From The Mailbag

Hi Mistress Matisse,

I have a friend in an Master/slave relationship (she's the slave) and from some of the things she's said, I think it's not going well….(edited for length)
1) She has considerable familial pressure to get married to the M, and deep down, I think she longs for it, too. So she in turn pressures him to marry, which is probably breaking the rules, but whatever...
2) I've only met the M a few times, and my impression was that he was kind of just using her, but that he's gradually grown to love her and reluctantly entered the M/s phase but he remains a big doof who doesn't deserve her, let alone to be Master over her. I may not be understanding how the dynamic works, but she's explicitly stated that.
3) She doesn't trust him to make the right decisions and she worries that they pushed this too soon. (Fair enough, I wouldn't trust the guy to water my plant).
4) She feels as though, in the community, only a slave has value and that a sub is a meaningless place holder. She feels like she HAS to be a slave.
My suspicion is that she's latched on to this guy in response to issues like "Daddy Abandoned Me"…and other old-boyfriend issues. I think she knows that she can go out and find another guy - she's got the "look" - but I think she's afraid of having another failed relationship. And then there's the whole feeling like a "sub" is worthless and she needs to be a slave.
In the past I've not hesitated to tell her to Lose the Loser but that I'll stand by her no matter what, but I don't want to violate a sacred trust if I can avoid it. What's your take on this? Is it a huge faux pas to try to employ liberation theology, here? Barring that, is there anything I can do or say or any direction I can point her to help her get through this?
Thanks,
X

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Sacred trust? Bah. It’s nothing of the kind. Frankly, I don’t think I’d label any adult relationship sacred. Important and meaningful, sure. But not sacred.

And regardless of what activities they engage in and what they call their roles, I think anyone in any relationship should ask for what they want, and if they aren’t getting it, then they have the right to consider what they need to do about that. Your friend may like to call herself a slave, but the reality is she’s a free agent and can do as she pleases.

So stripped of all the BDSM trimmings, what’s going on is: your pal has a partner you think isn’t right for her. Can you tell her to dump him? Sure. Will she listen? I very much doubt it. Will it do any good? None whatsoever.

Everyone has been here at one time or another. I myself have a friend in a similar circumstance right now. I’m waiting, patiently, for her to realize she can do so much better. And that’s all I can do – wait. I could keep telling her, over and over, that her lover is a looooooooooser. But it would not change matters one bit. In affairs of the heart, people very rarely listen to anyone else’s advice.

Put yourself in her place – haven’t you ever been the one with the partner everyone said was a waste of DNA? I’ve had one or two of those, and I was always sure that my friends were simply mistaken, that they just didn’t understand that my sweetie had hidden stellar qualities. In time, I was sure they’d all see their error and come to value my darling the way I did.

Ha. They were right, I was wrong, and eventually, I wised up and dumped the loser in question. (No, I’m not referring to anyone who has even been mentioned on this blog. I’m going back to the late nineties.) However, one has to get to the dumping point in one’s own head and heart, even when the process sucks. Loved ones can watch and wish they could spare us heartache, and we often wish they could, too. Jack Twist is not the only one who ever wished he knew how to quit someone. But it’s going to take as long as it does.

To me, it sounds like she needs therapy more than anything, because even if she broke up with this guy, as long as her operating system is out of whack, she’ll just pick someone else who will participate in her dysfunction. But you can’t make anyone else do that, either. No one does anything until they are ready to, and all the advice in the world is not going to make your friend leave this guy, or get into therapy, or anything. All you can do is assure her that you’ll be her pal and love her no matter what.

***************************************

Dear Ms,

I am a (EDITED: he’s European) man, 50 years old living in (European country) for the moment. Been a sub/slave for 5 years. I do have some experience as i am trained to serve domestic, even pain and bondage. Been long time in chastity as well, 8 months at the most, milking prostate during that time.
I crave to become a real slave, into a situation with no end, total slavery, even financially. Note that i have a very well-paid job and as well earning money at the stockmarket.
I crave to become a slave under total control, the Ms control what I wear, eat, financial servitude (my salary goes to Ms account and I live on an allowance for example), chastity, no more women etc...
is it possible??
slave X

******************************************

Is it possible? Anything’s possible. Is it likely? Not in my experience. No one in my immediate circle has a dominant/submissive relationship like the one you’re describing. I have seen some situations that resembled it in some ways. But you know, very few of them lasted very long. Either the level of the D/s gradually dropped, or the relationship ended. I don’t think that’s sheer coincidence. The situation you’re describing has always looked to me somewhat like being a parent of a child who never grows up. I’m not saying that slaves are childish. But that’s a very high level of attention/direction to be focusing on another human being’s moment-to-moment behavior, and it’s simply never appealed to me.

However, I am just one woman, and other women will feel differently. The fact that you could support a mistress financially is a strong point in your favor. I cannot tell you how many men have asked to be my live-in, full-time slave under the assumption that folding laundry and making the beds would pay for their keep, no further financial contributions required.

But recognize that you are asking for a very large commitment of time and energy from a woman. I don’t know as much about the European scene as I do the US, but I’m thinking that unless you want to come to an arrangement with a professional domme, you are going to have spend a lot of time looking for this mistress, and you will probably have to be flexible about things like her age and her looks. And whatever happens, it’s not going to look just like your fantasy, because real life never does.

My only advice is to stay open to people and situations that may not be exactly what you thought you wanted, because you might find something that suits you very well. Otherwise, I wish you luck…

So, this past weekend I was formally inducted into the Official Nerd club. I have a lot of nerdy/geeky tendencies anyway – I read a lot, I don’t watch TV, I’m about five years behind on most pop music, and I hate most sports. I’m an undercover nerd - sex bomb on the outside, geeky introvert on the inside. And I’m okay with that.

But last Saturday I participated for the first time in a rite of social passage for the deeply unhip, and that is: a role playing game. Now, I can already hear the protests – how dare I call RPG nerdy? It’s kewl. People, no. It’s fun. But it’s pretty seriously nerdy/geeky. It’s nerdier than being in the band in high school. (Which I wasn’t, although I dated guys in the band, so there you go.) It’s nerdier than being in the Science and Math club in college. (I wasn’t in that, either, although I cracked up every time they announced the next meeting of the S&M club in the dining hall.) And it’s nerdier than not knowing a damn thing about Runway. (Which I don’t. Except that I think Seal’s wife is on it. Since Seal had a lot of big hits in the nineties, I know who he is.)

Not surprisingly, many of my kinky pals are also pretty geeky/nerdy. (There is a definite overlap between certain social subcultures. For example, take these groups: BDSM people, pagans, Ren Faire people, Goths, poly people, and science fiction/fantasy fans. These social groups interlock like the Olympic rings – if you actively participate in any one of them, you definitely know people in some of the others. And chances are good you actually belong to more than one group. Why is this true? That I can’t say, although it’s amusing to speculate about after a drink or two.)

I knew that my pal Griffin was a gamer and that he has, in fact, designed and published his own game. And when Griffin found out I’d never done RPG, well, that just wouldn’t do. So he and his lovely partner Liss organized a dinner and game-playing night, designed to introduce little old me into the joys of RPG.

We played Vampire: The Requiem, because while I’ve read some Tolkien, I’m not really into the classic D&D characters and storylines. So we did the vampire-themed game, which I’m told is a favorite of teenage Goths everywhere. I wore extra black eyeliner for the occasion.

It was lots of fun. Griffin is a good game-master, and Galahad and Monk are experienced gamers who are highly amusing to watch. I was slightly self-conscious about being the only new person, and I was just kinda feeling my way along, trying to learn the rhythm of the thing. But the boys both threw themselves into character and totally went with the story. Tambo, Nerdygirl, and Alex also played, and they were quite good, too. (It entertains me no end that Monk’s sweet, soft-spoken wife Tambo likes to play feral, violent characters whose solution to any problem is to kill something.)

And while wouldn't want to do it every weekend, I can see why people dig this. It’s a fun way to interact with your friends, and it’s a creative, active thing - sort of like group story-telling, where everyone takes a turn making up the action.

So just in case you thought I spent every weekend beating my slaves - imagine me instead laughing with my friends around a dining-room table as I roll the dice to see if I can shove a stake through the heart of another vampire. Oooo, kinky.

This is one of those brief-entry-because-I’m-busy-writing-a-column posts. So, some random thoughts I had today...

About books: Did you know that it takes an average of 475 hours to write a fiction title and 725 hours to write a nonfiction title?

About my latest expensive addictions: fresh pineapple and blueberries - why couldn’t I just love chocolate like a normal girl? And Sledge long-sleeved T-shirts.

About my fashion abberations: Every now and then the urge to wear something pink overwhelms me.

About my latest cheesy eighties pleasures from iTunes: Radioactive and Satisfaction Guaranteed, by The Firm. I know, I know - The Firm? But it’s Paul Rodgers and Jimmy Page, for god’s sake. How can that be bad? I used to dance (as in: strip) to Satisfaction Guaranteed all the time when I worked down south many years ago. It’s got that great hip-grindy beat and the suggestive refrain, and for some reason the serious blue-collar guys, with the farmer’s tans and the permanent line of black under their beat-to-hell fingernails, loved this song. Friday afternoons between 6 and about 8, the bar’s full of construction workers who just got paid, the DJ would play me this song, and I’d totally bank. It's funny how many of my music-memories involve stripping.

Books On My Bedside Table...

Who Was The Man In The Iron Mask? And Other Historical Mysteries, by Hugh Ross Williamson.
“This is a title of historical "whodunits", in which the author uses techniques of modern detection to answer such questions as: Who was Elizabeth I's father? Did Buckingham poison James I? Who was the Man in the Iron Mask? And who was King Charles I's executioner?” It's sort of dense, with small print and a lot of footnotes. Total history-geek stuff. I’m loving it.

Smart Women Finish Rich by David Bach
My mom gave me this for Christmas, since she’s aware that I’m gotten quite interested in personal investing over the last few years. Part of it is questions to ask yourself about what you want from your investments, which is very thought-provoking. For example, since I don't have children, I have no interest in building up wealth to leave them. I'm all about providing for myself in my old age.
The other part is advice on how to actually pick your investments, which is less pressing to me because I have an extremely good personal financial advisor who tells me what I should do, and plus I have Max, who knows his way around basic personal investment quite well and is happy to explain stuff to me. But education is never a waste.

The Great Mortality: An Intimate History of the Black Death, the Most Devastating Plague of All Time, by John Kelly
“The author tracks the medieval plague from its beginnings in Central Asia to its devastating impact on the teeming cities of Europe, painting a vivid picture of what the end of the world looked like in the 14th century.” My interest in history has typically been in post- Renaissance periods, but I do like socio-medical stuff, and this was interesting. You know that Monty Python sketch where the medieval guy is wheeling a cart along crying out, “Bring out your dead!” and people are throwing bodies onto it? Apparently they actually did that.

A Thread Across the Ocean: The Heroic Story of the Transatlantic Cable, by John Steele Gordon.
“Shedding fascinating new light on an American saga, Gordon explores the laying of the transatlantic cable in 1866, one of the greatest engineering feats of the 19th century.” I’m not so much on American history, but the engineering aspect of this caught my fancy. Strange to consider that communication between America and Europe used to be only as fast as a ship could sail. And it looks like Gordon gets into the personalities of the different people, which is what makes a book like this interesting to me.

The Family That Couldn't Sleep: a Medical Mystery, by D. T. Max
"Beginning with the story of an Italian clan whose members die of a mysterious inability to sleep, Max traces science's tortuous path toward understanding prion diseases—a category that includes scrapie in sheep, B.S.E. in cows, and kuru, a disease spread by cannibalism which decimated one New Guinean tribe." I think I mentioned this a few weeks ago, and it’s as good as I thought it would be. I now have a basic grasp of what prions are, and how they work - or don’t. Not for the hypochondriacs, though, or the easily suggestible. You’ll start flipping yourself out every time you can’t sleep, thinking you have prion disease.

The Life and Revolutionary Times of Eugene Vidocq: Criminal, Spy and Private Eye, by James Morton. “A gloriously enjoyable historical romp through the eighteenth century - in the company of a man who was many things to many men - a jewel thief, a spy, a policeman and a private eye.” Exactly the sort of thing I like - a biography of an unusual and little-known person who led an interesting and varied life. I haven’t started it yet, but it looks like great fun.

Breaking The Spell: Religion As A Natural Phenomenon, by Daniel Clement Dennett
This looks fascinating. It’s a scientific analysis of religion and it’s pros and cons, and a discussion of how religion came to be in the first place. Although human nature being what it is, anything that can be called opiate of the masses could hardly fail to be invented. I'm sure it'll be quite thought-provoking.

It’s last Tuesday, I’m sitting in my office, and the scene outside my window is dazzling white. I’m working on the computer, being happy that I don’t have to leave my house today, when the phone rings…

Ring ring!

I weigh the wisdom of answering it at all, but it might be someone I actually want to talk to, so…

Me: Hello?
Caller: Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes, this is she.
Caller: Yeah, how soon could you be at the Westin?

Now, that’s a question with many different answers. If I could tell Scotty to beam me there, I could arrive instantly. If I had wings and could fly, I bet I could be there in ten minutes. If my mother was there on her deathbed, I would get there very quickly even if I had to steal the neighbor’s Jeep.
But as it is, the answer for this caller is: never. Never, ever, in this lifetime, as far as you’re concerned, pal.

(Long-term readers and real-life clients will know already how outrageously rude I find it when strangers start out by just assuming I’m going to grace them with my presence merely because they wish it, and that the only point to be negotiated is when and where. Ha. There are qualifications to meeting me that go beyond the possession of a phone and a copy of The Stranger’s back pages. Mainly: I have to think I’d like you. I don’t think I’d like this man.)

And I’m not really interested in discussing this at length.

Me: No.
Caller: What?
Me: I said no.
Caller: Well, when could you be here?

Excuse me, are we having the same conversation?

Me: (very slowly) No. I am not coming to the Westin.

There’s a long pause, like he’s waiting for me to explain myself further. I don’t. With this caller’s apparent lack of listening skills, I think less is definitely more.

Caller: So you can’t come down here?

I don’t believe I used the word “can’t”. That word subtly implies a sense of constraint, and I feel perfectly at ease about not going to Westin to meet this caller. But let’s not quibble.

Me: That’s correct.

Click. He hangs up.

I go back to my work. I need to get a separate line for my good boys…

The Mistress is a busy girl today.... so entertain yourself with the new column.

Prompted by a reader comment yesterday, here is a snippet from a type of email I get occasionally…

Why don’t you write about what you really think about your work/clients?…Your fears and dark moods? You’re always so artificially upbeat and perky, you’re not a spooky mistress, you’re like a cheerleader!

Spooky? I think this particular person has confused BDSM with Goth. No, I am not spooky. I am kinky.

And I am always mildly surprised when random people tell me that I should be writing this blog to suit their specifications. (Especially when you consider that hey folks, you ain’t paying me for this. If you want to hire me to write something, you just speak right up and we’ll talk about that.)

I don’t write about my sex-worker angst because I don’t have any. Bear in mind, I’ve been in the industry since I was nineteen. I’ve worked through a lot of the beginner issues and I’m in a really good place with my career now. Sure, I get stressed and cranky sometimes. That power outage last month? I had to cancel appointments, I lost money, and I was so cranky about that. I was the newly-elected Mayor Of Crankyville during those few days. Believe me.

But huge, sweeping bouts of work-related emotional trauma that encompass my whole being? Nah. Doesn’t happen. I’m a boringly even-keeled kinda girl. I hear that I’m messing with your ideas of what a sex worker thinks and feels, but – deal.

And – as I say this for perhaps the ten thousandth time – questions like this presuppose that I have an adversarial relationship with my clients. That's way off base. I’ve met a few genuine assholes in the course of my career – although not as many as you’d think. Most guys I’ve met had good intentions. Sometimes they just need to be schooled a bit in the fine points.

Far more than assholes, I’ve met guys who didn’t mean any harm, exactly, but who had a lot of intense issues about their own sexuality. I can help with that in some cases, but some guys bring so much negative energy to the session that I simply can’t deal with them. It’s too bad, but the amount of work it takes to stay centered and keep good boundaries with someone like that – it’s exhausting. I’d rather spend the time with someone with whom I can relax.

So I’ve phased out all the guys that I didn’t like playing with, and I’ve learned how to pick new clients that I will like. And I have worked my way to a place where I do get to pick and choose. I hardly see anyone new anymore, it’s almost all guys I know. They treat me extremely well, and I try to treat them just as well in return. To include: protecting their privacy. I take that very seriously.

True, some guys tell me, “You can write about me, I’m okay with that.” But there are still problems with that, as I talked about here. I don’t want my guys to feel jealous and competitive, so I don’t write much about clients at all.

Sex work is not something I do in order to have something interesting to write about. This is my career. I have a lot of clients say to me, “Please don’t quit or move anywhere, don’t retire.” I find that very sweet – and I’m not going anywhere. This is what I do, I like it, and I’ll be doing it until I’m quite old and the phone doesn’t ring anymore. And after that happens, then I will write a book all about how I did it, and there will be some stories there that I haven’t told before.

But that’s a long way away. And you’ll have to buy the book!

Writing a column, and downloading from iTunes…

Ship of Fools, World Party. Loved this song when it came out in the eighties, and I used it have it on vinyl. I was delighted to find it on iTunes.

Tall Cool One, Robert Plant.

Little by Little, Robert Plant. Love the lyric hooks with the Zepplin-y riffs.

Who Do You Want To Be, Oingo Boing. I remember dancing to this one the first time I ever snuck into a bar underage. It's another oldie-goldie I had on vinyl. I say I had it, although actually, I think there’s still a dusty crate of old albums sitting in the back of a closet somewhere. And I still have a turntable, too - although I’m not sure I have a needle.

The Rockafella Skank, Fatboy Slim.

Cherry Bomb, The Runaways.

Brother of The Mayor of Bridegwater, The World/Inferno Friendship Society. I don’t know why I like this song. It’s just…strangely catchy.

Let Love In, Goo Goo Dolls.

She’s Crafty, Beastie Boys. Because I am. (Even though the Beastie Boys don’t seem to mean that in an entirely complimentary way here, heh.) This song was on the jukebox at The Lusty Lady when I danced there, so I have shaken my naked behind to it a lot.

Sex And Candy, Marcy Playground.

Red Right Hand, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds. I have a fantasy about having sex with Nick Cave while he sings in my ear the whole time. And there’s another version of the fantasy where I do a threesome with him and Tom Waits. And they both sing. (Tom would sing something from Bone Machine, of course.) I think we'd all have to drink whisky and smoke cigarettes for it to really work, though.

Okay, back to work…

I had an amazingly nice weekend. I love my whirlwind social life, but it’s very nice to get to spend relaxed time alone with Monk. Sunday I slept late  – yay – and then Monk and I went to Banya 5. This is so the weather for hot tubs and steam rooms. I swear I could feel all the molecules in my body, which had sort of shrunk down lately with dry cold, get all warm and lubricated and say, “Ahhh….”

And I booked both of us a salt scrub. Now, a salt scrub, if you haven’t had one, is one of life’s great pleasure/pain experiences. It is just what it sounds like: they put you on something like a massage table, take handfuls of coarse sea salt, and scrub your body with it. It exfoliates all the dead skin off you. My general experience with spa scrubs is that the first so-many strokes feel good, and then it starts to be a little intense, and then right before you’re about to say, “Whoa, ease up a little,” the scrubber moves to a different part of your body. Sort of like being taken right up to your safeword, over and over.

At most spas it’s done like this: you lay under a drape, they scrub one small area at a time, wipe all the salt off, and then cover it up again. Very chaste and discreet.

This one was different because of the setup: the whole room is a wet room, all tile and concrete, with a drain in the floor, and lots of hoses and buckets around. The girl giving me the scrub offered me the option of drape or no drape, and I chose none, of course. I took off my swimsuit and lay down naked on the black vinyl-covered table. (It looks a lot like the table I have in my dungeon, actually.)

She tied on a black rubber apron and started off by pouring buckets of warm water all over me. Big buckets. It’s interesting to lie on a table and get totally drenched like that, and just see and hear the water going everywhere.

Then she rubbed me down with some honey-something-or-other mixture, just kinda slopping it anywhere in a charming fashion, and then poured more water over me to rinse me. And then she scrubbed me - very thoroughly. I think I’m now an eighth of an inch smaller in circumference, she scrubbed me so hard. Yow. But my skin is all soft and gleam-y, like a pearl.

So while there was nothing whatsoever sexual about this treatment, I did look around the room – and around the whole spa in general – and think about what kind of wet room I’d like to build into my house. I don’t do scat scenes, so I don’t need such a room for that. But I do other wet, messy things, and plus, tiles and hoses can just be very sexy all by themselves. I want to do some remodeling on the house this year, and while I don’t know for sure if a big bathroom redesign is in the cards, it’s definitely something I want to get some bids on. I’m a big fan of warm and lubricated.

First, about the new column. The Stranger is doing a re-org of both the website and the dead-tree paper, and things have been a little confused. Thank you to all my fans who wrote the webmaster and said, "hey, where's Control Tower?" They were still in process, but have no fear, here is the link.

I haven't seen a paper copy of this issue yet - but it's possible I got bumped. No one has told me so, it's just a hunch I have. So if you're a paper-reader, and I am not there, I'll be back next week. (Edit: I checked. I got bumped. Whoops. Oh well, read me online for this week.)

The Kink Calendar, sadly, will now be online-only. Sorry, kids, they needed some space. There will be a little blurb in the paper saying "Hey, go look online for the kinky events!"

Okay, now we have that squared away... Boys, prepare to be bored. (Unless you're a drag queen. Or seriously, seriously metrosexual.) Because the rest of this post is all about makeup.

So, ladies, after some nudging by pals, I decided that perhaps I was in a rut, and thus I have lately been trying out a wider range of hair and beauty stuff. Allow me to share with you what worked and what didn’t.

Girlie stuff I have tried lately that rocked:
Jonathan Product: Create Root Volume Brushable Lifting Spray. We Southern girls like big hair, and this stuff, whoo! Volume is right. High volume. It is the stuff teenage-beauty-pageant dreams are made of. I could be in an eighties music video with this hairspray. I love it.

Shu Uemura Fiber Xtension Mascara. It’s good, although it gets clumpy if you reapply later, so that’s a problem. But still, impressive.

Nars Powder Blush. I got the color called "Orgasm", of course. I don't know if it's really the color of afterglow, but it's a pretty natural-looking shade that blends nicely and stays put better than most.

Nars Cream Eye Shadow. I chose the shade called “Swing”, which is an eggplant color I think looks nice with brown eyes. Teamed with Urban Decay lid primer, this stuff actually - gasp - stays on my eyelids with vanishing or getting all creased. I’m in awe.

And ladies, SkinCeuticals? Woot. Love this stuff. The C+E Ferulic makes my skin so happy and bright. Yeah, it is pricey…but you know, eBay is a wonderful place. I’m just saying.

Stuff that was pretty good:
Frederic Fekkai Technician Color Care Mask. My hair wasn’t really damaged before, because Craig, my Hair God, would never allow that to be so. So I wouldn’t say this conditioner changed my life or anything. But still, winter-time dryness and all, one’s hair needs some extra pampering, and it’s a good intense conditioner.

Jonathan Product: Silky Dirt Shine & Define Crème: Not bad, although I think Secret Weapon is nearly as good and much less expensive.

Stuff I thought was lame:
Smashbox Photo Finish Foundation Primer: Everyone loves this stuff. I tried it and it made me look like a corpse. Maybe the problem is that I don’t actually wear foundation, just a little powder, so… But it felt like I was wearing Spackle. I hated it, so back to the store it went.

Jonathan Product: Create Volume Thickening Foam: Uh, Jonathan, this watery foam of yours doesn’t create anything except crunchy, stringy rat-tail-looking hair. Refund, please!

Stuff that the jury is still out on:
MD Skincare Alpha Beta Daily Body Peel: Well, I don’t know about “peel”, because I am not peeling. However, there’s a 30-day supply of these product-soaked pads – which are rather small, and annoyingly prone to rolling up into a wad – and you’re supposed to rub them all over yourself. So I’ll see what I think when I have used them all up…but I wouldn’t rush right out and buy this.

MAC Studio Fix powder. Again, everyone else loves this stuff, and I’m not sure. It’s a nice texture and the oh-so-glamorous boy at the MAC counter downtown did a good job picking out the right shade for me.
However, it's pretty heavy, which, if that’s what you want, is great. But I’m not used to wearing thick makeup on my skin, especially not for everyday. I think I might save it and use it for photo shoots, any kind of performance I might do, or for going out clubbing, I think it would be fine for that. Max is taking me shopping for (belated) Xmas gifts this weekend, maybe I’ll look for something sheerer from MAC.

Last night was interesting: I got snowed in at my studio. I started a session at four pm with Milo, and all was clear. We were playing pretty seriously for about two hours, and I forgot all about snow. Then, as I slowly returned to an awareness of a world outside my dungeon, I thought, Oh, I should check outside. I pulled back the curtains, and boom, it was winter wonderland out there.

Milo has a 4-wheel drive and he’s used to driving in snow, so he got out on the road to go home. But I went outside and looked down the not-small hill my house sits on top of, and looked at the three-plus inches of snow, and thought, no way. The Florida girl is staying right here.

I was, however, hungry. Now, my part of town is not extensively served by food delivery people. It’s pretty much Pizza Hut and Dominos. So I called Pizza Hut, because I can actually stomach Pizza Hut pizza okay.

They weren’t delivering. Because of the snow. Damn.

Now, I haven’t eaten Dominos since I found out they were owned by a Bible-thumper. Well, actually, I think I’d given them up before that, because their pizza’s not very good. But I believe he’s since sold out, and desperate times call for desperate measures.

I called. It sounded a bit confused on the other end. “Are you still delivering?” I asked.

“….uh, yeah. Yeah. (speaks off-phone: Are we still delivering?) Yeah, sure.”

I was not filled with confidence by that exchange. But in the spirit of optimism, I gave them an order and got on with other things.

Forty-five minutes went by. Dinner began to seem like an unlikely possibility.

An hour. Okay, I’ve officially given up, and instead successfully made arrangement with a rescue party to send in a St Bernard.

Then: ding-dong! I fling open the door to find a small dark-skinned man in a red cap, holding a flat box. Snow was falling steadily behind him.

“Holy cow! I can’t believe you made it!”

“I left car,” he said, gesturing down to the bottom of the steep hill. “I walk up hill.” He held out the box.

“You walked up the hill? Good god.” I took the box. It was warm. “Here,” I said, handing him some money. “That’s for the pizza.” Then I handed him another twenty. “And that’s for you.”

He looked at the bill, seeming confused. “Is too much money.”

“No, keep that, that’s for you, for walking up the hill. Hazard pay!”

He looked unconvinced.

“Take it,” I said.

He smiled uncertainly and ducked his head. “Thanks.”

The pizza itself? About as good as I remembered it: not terribly. But hey, it was hot and it was food. And I hope that dedicated pizza guy bought himself a stiff drink with that tip, because he deserves one.

From the Mailbag

…I am only 21 but I have known for several years that I don’t want to be involved in any sexual dynamic other than as a submissive. This means I occasionally have to deflect perfectly interesting girls because I know any vanilla entanglements are ultimately doomed. No big deal really, people turn each other down for a millions reasons every day. But recently I fucked up in a big way. I allowed myself to get swept away by a girl and before I knew it we were dating. I realized that I was making an absolute douchebag move by allowing her to get attached in a romantic sense but I couldn’t seem to halt the momentum. I then made the unforgivably cowardly choice of faking sexual enjoyment until I could think of a way to diffuse the situation with out making her feel rejected because of something that is not her fault. So far I have no ideas. I could tell her the truth but I am almost positive that would result in my entire social circle finding out about my proclivities. Which I am not really ashamed of but I think most people would rather not know, even my urbane, little hipster buddies.
So how do you tell a really great person that you can’t see them anymore because you need a girl who can make you cry? Is better for everyone to lie about things like this? What is an uncreepy way of telling your friends about your sexual variance?
Thank you very much for your time. Good luck with a new year of columns.

j

PS Has becoming a public figure altered the dynamic of meeting new clients? I mean do subs approach you differently now that you are 'famous'?

Last question first: yeah, it’s changed the dynamic. I know some perfectly nice guys are afraid to approach me. And being high-profile means people come in with a lot of preconceived ideas about what you’ll be like, many of which are inaccurate. But it’s nice that in I now get so much potential business that I can really pick and choose.

Now, to your situation. Sweet boy, integrity is an important thing, but don’t flay yourself bloody over this. (That’s a woman’s job.) I myself did this exact same thing when I was in my late teens and early twenties. You know you’re kinky, but if you’re not finding other kink partners, it’s easy to drift into vanilla relationships. You meet someone nice and fun and cute, and you’re bored, and perhaps a bit lonely and horny…And then whoops, you wake up in bed with your new girl/boyfriend and think, “Shit, what I am doing here? This isn’t going to work.”

And I agree that yeah, sometimes it’s okay to lie in this situation. The vague, non-judgmental, “You’re great, but this just isn’t working out for me” – that’s the way to go here. No matter what she says, do not get into the kink thing. Coming out under stress like this is the worst way to go. Be gentlemanly about it, but be firm and do not waffle. Do not discuss her or the situation with your mutual pals. Once it’s broken off, do not go back.

If you decide later that you want to talk about your kink to your friends, I suggest you let it happen sort of organically. My practice – back when I had vanilla friends - was that I didn’t volunteer a lot of information, but I would respond to remarks like the one in this hypothetical situation…

Friend: (watching TV) Hey, look at that chick all dressed in leather with a whip in her hand, that’s freaky.

You: I think it’s pretty cool.

Friend: You do?

You: Yeah. I like kinky girls.

Friend: You mean, you’d like a girl to like tie you up and whip you or something?

You: Yeah, I think it would be hot. (Or, “Yeah, I’ve done it and it was hot.”)

Friend. Wow…. (silence as friend thinks about this.)

Don’t act embarrassed, be very cool and matter-of-fact about it. Don’t try to prolong the exchange, just let your friend shut up and mull the whole idea over, and I can pretty much guarantee that soon, they’ll raise the topic with you again. The trick is to make them ask the questions. That removes the creepy TMI aspect. So, respond honestly to remarks about kink, and if that provokes questions, answer them, although not at too much length. Maintain a little mystery.

My experience is that if someone brings up the topic more than, say, twice, it may be because they’re curious about kink themselves. They may or may not be someone you want to date, however.

One exception to the answering-remarks rule: if someone presents themselves as rabidly anti-BDSM, or is openly mocking you for your sexuality, do not engage them in conversation. That’s a no-win situation. Just shrug and smile and refuse to debate them, and remove yourself from the situation if they won't let it drop.

Now get out of that vanilla relationship and go find a nasty girl.

Just a few remarks, because I’m busy writing a column…

The workshop Sunday where I tied up Monk’s bits? Was great. It was just about twenty minutes or so, very basic cock and ball ties, but Monk and I always have great comic timing together whenever we perform, and we had fun. Monk looked oh-so-buff and muscular and sexy all naked. I was quite proud of him - he’s got balls, that man. (As everyone saw.) I was a stripper for years, but there’s a difference between being one dancer among many in a dark club, and being the only naked person in a brightly-lit room with forty-something people looking at you. That takes a lot of self-confidence. But considering how hard Monk works at the gym, he should be self-confident. Woot.

We got a lot of feedback from people wanting more genital-bondage information, so we’re considering doing a specific class for that sometime, rather than just an overview mixed in with the head- and hair-bondage class. But I think we should charge more for the tickets, because while our bondage models are usually volunteers, I’d want to pay anyone who modeled for an in-depth class on that subject. That would be pretty intense for them.

So, completely off the kink map… I’ve been following this story with interest, and I totally support the parents and doctors in their decision. This poor child is destined to be a permanent infant, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with making it easier for her family to care for her. So what if she’s shorter? She’s not going to be playing pro basketball or walking a runway in Milan, so it doesn’t matter to her. And she definitely doesn’t need to have periods, let alone have the possibility of getting pregnant. Even at the size she is now, changing her diapers, bathing her, and moving her from bed to wheelchair has got to be difficult. I don’t begrudge those parents anything they can do to try to preserve some time and energy for their other kids, and for their own lives.

So I was looking at the rather low level of comments last week and thinking, huh, must be a slow week for blog hits. That happens sometimes. I get a respectable number of hits per day, on average. Sometimes it dips a bit, other times there are little spikes when some higher-ranking blog links to me. But I don’t fuss much about it.

Then I checked my actual numbers. Wow, Wednesday of last week I had more than double the usual visitors! Ya’ll weren’t saying much, but you sure were here. I thought maybe ErosBlog or someone else big had linked to me because of the naughty photos. But there’s no big surge from any one URL. The numbers dipped back to normal over the next few days. Funny.

Monk and I have talked about what kinds of posts generate the most comments on our blogs. The amusing thing is that, lately, I think I get the most comments when I talk about clothes or fashion. Maybe it’s that unlike kink or poly or sex work, those are easily accessible topics and people can feel comfortable offering their opinion. Whereas if I talk about how I tied up Monk’s boy bits for the genital bondage section of the bondage class yesterday, that’s not an experience everyone can relate to, so people don’t talk back as much.

It’s not that the sheer number of comments is the only measure of success in a blog. I get a lot of really sweet emails telling me how much they enjoy reading me, and a lot of in-person comments as well, which is nice. And I am pleased by how rarely I have to delete nasty flame-type stuff. Comment-spamming is a worse problem, but still, it’s easy enough to delete and ban the IP.

It’s been almost three years that I’ve been blogging now, and overall, I’m pleased about how this blog has turned out for me. It’s had a big effect on my life, much bigger than I ever thought it would. My existing clients now know much more about my day to day life than they used to, and potential new clients tell me they feel more at ease with me having read how I feel about what I do. My friends can keep up with what I’m doing, and I’ve met some really neat new people that I probably wouldn’t have known otherwise. And I got a chunk of it published, which was quite delightful.

The fact that Time magazine named bloggers (among others) Person of The Year suggests to some that blogs are now hopelessly out of fashion. Perhaps they are no longer the hippest new thing, but I doubt they’re going anywhere soon.

As has been noted elsewhere... This Sunday Max does his monthly bondage class, and this month he's doing head, hair and genital bondage. I'll be making a guest-expert appearance to discuss and demo some cock and ball bondage, and guess who's agreed to be my stunt-model, even though he's not really a bottom? Monk. So that should be highly entertaining.
And it'll just be a great class overall - see you there!

As I continue to take a few days off from writing... the new Stranger column: 2006 Sex News In Review.

And: this is how my sweetheart Max was entertaining himself (and a number of other people) New Year's Eve doing while I was drinking champage and taking dirty pictures of cage sex. (Warning: sexy bondage photo!)

There are some other NYE photos of this bamboo tripod in use, too. I'm hoping to see some of them posted over on another blog.

You know, I think I’ll take the week off from actually writing in this blog and just show you New Year's Eve pictures instead.

Like this one of Miss Candy sitting on top of the cage. A dangerous place to sit when it's busy. Note the arm already snaking up to unzip her latex gown.

There was plenty of sexy action.

The people watching were amazed that they could move around so much in there.

And there were plenty of appreciative watchers, too.

But while naked people in our cage is something of a NYE party tradition, the cage wasn’t the only party hotspot. More on that tomorrow…

Oh, my god, did I have a good time New Year’s Eve. I have a lot of party pictures, and a number of stories, but for today, here’s a cute one of two happy guests doing piggy-back bondage...



And one very sexy one of some hot naughtiness in the cage….
More stories soon…

One more family-holiday highlight: I turned my mother on to the Fatboy Slim music video, "Weapon Of Choice", which she loved. She has a major thing for men who dance. And like many people, she actually didn't know that Christopher Walken was a trained dancer. She insisted we watch it about four times in a row and I had to swear to send her the link for it. Very cute.

Okay, have to run, I'm gearing up for a very festive weekend indeed. Hopefully I'll get some pictures from the annual New Years Eve debauch that I can post...

New Column in The Stranger...

Today I fly home. My power is on, I'm not traveling anywhere for a while, and there are no major holidays coming up. I'm really, really looking forward to getting back to my usual happy, kinky routine...

Well, I had a nice Christmas day, and if you observe Christmas, I hope you did too. I’m not the biggest Christmas fan. Left to my own devices, I’d probably swap a gift or two with my loved ones and then spend the day hanging out quietly at home or going to a movie.

But my family makes a big deal out of it, so I go along. It’s interesting to be down in Georgia again. My relatives have been coming out to Seattle a lot lately, so it’s been two years since I visited. Max tells me that just a few short hours after we stepped off the plane, my southern accent was back in full force. I believe him – it took me some time to un-learn it when I moved north, but I didn’t want to sound like a hick. Thus, if you see me within a few days of my return Wednesday, don’t be surprised to hear me drawling and ya’ll-ing…

Notable moment: Max and I were at a large family party being given by my mother’s husband’s daughter. (That’s a mouthful, isn’t it? But saying “my stepsister” seems odd, given that my mom married this man when I was in my mid-twenties, and I hardly know her.) Anyway, suffice it to say that this lady and her husband are both gracious and genteel people, if rather conservative, and definitely not the sort to whom one would make lewd jokes. Max and I and a half dozen other people were sitting around the enormous mahogany dining-room table, finishing dessert after a buffet luncheon. Everyone was perfectly groomed and dressed in the usual way of well-to-do Atlantans, and everyone was, of course, on their very best social behavior.

Our host – who has the air of a man who might actually be a lot of fun if you got him alone and gave him a few drinks – was commenting on his impatience with their rambunctious pedigreed dog.

“You need to give Daisy her Christmas present,” his wife observed.

“I did!” He explained to the rest of us that he’d bought the dog an electric collar – the kind that gives the dog a small shock when it barks, thus inducing it to be quiet. Max and I exchanged glances. I own an electric dog collar, too. But I don’t put it on canines. I strap it around the genitals of human boys and zap them. It’s big fun.

The host went on.“And I put it on her, but it’s not working, Daisy's still out there barking like crazy.”

Without missing a beat, Max piped up. “Maybe she likes it.”

There was a momentary silence and then a titter of nervous laughter around the room, and I elbowed him under the table. My step-brother-in-law gave Max a look. “We’re not going to get into that conversation.”

But one corner of his mouth twitched.

It was sunny and seventy-something degrees on Tybee Island today. I could have gone swimming in the ocean.
Maybe I should come down for Christmas more often.

Spent a lovely day in Atlanta, and today I hop a plane over to Savannah to see my father. He actually lives on an island off the coast of Georgia, Tybee Island. Tybee is an interesting place in a time-capsule kind of way. Twenty years ago when my father bought his house there, it was a funky little beach town with a very sort of late-sixties look and feel to it. It was certainly not a moneyed place, not like Hiltonhead or Sea Island, and while it's slowly getting gentrified, it’s still pretty working-class. But he likes it, and the beach is gorgeous. I miss southeastern beaches.

Okay, last picture from the Malixe shoot, until I get back to Seattle and process some more…I think the three of these make a nice triptych.

I'm safely in Georgia. (That is, if one can ever be said to really be safe in Dixie when you're as big a flaming pervert as I am.) It was an uneventful flight - so I didn't leave bruises on Max's arm from squeezing it. At least not any serious ones. I'm a rather nervous flyer. But as long as I have half a Xanax and someone's arm to clutch, I get through it okay.

Here's a new column...

Here's a new picture... I don't recall when I was threatening to do to her in this one, but I love the expression on Jae's face. The body language says, "Yikes!" but the smile says, "Come get me!"

Enjoy...

Okay, we got power back at 3:30 Tuesday afternoon. And after running around like a madwoman for the rest of the day and evening, I think I actually got my life caught up again after five days of it being in suspended animation. My clothes for Atlanta are sitting out on the bed, ready to be packed, the house is warming up nicely, the dirty laundry is done, the stinky refrigerator is cleaned out, the bills are paid, my column is written, and my cat is sleeping blissfully on top of the heat vent.

So, back to our regularly-scheduled kink. Remember that shoot with Malixe? That seems like about a million years ago. But I have some more pictures.

Malixe does good posed portraits, but I have to say, I think his greatest strength is how he captures the more candid shots, with more than one person. He caught some of Jae and I that I love. Here’s the first one, I’ll post another one Thursday and another Friday… They’re all sweet alone, but I like them as a series best. Jae’s creamy Celtic skin is so pretty in this one. (Large image, not at all work-safe.)

Meanwhile, I’m off to Georgia. I plan to revel in soul food and barbeque when I'm in Atlanta with my mother, and in fresh warm-water seafood when I’m out on the coast with my dad. The slightly warmer weather and the fatty, really-bad-for-you food are the best things about going down to Georgia. That, and the shoe outlets, of which there are many in Atlanta. Many, many. No Wolford outlet, more’s the pity. (Although I know someone who’s going to the one in Vegas this weekend, the lucky duck.)

Bye!

One Down, One To Go

Some progress has been made: I am told that power is on at my dungeon, but as of 6pm Monday, it was still dark and cold at the house where Max and I live.

Anything could have happened since then, though. That's the only bad thing about not having electric answering machines anymore. For all we know, the lights came on ten minutes after Max left. Since my cat doesn't have opposable thumbs, she doesn't answer the phone, and thus cannot give us any updates.

But I'll be swinging by there early on my way to the dungeon, hoping for the best. Max and I would love to be able in pack for the trip to Atlanta without our fingers turning blue, and sleeping in our own bed for one night before we're in my mother's guest room for a week would be nice too.

I'm sure you're tired of hearing me fuss about the no-electricity situation, but hey, I hate being powerless! When I get back to my normal kinky mindset, I do have more pictures to show you. But at the moment, they're marooned on my dark and silent desktop and thus, you must bide your time while Max and I unwillingly compete in the "Last People To Have Their Power Restored In Seattle!" contest.

Now I must write a Stranger column. It's hard to write something witty and entertaining when one's own sights are set at a much lower point on Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Perhaps I'll pull some letters from the email file to inspire me...

Sunday 11pm: Still without power at both houses. I am extremely cranky. Did I say extremely? I meant extremely. I'm right in the middle of what one might laughingly call Seattle's urban core, and I might as well be right back in the boondocks of Florida. Grr.
I'm hoping Seattle City Light gets itself together to get my power back on Monday. (Of course, I've been hoping that every day for three days now.) If you have time booked with me before I go to Atlanta, call me and touch base. My internet acess is spotty, but the phone is on.
And anyone who's ever wanted to do a scene with me where I pretend to be furiously angry and proceed to beat you within an inch of your life while viciously scolding and berating you, well, you just get yourself a Seattle City Light uniform and call me. I'll make you such a deal.

(Edited to add: Yes, yes, yes, I know it's not City Light's fault the power went out. I know they're trying to fix it. But I have to vent somehow, and I think beating a man in a hard hat and a tool-belt would be a charming way of doing that. Or maybe I should get someone to pretend they're a City Light executive. That would be fun.)

Okay, kids, here's the post-storm report from Matisse and Max. We're still without power - it went out at 2am Thursday. It's out at both my dungeon and our house, which is a bummer.

Friday morning I went to my gym to shower, and re-arranged my session for the day as an outcall, thinking power would surely be back on in one of the houses by nightfall.

Wrong. And of course every hotel in town was booked to the rafters, so we spent a cold Friday night sleeping on a mattress we dragged up close to the pretty but not-very-efficient gas fireplace, with my cat huddled up with us.

Tonight, though, rescue came in the form of Matt, who loaned us his beautiful and extremely comfortable studio to stay in. We had numerous offers from dear and kind friends to put us up, but frankly people, when I'm this cranky, I am no fit houseguest for anyone. And I am cranky.

But I'll live. There's a line I use when I'm pissy about something and trying to get over myself: "Oh, I hope it's the worst thing that ever happens to me." If this is the worst thing that ever happens to me, I'll be all right.

Thank you again to all the super-fabulous people who offered help of all kinds to us. Your thoughfulness is much appreciated. Everyone else, keep your fingers crossed that we get power back soon.

This week's column: wacky phone calls.

Also, there's just one more day to bid on the Strangercrombie auction package that wins you a session with me, some of Monk's rope, and various other kinky goodies. It's for charity, people, so feed the hungry and get your kink on.

Bye!

I seriously lack the time to write today. So – here’s a few more pictures! I got a spiffy new camera for an (early) Christmas gift, whee! I took some shots around the dungeon to test it out.

My trusty bondage chair, custom-made for me by Mr. Wood, my favorite carpenter. I have spent many happy hours standing in front of this piece of furniture.

A bin full of nasty spanky things. And some spreader bars.

One of my toy cabinets. I know exactly where everything is in there.

One corner of my dressing room. Once, a rather silly man asked me, in reverent tones, if he could see “my shoe closet”. He was imagining neat rows upon rows of carefully arranged fetish footwear. Whereas I was thinking, “You put shoes in a closet? Huh. Who knew?”

When I took the picture of my dressing room, I thought: someone is going to ask "Uh, Matisse, what’s that weird thing on the dresser?" The short answer is: Nerdy’s favorite toy. Really! Would I lie? She loves it. She just pretends to think it’s an abhorrent Teutonic crime against nature. Clicky here to see it up close and personal!

(Edit: I'm kidding - Nerdy has never used that toy, Roman and I just tease her about it for no reason - other than the fact that we're mean.)

I got a CD of pix from Malixe yesterday, yay! I need to go through them and pick out my faves. But for now, here’s a semi-candid shot of Jae and I horsing around.
Possible caption: “Why the hell didn’t I bring my strap-on?”

Edited: Clicky-click for the bigger version, so we don't mess with people's display...

Yesterday, as the final event of a jam-packed week, I did a photo shoot with my friend Malixe. I should get the raw images from him today or maybe tomorrow, so I hope to have some fun pictures to show you soon. Malixe isn’t a full-time professional shooter, but he does very good work and because he’s a pal, I’m very relaxed working with him, which is nice. It’s a pretty laid back situation compared to my other shoots – I do my own make-up, and I don’t do anything special to my hair, which means that while the results aren’t as polished and glam as, say, a Tommy Edwards shoot, in some ways they look more like my everyday self.

We had been doing some shots that centered around my feet and stockings, since I’ve had a lot of requests for those lately. I had just changed into my black mesh catsuit when Jae showed up to keep me company and participate in the shoot.

She also showed me some of her fun new make-up finds. As with music, I am not uber-hip when it comes to cosmetics, and I need people to tell me what to buy. Even when they do, I’m not all that skilled with it, so I tend not to bother. Some things I do wear all the time, like mascara and eyeliner. I understand how to do those, and they work. Eye shadow, on the other hand? I often get suckered into buying it, because the colors are pretty and those cunning little containers make it look like candy. But I wind up taking my index finger and rubbing a little of one color on my eyelid and that’s about it. And in an hour or so, it’s gone. Powder blush is the same deal, and I have never gotten the hang of cream blush, it always looks like clown paint on me. I cannot wear liquid/cream base because I always look like I’m wearing a mask, so I just wear pressed powder.

I love lipstick, both because it’s pretty and because I feel so girly putting it on, but most of the time, it only stays on a short time before it, too, mysteriously vanishes. Maybe I’m kissing too many people. But I think there’s just a tom-boy streak in me that’s subtly fighting the makeup. I keep thinking perhaps I should take lessons or something, but then I don’t bother.

Plus, I don’t really want to, because something in me doesn’t trust make-up. I mean, it lets you down, doesn’t it? It smudges, it fades, it smears. It’s inherently untrustworthy. I’d rather spend my money on various facial treatments, so I look okay without much make-up. But Jae informed me that I need to stop being such a make-up Luddite and gave me a Sephora list.

So I went over to the Sephora website. And good lord, there’s a lot of stuff there. I mean, yes, obviously there is. But I’ve never really looked at it all before. I’ve been in the store, of course - but you know what Sephora is like. After about five minutes, I’m all overstimulated with the hundreds of thousands of brightly!colored!shiny! things to look at, and I just have to leave. It’s like an ADD attack or something. I can hardly even focus my eyes, let alone make crucial decisions about Urban Decay vs. Stila.

But online you can look at one thing at a time and I like that much better. So now I have a Sephora list to work on. I'm not sure whether to thank Jae or smack her. Perhaps I'll do both. She'd like that.

Books on the Nightstand

The Ghost Map, by Steven Johnson.

"On August 28, 1854, working-class Londoner Sarah Lewis tossed a bucket of soiled water into the cesspool of her squalid apartment building and triggered the deadliest outbreak of cholera in the city's history….Johnson builds the story around physician John Snow, (pioneering developer of surgical anesthesia) who posited the then radical theory that cholera was spread through contaminated water rather than through miasma, or smells in the air. Against considerable resistance from the medical and bureaucratic establishment, Snow persisted and, with hard work and groundbreaking research, helped to bring about a fundamental change in our understanding of disease and its spread.”

Max bought me this for my birthday and it’s great. Yes, I'm the kind of girl who gets excited about the history of cholera. Kinky, I know.

Sex with the Queen: 900 Years of Vile Kings, Virile Lovers, and Passionate Politics,
by Eleanor Herman.

“In this follow-up to her bestselling Sex with Kings, Eleanor Herman reveals the truth about what goes on behind the closed door of a queen's boudoir. Impeccably researched, filled with page-turning romance, passion, and scandal, Sex with the Queen explores the scintillating sexual lives of some of our most beloved and infamous female rulers."

The history of royal sex lives sounds juicier to you? It is. And now I know that Catherine The Great did not die while having sex with a horse. (She was apparently on the toilet, which you may or may not think is more dignified.) Anyway, it's fun to read.

Blowing My Cover: My Life as a CIA Spy, by Lindsay Moran.

"When Harvard grad Moran entered CIA training in her late 20s, her expectations had more to do with Harriet the Spy and James Bond than with drudge work or service; the reality, as she represents it in this memoir of her training and case work, was a sexist environment filled with career-oriented, shallow people….Though Moran is a likable spy, the wait for significant insights or breakthroughs goes mostly unrewarded for writer and reader alike.”

I don't recommend this - I was rather underwhelmed. The beginning is sort of interesting, as she describes the training, but it loses juice quickly and just sort trails off.


Books I want but haven't got yet...

The Family That Couldn't Sleep: A Medical Mystery, by D.T. Max
Being a chronic insomniac myself (Thank god for Ambien) I’m quite interested to read this. (Although no, I don't think I have prion disease.)

“In 1765, Venetian doctors were stumped by the death of a man who had suffered from insomnia for more than a year and spent his final months paralyzed by exhaustion. Over the next two centuries, many of his descendants would develop similarly fatal symptoms. Finally, in the early 1990s, their disease was recognized as a rare genetic form of prion disease... Looking at prion disease in general, Max doubles back to the English mad-cow epidemic of the 1990s, retracing established backstories among New Guinea aboriginals and European sheep herds. There's enough fascinating material—in particular, a theory suggesting that early humans were nearly wiped out by a plague spread by cannibalism—to keep readers engaged, but they're likely to want still more about the genuinely captivating family drama.”

The Secret Life of Houdini: The Making of America's First Superhero, by William Kalush, Larry Sloman.

“Kalush and Sloman appear to have raked through every known Houdini archive to produce the most comprehensive and controversial biography ever written about the man, with its contention that he was a spy who may have been murdered by a cult."

I can’t wait to get this one! Houdini was such a fascinating person, and I'm very interested in stuff about 18th and 19th century spiritualism.

The new column and calendar...

My eBay auctions continue, but now you can actually bid on time with me in person, in The Strangercrombie Gift Auction. It's for charity, baby, so buy me!

Bye!

A few thoughts from the weekend…

I went to see “Casino Royale”. My response: “What, James Bond thinks that is torture? The guy’s just barely tapping his balls with that piece of rope. They aren’t even tied up, there’s no weights on them, nothing. Man, 007 is a candy-ass compared to a lot of my guys, they’d just laugh if I did that to them.”

Monk: “Well, he actually did start laughing, but to me it looked like he was getting a little endorphin buzz.” Pause. “I liked the shot of the girl all tied up on the road. They should have showed more of that.”

But, other than that, it was a good Bond movie. Everyone pooh-poohed Daniel Craig when he got tapped for the role, but I thought he had a charmingly brutal energy that’s more reminiscent of Sean Connery than anyone else who’s had the job since. You can actually see him being a guy who kills people for a living.

I myself think I should get a job as sexy-torture consultant for movies. Or maybe I should work for the government training government agents to resist interrogation and CBT through a careful hardening process. Whoops, did I say hardening?

The Partial Suspension class yesterday rocked, thanks to all of you who attended that. And speaking of cocks in bondage, next month Max is doing a class that covers bondage for the head and hair, and also bondage for the genitals. Guess who's helping teach the genitals part? That would ME. Guess who's going to be graciously providing me with a stunt cock to demo said genital bondage on? I'll give you a hint: it ain't Max.

There will be female genital bondage demos also, and while I haven't actually asked her yet, I'm going to take a chance and say that I have a stunt model for that part too. She's never let me down so far...

In other news: Monk comes home from DC today, and I will be very happy to see him. My eBay auctions continue - I added some new items. And I’m writing up a weird phone call for the column next week. That’s the shape of my world today…

Hey, bargain-minded ladies! I’ve gotten a lot of new clothes lately – and that means I have to get rid of some older stuff. So, eBay, here it comes, and yes, I'm going to use my blogger fame to sell this stuff.

I’ve got about thirty items altogether, but I’m going to stagger the listings so I don’t wind up trying to box and ship all that stuff out at once. First round: coats and jackets. In a few days, I’ll list the pants, and after that, the dresses and tops.

So eBay is fine, but I wish I had a close girlfriend who was my size so could swap clothes. Miss K is six feet tall and the complete opposite of me in body-shape: very hour-glassy, with big boobs, this little tiny waist, and full feminine hips. She looks like she’s wearing a corset even when she’s not. (Bitch.) She has this long, thick, black, naturally curly hair, too. I often kid her that if we told a random person that one of us was a dominatrix, guess which one, they’d point to her every single time. She so looks the part.

Jae is shorter and slightly curvier than me, has totally different coloring, and a somewhat different fashion esthetic overall. We like the same kinds of boots - but she wears a size three. So that’s not much good.

I’ve given some stuff to Puck, but she’s taller than me, with a longer torso, and so a lot of it won’t fit her, either. What is a girl to do?

So, if you’re in a shopping mood, go check it out.

It better not snow today. Not very much, anyway. Or at least not where I am. I have been very patient about this weather for the last three days, but I have things to do and people to spank today!

While I watch the sky, read the new column...

Letters from readers…

Hi...I was wondering if you have any ideas or know of any websites on how role playing of this nature can be adapted to character playing in MMORPG games? I ask cause I play World of Warcraft and me and another person I play with have started a background game of sorts, she plays the dominant personality that demands to be respected and addressed as Mistress and I play the submissive role; But my limited experience in this makes it get repetitive way too quickly because I simply don’t know the types of things to say to advance it beyond basic stuff like "Yes, Mistress, as you command Mistress" & "How may I please you Mistress". I don’t know how familiar you are with MMO's if at all, but the basic thing we are looking for is mostly to adapt our regular communications needed to complete game objectives to this style of role playing and occasionally just do some text chat role playing of this nature. Also, not sure if it would make a difference but She is in real life female and I am male but in the game both our characters are female (I know, typical guy makes a female toon...what can I say, it's fun and unlike many guys I actually get into the roleplaying part and play as if I were female to the best of my ability) Any ideas you can share or websites you can point me too would be much appreciated.

Okay, I just ran out of geek credibility, because I actually do not play these games, and I have only a very vague idea of what this reader is even talking about. Anyone want to offer this guy suggestions? Because I got nothing.

***

I am 19 yr old girl looking to get into BDSM, I want to be a sub. I was wondering if you could either direct me to a website or had any advice about staying safe? I have concerns about (unasked for) violence or other problems.

I have read your blog a few times, and I love it and the Stranger.

Thanks for your time

Young lady, I’d like to help you, but I’m afraid this letter falls into the “intellectual laziness” category. Sure, I have advice for you about staying safe: don’t play with strangers. But I bet you could have figured that out for yourself. If you want more specific information, tell me what you’ve already done to educate yourself. Have you Googled “BDSM safety”? I bet not.

If you want more information from me, work harder at framing a specific question that’s easy for me to answer in three minutes or less, because that’s about all the time I can devote to each of the many individuals who want me to be their pro bono kink advisor.

***

My name is *** and I enjoy your column very much. Have only been reading for the last year, but I've gained a lot of insight, so thank you. :) Though I've no interest in the lifestyle, I do have a heavy interest in bondage and links for Japanese bondage have helped me immensely so thank you.

On the topic of BDSM, I'm trying to understand the lifestyle and the people who choose it without judgment or preconceived bullshit ideas. I think I've grasped the fundamentals, I hope, but I do have a serious problem with Doms who call their Submissives degrading names, such as, "Look at me when I'm talking to you, you stupid bitch!" or assaulting their Sub, i.e., punching/slapping the face, body.

I have not seen this in action, I've only "heard" about it and of course, seen the requisite silly examples from TV and film. The questions I have are these: Is this a condoned behavior from the Dom? If so, is this a behavior the Dom has either picked up or been told by the Submissive that it's what they want to hear/receive? And why would a Submissive tolerate this sort of abuse? Am I not nearly so enlightened as I think I am? ::cringes:: If this name-calling/hitting behavior isn't condoned, or something the Sub wants, could it be something only a wannabe or control freak thinks they should say?

First, a style note - it's not really customary to capitalize the word "submissive". It's not strictly necessary to capitalize the word dom, domme, or dominant, either, although some people do. (Also, the word "sub" is, in my opinion, a blot upon the face of the kink world, unless one is referring to an underwater boat or a sandwich. But I acknowledge that I'm in the minority here.)

Now, to the meat of your letter. There’s a saying in BDSM: Your Kink Is Okay, My Kink Is Okay. What I’m hearing is that you don’t want to get slapped, punched or verbally humiliated at this time. (Please refer to item number 11 here to learn why you shouldn’t say you never ever would, though.) But many other people actually like those things. Porn and popular media are the worst possible way to learn about what real BDSM looks like, so you shouldn't take them at face value. But as a player, I can tell you, yeah, I’ve slapped people’s faces, I’ve punched people’s bodies, I’ve said and done extremely mean and humiliating things to people. It was negotiated and consented to, and we both got off on it. That's why we did it.

So, no, you're not quite as enlightened as you think you are. But to give you credit: I think you’ve let go of judgment about the activities you like in BDSM. That’s a legitimate thing - lots of people never stop hating themselves for their desires.

Now, the next step is to let go of judgments about stuff that doesn’t turn you on. And you've definitely got some judgement going on, with words like "assault" and "abuse". It is harder to unlearn judgemental attitudes when there's no compelling reason to do so, like getting off. I’m not going to lie and say I myself have never turned up my nose at a scene that I wouldn't choose to participate in. But part of being a compassionate and mature member of the community is learning some acceptance of others. I don't like oysters, so I don't eat them. But it's fine that other people enjoy them. Right now, somewhere, someone is saying, “Ew, that Japanese bondage stuff is icky, why would anyone want to do that?” But you know that regardless of what it looks like to them, to you, it's a good thing. Try to remember that when you see someone doing a scene that wouldn’t trip your trigger.

Weekend Activities

I should really be writing a column. But here are some highlights from my weekend.

Friday night I had pizza at Bill’s Off Broadway with Roman, and we discussed the odd coincidence that two of our three favorite pizza places (Stellars, Bill's and Madam K's) are staffed entirely by heavily tattooed young punks, with safety-pinned clothes and hair that's either flat black or primary colors, and who, as a condition of their hiring, seem required to be disaffected and somewhat surly. (Although in a general rather than an I-hate-you-in-particular kind of way.) I myself am always struck by the fact that punk fashion has remained so remarkably unchanged since I moved to Seattle in 1992. I mean, young punks now dress, do their hair, and in general look exactly like young punks did then. It’s almost spooky, like a wrinkle in time or something. Or maybe they're vampires. (Wouldn't that piss off the goths, to find out it's really the punks who are the undead.)

Saturday Max took me shopping for a birthday gift. We went and looked at red leather jackets, but none of them were quite perfect. So he bought me a new black leather jacket, which I needed, and a short, racer-style white leather jacket, which I definitely did not need, but we both thought I looked awfully cute in it, so he got it for me. Yay Max.

I also bought these shoes, which are completely ridiculous and not at all like me. I don’t like frouffy, busy stuff. I like clean, minimalist lines and styles. But…But…They were just so cute, I couldn’t help myself.

Then we went to a party at a pal’s house, where we chatted and hung out with friends, and Max did very mean things with a single-tail to a very cute girl. I didn’t do a scene exactly, but Jae was there and she goaded me a bit, so I had to pin her down on the kitchen floor and smack her around for a little while – much to the amusement of the people standing around us.

Sunday we spent quietly at home, although Max had kindly allowed a certain young lady to borrow our dungeon for the afternoon, as she had a scene planned with a curious-about-bottoming female friend. So occasionally a muffled yelp would float up the stairs to our ears. Charming.

Client update: Looking at my calendar, I’ve still got some time available this week…but that probably won’t last long, so carpe diem. Guys I’ve met before can email me for an appointment, new people must call me on the phone…

General information: if it snows, and it accumulates at all, and you have an appointment with me that day, you should check in with me a couple of hours before your appointment time. This southern girl does not drive in snow, so if it’s bad, we’ll have to reschedule.

I'm thinking I'm going to get some blowback on this one: the new column.

Call I got yesterday…

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?

Caller: Yes, hello, I want to see you today.

This caller has a very strong foreign accent, and since he hasn’t identified himself as someone I know, I’m going to assume he’s a stranger to me, and quite possibly to this country.

Me: No, I’m all booked today, sorry. You usually have to call me at least three days in advance to get time with me.

Caller: Not today? You have no time today?

Me: No, sorry.

Caller: How about tomorrow?

Me: No, I’m not seeing anyone tomorrow.

Caller: You have no time tomorrow either?

He’s speaking in this totally dumbfounded voice, like he just can’t believe I’m for real.

Me: No, I’m not seeing anyone tomorrow. Perhaps you’ve heard that tomorrow’s a major holiday here in America?

Caller: Even for you?

I roll my eyes. Yes, rude boy, even the likes of me observes the major holidays. I’m sure you’d like me to spend my Thanksgiving stuffing you like a turkey and whipping you like cream, but I have other plans.

And I am accordingly grateful to be spending the day with friends and loved ones. I hope you are too. Happy Thanksgiving.

Good lord, I’m busy - there is truly no rest for the wicked this week. Especially when Max and I are having eighteen people over for dinner tomorrow. Max is the cook in the family, in case you were wondering. I just set the table, chop things up, and stir the gravy. But I’m looking forward to seeing some of my friends, and eating (a lot of) Tambo’s yummy homemade bread.

Meanwhile, I have seventeen million things to do to prepare for that. So perhaps you can amuse yourself with this little NWS video clip, which uses a naked, wet model in rope bondage to sell… something. I’m not sure what. Clothes, perhaps? Hard to say. But maybe if we all watch it very closely, several times, we’ll be able to figure it out. Tough work, I know...

Thank you to everyone who expressed sweet birthday wishes to me. I’ll be posting some more detailed thank-you notes later this week, but for now, I’m off into my natal day…

I’m writing this Sunday night, while I’m rather pleasantly worn out from spending a really lovely weekend with Roman.

My actual birthday is tomorrow, but this was our observation of my birthday, and Roman informed me he was going to spoil me rotten all weekend long.

And thus he proceeded to do just that. Friday night, he took me to one of my favorite restaurants: The Frontier Room. Because you can take the girl out of Georgia, but…she’s still going to love barbeque. And for Yankee barbeque, The Frontier Room is pretty damn good. Plus, the bacon-wrapped-shrimp appetizer is pure sin on a skewer.

Then he took me to see “Stranger Than Fiction”, which was, without a doubt, one of the most subtly brilliant movies I’ve seen in a while. The writing is great, the camerawork is great, the use of visual imagery is perfect, and the performances are stellar. I mean, sure, you can always count on Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson to turn in good work, but I think Will Farrell should get an Oscar nomination for his performance in this film. I had no idea he could do anything other than broad comedy - but he can, and well. I think I particularly enjoyed STF since I myself am a writer and I come from a family thickly populated with writers, but it’s just an excellent movie overall.

Saturday we stayed in bed until, oh, about 1pm. Then we went downtown, had a little early dinner, window-shopped a bit, and then came home to prepare to go out clubbing. Roman had actually never been out dancing at a gay bar until I took him earlier this year, and we had great fun, so off we went to do it again. It was a blast, we danced our little butts off, and Roman was so my big gay boyfriend. A very nice man who works out at my gym was also there, and he told me several times how fabulous I was. I’m unclear if he was telling me that because he recognized me as Mistress Matisse, or if he recognized me me from the gym. (Although when I’m at the gym, what I mainly am is just sweaty.) Or maybe he didn’t recognize me at all, but was just spontaneously acknowledging my intrinsic fabulousness? Hard to say. But whatever it was, it was sweet and I felt very complimented.

And then we stayed in bed again very late Sunday. Mmmmnnn…

The Roman-spoiling-Matisse weekend also included: foot massages, gummi bears, opening cars doors for me, face massages, chocolate doughnuts, and a lot of really amazing conversation about life, love, being outlaws, ambitions, and our relationship.

Of course, he isn't even giving me my actual official birthday present until Tuesday. At least, that’s what he thinks. Me, I think I got the gift this weekend.

Shopping for kinky holiday gifts by local businesses? I gotcha covered in this week's column. Also in The Stranger, an interesting piece by a swinger. Wonder if it's anyone I know?

One more thing: according to blogger Joe. My. God., Mike Jones, the male escort who outed Reverend Ted Haggard, is catching some heat about that. I think that's a shame. Now, don't get me wrong - I think a client's privacy is a extremely important thing, and I would never, ever violate that.

Unless.

Unless you're the politically active fundamentalist minster of a large church with the stated goal of repressing my sexuality and driving me back in the closet and just generally messing with my life. That's the one exception to the "my lips are sealed" rule. Do not stand in a pulpit on Sunday preaching against me and then show up in my dungeon on Monday and expect me to protect you while you attack me.

So if you're the kinky counterpart to the (former) Reverend Ted Haggard, you best not come see me. Everyone else, your secrets are quite safe. And I'm going to go give Mike Jones some money, because I agree that the Haggard scandal played a part in the Blue Wave on Nov 7th.