Perverted Definitions

Flogging master: someone who excels at telling people how good he is with this many-tailed whip he’s got.

Suspension scene: one where the bottom has to stop and wait for the top to get ready to hang them up in the air.

Bullwhip: a long heavy whip which some people claim to like, and some people claim to know how to use properly, even thought they really don’t.

Mummification: a bondage technique where you wrap someone up like a mummy and don’t talk much.

Sounds: Noises men makes when you insert a long metal rod into their urethra.

Spreader Bar: A long bar you attach ankle cuffs to, or someplace you first take your date hoping to get them drunk so they'll let you put ankle cuffs on them.

St. Andrew's Cross: An X-shaped piece of bondage furniture. Also, the saint’s probable state of mind about the fact that something so kinky is being called by his name.

New Toys

I've gotten an influx of new toys lately. Want to see? First, I went shopping at Mr. S in San Francosco and I now have a vast collection of new, extremely nasty clamps. This picture is not particularly threatening. However, this one is a pair of those clamps in action on Jae's pink bits, and it may frighten people. Rest assured I've done worse to them.

Electricity fans, rejoice. Bruce of KinkyMedical.net was at vending at Kinkfest and from him I bought some new leads and these tiny, very tight little clamps. Look at those needle-y little beaks!

Also at Kinkfest was Sam St. Michael of Hoydengear. That's where my little Cobra Stinger came from, and Sam gave me a couple of new impact toys to try out. (Non-squicky photo.) Short answer: Jae says they're mean. I believe her. The longer one is shot-weighted, so it's heavy. The the shorter, two-tailed one is rubber, and rubber toys are always nasty. I believe Sam calls them "Trouble" and "The Rubber Demon", and I can see why. But it's getting hard to find toys I don't already have. So I'm just all about finding innovations in impact.

I’m on the move today, with my treasured iPod tucked in my pocket. I always think my downloads looks like they belong to someone with a multiple personality. On the one hand, there’s stuff like Get Me Off, by Basement Jaxx, which is mindless nasty techno-dance, and Irresistable Bitch, by Prince, an oldie-goldie by His Purpleness, and SexyBack by, yes, okay, Justin Timberlake.

Then there’s Down On The Street (Take 15) by The Stooges, Living Dead Girl, by Rob Zombie, and Ace Of Spades, by Motorhead.

Schizophrenic.

But no matter. It will entertain me as I catch up with my Seattle life, and then I will in turn entertain you, so stay tuned.

Home

So, got back home from Kinkfest yesterday afternoon. I have had a great time zooming around lately, but I am quite, quite happy to be done traveling for a bit. I like being home, going about my accustomed little routine.

But Kinkfest was delightful. I drove down Thursday, and Friday morning went to the three places I always go in Portland: Powell’s, Countermedia, and Oregon Leather. Books and leather, mmmmm....

Then I went off to help Monk sell rope until it was time to go to the dungeon party. We hadn’t really thought we’d be in the space to play, but the mood overtook us, and while we didn’t do a formal scene exactly, we did get a little aggressive with each other. It was great fun. We joke about teaching a workshop sometime entitled, “Switching On A Dime: Cooperative Intense Sensation Scenes.” Which means: neither one of us is really being submissive to the other, we’ve just figured out how to push each other’s endorphin buttons.

Saturday morning Monk got up at the crack of dawn to go vend, and I slept until eleven and then did the walk of shame (not really) up five floors to my room. Host hotels are so convenient that way. Spent the rest of the day hanging out in the vendor area and chatting, doing a little shopping (pictures of what I bought to come, probably tomorrow) and sticking my head, briefly, in a few workshops.

I’m a real tough sell for workshops. I’ve been going to leather conventions since 1989, so there are very few subjects that I haven’t already seen presented – several times, probably. That doesn’t mean I won’t go see them again, if I think the presenter has a new angle on it – or if it’s a presenter I think is really good. There are certain people on the BDSM conference circuit who are such entertaining speakers that they could teach Flogging 101 and I’d go. They’re just that much fun to watch. Other people, though…Not so much. You can be a really wonderful person, and know your subject, but doing interesting presentations is a skill in itself. So while I am sure there were some good classes, I was there to play and socialize.

Saturday night I had a date with Jae, who has been goading and taunting me for weeks now because she's been wanting a thrashing. How could I refuse such an opportunity? Especially when a lovely, generous, and sincerely twisted pal of mine loaned me her stun gun. (*Yes, I said stun gun. Hey, it’s a low-voltage one, only 150,000v. And only below the waist. It was fine. I loved it so much that now I will have to buy my own.)

I rolled Jae around on the floor, and zapped her girlie bits with the stun gun and the Cobra Stinger, stuck needles in her, and hit her with various nasty implements. I was also feeling a little carnivorous, so I bit her back up so much that a pal later remarked that she looked “as if she’d been to a piranha swinger party.” (Photo, mildly NWF.)

For the end of the scene, I pulled out something I was just sure she’d hate: a nose-clamp, from Axmar. When she saw it, she thought it went on her clit, so she was quite surprised when I slipped it onto her septum.

And I was quite surprised when it sent her even deeper into a submissive space. I had thought surely she’d kick and scream. She even said, “Can you make it tighter, Ma’am?” I was happy to do so, and I loved tugging her face (carefully) to one side and then the other with a line I’d slipped through it.

After that scene wound up, I hung out, chatted and walked around the dungeon a bit, and then we went back to our room and collapsed into bed.

Sunday was mellow, lots of social time, and a very nice private wind-down party given by a lovely Portland lady I’ve known for years. So thank you to her for hosting us.

Now I’m going to get caught up with all the boys I’ve missed seeing the last few weeks. I have new toys and some new ideas, and soon I’ll have new photos as well. I love my life.

* Caution: I’m a highly experienced BDSM player, and so is Jae. I’ve been playing with her for over nine years, and I know her overall medical status and her pain tolerance very well. I know how to play with electricity without causing serious harm. You should NOT just start randomly zapping people with any kind of electrical instrument without being thoroughly educated in how that’s done and the potential risks, because electricity is something that, done wrong, can seriously injure or kill someone. So be fucking careful.

Want to hear me talk about polyamory? Go listen to me chat with the cool folks at Blowfish about loving more than one person, poly structures, the nature of jealousy, and whether young science fiction people are rejecting poly because the older science fiction people embraced it. This is a link to the main podcast page. Episode number 57 is the one you want. I'm writing this late on Thursday night, and I'm too brain-dead at the moment to figure out how to link to the precise episode. But I'm sure some clever person will tell me....

Edit: direct link!

Here and Gone
I got home yesterday from San Francisco, unpacked my bags, did a bunch of laundry, and then re-packed them, because today, I'm off to Portland for Kinkfest.

I have taught classes and done highly-publicized scenes at Kinkfest before, but I'm just as pleased not to be teaching or performing or anything like that this year. BDSM conferences are always a social whirlwind even without those added complexities. I'm hoping to just see friends, go to a couple interesting workshops, and do some fun scenes.

So, while I zoom off to the Rose City, enjoy... the new column.

And, a candid snapshot of Craig Morey and me, as Craig explains the deep artistic significance of asymetrical stockings in Japanese porn. NWF.
(I'm kidding. I have no idea what Craig was telling me at this moment, but I'm sure it was something completely appropriate and professional.)

Bye!

Check this out – Polaroids! Taken the old-fashioned way, with a Hasselblad! I haven’t had a photographer take Polaroids of me in years, I thought that had gone the way of the dodo bird. I was charmed.

The shoot went very well. We arrived at 11 am, and we left at a quarter to seven, which tells you something. That’s a long bloody shoot, even with getting my hair and makeup done on the front end and taking some breaks along the way. But we just kept going and going… Partly because Craig did the same dang thing photographers always do: we’d shoot a set, and he’d say “Ok, relax for a second,” and I’d let out a big sigh and slump into some limp posture – because modeling is harder work than you think – and he’d say, “Oh, wait, wait, that’s a great pose, hold that! Now, put your arm up a little higher and turn your face more towards me, great, now arch your back a little, good….” And there would go my break.

Craig also indulged in the same artistic torture that Tommy Edwards and other great photographers enjoy – they twist you into a really strenuous pose, and then say, “Oh, wait, I need another memory card/roll of film, so just hold that…” and then start fiddling with the camera.

But I’m not really complaining, mind you. It’s very nice that he thought I was photogenic even when I was sprawled around, trying to get my various muscles to stop quivering from strain. And he’s a cool guy, I’m extremely pleased to have gotten to meet him and work with him. I’ll be getting a CD of the digital images from him soon, so I’ll have some of those to show you before long. I think I’ll get some great pictures, and he got some images he seemed to like as well.

We did do some art-nudes at the end – but I will not be posting those on the site, sorry. They’re intended for the pleasure of Max and of Monk. However, Craig took some photos of my ass that he seemed to think were noteworthy, so watch his site, and sometime you might see photos of my behind there. Of course, since my face isn't in the photo, you may have to be someone who’s made a close study of my posterior to recognize me. But that might be a bigger club that I think…

Today, I am completely focused on modeling for Craig Morey. Nothing else matters. That's what I'm doing.
And when I'm done, I'm going to eat a huge meal and go to sleep.

Here I am in foggy but fabulous San Francisco! Today, I’ll do a little fetish shopping, get in one last workout before the Craig Morey shoot, and go do a podcast with the super-cool people over at Blowfish.com. I did a podcast with them when I was in town for Folsom Street Fair last year, and they invited me back for another visit. I’m looking forward to that, and I’ll link to it as soon as it’s live.

While we’re on the subject of podcasts: Monk bought me a state of the art microphone for my own podcasts, so I will be setting all that up when I get back from Kinkfest. Should be fun!

Here's the link to the column that's up now. But it's a re-run, as I was far too ill last week to write.

In keeping with yesterday's theme: How to get hurt. Not in the good way, either.

On a fashion note: Where in San Francisco should a girl go to buy thigh-high boots? Also, has anyone been in West Coast Leather – formerly North Beach Leather – lately? How’s their stuff looking? I like Madame S, but more selection is always good.

I got a long letter recently – but unlike some, this writer wants me to publish his issue. However, what I have to say about it may not be exactly what he expects.

(Note: I did edit it down a bit for length.)

Dear Matisse,

My on-again/off-again partner has at times been a professional Dominatrix, although within our own personal relationship she is…submissive to me. I say "at times" with regard to BDSM work because her primary relationship is with drugs.

We have seen you around once or twice and you are her role model, on both a professional and personal basis. We read the Control Tower regularly and she's clipped many of your articles to make a scrap book…. I'm writing you because I believe that you are one of the few people who might get through to her and impact her. She has made half-hearted attempts to quit doing drugs, mainly by replacing meth use with increased pot use or alcohol binges. I'm beside myself with anguish, because the person I love most is letting her life go down the drain and I don't know what to do.

…Edited for length – the person in question is engaging in behavior the writer doesn’t like…

…I've told her I'm not about to help her go down the wrong path…snip… She's been in a circle of drugs and sex industry work for about 10 years, and I have a very strong belief that if you are a drug addict, this is certainly the wrong business to be in. I was surprised to find that after doing this for 10 years she had no money. ...snip... She still has no money, and despite my efforts to teach her how to fish, so to speak, she prefers to be given fish. Needless to say she gets resentful when there are no fish left or a person gets tired of giving handouts!

I would very much appreciate it if you could write a column with your thoughts on drugs and Dom/sub relationships... How they affect personal relationships and if you believe a woman should even be IN the sex industry if she's a drug user....snip... It just seems like a waste of life and so empty to me.

Rather than come back to me and a healthy, stable environment, she continues to think that if she just gets a hotel room at an Extended Stay for a week or so she will be able to take enough clients to get back on her feet. After seeing this pattern over the past several years and then getting calls for me to help put her up at a hotel again, I've said no. …Edit: he’s given her money and tried to help her in the past … I feel great guilt but realize I'm enabling and maybe even dragging out her time to hit rock bottom by chipping in. It has affected me immensely on an emotional level, but I feel that until she gets clean nothing will ever work, between us or in her own life.

As I mentioned before, she looks up to you and draws much of her insight from your columns. It's a long shot, but perhaps some pointed comments from you might strike a chord within her and wake her up. Nothing I say or do at this point makes a difference, and I'm sad to see that after 3 years I have had so little impact on her life.

Please write something about this. Meth is an evil drug that is such a huge problem in our society today....snip... it's like watching a movie and I can't do a thing about her self destruction.

***

Well, I had some reactions right away to this email. But rather than just respond from that place, I decided to ask my friend Miss K for her take. Not only is she just a smart person, she’s also a former sex worker. And – she’s a former drug addict. She’s been clean for some years now and I’m proud of her for that. I can’t think of anyone more qualified to comment on this email. Here’s what she said:

Here's my impression: the key phrase is: "It just seems like a waste of life and so empty to me." Yeah, to you. The problem is, it's not your life. Being a Republican, punching a clock and breeding seems like an empty, wasted life to me, but that doesn't give me any right, moral or otherwise, to stop someone from doing it. Now, if you throw in the disease of addiction, I also don't have the ability to stop them, and neither do you!

Basically: you're writing the letter? You're the one with a problem. I strongly suggest immediate participation in Al-Anon. Their hotline number is (206)625-0000, and their meeting directory and links are online at www.seattle-al-anon.org. You've made a strong case for this woman to get into a 12-step program like Narcotics Anonymous or Alcoholics Anonymous, but the thing that makes those programs work is that they're not for people who need them, they're for people who want them...Until she reaches out for help (and not to you!) to get clean, consider her on her own path. You don't have to go with her! In fact, she may hit her bottom faster if you don't.

Oh, and as for being in the sex industry while using drugs? Yeah, bad idea, but again, that’s just an opinion. Not that I approve of it, but we can't really know what goes on behind those doors.

I agree with Miss K. The only problem you can fix is your own. If your girlfriend has a drug problem, it's her problem. You said it yourself: you can’t do a thing about her self-destruction. So stop trying.

I confess to you, when I first read your email, it really pissed me off. I thought, “God, what a controlling person, he picked a woman he knew had a drug problem when he started dating her, and now he’s all about trying to change her and make her act like he wants her to. And he wants to involve me in this game he's playing with her. No way, Jose."

And then I realized why this letter irritated me so. Because I used to do the same damn thing. Oh yeah, I did. For most of my twenties, I surrounded myself with broken people that I was trying to control… Oh, whoops, I mean help. Yeah, help, that’s it. Some of them were sex workers who acted just like your girlfriend is acting. Some of them were men. But it’s the same dance.

I had to bang my head against the wall until it was bloody before I finally learned: no matter how good and pure I think my intentions are, no matter how many books I read, or how many therapy appointments I drag people to, I cannot fix or change or save anyone else. It’s not within my power. And it's wrong for me to even try, because sometimes help is just the nice word for control.

I don't think it's within anyone's power to fix someone else. You can love them while they work to fix themselves. Or you can love them while they’re engaging in behaviors you don’t like, and make whatever boundaries you need to shield yourself from the negative fallout. But you have to let go of any idea you have about influencing them to behave differently. It won’t happen, and you’ll just make yourself miserable trying.

Plus, it keeps you from focusing on your own life and your own issues. That’s probably why people do it – it’s so much more comfortable to keep the spotlight on other people’s problems than your own.

If your girlfriend asked me for my advice, I’d give it to her. She hasn’t. But for you, I have some advice: end the relationship, sever all the ties, and walk away. Don’t get involved with another broken person, either. That’s always a real temptation, because there are lots of them around, and oh, they can be so alluring. They have so much potential, if they’d just – just – just… change.

Focus your energy on improving your own life. Isn’t there something you want to accomplish that’s just about you? Climb a mountain, go to Tibet, write a book, lose twenty pounds, get a promotion at work, buy a house – something? Do that. And let your ex-girlfriend find her own way to wherever she’s going.

Usually when I go over to eBay, I search for my favorites like "wolford dress". But last night I searched for "PVC dress". I meant for me, but instead I stumbled onto this: "Very handsome hero pvc dress for man to show muscle".

I think it's the word "dress" that amuses me so. A hero dress to show muscle! W00t! Like Superman in fetish drag? Hey, bid now, kinky heroes, the seller only has nine hundred and ninety-nine of them available. I think it's reversible, too, if the picture is be believed. How can you resist?

However, it is very honest of the seller to make clear that he's not selling the actual man in the picture. Because you don't want a bunch of negative feedback from disappointed buyers about that kind of thing, do you? (Although you'd think people would infer it from the shipping costs.)

I love eBay.

In spite of the fact that I’m a big ole sadist in my dungeon, I generally try be kind and helpful to people that I encounter in life. I don’t always succeed, but I do make an effort.

However, balanced against my altruistic kindness is my very strong sense of personal boundaries. I’m quite good at telling people I deal with what they can - and cannot - expect from me. I’m about to do that now.

I've started getting a fair amount of email from strangers that begins, "Don't publish this, don't put this in the blog!” And then the person in question proceeds to tell me all about some problem they have, usually kink or poly or sex work related, and ask me for help and advice. And I mean, they tell me all about themselves, and all about the issue, and all about all the things that they might do, but haven’t, and all the things that they think I might tell them, and why those things aren’t the right answer…. Length is a big feature of these emails. And to answer them in any reasonable fashion, I would need to write an equally lengthy letter in return.

Look, I have sympathy for people who are struggling, and I'm not trying to be mean here, but - no. Forget it. I do not spend my very scarce and very valuable free time writing long personal emails to people I don't even know. At any given moment in my life, there are thirty-seven extremely pressing things that I ought to be doing. I’m not about to blow them off to do unpaid social work via email. That is not my job. It’s not my idea of a good time, either.

What is my job, among other things, is being a writer. I write things, and then I publish them. I get paid for that by The Stranger, although not bloody much, and I publish this blog because it’s good exposure for me as a writer and it also helps my career as a pro domme. When I publish letters and answer them, that’s a win/win. The questioner gets information, and I get a piece out of it. When you write to me and say, “You can’t use this professionally, but I want to you to devote a lot of time to helping me anyway,” – well, that’s unreasonable. There’s nothing in that for me.

One aspect of these emails that always puzzles me is: there’s never anything striking unique about the situations. I can’t believe anyone would recognize the writer just by the question, even if they knew them. It’s always something fairly common: coping with a partner’s infidelity, unhappiness over a partner who is unwilling to explore kink, someone who is toying with the idea of sex work, or someone who’s feeling isolated about being kinky. So why does the writer feel so panicked about the idea of me publishing the letter? That I don’t know.

Maybe I should set up a Paypal thing where someone can pay me a fee - say, twenty-five dollars - and then I'll write a personal reply to those give-me-advice email. But short of that, if someone writes to me and asks me any question that can't be answered in five words or less, and says "You can’t publish this", that email is getting deleted.

I had a very nice relaxing weekend. And it's good that I got to chill out some, because my life is about to shift into high speed…It’s Monday, and I’m officially in Pre-Photo-Shoot-Week. Not only is it PPSW, I’m traveling down to San Francisco for the shoot, so the amount of preparation I’ve got going on is fearsome. Clothing must be chosen and packed, I’m spending most of a whole day at my salon having girlie things done to me, there will be extra gym time, it’s crazy.

I have to make an appearance at SEAF as well, which is a wonderful event, but I wish it wasn’t this week!

And plus I want to book some more appointments. Hey, I had a week off, if I don’t get to thrash someone soon, it’s going to be trouble. I get cranky if I don’t get to be evil on a regular basis. I still have time available on Tues and Thursday, and maybe Weds. Friday is gone, and so is today, of course. And after Friday of this week, I'm gone until the 27th.

Speaking of being gone: I have decided to go to Shibaricon. I was waffling, but several of my pals, and of course Monk will be all over the place, and so what the hell, I’ll go too.

But that’s not until May. Today, I going to do what a therapist I had once always advised me to do when I was feeling rather swamped. Just focus on the next indicated step, she’d say. And that’s San Francisco, so excuse me while I get out my suitcases and start making lists of fetishwear.

Light(Headed) Reading

Now that I'm all better... As much as I like my history, business, and self-improvement books, I must admit there are times when I don’t want to be intellectually challenged by what I read. And I don't really want anything new, either. I want to be soothed and comforted by easy, familiar stories. Thus, when I am sick, I put the usual fare to one side and go to a special storage box I have that’s full of battered paperbacks of a certain flavor.

Trash! Trash and children’s books. Okay, maybe trash is a little harsh. Take Barbara Michaels (aka Elizabeth Peters) – she’s has written dozens of fun, fluffy mystery novels and I’ve read every damn one of them. And loved them. She’s still cranking them out too, and I have nothing but respect for her, she’s a craftswoman. Would that I could produce so consistently for so long.

A lot of the earlier ones read as pretty dated now, but that only adds to their Scooby-Doo-episode charm.

“Look, everyone, it’s not a ghost at all, it’s Old Man Henderson, the curmudgeonly caretaker, dressed up in a sheet!”

“Darn you kids! I’d of gotten away with the secret treasure if it hadn’t been for you!”

That kind of thing. It’s perfect, not-at-all-taxing entertainment for the girl doing Robitussin shooters.

Now, Valley of the Dolls is trash. Really great trash. Naturally I wouldn’t stoop to read recently-published novels like this (yeah right), but the mega-best-sellers of yesteryear (1966, to be exact) acquire a certain patina. It was old when I first read it, and I dig it out about every five years or so. And I’ve read not only this, but all of Jacqueline Susann’s other novels too, most of which aren’t nearly as good. The Love Machine is fun, but the rest of them? Don’t bother.

I love Agatha Christie books. Everyone is so mannered and so jaunty. Hercule Poirot is my favorite, although Miss Marple is okay too. (Knowing my taste for old English homicide, Monk brought me the Father Brown omnibus, which I've only just started. It seems delightful so far.) But I've read all the Christies, (yes, even the boring Tommy & Tuppence ones) and I love the fact that I now get all the period references. There's a lot of in-jokes you miss, unless you know a fair amount about the era. Sure, okay, the "mysteries" are not exactly dense, I know. If I wanted dense, I'd read Umberto Eco. But Dame Christie, you can follow her along just fine even with a couple degrees of fever.

Then there’s the other school of comfort reading: books from your childhood. I had a lot of favorite books when I was a kid, but I’m sure no author would be more horrified by having me for a fan than the saintly Lucy Maud Montgomery. Mrs Montgomery was the creator of the Anne Of Green Gables books, in which no one cursed, vomited, or had a thought about anything below their waist, ever, ever, ever. I’m not even sure any of those characters had legs, actually. The “Anne” books are in all ways a classic rendering of the late-Victorian ideals of how women, children, and – to some degree – men should think, feel and be. (The men kinda get a pass, though, because there aren’t very many developed adult- male characters in the Anne books. I mean, Matthew dies at the end of the first one, and we never get to know Gilbert very well, do we?)

I think the reason why the reason why the sanitized, saccharine-sweet, lily-white domestic adventures of little Anne and her family please me is that Mrs. Montgomery has a gift for capturing the rhythms of trivial, workaday dialogue and storytelling between rural people, especially women. I’ll forgive a book a lot if, when I read conversations, the sound and the texture of them seem so real to me that I can imagine people I know having them. In this case, the people would be my grandmothers and aunts, when I was a child. Not my own mother – she was always a bit too urban/New Age to be talking about sewing and babies and did you hear what that naughty Nelson boy did? But even though they are widely separated by both time and space, the country women of my family sound very much like the wives and mothers of Avonlea. And when you’re sick, there’s nothing like a little visit from your family to make you feel better.

This week's new column....

I am vastly, but vastly, amused by this: "At Mistress Ishtar's Beck And Call," by Midori

Speaking as Mistress Ishtar's primary... well, I won't say "partner" because that's not right. Primary caregiver? Primary minion? You'd have to ask her for a precise definition, and she's better at stating immediate needs than at abstract definitions. But in any case, Midori has explained the situation perfectly. Mistress Ishtar is my longest-term adult relationship. When she was younger, it was pretty much just me that she wanted to top. Now, in her later years, she clearly feels secure enough in her power to command others to do her bidding as well. It just tickles me that she's chosen the great and powerful FetishDiva Midori as her favored service bottom.

So, I normally have a policy of not saying anything about it here when I get sick, because what I found was, if I so much as mentioned a sniffle, the phone would go dead silent and two weeks later, I'd still be getting guys saying, "Well, I read you were sick, so I didn't wanna call you and bother you..." Which is not good for my bottom line.

However, I realized that there are probably a number of guys wondering why I haven't returned their call/email, so for that reason, I admit it: I've had the flu. I started feeling a little tired late last week and then Friday, wow, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I won't get into specifics, except to say that this is definitely what a friend of mine would call Martian Death Flu.

But Max and Monk have been taking extra-specially good care of me, and I have medicine from my favorite doc, and I am generally being as well-looked-after as a girl could possibly be.

I expect to be up and around again by the end of the week. If that changes, I'll let you know...

A Saturday shopping post, skip if you're just looking for kinky stuff...

So, I'm wanting a longer David Yurman chain, and by longer I mean: longer than 20 inches. 24 inches at least, 26 or 28 inches would be cool. It's actually surprisingly hard to find any high-quality chains that length. (I want a long one because I've got necklaces in shorter lengths, although this heavy chain is very pretty. And I mean a fairly plain chain, although I am also really lusting for this as well.)

I keep looking around on eBay - but I think that much of the jewelry sold there as "David Yurman" is fake. I mean, when you see stuff like this advertised, and then you see the David Yurman merchandise bags being sold on eBay, well, it's hard not to imagine that there's a high probability of getting counterfeit goods.

Has anyone actually bought good jewelry on eBay, and do you have any people you recommend dealing with? Maybe I'm being too paranoid, but even with good eBay feedback, I'm just not willing to spend a chunk of money on something without some strong assurance of it being bona fide.

Alternately: it doesn't absolutely have to be Yurman, although I always like his stuff. Any have any experiences buying a high-quality chain by a different designer?

Books On The Bedside Table

What am I reading? Well…

The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene and Joost Elffers
And The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene
I was gifted with these two books yesterday by a client who is new to me, but quite delightful. I’ve dipped into The 48 Laws of Power before, but I hadn’t seen the one on seduction before, and it’s very interesting. It’s not about candlelight and mood music, it’s about the psychology of seduction. All kinds of seduction: sexual, emotional, political. I remarked to Monk that it was a bit like reading The Gift Of Fear: I found myself nodding my head and saying to myself, Yes, yes, that’s true, I’ve seen that happen…Yes, I’ve done that… and yes, someone did that to me once, and it worked!

Women & Money: Owning the Power to Control Your Destiny
by Suze Orman
I’m sorry, was there someone on the planet who didn’t realize Suze was a lesbian? But it’s nice that she’s coming out about it. Regardless of that, it’s an interesting investment book that talks about how women relate to money. Some of it tabs with me and my relationship with money, and some - not so much. But then I think professional sex workers have a whole different attitude about money than other women. We're more comfortable with cash, and yet less practical about it. Spending money as fast as you make it isn't the end of the world when you're a single girl in her twenties, but as time goes on, it's not such a smart choice anymore. I myself am working to get very practical about money while I'm still making it.

Heyday: A Novel by Kurt Andersen
This was also a gift from someone who knows I like historical novels. I haven’t started it yet, but it looks great, and the author’s previous novel – though quite different from this one - was widely praised.

Pickpockets, Beggars and Ratcatchers: Life in the Victorian Underworld, by Kellow Chesney. Monk got me this and it’s great. It’s extremely dense, written in a rather academic style, but well researched. I love reading about the social subcultures of other times - probably because I would be considered by many to be something of an underworld character myself. But in a hundred years, I'll simply be quaint, like Eliza Dolittle in My Fair Lady.

Lost Painting : Quest for a Caravaggio Masterpiece by Jonathan Harr
“The mysterious fate of a lost masterpiece, an art restorer's obsession, and Caravaggio's troubled life are the focus of this riveting work of history.” I haven’t started it yet, but it seems as if it will blend art history and biography in a way that I love.

This week's new column...

And a note, in case you didn't know. I do indeed compile the Kink Calendar each week. But the little "joke" listing that appears there? I don't write or submit that. Someone else does. (I'm not sure who anymore, frankly. Except that no, it's not Dan Savage, either.) I don't even see it until the paper runs, so I have no idea what it's going to be. If you hate it, send your complaints to The Stranger, who will deal with them as they see fit. It's not in my power to change or delete those listings.
I might also suggest that you try to keep a sense of humor about the matter. The Stranger treats pretty much everything and everyone with irreverence. (At the very least.) Sexual matters are not going to be exempt from that. But I doubt that their attitude is going to truly cripple the flowering of sexual expression in Seattle.

My very silly appearance on The Stranger's Justify Your Pod is up.... Dave was great and fun, but it's always so weird to hear yourself talking - I think it's even odder than video, with the disembodied voice thing. However, I should get over that if I'm going to do podcasts...

Some other notes...

Scheduling! I've got a big trip coming up. I’m going to be gone from March 17^th until March 27^th!

The first half of that ten days I’ll be in San Francisco, getting my picture taken by Craig Morey! I fly home Weds and then Thursday Max and I leave for Kinkfest.

We’re coming home Monday the 26^th, so the 27^th is the first day I’ll be available for appointments. The 16^th would be the last, and I’m already booked up a good portion of that day. So carpe diem, gentlemen.

While I’m on the subject of my boys, let me just give a shout-out to the great guys who brought me various gifts last week, as their Valentines Day tokens. I was gifted with a cool custom-burned CD of rock and roll tunes, an interesting-looking book about dominatrixes, and the new CD by Pet Shop Boys.

Blue Eyes was doubly thoughtful: he brought Jae and I both lovely rings. Mine is a delicate ruby, and Jae’s a sapphire. So sweet!

(As an aside: I’m going to have to have mine sized down, as it’s a bit loose. This happened with the ring Armani gave me too. I’m puzzled, because I went to Nordstrom and had my fingers sized in the fine jewelry department. Nordies told me I’m a seven on my right middle finger, but both size seven rings are too big for me. What gives? Has vanity sizing hit the jewelry industry?)

Speaking of Armani, he also gave me something cool last week: these sunglasses. He said, “If you’re going to call me Armani, you have to have something by Armani.” (Hmmn, maybe I should have named him Cartier.)

These are quite the most expensive-looking sunglasses I have ever owned. I love the bling on the logo, it makes me feel deliciously LA-porn-star-like. And because someone was complaining that I don’t post pictures of myself in my pretty gifts, I stepped into my bathroom and took a snapshot in the mirror.

I can see why people like these big shades – I’m not wearing the first bit of makeup, my hair is all rumpled, and that’s my oldest comfy t-shirt, but with the glasses on, I still look reasonably presentable, don’t I? Too bad I live in a gray and cloudy climate, I'd wear them everyday.

The other set of previously mentioned new nipple-torment devices…. They look like bells, don’t they? And I call them nipple toys, but in fact I put Jae’s girl bits in one of them and it worked just fine…For me, anyway.

Now I'm off into my day. Bye!

Edit: A note to gentlemen of my acquaintance: I have some time available this week, so if you've been trying to get to see me, call me soon before it's all booked!

I've been reading Rob Brezny's poetic astrological predictions for years now. I love the way he writes. If my friend Otis was an astrologer, this is the kind of thing he'd write.

Scorpio Horoscope for the week of February 22, 2007
In the coming weeks, you'll attract cosmic assistance whenever you add to your repertoire, branch out artistically or socially, or start gathering seed money for a project that may take years to ripen. Mythically speaking, the coming weeks will also be a good time to have intimate relations with a fertility god or goddess, and to plant magic beans that will grow into a beanstalk that reaches the sky. "Is that it?" you may be asking. "Nothing but good news?!" My only caveat, which is pretty minor, is that you might add a few pounds to your frame. If you're a hetero woman, that could be caused by a pregnancy unless you're careful.

Interestingly, some cool things are indeed perking along for me on the artistic front, so hopefully Rob is correct and cosmic assistance will continue to come my way.

But the stars above are apparently unaware that I'm getting ready for a photo shoot. No pounds will be added to me! And if I turn up pregnant, either Max or Monk are going to be having a very serious conversation with their doctor, because they've both had vasectomies. No babies, not me, no way...

The new column…. By the way, I’m not purposely picking on sex-work job-seekers lately. (It’s not like I haven’t ever been one of them myself.) Mere coincidence, I promise.

All this talk about music… I’ve been looking for an mp3 of the Darth Vader theme music, to play for – of course – Max. I figured we’d use it an intro to all the bondage workshops, that kinda thing. (I’m kidding. Sort of.) But I can’t seem to find it on iTunes, so – anybody got it? Or know where I can get it?

Also – why the heck can’t I find that David Bowie song “Never Met a Girl Like You Before” anywhere? I can’t ever figure out what album it’s on. That is Bowie, right?

Social note: I think Monk and I are going out dancing Saturday night. He’s threatening to take me to the Baltic Room for Bollywood music. I’m game, but the only thing better is if I could find an eighties night somewhere, because that would be so delightfully wrong. Sadly, those all seem to be mid-week, and we’re apparently too Puritan-work-ethicy to go out on a school night. Or something.

In other news: I got two new sets of really, really nasty nipple torture devices last week. I hesitate to even call them clamps, because that really doesn’t do them justice. They are sheer evil. Yesterday I got to use them on Jae, and it was biiiiiiig fun. She quite liked them, but then she’s a sick and twisted girl. No wonder I’m so fond of her.

I put them on her nipples, and that was fine, and then I put them on her labia, and that was great. I slapped them, I hung weights off them. And then I touched the Magic Wand I just happened to be holding in my hand – switched on – to them, and that was quite simply the most delightful thing in the world. I had to dodge back quickly, though, because Jae has an ability to writhe wildly even when you think you’ve got her secured, and she about knocked me down!

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?

Caller: (female voice) Yeah, I’m calling about your ad.

Uh-oh, looks like I’m going to have to tell another woman that I’m not taking female clients these days. Unless she’s part of a couple, and even couples are sometimes more challenge than reward. Not always, but sometimes. When couples are good, they are very, very good, and when they are bad, whoo, they are horrid.

Me: Okay, is this for you and your boyfriend or husband?

Caller: Boyfriend or husband? No. It’s just me.

She sounds taken aback that I would ask such a thing, and I’m noticing that she sounds very young. She’s also affecting a sort of urban/hip-hop inflection that I imagine she learned from MTV and Quentin Tarantino movies. Perhaps we should just ask the vital question…

Me: What ad of mine did you see?

Caller: The one where it says you hiring.

That’s not a typo – she said “…you hiring”. I thought I had left the South.

Me: Uh, no, I don’t have any ad that says that.

Caller: This ain’t your ad in the adult section that says “selectively hiring”?

Me: I have an ad in the adult sections of some papers, yes, but it doesn’t say I’m hiring. It says I’m selectively taking new clients.

There’s a brief pause while she, presumably, re-reads the ad and ponders the difference between clients and employees, and I meditate on the sad state of the American public school system.

Caller: …Oh.

She hangs up. Good lord.

I think I should get rid of that ad text anyway, since it’s been made clear to me that people are not interpreting it the way I want them to. Which would be, “I’m not saying I won’t see new guys at all. But - I don’t choose to see very many.”

Frankly, my worst nightmare is running a sex work business where I have to run “help wanted” ads and hire off the street. Pray for me that day never comes.

I got an email lately, from a woman who told me I wasn’t allowed to publish her note. She told me all about her relationship with a man who repeatedly hurt her emotionally and displayed disrespect for their relationship, and she wanted my advice.

I gave her the short answer: he’s broken, you can’t fix him, dump him. As I typed that reply to her, I winced, because my left hand was sore. I’ve got a whip-weal across the backs of my fingers, half a dozen thin red lines of slightly raised flesh. It’ll be fine tomorrow, but right now, it’s still tender.

How’d that happen? Well, I had my hand on someone’s ass while I was beating it, quite viciously, with a thin little rubber whip. And I missed my target and hit my own hand. My aim with a whip is almost always very accurate – good eyesight and a lot of practice will get you that. But occasionally, even I get off-center.

(Why did I have my hand there at all? To keep an ass-toy from popping out.)

It was pretty painful, but I bit my lip and didn’t yelp, and just kept the scene going. That’s what you do.

But it reminded me of a fundamental truth: some rules are the same for everyone. Whips hurt, whether you’re the top or the bottom. Emotional wounds hurt, too, no matter who you are. You can be a Gorean master, or a smart-ass masochist, or an old-school Mistress. But all those roles, and those aspects of who we are, mean nothing when it comes to basic ethics and integrity. The rules are the same there. Being kinky never exempts you from that. I personally think that sexual outlaws should make doubly sure that our honor and integrity is in place, because the world would have us think that we forfeit that when we pick up – or bend over for – the whip.

So if you write to me, you can tell me all about what you and your partner do in the playroom, and what you call yourselves and your relationship, but many times, that’s all just smoke obscuring the main issue. Step back from all that and ask yourself – what’s really happening here? Is it okay with me? If not, then ask for it to stop. If it doesn’t, pack up your toys and leave.

Amusing event of the upcoming week: The Stranger wants me to come be on the "Justify Your Pod" podcast. This is a little show where Stranger writer Dave Schmader listens to the music on your iPod, and then makes fun of you for your uncool musical tastes while you attempt to, well, justify them. Dave has always seemed like a cool guy (meaning: when he edits my columns, he doesn’t butcher them), and it's a good concept, and it'll be fun. I have such cheesy taste in music anyway, he'll have fodder for days.

And frankly, I’m sort of looking forward to an interview where I actually do not only talk about BDSM, sex work, and polyamory. Not that I don’t like talking about those things, because hey, they are cool. But it’ll be fun to talk about random silly things for a change, like what’s on my iPod.

I predict he’ll give me shit about my taste for stupid-teenage-movie-soundtrack songs, and my extensive collection of Pet Shop Boys tracks. Oh, and those Eddie Money songs. Definitely going to give me a hard time about that. What else is embarrassing? Oh, here’s some other bad ones: Digital Underground, The Humpty Dance, Ricky Martin, She Bangs. Judas Priest, You’ve Got Another Think Coming, Tony! Toni! Tone! Born Not To Know, ABBA, Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight). As you can see, my bad musical taste spans all different genres.

However, there’s one problem: for Dave to listen to my tunes, I have to give him my iPod. Like, for several days! Eeek! I am getting really twitchy just contemplating life without my Nano. Clearly I must go and buy another one. Max and I want one to live at our house, anyway, for our dungeon. (Talk about justify - listen to me justifying the purchase.) I think a visit to Best Buy or some such place is in my future.

So that’ll be recorded Friday, although I don’t know when it’ll go live. Hopefully this will be the spur I need to get my own podcast stuff up and going. As a Christmas gift, Monk sweetly offered to get me with all the gear I need. We just have to go buy it and set it up. He and I are spending this weekend together – a rare treat for us – so perhaps we’ll have a chance then.

I haven’t written much this week, have I? I’ve been so busy – lots happening earlier this week, and then I spent Wednesday and Thursday with Max.

One evening we had tickets for the show Buddy, which is a musical based on the life/music of Buddy Holly. It was charming and fun, I enjoyed it. The amusing thing was that we went to dinner at Ruth’s Chris beforehand, and the host there was totally doing a Buddy Holly look. He had the glasses and the hairstyle, the jacket and skinny tie, he even had the build and a slight facial resemblance. We wondered, Does this guy do this all the time – like, it’s his look? Or is this just keyed to the show? You don’t see straight guys – and he definitely seemed straight – doing an on-purpose look so often. (Although some guys certainly do.) And among Ruth’s Chris servers in their plain dark suits, he stood out.

Whatever his reason, he was very attentive to us, checking in on us regularly and bringing us (complimentary) drinks after dinner. I’ve always liked Ruth’s Chris and now I want to go back there another time soon and see if he’s still dressed the same way.

We had a lovely evening, very relaxed. (Mostly. There were moments of delightful tension.) This is a contrast to how our next visit will be. In March, Max is taking me down to San Francisco to model for photographer Craig Morey.

This is a very big deal to me. Very big. Ever since I was just a little baby model/photographer, I have thought Craig Morey’s work was amazing. If had asked me what photographer I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have said instantly, “Craig Morey.” His work is so deceptively simple, but when you shoot yourself, you learn how really hard it is to get the light and the shadow and the angles all just so. Those photos don’t just happen, they are built, and I love them.

And I sort of can’t believe I’m going to pose for this guy. He is so cool, and he is going take amazing pictures of me! And when I meet him, I have to make sure I don’t act like a total idiot fangirl, and jump around waving my hands and saying “Omigod, omigod, you’re Craig Morey!” Since he actually knows that already, and while he’s well-known and admired in certain circles, I’m guessing most of the time he just walks around in the world feeling like a normal non-famous person. Very occasionally people act like this when they meet me, and while it’s sort of sweet, I am always thinking: What? What are you all excited about? Who, me? No, I’m just this girl… Because I generally think of myself as a normal non-famous person. So I’m determined to be cool. Mostly. Maybe a little gushing and wiggling.

Meanwhile, I am working out like a crazy woman, getting even more toned for this shoot, and if you see me the week before I leave you should be afraid, because I will be on the very-low-carb Photo Shoot Diet, and while it works like a charm for short-term water loss, it makes me a bit bitchy. So I’ll look extra-great, but I’ll be extra-mean. Don’t say you weren’t warned.

But I’m not bitchy today…and I’m going to go spend some time kissing Max.

Yes! Due to several cool things that I made happen today with my talent, imagination, and sheer force of will, I am feeling like a Rock Star of Perviness. Hell, yeah! I am fist-pumping the air like a redneck at a monster truck rally.

Yeah. A good day. Now just for balance, go read all about a moment where I wasn't quite so cool.

Dresses

I’m writing a column and window-shopping at the same time…

Is this not the cutest dress? Pucci! I would so wear this, but they don’t seem to have it in my size. And, oh, there’s the minor matter of it being twelve hundred dollars. Ouch!

But as long as we’re pretending money is no object, there’s Versace, and Dolce and Gabbana, and more Versace.

This Jean Paul Gaultier dress is pretty and I'm trying to buy more non-black dresses. But please tell me why she's wearing that thing on her head? It makes her look like a chemotherapy patient.

And I love this JPG outfit,too. It's sort of sexy-schoolmarm meets film noir femme fatale.

Another great little non-black dress. It's the perfect cut for me, and I look great in that color. Not absolutely positively out of my price range, either.

I would so wear this Zac Posen dress. It's adorable.

What I'm more likely to actually buy: this Miss Sixty dress, in red. With black fishnets and knee high boots, a cute early-spring go-out-dancing dress.

I had a weekend jam-packed with nice things...

For example, this box of deliciousness arrived at my door. Wolford, w00t!

I went to a great party where I got to see (and take photos of) some lovely kinkiness. Like this with Monk and a very cute (and scrappy!) boy. It was a very hot scene, so Kirk-and-Spock! All the women at the party were gathered around watching the action with great pleasure. At least, those who weren’t tied up somewhere else.

I have video clips too, but I’ll give them to Monk and he and his rope buddy can sort out what’s okay to post. I think there will be more photos over on his blog, though.

To quote a ruffled-panty-wearing friend of mine: “My life, she does not suck.”

I’m thinking about being unfaithful.

It’s not that I don’t care about him. It’s just that…well, the excitement is gone. We’re stuck in a rut. He’s a great guy, I can’t say a thing wrong about him, it’s just that I’m craving something new and different and he seems unwilling to give it to me.

Yes, it’s true: my relationship with my hairdresser, once so idyllic, has grown stale.

But I’m very conflicted on what to do about that. I’ve been going to see Craig for over seven years. He is an excellent stylist, and I have never had a bad experience with him. I have no fear when I sit in Craig’s chair, because I have absolute confidence that he won’t screw up my hair. That’s worth something.

And while I’m not a girl who tells her hairdresser all her intimate secrets, he knows a good bit about me as a person, and I about him. There’s a certain intimacy there. It’s a comfortable relationship.

Then, too, the salon where he works is very, very nice. It’s not just my hair I get done there, all my little beauty-maintenance needs are tended to within those faux-marble walls. Everyone knows me by name, and they’re all nicely attentive without being fawning. I dislike fawning.

But…but…but – I’m bored. I’ve been faithful all this time, but now I have the seven-year-itch, apparently. You see, I think a woman’s experience of getting her hair done (or her nails, or a facial, or most other beauty services) is in some ways comparable to a guy going to see a sex worker. We get flattered and pampered, it’s often something that feels good, and it often makes us feel not just prettier, but happier as well. True, we’re paying money for something that we could, in many cases, do for ourselves. But that wouldn’t be as much fun.

A few days ago I picked up this month’s issue of Seattle magazine, which is generally a complete waste of paper and four-color ink. But this month was the Beauty issue, and they had a big spread on the “best local salons”.

I was miffed to see that my salon only got a brief mention. Hmph, I thought, they must not be advertisers.

There were, however, profiles and glossy photos of other high-end salons and individual stylists – their training and skills, their unique strengths, their personal philosophy of hair - and as I read, my interest was piqued. It was like a bunch of personal ads for hair stylists. I thought, I wonder what one of these people would do with my hair?

Of course, there’s nothing like shopping around to remind you of why your current partner is so great. I punched up some of the salon websites and looked at the hairdresser’s bio pages. One of the most often-mentioned boys is pictured with a sour, forced little smirk on his face and the admonition that clients must…“Shift your perception from vanity to integrity…” Uh, sweetie? No. Integrity is for elected officials. Vanity is the whole reason your profession exists. It’s damn sure the only reason I’m paying a hundred bucks to get my hair done. If you don’t understand that, I have no use for you. Besides, what the hell does that triangular soul patch under your curled lip have to do with integrity, can you tell me that?

Another stylist in the same salon states: “You were born with a certain skin tone and it’s appropriate for a certain look …pay attention.” He’s got a more appealing photo, but the tone of that seems a bit peremptory to me. That’s the thing – it’s not just skill, it’s personality. While I dislike too-obsequious people, I will not tolerate a salon where the staff acts like they are supermodels and you are one of the great unwashed, whom they will deign to anoint, in a manner of their choosing. No, no, no – that’s not how this works. I am a polite client and I tip well, but I expect you to act pleased to see me and my money, and I absolutely get the final vote on what happens to my hair, regardless of what you think of its integrity or appropriateness.

So I’ve picked out a possible candidate for an illicit fling. I’ll have to do a walk-by and sort of scope the place out, maybe go in and pick up a brochure. It’s nice to know that if I do it and things go badly, my old sweetheart will take me back and repair the damage. I’ll tell him it was all a terrible mistake and swear never to stray again. Until next time…

Skip this if you don’t want to read all about how wonderful my clients are. I don’t want to induce a diabetic moment in anyone...

So, I have lots of fabulous clients, and they all treat me well. (Or else they wouldn’t be my clients.) And how much I enjoy playing with them is not directly tied to the amount of money they spend. In my early years as a sex worker – especially as a dancer - I endured the company of many a well-heeled twit. So I know all about that.

However, I have a lot of guys who are extremely sweet and generous to me. They all rock.

But… today a special thank you must go out to Armani.

I’ve known Armani for a long time – in fact, Armani met me before I ever was Mistress Matisse. You see, back when I was still dancing/escorting, I was pals with a pro domme here in Seattle named Lady Rebekka. Rebekka was an extremely talented top, but she was a big girl, and one day she said to me, “The thing is, sometimes I just need a Barbie doll – you know, eye candy. Do you want to do some work for me?”

“As a dominant or as a submissive?”

She shrugged. “Both, if you want. A lot of guy would like to watch me top another girl. Nothing heavy, just a little slap and tickle.”

I was game. I was already kinky in my private life, and I trusted Rebekka.

So I worked with her here and there, and one afternoon she called me and said. “I know we haven’t done this before, but, I’ve got a guy – a nice guy, I’ve seen him before – and he’s looking for a cute girl who’ll take a spanking. Just with his hand, nothing too heavy. Will you do it?”

I thought about it. I am not really a masochist, and I usually hate impact play, it just annoys me. But the money was tempting, and I was curious. Pro subbing for real – what would that be like?

“Sure, why not,” I said.

That’s where I met Armani. He’s a switch, you see. I remember thinking that he was indeed a very nice guy, but that afternoon persuaded me that I shouldn’t plan a big career in professional submission. Talk about topping from the bottom! (No pun intended.)

So that was my first and last foray into pro-subbing. But a couple of years later I opened my dungeon door to a new guy and thought: hey wait, I’ve met you somewhere before… Armani recognized me too, and remembered me from Rebekka’s. We laughed about it, and we’ve been seeing each other ever since. So Armani can really say "he knew me when…"

Which makes it really sweet that he bought me this very generous gift in honor of Valentines Day.

It's nothing I would have dreamed of buying for myself, which makes it all the more delightful a gift. I’m very touched and slightly overwhelmed by it. So thank you, sharp-dressed man…

One of the things I like about Seattle is how much cross-orientation BDSM play I see. By that I mean, people whose professed sexual orientation doesn’t dovetail with that of their play-partner. A straight man playing with a lesbian, or a gay man playing with a woman. I kid Monk about all the lesbians (and gay men) he’s done BDSM with, but I’ve played with a fair number of queer boys, too. It’s just cool to me that we don’t fuss so much about identities if we like someone.

Like Sunday night at the Wet Spot Bondage Party. I showed up, dressed to hang out and socialize, no toy bag, nothing. I had no plans to play. (I don’t play very much in public anymore.) When I got there, I saw that among my other friends, a gay-man pal of mine, JP, was there, with his cute blonde boy. (By which I mean: a young man. He’s over eighteen!)

We chatted a bit, and I wandered off, and when I turned around, JP had that same cute blonde boy was nicely suspended in a leather harness. JP is a leather-bondage kinda guy, and he’s got quite the collection of straps and rigs. So picture a boy hanging vertically in a harness that looks like it should have a parachute attached to the back of it. He was wearing leather pants, but his shirt was off.

I admired this from an appropriate distance, but then JP waved me over and invited me to poke and prod at his helpless boy a little. He’s generous that way. We both did so, making some playfully threatening remarks, and then JP said, “You know, this boy here, he’s never done needles.” He looked at me meaningfully. “I don’t really do needles.”

“Never done needles?” I said in astonished tones. “No! With this nice smooth skin? What a pity…”

“Did you bring any with you?”

“No,” I said thoughtfully. “No, I didn’t. But I could get some.”

“Oh, you think you could?”

I grinned at him and turned around on the spot. Raising my voice very slightly, I said, “Anyone got any needles I could borrow?”

Instantly a chorus of different voices answered me:

“Sure, I have some.”

“Oh yes, right here.”

“Yeah, what gauge you want?”

“Spinal tap or regular? I got some eighteens.”

Monk waved at me from his scene nearby. “Take my kit, babe.”

“I love this bloody, bloody town,” I said to JP, and went off to get Monk’s case of needles, gloves and alcohol wipes.

So I put a couple of needles in the virgin chest of that very sweet young gay man, and he seemed to like it pretty well. Even when I thumped on them and twisted them and pinched them. JP let another pretty woman do a little light knife-play with him, and that seemed to work well, too.

Just to round out the evening genderwise, I had to push Jae around a little. (Defined as: pin her to the floor, squeeze, twist and pull her labia as hard as I can, and then drive the point of my elbow into her pectoral muscle. With most of my body weight on it.) Hey, she taunted me. That’s consent to be hurt in my book. It’s nice having someone I know I can just leap upon with no noticeable negotiation/foreplay, and to feel confident that she’ll be fine. She’s just lucky I didn’t have the Cobra Stinger in my pocket.

Full and exact text of an email I got last week:

hi mam im lloking for 24/7 servitude

I am filled with emotion by this email. The care, the crafting, the raw human effort – it’s breathtaking. What can I think but that this person would bring exactly this much sincerity and dedication to my service? How can I resist such a passionate entreaty?

But no – am I worthy? Humble dominatrix that I am, am I truly, truly worthy of such painstaking servitude and towering devotion? Stay your hand, Matisse. Your time to accept such a one as this has not yet come. In fact, it may never come.

I am at peace with that.

I've spent most of this week doing things no decent person should do. Yay! I haven't used that super-evil paddle yet, but I did use my new electric toy, the Cobra Stinger extensively. I have flogged, restrained, pierced, spanked, penetrated, zapped, pinched, and teased until the cows came home. It's good to be me.

Want to see a few pictures? Okay. But doooooooon't go look if pictures of needles through nipples or peni in peril flip you out. Really. These are up close and personal.

All right, don't say I didn't warn you...

Clamped and pierced. (Putting the chopsticks on like that is not only sadistic fun, but it holds the nipple taut, so it's easier to get the needle through, even if there's already a lot of scar tissue in there.)

And: Pink lingerie, and a really, really big sound. Not the audible kind. (Although he does make some nice noises when I put it in.) Seriously, this thing is hefty. Urethral sounds start out being about as big around as a barbeque skewer - 3mm or so. This one is about as big as my finger - 12 mm, I believe. And ribbed for her pleasure, no less!
When the sweet nasty boy who's recieving it in the picture brought it to me, I looked at it and, "You have got to be kidding me. You could club seals with this thing."
"Oh, it'll fit," he assured me.
"Wait, you've already tried it, haven't you?"
"Do I look crazy? I wouldn't give it to you if I hadn't made sure."
Smart man.

Oh, and - the new column: Not Too Emo

Not Writing

I’m not feeling particularly creative this week. Or perhaps I should say that all my creative energy is being channeled into my (many) sessions. That’s a win for my clients, because while I’m always good at what I do, I am just burning down the house in my dungeon these last few days. I am in the zone, baby – the kink zone.

I like the way that feels for its own sake, and it’s intensely gratifying to me when I can leave a trail of wrung-out, panting, exhausted – but happy - men in my wake. I feel like a force of nature.

But I’m not feeling much like writing. Sorry.

Plus I’m sad to learn that Molly Ivins died. That really sucks.

Maybe I’ll take some pictures tomorrow – I predict I will have ample photo-fodder – and post them in lieu of really writing. I’m sure I’ll get back to my usual rhythm soon, though…

Wow, it’s being an extremely busy week! All very good stuff, but still - whew!

What's new? Well, Monk is back home from Boston, which is good, because I missed him!

In other totally random news: I bought some hot pink lingerie today, and I will take great pleasure in wearing it while I do terrible, terrible things to people. These days, wearing a lot of restrictive and uncomfortable fetishwear when I’m playing just doesn’t interest me much. For a stand-and-model party it might be different, but overall I’m liking lingerie much more - it’s just more comfortable. Latex makes you sweat like mad, as do layers of heavy leather. Plus, I like the sort of transgressive feeling of wearing soft, girly, silky things while I do hard, mean, rough things to people. And then laugh wildly.

Of course, at casual social events you’re just as likely to see me in my jeans. I was at a women-only party over the weekend, and I was teaching another girl how to do play piercing. Our lovely stunt-model was sitting on the floor, and I was sort of squatting in what I’m sure was a not-very-graceful position. But I didn’t want to touch the floor to steady myself, because, hey, I was sticking needles in someone with those (gloved) hands. However, a couple of my female friends were sitting behind me, teasing me about having plumber's-butt! Yes, low-cut jeans can betray you - bend forward too far, and there you are, exposed. So I suppose there are hazards to any piece of clothing.

Now it’s time prepare for my busy day, which will include a serious, serious workout. I have an event in March that I’m really gearing up for, bodywise. Perhaps I’ll tell you more about that soon…

While we’re on a pictures-of-toys roll…. Look at this nasty contraption I just got over the weekend. It’s a thick wooden paddle someone fixed up with copper wire and some kind of electrical device – looks like a small Taser of some kind? (I’m sure some electrical person will pipe up and tell us.) It makes the evilest little crackling sound when you push the “on” button, and I bet it hurts like a sonofabitch. I haven’t used it yet – no one will let me test it on them, the sissies. But I know someone who’s constantly pushing and challenging me to hit/hurt his ass more when he sees me, and this might be perfect for him. (Yes, I mean you, Bicycle Man.)

(Bigger image here...)

Where did I get this? Well, that’s a story. See, way back when I first came out as kinky, before the internet, there weren’t many places to buy gear, especially in the South. What there was commercially available was often of pretty inferior quality. So people made toys at home, and friends often traded around – that’s how you got new (to you) stuff. And when someone new came into the scene, the people they met would often go through their toy cabinets, find stuff they weren’t really using anymore, and pass it along. My very first flogger came to me just that way – a woman I knew said, “Here, you should have one of these.” It was a nice one, too, I loved it well.

And occasionally, someone would decide to get rid of all their toys. Sometimes they’d get a vanilla partner who demanded it, or - sadly – sometimes someone would become very sick, or even die. I have some equipment I literally inherited from another woman who passed away, and I think of her whenever I use it. You may find that odd, but it’s very much a done thing within the old-school kink community. It’s a clan thing, if that makes any sense to you.

So this paddle – and a great deal of other stuff – came from the collection of a man who was getting rid of everything. He’s older, his health isn’t good, and he had come to the conclusion that he probably wouldn’t be playing much any more. And while I can’t say much more without feeling like I’m compromising his confidentiality, let’s just say that if he died suddenly, and the wrong people found his secret playroom, well, it would be a pretty serious scandal. I can understand why he thinks it’s better that he give his things away now.

His friends helped him dismantle his dungeon, packed his stuff, and took it away. And the call went out, “Want some toys? Come over and pick out what you want…” So I went over and chose a few things, some for me and some for a young kinkster who hasn’t amassed a toy collection yet.

It’s funny, I’m used to buying toys now – it’s so easy to drop into one of the local sex shops, or get online and order whatever you want. I’d forgotten how it feels to pick up someone else’s toy and think about all the history that’s in it, and how now you’re going to add to that. I hope when it’s time for me to go, that people will want to take my toys and use them well. I like thinking about that.

Fans of the silly phone calls will enjoy this week's new column...

In other news, Blue Eyes, that sweet man, brought me a cute little toy this week...

I've seen these before around town, but hadn't bought one for myself. It's sort of like a little baby cattle prod. I've got a lot of electrical gear, but no wireless handheld stuff, so this was fun. It's not super-powerful, but it's a noticeable tingle, for sure. He wiggled and gasped very nicely.

Jae was there playing with us and I had a very good time zapping her with it, too. I love the way she squeals. Apparently the effect is heightened on wet areas - who would have guessed? So, see, it's not my fault, if she hadn't been - ahem - moist, it wouldn't have been so bad.

I believe it's available through HoydenGear, if you want one. (Warning: site has loud music and no easily-findable music off button. Adjust your speakers accordingly.)