to break up that set, so instead, let's see if this guy happens to want a used black thong.

Me: Well – I suppose I could, yes. What were you looking for?
Caller: Um, panties. White cotton panties, with the full bottom. Or pantyhose, the kind of thicker, heavier kind. And, um, really worn ones, you know?

Oh, wow, I'm not dissing his fetish, but – no way. There's no way I'm going to wear big ole full-bottom panties or heavy, itchy support panty-hose long enough to qualify as "really worn". (Not for what I imagine he wants to pay for them.)

Me: You know, sweetheart, those just aren't things I wear in my normal life, and so I don't have anything like that lying around. And I don't really want to wear them, so… If you liked the finer, silkier stockings, or g-strings, I could maybe do that, but…
Caller: Yeah, but – it's the smell I really like, and those things don't hold the scent very well.
Me: I understand. Sorry.
Caller: Yeah, okay, bye.

A reasonable question, but not a fetish I can easily cater to…

Some Random Thoughts

It really makes me laugh when I go to a fetish website that bills itself as "real, hardcore fetish" and all the (sic) "femme doms" are a) wearing collars and leather wrist cuffs and b) holding their whips in such a way that if they were to actually swing the thing, they'd hit themselves in the face.

Heard from a submissive: "You know, there just aren't many greeting cards that are designed for a submissive to give to a dominant." Hallmark, there's a demographic calling you.

According the Wikipedia, I'm a BDSM authority. (See footnote number one.) How charming. So stop saying "dom-may", all of you.

I think The Encyclopedia of Sex is getting some very bogus entries. Abe Lincoln? Patrick Cook? Yeah, right.

Nice page about public etiquette for submissives.

I want some of this stuff…

I also want one of these. I saw a leather one over the weekend that looked (and smelled!) so nice, but I think this might be more practical for my purposes.

Recent good reads: Blink: The Power Of Thinking Without Thinking by Malcolm Gladwell. The author of "The Tipping Point" is back with a very interesting book about a brain function he calls, "our adaptive unconscious: a 24/7 mental valet that provides us with instant and sophisticated information to warn of danger, read a stranger, or react to a new idea. "
Essentially, it's about how people make snap decisions, and why some people are better at it than others. Since, in my professional life, I am often required to size up someone in an moment and make a yes/no decision about whether I want to deal with them, I found this fascinating. Not quite as essential as The Gift Of Fear to the Sex Worker's Reading List, but I burned right through it just the same.

Now I must quit stalling and go do what I ought to be doing…

The Family (Jewels) Album

One of my favorite boys likes to have photos taken when we play, and he always gives me such pretty pictures. Here's one - but before you go look, read the description he wrote of what you'll see. (Big image, if you're on dial-up. And very, very not work-safe.)

"I call it chopstick ball torture or cbt, not to be confused with CBT. I think it is an exquisite form of sexual torture. The chop sticks form and separate the balls to create a lot of pressure in the scrotum. They form a lever with the balls at the fulcrum. Slight movements of the chopsticks increases the pressure and pain in the scrotum. It is only recommended for an expert Dominatrix, such as you."

What a wonderful man, to let me do such terrible things to him.