Wow, I have had so much to do lately, and while I have had some lovely time with some of my boys, a lot of my week has been tedious stuff that’s not going to make you hot to read about. But you know, I do get ragged on occasionally for never writing about non-glamorous activities. I am certainly not trying to present my life as one big leather-lined orgy, it’s simply that the minutia of my daily life doesn’t seem that interesting for ya’ll to read about. But, hey, you asked, so here it is: trivia!

My cat is better. (And seriously, thank you for all the sweet notes I got about that.) She’s not all the way well, but she’s looking much less like a furry rag with eyes and more like an actual ambulatory mammal. So she’s going to make it, but I was seriously wondering about that for a day or so there. Oh, here’s non-glamorous trivia for you: I missed the Bondage Party Sunday night because I had to take her in to the emergency vet. My loving pet clearly viewed my attempt to get her medical attention as a non-consensual kidnapping scene, and she took her revenge by peeing in my lap while the vet was examining her. And I paid several hundred dollars for the privilege of that experience. The smell of cat pee in the heated car on the way home was delightful, I can tell you. Luckily I had the simple wit to wear my oldest jeans.

What else? Well, I had a meeting with my financial advisor yesterday. After years of living completely off the financial grid, it’s still very strange to me that I now talk to people about retirement investments. He said he might need to talk to my tax preparer in order to make the final decision about exactly what kind of IRA would be best for me, and so without thinking, I pulled out my tax guy’s business card and gave it to him. And then I thought, dear god, I used to pay my rent in cash because I didn’t have a checking account. Now I have people – real professional people - talking to each other about my money. I feel like I’ve become one of the pod people. I mean, it’s a good thing and all, but it’s just so bizarre. I’m an outlaw, baby - and yet somehow, I’ve also become this grown-up lady. Trippy.

Democratic House, Democratic Senate! w00t! I'm very, very happy.

But I have expectations. Okay, Blue Wave Winners, we elected you, so come January 1, you better get in there and perform. I will wanting to see some serious work being done about the world o’ crap that’s been visited upon us for the last six years. (Longer, if you count back to the “Contract on America” years…)

Actually, I like having a President be one party and the House and Senate another. I think balance is a good thing. I think this administration has been particularly venal and corrupt, but I also think if you give anyone too much unchecked power for very long, they get arrogant and complacent. I think we should fire all politicians periodically, make ‘em get real jobs for a while.

On another subject...I think due in part to my answering some letters here lately, I have gotten a deluge of "I need advice" emails in the last few days. I am touched by this show of trust in me, and I will pick some to answer in time. BUT! Be aware that if you write to me asking about sexual stuff and you tell me that you’re under 18, I will not answer you. Sorry, can't do it. It's way too risky for me. I cannot instruct a minor in sexual techniques or give a minor advice about how to find sexual partners. I just can't have any conversation about anything sexual with a minor anytime. You'd do better to ask Dan Savage, who is an established sex-advice columnist and who is not an active sex worker.

Now I’m off into the new, blue world – enjoy the latest column…

Okay, I know I've been really bad about writing this week, but I’m having a few un-creative days. For one thing, I’m a bit worried about my elderly cat, who is sick and not responding to her meds as well as I think she should. Another trip to the vet here, I think.

Plus, I’m distracted by following the elections, the outcome of which I am very pleased by, both locally and nationwide. Fuck you, Rick Santorum, fuck you, SD abortion ban, and fuck you, no-lap-dance-laws.

I've been busy with lots of appointments, too. Here’s one lovely tidbit. Remember this fun guy? I saw him again yesterday, and it was just as much fun kicking him in the balls this time as it was last time. One sort of kicks with the top of one’s foot, right above the toes. You get the best smacking sound that way. And if he indicates that it doesn’t really hurt that much, that means you haven’t got them tied up tightly enough. Fix that. You'll both like it better.

Vote. Seriously.

Everything Old Is New Again – At Least For Someone

I’m a busy girl today, so be amused by these letters highlighting the marvelous consistency of the human sex drive - sometimes it’s charming, sometimes it’s silly, but you can rely on it.

(edited for length)

…I'm dating a simply wonderful guy, with whom I have truly great sex…. He just expressed interest in having me penetrate him with a strap-on—he feels hesitant since it's something he's never done before and I think is a little worried about getting hurt, especially as it's something with which I have no experience whatsoever. Do you have any experience with or pointers for this? I'd love to do it…

Read this, and then go for it, he’ll be fine. Just remember, everyone squeals like that the first time. And tell your boyfriend he's a lucky man.

***

hi Mistress i was just on your web site and you are a very beautiful and dominating Mistress. i am in search of a Mistress who will travel to pa to kidnap me and totally enslave me and even brand me as their personal slave, sissy maid and toilet. so please Mistress i beg u come here just outside of philly actually near valley forge and take me home as your slave, sincerely slave jim (ps please i beg u give me your thoughts on this issue and i hope u are willing to make it a reality)

I know gas prices have dropped – and just in time for the election cycle, what a coinkydink! But really, in spite of all these requests, I think I’m going to have to limit my slave-kidnapping range to say, Portland to Vancouver. Sorry, Northeast boys. But hey, you could hitchhike in and call me from a rest stop, those are always good places to get kidnapped from.

(Note to the sarcasm-impaired: I’m kidding. Stay right where you are. Do not pass go, and for god’s sake don’t pass the Rocky Mountains.)

In more important matters: Go VOTE tomorrow, if you haven’t already. And seriously people – please vote Democrat. I am really not a bleeding heart liberal, I would call myself a very moderate Democrat, and from a pure-theory standpoint, I can see the elephant point of view on some matters. But good lord, people who are just pretending to be Republicans have totally hijacked the party that used to stand for fiscal prudence and less government interference in people’s lives. They’re all liars and thieves in there right now, or worse. I say, vote ‘em out!

And definitely reject that stupid nanny-state city law about the strippers. Is that really the kind of thing you want your tax dollars being spent on? Unbelievable. Go vote.

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I've gotten a slew of letters from people wanting sex-work advice lately. So tomorrow, look for a lengthy post answering them.

But today, the new column.

And I just have to mention this...I got a manicure yesterday and got my nails painted a deep red. Now, I think the last time I had a manicure was for my wedding. That was 1999. I am not a girl who bothers much about my fingernails. I think it's a holdover from my days as a lesbian. (Not that I don't know femme lesbians with nails that would put Barbra Streisand to shame.)

I used to paint my toenails, but some of my more enthusiastic foot-worshippers kept chipping the polish with their teeth. I had to patch it a lot, and plus I thought eating the polish couldn't be good for them. So I stopped.

However, one of my good clients, Jet, expressed a wish to see me with painted nails, and gave me a gift certificate to my salon to have that done. So I did. And it worked out so that I went straight from the salon to a session with him, and he liked it, so that was all just fine.

But now I have these red nails. I cannot recall ever having had my nails this color before. It's pretty, but it's sort of weird. My hands look like someone else's. Max looked at them and said, "Huh. Well, that's a different look for you."

I'm very concious of them - I'm sort of walking around with like, jazz hands, because I don't want to chip the polish, although it's inevitable that I will, of course.

I suppose I just want to acknowledge the girls who do this every day - this seems like a lot of work. Wow. I don't know how you manage it. I'm impressed.

Unconnected Musings

Fashion: Saturday night I did something I thought I’d never do again: I tucked my skinny jeans into my tall boots. Now, I was a little girl last time this was really fashionable, but I do remember it, and I remember how it can sometimes be a disastrously bad fashion choice, if one doesn’t get the proper combination of boots, pants, and hips. You must get dressed and then get a second mirror, so that you can take a good long look at your behind in a full-length mirror. And then one must be brutally honest with oneself about whether it’s really flattering.

I decided to take the plunge. I figured, hey, I’m going out to dinner on Broadway, and it’s Halloween weekend. People will just think it’s my costume. I was conscious that if I wore the funky little black fake-fur jacket I picked up in Chicago and teased my hair out a bit, I’d look exactly like every street hooker ever portrayed in a 70’s-80’s made-for-TV movie. So I decided not to. Being a hooker for Halloween is such a cliché.

Max liked it, so that was reassuring. But I still felt a little odd. I suppose it’s how my mother would feel if beehive hairdos came back into style. It’s the vague sense that while I want to keep my look fresh, I cannot claim ignorance if I wear this and wind up looking like a fashion Don’t, because I should know better.

But now, help me out, sharp-eyed readers. Is this coat the same as this coat? They look awfully alike. And I need to make a choice here, because one of my favorite guys (who I will hereby dub Armani, because he’s definitely one of the best-dressed man of my acquaintance) has said he wants to buy me a coat for my birthday. I think one of these is the one I want. I want him to look at it, because Armani knows from clothes when it comes to women, too. But really – are these the same thing?

Podcasts: I may start doing podcasts. I’ve been considering it, and one of the reasons I like the idea is that it’s something Max could do with me. He won’t blog, no matter how much I nag him, and he doesn’t want his picture floating around the web, but I think he’d be willing to talk, if I get the system in place, get the headset on him and ask him questions. I’m sure I’d have Roman on sometimes too, and we could have other guests, as well. It wouldn’t be an everyday thing, but I think I could put out something semi-regularly.

I haven’t decided about buying software and hosting it myself vs paying a specialized hosting company. In general, I'm a girl who doesn't mind paying for convenience, so I'd lean towards the hosting thing. But I'm concerned about getting into a TOS snarl because of course, I'll be talking about adult stuff.

A sharp-witted friend suggestion I ask The Stranger about hosting it for me, which I am going to do. Max said I might also ask Babeland – both outfits I’d be perfectly happy to plug in return for hosting.

Thoughts or suggestions about podcasting from active podcasters? Gray, I looked at the site for the software you seem to be using, and Minx, I saw that you're using a hosting company, yes? Anyone else want to weigh in?

Oh, and Happy Halloween!

Girls on Film

Every few weeks someone sends me an email that says something like, “Hey, how come you don’t make DVDs? It would be so cool, and you’d make lots of money.” And I noticed that Roman was getting some of the same remarks after he posted his video clips the other day.

Well, kids, I did produce a fetish video of my own*- about six years ago. And that’s how I know I’m not interested in making another anytime soon. Why? A lot of work. Legal risks. And not much profit.

See, at the beginning, I connected with a very cool guy with a lot of video experience, and we put together a concept. The technical end of lights, camera and sound was his job. I was the star, of course, but at the same time I was also the writer, the director and the producer, plus I also found all the talent.

And I discovered that being all those things was a lot of work. And I mean work, too, not like playing with my clients. I was surprised by that, because the co-stars were all pals of mine, and they were all just great. But when we were shooting, I could not relax and get into it, I had to direct from in front of the camera. It was not fun, it was not a turn-on, it was just - work. Max could tell you how cranky and exhausted I was after a day of shooting. This is how I know I was not supposed to be in show business.

So I was immensely relieved when we had all the footage we needed. And then my partner said, oh, we need some interview footage of you. So I did that. Redeeming social value and all, you know, have to cover one’s ass.

My partner went into his editing bay and in time produced a really nicely done, professional-looking video that we were both quite proud of. I have nothing to complain of on that score, he did a very good job.

He got two hundred tapes made and gave them to me. This was back when Paypal would still process payments for sexy things, so I put up a page on my site, and waited for the orders. Meanwhile, my partner hunted around to see what he could find out about getting it distributed on a wider scale.

Long story short: we couldn’t get a distributor. Since there isn’t any actual fucking in my video, just BDSM play, I can’t say I was hugely surprised.

Then, Paypal announced it would no longer process payments for anything even slightly adult. I tried other payment processing systems, but they all proved hard to use and unreliable, and people were understandably reluctant to trust them with their financial information. I considered getting a merchant account, but the costs were prohibitive and at that time, the credit card companies were levying heavy fees and complex rules on adult accounts. Going through all that to sell three or four forty-dollar videos a month would be absurd.

Next, Attorney General Alberto Gonzales and the DOJ made sweeping changes to the 2257 Regulations and declared war on porn. The legal challenge to the new law is still churning through the courts, I believe, but right now there’s no way I can fullfill all the legal requirements for adult entertainment record-keeping. The whole situation is very intimidating – just as it’s meant to be – and I don’t want to deal with it.

In the end, I sold those two hundred videos, which means I made my expenses back, and a little profit - the equivalent of about a week's gross in my regular life. Not exactly big bucks, when I think about how many hours of my time I put in for that money - some of it time in which I could have been seeing clients.

So another video? Let’s see, it’s a lot of work, and not that much fun, and not that much money. I have no easy, inexpensive way to collect payments for it. And I’d be plunging into a legal maelstrom of regulations, red tape, and repressive laws. Yeah. Not such a great idea from where I sit. Not when I make a very nice living, doing stuff I like to do, without having to worry about the feds coming to investigate me.

I suppose there’s a very slim chance I could do another one - after the next presidential election, if we elect someone less insane than the current crew. Even then I’d probably just do downloads, rather than fuss with shipping a physical product. And they would be - how shall I say? – informal. I’d say to the cameraman, “Look, I’m going to get kinky with my friend here, and you just shoot us. Stay out of my way, don’t talk to me, and whatever we get, we get. But I’m not going to try to act or perform for the camera.”

However, it definitely won’t be anytime soon.


(*Yes, on VHS. No, it’s not available on DVD. No, sorry, you can’t buy one, I sold the ones I had and I’m not getting any more made.)

Birthday Wishes

As some of you already know… I’m having a birthday at the end of November. (No, I’m not telling you what one.) I'm a trifle reluctant to write about things I want, because frankly, I have so many people in my life who are already so very sweet and generous that it seems unbecoming somehow. Still, some of my boys have been asked what I want for my birthday, and I promised to post a list.
So, let’s be clear: I don’t expect presents. They’re sweet and wonderful, and I enjoy them and think fondly of the giver when I use them. But they are not a requirement to being someone I like.

Without further ado… The Birthday List 2006.

Mystery Science Theatre 3000 collections. Yes, I know I’m a closet nerd. I don’t care.
Books –my Amazon list was a bit out of date, so I updated that. This looks good, and so does this, and this…
I need a new bathrobe. (White terrycloth is warm and classic for lazy mornings, although sexier ones are nice for in the evening. Size small.)
I still haven’t bought a good laptop case.
iTunes music cards.
Wolford. Always Wolford. I can't get enough of that stretchy slinky stuff. Feed my addiction. Or yours. Size small here, too, in black.
Silver trinkets.

People often just take me shopping rather than trying to guess what I want, so I'm expecting to do some of that too. Since my birthday is late November, when I was a kid, I’d often campaign for some large toy I wanted by claiming that I’d regard it as a combination birthday-Christmas gift. Looking back, I’m sort of amazed how often that worked on my parents, since inevitably by mid-December there would be something else I had my eye on.

But one of the pleasures of adulthood is that I can buy myself what I need. This coat looks like something I might like. And I need a new monitor, and a new digital camera, too, although I bet I wait until the holiday sales begin before I start looking for those. Ah, the joys of retail therapy...

This week's column and calendar. And to answer the inevitable query: Miss Candy can be found here...

(It's Tuesday night, actually. But close enough to being Wednesday...)

I had a very weird day Monday. Not good weird, either. Perhaps I’ll talk about it some other time.

But today was fine.

I had a good time being evil to Blue Eyes, with the able assistance of Jae.

I had dinner with Miss K.

I hung out with Roman and smooched and got my feet massaged. (Which was actually the second time that day I’d had that pleasure – Jae had also rubbed them earlier. It’s charming how the people who love me figure out what I like.)

I listened to a CD I bought over the weekend - The Scissor Sisters: Ta-Dah. Good stuff.

Now I’m going to get in bed early, cuddle with Max, and read of some the books on my nightstand: And Only To Deceive, de Kooning: An American Master, and All I Need to Know about Filmmaking I Learned from the Toxic Avenger.

And I’m going to think good thoughts about a dear friend who’s having surgery in the morning.

Into each life a little weirdness must fall. But I’m not letting it get me down.

New weird-sexual-word for the day: Jelquing. I saw it over on BitchLab and I followed the Wiki link because I had no idea what it was. Wiki reports that…

“Jelquing is a technique intended to enlarge the penis by increasing the blood pressure in the penis, with the goal of permanently increasing the maximum erect size of the penis. This technique, also called “milking”, involves wrapping the thumb and index finger around the penis while semi-erect and repeatedly drawing them away from one’s body to force blood into the glans, thus encouraging more vascularity in the corpus cavernosa and associated tissues. Whether jelqing actually works or not is a subject of controversy.”

Now, I have heard people use the word milking before - my two definitions for it are here. And I know what I call "wrapping the thumb and index finger around the penis while semi-erect and repeatedly drawing them away from one’s body"- I call that "playing with yourself". (Not that there's anything wrong with that...) Imagine if the hero of Portnoy's Complaint had been able to tell himself what he was doing was therapeutic body modification...

I suppose I now have a new word for my unusual-sexual-practices vocabulary, although I think if you seriously imagine this is going to change the size of your dick, the jelqu’s on you, heh heh. (Yeah, I had to go there. I watched some old MST3K episodes on YouTube this weekend, and it had an unfortunate effect on me. Expect bad puns for a few days.)

I'm having a nice day with Roman today - we went out last night and had steaks at the Metropolitan Grill, and slept in late this morning. Nice and relaxing after the rather hectic pace of both our lives lately.
So while I enjoy a mellow afternoon, I hope you enjoy the new column...

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For my clients: I am indeed back in town and answering my phone. I was totally booked for today, but someone just had to cancel his 2-4 appointment today. That leaves a hole in my schedule...

So! If I know you, and you call me by one pm, I could see you today starting anytime up until 4pm. Call me and we’ll talk…(And I do have some time in the rest of the week, too.)

***EDIT: I'm now booked for today. Thank you, gentlemen...***

As I go jump on a jet plane, enjoy the new column...
And have a lovely weekend!

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: I’m calling to get an appointment for tonight.

Um, no, actually, you’re not, darlin’. You’re calling to get politely brushed off. It’s a young-sounding guy, talking in a kinda rushed, distracted-sounding voice, like he’s driving too fast on his way to a meeting and just wanted to get this little appointment booked and out of the way. I don’t care for it.

When I get these gimme-an-appointment kinds of calls, I’m aware of a one-two reaction in my head. Just for an instant, I feel myself rear up in offended hauteur: how dare you call me up, expecting to get time with me just like that? Dirty boy, you think you can just snap your fingers and I’ll make myself available? Pah, do you know who I am?

And then my sense of humor and my firm grip on reality kicks in and I say to myself, yes, Matisse, he knows who you are. You’re a chick with an ad in the back of The Stranger, with a picture of you wearing a PVC bathing suit. So cut the offended-diva act, okay? Because I can’t really blame the guy. What he's doing is exactly how many sex workers conduct business with clients, and he has no earthly way of knowing that it’s not how I operate.

But those of you who know me are rolling about laughing at the very idea of a stranger getting a same-day appointment. It’s been years since I’ve done those as a matter of course. If you’re a friend, and you catch me when I’ve had a cancellation, then that’s a whole different matter. I don’t mind guys I know calling me up and saying, “By any chance…?” But it’s quite rare for all the stars to align properly for that.

Even if I’d had nothing to do, I wouldn’t book time with this gentleman. I’ve gotten extremely picky about new guys. Sometimes they just strike me wrong, like this guy, and sometimes it’s because they ask for scenes that don’t turn me on. I feel sort of mean sometimes, because I know I’ve disappointed some people who were probably very nice, but there it is. I blame it all on my regular boys, who spoil me so badly, and who keep me both busy and happy.

I almost feel like I should take my ads out of the paper. But I hesitate. For one thing, I know not everyone keeps my number stored on their cell phone, and guys I have met before may rely on seeing those ads to remind them of how to reach me. Too, the guys who only see me two or three times a year may assume I’ve retired if my ad vanishes.

I’m trying to think of some wording for an ad that suggests: “You can call me, but I’m not meeting very many new people.” Right now it says, “Selectively accepting new clients”. My intention was that selectively would be the key word there, but I think most guys just jump right to the accepting new clients part. It’s not like I won’t meet anyone new - but not terribly many.

And this caller has begun badly. I like people to at least say Hello, my name is X, before demanding an appointment.

Me: I’m sorry, I’m not available. Have we met? (Even though I know we haven’t.)
Caller: Not available?
Me: That’s correct.
Caller: Not even late?
Me: (Sigh) No. I make appointments from 2pm to 8pm, and I’m usually booked several days in advance. Right now I’m booked until the 19^th.
Caller: The 19^th?

Is there an echo in here? He’s repeating this back to me in this stunned voice, like the idea that I’m too busy to see him has set his universe on it’s ear.

Me: (slowly) Yes, the 19^th.

Caller: Oh, well, I’m a very impulsive person. It’s hard for me to book things more than two days in advance.

That explains why he sounds so rushed. I’d be rushed too if I never booked anything more than two days ahead of time. What it doesn’t explain is why he’s telling me this in a tone of voice that suggests it’s a problem I should solve.

Me: Then the odds of you getting to see me are quite slim, because I am always booked out. You’re welcome to try some other time, but….
Caller: There’s nothing you can do for me?

I detest that phrase. I am not a used-car dealer. Believe me, my dear, if I could reach through the phone and give you a smart slap on the ass, I would. Or perhaps on top of your head. Since I can’t, no, there’s nothing I can do for you.

Me: No, sorry.
Caller: I can come late, like twelve or one.

Oh yeah, because I want to book a midnight session with a stranger who calls himself “very impulsive”. Not. Let’s run down the possible outcomes of that.

A) He won’t show up at all – far and away the most likely outcome.

B) He’ll show up drunk and/or coked to the gills.

C) Unlikely but always possible scenario: The young Mr. Poor-Impulse-Control will show up and be a capitol-P problem. (Especially if he’s drunk or high.) It’s not like ladies don’t ever get hassled or assaulted in the afternoon. But there’s something in the phrase “nothing good happens after midnight” when it comes to one-on-one sex work. The later at night an appointment with a stranger begins, the higher the chances of it going severely sideways. Thus, I do not book such appointments.

Me: No, sorry.

Click. He hangs up. Some days I am so glad I’m a diva.

Travel Musings

A question for the world travelers… Max and I want to take a vacation for a week or ten days in March or April. Somewhere warm and beach-y, and somewhere we can get to in five hours (or less) by plane.

The problem is we have slightly conflicting ideas about vacations. My idea of vacation is to sit on the beach all day, reading trashy novels and drinking umbrella drinks. My big event would be getting a hot stone-massage.

Max can do that for a day or two, but then he gets bored and wants to explore urban areas and sit in sidewalk cafés (preferably ones with internet access) and watch people.

So: where should we go?

I’m thinking Mexico. Hawaii is great, and I’m not ruling it out, but I think it’s a bit expensive for what you actually get. I’ve never been to Mexico, but I hear it’s fun and pretty and quite pleasant if you know where to go.

I grew up in Florida, so I’m unexcited about the idea of going back there for a vacation, although I’m not saying I never would. The Caribbean Islands aren’t all that enticing to me, either.

I considered a cruise – I can do umbrella drinks next to a pool, if necessary - but Max did one years ago and was pretty meh about the experience.

Thus, I’m looking for various resort-type places that are right on the beach, but which near are an urban-ish area, so Max can go roam around the town. I realize I’m describing Honolulu, but I’m looking for other options as well.

Let me be clear: I do not want to experience the real (insert name of location here). I do not want to meet people. I do not want to learn new things. I do not want adventure. I do all that at home, thankyouverymuch. What I want is to give a large portion of my brain the week off.

So one of those big beach resort hotels, where you don’t have to think about anything, and with all the amenities we ugly American take for granted, would suit me fine. I’d also be open to renting a condo in a nice building. Something geared to adults would be my first choice, as swarms of screaming children tend to harsh my mellow.

I considered one of those clothing-optional places, but while I quite like swimming and lounging about naked, I am not a swinger, and I am utterly uninterested in going to drunken toga parties and “making new friends” in the hot tub.

So: suggestions?

Scheduling Note To My Clients

I’m going to be out of town from Oct 13^th to the 16^th, and I’m already booked for most the time before I leave - Thurs the 12^th is totally booked, for example. I will make perhaps one or two more appointments at most before my trip. So speak now, or hold your peace - not forever, though, just until I return. (Although I see that at the moment, I’m already booked up for the 17^th, too, and for Friday the 20^th.)
Yes, it’s hard to get time with me sometimes, but I hope my favorite guys will persevere.

Zoom!

I'm having a busy day today, but to entertain you, here's the new column and calendar.

A Letter From A Reader

Mistress Matisse:

Long time reader of your Stranger column. Love your work.

I know it is weird for me to be asking this sort of very personal question, but quite honestly I don't know who better to ask on the planet than you. The anonymity helps too. If this is a faux pas of some sort, then I apologize in advance! And I also apologize in advance for going on and on about myself.

Basically, I'm a submissive guy. Now that isn't very interesting or unusual, I know. It's more in the emotional, relationship sense and less in the bedroom sense, if there's any difference between the two (is there? you probably know better than me).

I simply don't want it to be about what *I* want.

I want to be able to give myself up completely to a woman who expects it and even demands it, and serve her yet still retain my dignity and my basic equality as a human being. If that makes any sense. But I don't know what to do about it.

Well, I can tell you some things right off the bat. Stop putting yourself down, and stop apologizing so much. Some guys think dominant women find that attractive. We don’t. It feels like you’re manipulating us for an inappropriate amount of reassurance.

What you’re describing, when you say you want to, “retain my dignity and my basic equality as a human being” – well, darlin’, that’s what every submissive wants. I have met a few people who claimed they wanted to have their dignity and their basic humanity stripped away from them, but a) that’s rare and b) I don't think it’s an emotionally healthy goal.

So aside from them, every submissive says “I don’t want it to be about what I want.” Of course you don’t. That would defeat the purpose.

But in another sense, you do, because you want to feel the way you want to feel. Thus is the challenge for the top in consensual, erotic, dominant/submissive relationships.

So yes, in that arena, you’re quite normal. What puzzles me is the remark about being submissive in the relationship but not in the bedroom? That’s the opposite of what I often hear, which is that someone wants to be sexually submissive but operate as an equal in the rest of the relationship. So I think what you’re saying is that you want a bossy controlling woman to have more-or-less vanilla sex with? That’s perfectly okay – bossy women need love too - let’s just get that clear.

The letter continues:

For one thing, no woman I've ever dated has ever been emotionally dominant. Perhaps it's because I live in the Midwest, (city deleted), but they generally want the man to "be a man" and take charge. Which is fine... I can fake dominance with the best of them. But that leaves me unfulfilled and the relationships never last that long.

If you want a dominant woman, you gotta go where the ducks are instead of just hoping one falls into your lap. (Or perhaps more appropriately, onto your face.) The area of the country has nothing to do with it, sweetheart, especially since you named a pretty large city. It’s not like you’re in Cowflop, Arkansas. And really, since the internet came around, you can find kinky people wherever you are. I’ve been to your town, so I happen to know that there are kink resources there. Here’s what you need to do to access them.

So I should turn to a pro, right?

Okay, this is where the conclusion-leaping really gets going. No, you should definitely not turn to a pro. Far from it. A pro domme is not a substitute for a partner, especially when what you want is to be submissive in an “emotional, relationship sense.” I’m fond of all my boys, but I am not a replacement for a girlfriend or a wife.

I apologize if I say the wrong thing, since this is your turf, but it seems like with a pro, the man is paying the dominatrix and telling her what to do. Therefore, she is serving him. No matter how much they roleplay, there is no escaping the reality of that central transaction. If I give you five hundred bucks and order you to boss me around, then you're just following my orders. Again, I'm not trying to impugn what you do but at least for me personally, it kind of defeats the purpose. So it seems like in any emotional relationship with a female, I always have to be boss.

My dear boy, you are very far from the first person to try and float this line of thinking to me. Actually, you can even subtract the money aspect from it completely, and most every kinky person will tell you they’ve heard this one before. The "dominance is an illusion because the bottom is really in control" is an old, old argument.

But you’re wrong. True, BDSM spins on consent. The bottom can withdraw consent at any time, and the dominant must stop, or else what’s happening becomes abuse or assault. That’s true in a scene, or in the relationship as a whole. You can never permanently give up your right to withdraw consent. So yes, the submissive always has that power.

When people come to me initially, I do indeed have them give me some ideas about what they think they’d like to explore. I do that in part because it gives me pleasure to make people analyze and vocalize their intimate fantasy. They often blush and stammer, it's quite charming.

And hearing people answer my questions is part of how I feel their consent to what I’m about to do. Saying the words aloud has a power, it's a little like casting a spell. Anyone can just haul off and hit someone, or bark orders at them. There's no art in that, no magic - that's just being a bully. A good dominant creates another world for herself and her submissive. And makes them want to inhabit it.

Don't believe me? You try going to a pro domme and “ordering” her to boss you around. Go ahead. Just try. Tell her she has to “follow your orders”, and that you’re the boss, because you’re paying her. You’ll be on the sidewalk, pal. That’s not how this works. That’s not how it works with any good dominant, no matter what incentive you offer them to play with you. Thus, I can infer that you haven't ever had a really good dominant/submissive experience.

However, the point is moot, because by your persistent use of the phrase “emotional relationship”, you make it clear that you need a lover, not a pro domme. But what this bit sounds like to me is someone talking themselves into believing that they can’t win, so they are excused from having to try. It’s defeatist.

On to the next paragraph:

Also, you admit that in your own relationship, you are submissive to your primary boyfriend. (I think I remember something about you being a starship and he's the Death Star.) So that got me thinking. If even you, a card-carrying dominant female in a blue state, can only truly love a man if he is dominant over you, that means I should probably just grow up, be a man and take charge, right?

Whoa, whoa, whoa – what? Where on earth did you get the notion that I can “only truly love a man if he is dominant”? Roman would be extremely surprised to hear that, given that I love him and we don’t have a D/s relationship of any kind. You’re totally wrong here, and what I’m seeing you do, again, is take a small piece of information – that I sometimes bottom  – and twist it until it fits into your defeatist mind-set.

Isn't my little desire to be "owned" (not literally, but you know what I mean) just plain selfish of me... childishly demanding from the woman what she considers to be the best part of being a woman in a relationship with a man?

Once again, defeatist, and also I’m feeling that “reassure me, mistress, reassure me,” tug at my sleeve. It’s not that wanting reassurance is inherently bad, but you’re asking for it in a passive-aggressive way. Since you’re a long-time reader of my writing, you know perfectly well that I support D/s relationships, and you know I’m not going to tell you that it’s selfish of you to want to be a slave. So why approach me like this? If you can’t be honest even in an email to a BDSM person who you will never meet face-to-face, how can you ever hope to get what you want with a real person? It has to start somewhere.

I’ve addressed the “how do I find a partner” question endlessly both here and in the Stranger column, so I’m not going to get into that here. But it’s not just about getting in the same room with a kinky woman – you have to be emotionally ready as well. Your anxiety about who you are is inhibiting your ability to just accept yourself. Your view of kink, and women, and what kinky women want, is all very one-dimensional and rigid. That’s not how healthy human sexuality works, and if you don’t learn flexibility, even if you find a dominant women, your D/s relationships will fail. If you keep putting yourself down for being submissive, and telling yourself that what you want doesn’t exist anyway, over time you’ll harden into a classic Mr. Defensive, and that’s not a person you want to be.

Thank you for your time in reading that long email, and again love your work. Have a great day.

Well, we’ll see if you still think I’m so great after this dose of tough-love. But as I said in my private reply to you, I think there are a lot of people in the world who might benefit from some of it as well. What you want is out there, but it’s going to take some work to get it. Good luck to you in that journey.

Speaking of photos, Roman has a bunch of links to photos of Folsom Street Fair over on his blog. There are some in the comment string as well. Not safe for work viewing, but otherwise delightful...

I'm Glad It's Monday So I Can Relax.

Well, not really. But it was a crazy weekend, with a big private party Saturday night, and the bondage class and party at the Wet Spot last night. I’ve had no time to write. But here’s a picture from the event I was at Saturday night.

My friend T. has been placed into a leather body-bag and laced into a metal frame, so that he’s suspended in the air. It’s a fairly low-stress bondage experience, but you can hardly move at all. (I should remark that it's low-stress unless some evil man takes the pin out and spins that frame end over end, which did happen, eep!)

So T. looked so nice all encased and strung up that we decided a certain cute (and petite) lady should stretch out on top of him and relax. I mean, she was wearing these awfully high heels. It hurts a girl's feet to be standing up in those all evening.

Poor guy. It's terrible what we do to people in Seattle...

From the Mailbag

Dear Matisse,

I occasionally peruse the escort ads and use their services. However, I am really looking for a specific service (it’s nothing too weird) but have often been disappointed because I didn’t really get what I wanted. I’ve sometimes tried to ask but the girls I call are always hesitant to talk about their services for fear I’m a cop or part of a sting - which I completely understand. How do I broach the subject and find out if I can get what I’m looking for before setting up an 'encounter'?

You can’t. Not if it involves asking for anything illegal. People ask me this all the time, on both sides of the equation, and it always sort of puzzles me. I recall a young escort getting really upset with me because I “wouldn’t” tell her the proper way to inform a prospective customer that she’d do sex for money. The proper way meaning: a way that was completely clear to the client, but a way in which no police officer would know (or be able to prove) what she meant. She refused to believe me that I didn’t know of any such way.

There are certain terms and phrases, of course. But vice cops are just as up on code words and jargon as sex workers and their clients - that’s their job, after all. And if there was some easy and reliable word game you could play to get around the laws, the laws wouldn’t be much good, would they? Not that they are terribly effective as they stand. And not that I agree with them for an instant. But one has to deal with things as they are, not as one wishes them to be.

There are escort review boards, of course, although you shouldn’t believe everything you read there. And you should assume that cops read those boards, too.

So, no, there is no risk-free way to negotiate illegal services with a stranger. If you do that – and lots of people do – you do so at a certain level of risk. Is it a big risk? When you look at how many people, on both sides, who engage in sex for money each day, versus how many of those people get arrested, you could say the risk is relatively small. Of course, if it’s you who gets busted, it’s not going to matter that you’re the exception to the rule.

You do have my sympathy in your dilemma, but the only advice I can offer would be: you can either spend the money to shop around until you meet someone who does what you’re looking for and stick with her, or you can hunt for cheap airfares to Nevada, where prostitution is legal. In the meantime, stop voting for law-and-order conservatives who promise to “clean up” crime, because this is the dirty stuff they’re talking about.

I'm home. I had a lovely, lovely time, but it's good to be back. I missed my darling Max, and I missed Roman, and my cat was quite put out with me for being gone so long.

So while I unpack, entertain yourself with the new column... Fans of the silly phone calls will enjoy it.

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Public Service Announcement

So if you were in our suite last night and you've lost your glasses, we have them...

***

Yikes! I'm deep in the usual about-to-leave-town, have-a-million-things-to-do panic. But as promised, my advice to those concerned about the recent fake-sex-ad issue on Craig's List. Dan Savage also addresses the incident in his column, and I agree with his take on it.

Bye!

I came home last night after kissing Roman goodbye for a few days – due to our jam-packed schedule for the next week, we won’t have another real date until Thursday the 28^th, so we had to get a lot of kissing (and other things) in before that separation. I mean, we’ll see each other at Folsom, but he’s there to have face time with some of his major customers, and sell rope/perform at the street fair. It’ll be a mad swirl of activity, so we’ll have some stolen smooches, but we’re not counting on a lot more than that. However, as Max and I noticed while he was away on his trip, sometimes missing the one you love can be a sweet thing, when you know it won't be for too-too long.

Since I’m on the subject of relationships, perhaps I should give you an update on the various people in my world. There’s a sweet young thing, often to be found in my house lately, who we will call Puck. (Yes, as in Shakespeare’s Puck.) She’s wearing Max’s collar. She survived what sounded like a fairly eventful road-trip with Max and she still seems to like him, so that’s good. And she’s going down to Folsom with him. Just in case you were wondering what kinky people do for fun on a chilly Tuesday night: yesterday she and Max took part in a rubber-duck race. That’s not a typo. In celebration of Puck’s birthday, a number of people went to the new flowing fountain at Cal Anderson Park with those yellow plastic rubber ducks and raced them. While I’m told competition was brutal, it’s unclear to me who won. However, when I came home from my date with Roman, I found a souvenir on my keyboard.

Looks perfectly appropriate for “Talk Like a Pirate” day.

I have been asked about Xavier. Yes, he’s a real person, and yes, he’s a lot of fun. I’m not being deliberately mysterious about him, it’s simply that unlike Max and Roman, Xavier has not expressed any interest in being written about, and he has no public persona in the BDSM community that I can reference. What I can say about him is that he played me the song “Brand New Key”, as covered by an artist named RobinElla, and now it is totally stuck in my head.

Rope. Rubber duckies. Rollerskates. So goeth the days and nights of a professional dominatrix.

Example #437 of how I have the coolest clients in the world: In response to my angsty post about buggy OS reinstalls and missing drivers, the sweet guy who actually gave me the otherwise-fabulous laptop to begin with (whom I am hereby dubbing Jet because I hate doing the one-initial thing), called me yesterday, made arrangements to meet me in a coffee shop, and spent an hour and half of his not-very-abundant time fixing my machine. I’m very happy now. Yes, I could have paid someone to do it, and given a lot of time and patience I might have been able to puzzle it out myself, but I’m extremely grateful to Jet for taking the trouble. My guys are so good to me.

Other client events: I also met with a new client yesterday, who was so extremely nervous that he was sweating and visibly trembling. I mean – this was happening while he was just sitting in the living room talking to me. I was concerned that he had some medical condition I would need to be careful of, so I asked him and he told me, no, he was just nervous. It was sort of endearing, although when someone is that nervous, it’s hard for me to tell if the scene is working for them. I have a number of ways of measuring enthusiasm and overall happiness with the scene – facial expression, body language, tone of voice, and, ahem, other physical indications… Someone who walks into the room in a highly nervous state skews all those cues. So one has to just take them on faith. Fortunately it was not a physically intense scene – mainly foot worship, which happens to be one of my favorites. He was very sweet guy and I hope we meet again.

Very Good Thing In My Life:

Max is home from his trip! Yay! My sweetheart is back! We get to spend 4 days together and then he leaves Friday for Folsom, and I leave the day afterwards.

A Not-So-Good Thing:

My laptop is acting up. Basically, I could not reliably connect to the web, and I thought it was a software conflict issue, so I re-installed the OS from the boot disk. That didn't go very smoothly, though - I got a lot of messages about how it couldn't find various files. I went on with the install anyway, and it boots up and everything, but now the ethernet light isn't showing green and I cannot get an internet connection at all. Arg.

I’m leaving town Saturday and this needs to be resolved by then. Anyone have a laptop repair place they like close to Capitol Hill?

Edited to add: The other good thing? I just realized - there's an H&M in San Francisco now! w00t! I am so there.

I'll write a real post for tomorrow, but in the meantime, enjoy the new column....

My dear readers: Yes, I am very much aware of the RF Jason thing. I am always pleased to know what's on your minds, but please, at last count I'd gotten some fifty-odd emails telling me about it. I'm on it, really. Look for a column with my opinion in next week's Stranger.

What did I do over the weekend?

Well, I implemented a new (to me and Xavier, anyway) form of bondage: twenty-five pound bags of salt! My ever-thoughtful Roman conceived of the idea, and provided me with the bags themselves. He uses them in his dye process. It’s so nice to have sweetly supportive poly-partners.

Xavier lay down on the floor and I piled them on his arms and legs, pinning him (mostly) down. It was great fun, but dammit, Xavier, being both large and strong, is not an easy guy to immobilize. Perhaps fifty-pound bags next time.

And I also went out to dinner and a movie with my darling Roman. As a reward for a booth-bunny job well done, he took me to see Crank. Roman is very good at picking movies I'll like, and this one stars Jason Statham, who I have loved since I saw him in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.

Afterwards we had dinner at the Buenos Aires Grill, where we had a meat orgy to rival the BBQ we ate in Austin last week. And we still took home a box full of leftovers - there was about twice as much food as could eat, and we ate a lot. So I strongly recommend the family-style mixed grill, even if I did accidentally consume some sweetbread before I realized that I was eating a pancreas, for god’s sake. I am very strange about food sometimes. Muscle meats = good, organ meats = eeeeeeew! I know it’s absurd, but there it is.

Where is my sweet Max in this weekend, you ask? Out of town, actually, on his annual roar-around-at-high-speed-road-trip. I hope he and his companion are have a lovely time. While I miss him, I have been enjoying having a few days to myself quite thoroughly. I expect to continue to do so…

Today, I have not one but two pieces in The Stranger. The regular column, and a separate article about local porn producers Rodney Moore and Farrell Timlake.

In other news: I so cannot wait to see this show. It's going to be amazing.

Bye!

So, now that the roaring insanity of my life has been whipped back onto its haunches… I believe I promised to tell ya'll something about my trip to Texas.

I have to consider what can I talk about, though. It would be indiscreet to tell some of the stories here, you see. Like how during one of the bondage (?) classes, Extremely Annoying Presenter X was adroitly skewered by a barbed remark from the back row, and I laughed so hard I had to duck down in the booth to try to control myself. No, I shouldn't say any more about that one.

Some of them you just had to be there for. Like GrayDancer’s keynote speech – soon to be featured on his podcast – during which he stripped down from a garish kimono, to a t-shirt that said “100% Kimono Boy”*, and then to a rope corset and g-string, and then to no clothes whatsoever. Yep, that's right, buck naked, in front of all of us. That took guts. I generally hate speeches and ceremonies, but I liked this one.

The important part is: Twisted Monk sold a ton of rope. I mean – wow. A lot. And it was really interesting for me to be there sort of incognito. (I was not introducing myself as Matisse, you see.) A handful of people knew who I was, but I think I largely flew under the radar, which was just fine with me. I get plenty of time in the spotlight - this was Roman’s show. It was great to see all the people that wanted to see him and talk to him and get rope from him – he worked really hard to create what he’s got, and I’m proud of him.

We did co-star Saturday night, though, because the same sweet pretty girl that we did the kidnapping scene with offered us a re-match at the dungeon party. So we did what any right-thinking perverts would do. We threw Miss Red down on the floor, Roman sliced off her clothes with a knife, and we proceeded to pummel, clamp, flog, crop and pierce her naked body.

Now, there are some thing you can count on at any dungeon party, and one of them is that is you get a cute girl naked, people are going to stop and look at your scene. So I’m thinking that was one of the reasons why, when I stepped back for a moment to catch my breath, I saw that damn near everyone who wasn’t engaged in play already was standing at the minimum polite distance away, watching us. It was flattering, if slightly startling, because I hadn’t been aware of them all coming to our corner of the room.

But perhaps another reason was that Roman and I put on a good show when we co-top. The party attendees weren’t the only ones watching, however. I forget sometimes that other places are not as bloodsports-friendly as Seattle.

Snippet of an email I sent to a freind the next day:

Monk and I thrashed this cute girl last night, and the damn Dungeon Monitor stood over our scene the whole time scowling. I think he didn't like us doing needles. But hey, there were no rules against them.

My pal's reply:

Imagine - the Austin ROPE Symposium, and the DM didn't like needles! You are such a nasty transgressive girl.

Oh yeah. I forgot. You get spoiled in your hometown, when everybody knows you, and the DMs don’t bother you. Especially when the hometown is Seattle. The scene we did with Miss Red was pretty to look at, extremely fun to do, and definitely physically intense for her. However, it would not be regarded as edgy or dangerous here in Seattle. In Austin, however, the DM acted as if we were about to do heart surgery with chainsaws. Oy. It did not enhance the mood.

But we had a good time in spite of that. There were actually a number of attractive Austin people I would have enjoyed playing with, and I regretted that by Sunday night I was really too tired to do another scene. But perhaps I’ll get other opportunities.

______

*Gray is not, in fact, a Kimono Boy, which is what made it so funny. However, I imagine that there probably was a serious Kimono Boy or two in the audience.

Also: I have time tomorrow and Friday, so if you've been thinking of seeing me, call me...

Okay, I know I said I’d tell stories today – but I’m buried under a small avalanche of obligations and deadlines. More soon, I swear.
I will share one snippet of information, though. If you ever wish to engage in a meat orgy near Austin, this would be the place. And dear god, they even have mail-order. That's dangerous. Thanks to Goose & Gander, Hannah, and Red & Chance for turning Roman and I on to this fleshy delight, and for all their helpful hospitality this past weekend.

Back Home
Short Version: I had a very good time in Texas. I ate great BBQ, thrashed a cute girl, helped Roman sell a lot of rope, and hung out with some cool folks.
Now I have to get caught up with my life after being gone for five days, so more stories tomorrow!