Letter From A Reader

Greetings Mistress,

Consider it a newbie question - how do vanilla types who want to role play start? I guess my situation is that I would like to try to add some excitement but my other half of 20+ years doesn't really get the fantasy thing . . .so I thought, I might ask for a few tips on setting the stage...

This is a good example of why communication skills are such a highly valued trait in the BDSM community. I’m perfectly willing to help this person – but I don’t really know what they mean by the terms they are using.

Vanilla types who want to do role-play? Well, ok, role play doesn’t have to involve dominance and submission. I’m sure there are egalitarian role plays. (Don’t ask me to name one, though.)

But even a role-play with no power differential is going involve fantasy – that is the whole point, surely - so if your partner doesn’t get that, how exactly are you going to add it to your erotic life?

And the phrase “setting the stage” – to me, that would refer to objects and surroundings, not the acting out of the role play itself. Is this reader asking me about where to play and what props to use? But I can’t answer that without knowing the nature of the roles.

This is why, when people negotiate with me, I don’t allow them to say things like this. It’s that list thing I was talking about a few days ago. Words such as “spanking” have a very precise meaning. Phrases like “a fantasy role play” are so vague as to be useless.

Let me offer a possible re-write of this letter…It’s just a guess at what the person might, possibly, have meant. I may be completely off base, I don’t know.

Dear Mistress Matisse,

I’d like to do an erotic role-play with my long-term partner that doesn’t involve any intense sensation or BDSM trappings. Are there are any you can suggest? Where should we do this? And what kinds of things might we do?

My answer: I’d try a role-play where the power differential is one that’s at least somewhat familiar and non-threatening. Boss/employee is a good one. You can do it in almost any physical surroundings, it doesn’t require unusual props, and either identity can be the one directing the action. You can be the typical bossy boss with an underperforming employee. Or you can be the boss who’s been caught embezzling or leering at his secretary once too often, and who is thus over a barrel.

While you can do it at home, it’s often easier to step out of your everyday self in non-everyday settings. Consider getting a nice hotel room to add a little spice.

If doing a role-play is your idea, regardless of whether you want to be the top or the bottom, you should have a basic idea of where you want it to go, and you should communicate that to your partner, very clearly. For example: “I've called you into my office and I scold you for not doing the quarterly reports on time and threaten to fire you. You're acting all flirty, and you offer to make it up to me by giving me a blow-job. I pretend to resist for a minute, but then I can’t deny my attraction to you. While you suck me, I confess that I’ve been watching you bend over your desk and lusting after your ass for weeks, so you bend over my desk and pull up your skirt and tell me to kiss it, if I like it so much.”

That's all just off the top of my head. My other advice: Pat Califia wrote an excellent book called Sensuous Magic: A Guide for Adventurous Lovers that had a lot of really good step-by-step instructions for sexy role-plays that aren't about heavy BDSM. Unfortunately, the book has gone out of print, but you can find used copies around. Anyone who's looking to play some sexy games in their relationship would find it useful reading.

The new column. And... happy Friday. Bye!

Dancing Shoes

I bet you think I would never wear a pair of shoes like this.


I'd say it depends where I get to walk with them... You should see me in my little white golf skirt and white top. I need a golf club, though.

Strange, though - even though I've never worn these shoes outside my dungeon, they seem to have some stains on the soles. Huh, how could that have happened? (Don't click if you're squeamish.)

Letter From a Reader

Hi, Matisse!

Edited: some very nice compliments…

I do have a question, if you would be willing to answer it.

In terms of a Professional / client relationship, the boundaries have to be clearly defined and respected by the (sub/bottom) client. As a client, I do have my own individual needs to be addressed and (hopefully) met. At the same time, I am reluctant to go to a BDSM Professional service provider with a "laundry list" of needs and desires, expecting a Pro-Domme to meet them without giving consideration to her needs and desires as well. We are talking about interpersonal dynamics, honest communication, and developing an energy flow that I believe to be crucial to a fulfilling session. The way I see it, if a session does not work for a Pro-domme, then how can I, as a client, expect it to work for me??

For Example: (Edited for privacy: He told me about some of the specific things he likes and doesn’t like.)

…At the same time, I do want to afford a Pro-Domme with the opportunities to experience her pleasures with my mind and body. It seems to me that while the dynamics in a Professional / client relationship involve a client having needs to be met, the consideration between the Professional service provider and the client should be mutual; yet, in wanting to do that, some things, like having my balls squeezed, of feeling a thuddy whip, or cross-dressing, would be a distraction, and detract from the fulfillment that I seek.

Would you be willing to help me gain a clearer perspective, and a better understanding here?

***********

This guy seems very sweet, and I’m sure he’s probably charming in person. So any hint of frustration you hear in my voice here is not directed at him.

But he, and all the other people who’ve expressed similar sentiments to me, have got it wrong. I don’t want or need a script, in the sense of “first do this, and while you’re doing it, say thus-and-so.” That pisses me right off. And I have indeed had people show up with an honest-to-god, multi-page, complete with stage-directions script. Wow, I can see just how highly you respect my talent and experience. Have you thought of just buying a wind-up doll?

But a list? A list is totally different. A list is fabulous. Here’s a perfect example of how to give a hypothetical list of likes and dislikes. “So, I really like spanking and impact on my ass, but please, no crops or canes, okay? And CBT, heavy on the cock, not so much on the balls, please, Mistress. And gags are cool but blindfolds flip me out, and nipple clamps are ok, and I’m curious to try electrical, but I’m sorta nervous about it, too.”

That kind of list is great. That’s exactly what I want to know, and it’s being presented clearly and without coy little games. That’s a delightful menu of options that I can mix and match however I like, I can be creative in how I deliver them, and I’ll still know that we’re having a good experience together. I love lists. Give me a list and I’ll love you.

Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration. But you see, with new people, I hate it when I say, “So, what kinds of activities are you looking for?” And I’m told, “Whatever you like, Mistress.”

No. What the Mistress likes is not having to be a mind-reader. Tell me what works for you. Don’t make me have to do a damn interrogation scene before we ever get to the real scene!

That’s why I have a whole long list myself, on my website, of what I do, and what I don’t do. If what you like is on that list, then we’re golden. It wouldn’t be there if I didn’t like doing it, you see. So it’s unnecessary to fret about considering my needs. One of the benefits of being a dominatrix is you don't have to do anything you don't like.

It's also unnecessary to worry about how you're not taking care of my need for X activity. My kink life does not lack for variety. Whatever it is you're not into, believe me, it's someone else's favorite thing in the world, and he's probably coming to see me next week.

There’s a subtler element of this, though. I have found that most bottoms, at some point in their lives, feel some anxiety about whether their top is getting off (in any sense) on the scene.

(Tops do this too. Hell, vanilla people do it during straight sex. But we’re talking about bottoms today.)

Bottoms make themselves vulnerable, and it would feel yucky if you felt like you were offering that vulnerability to someone who was disinterested or even repelled by it. It’s true that you should both be able to feel that the other person is enjoying what’s happening. However, people do express that in different ways, and with varying degrees of skill. Sometimes two people just don’t connect well on that level, even if they have similar tastes on paper.

But if you aren’t willing to trust that what looks and sounds like yes really means yes, then the scene is sunk anyway. You have to make the leap of faith. I know it seems scary. It is scary. But bottoming isn’t just about trusting the Mistress to put clothespins on your balls, it’s about also trusting her to deal honestly with you and treat your desires with the respect they deserve. You must both give yourself, in that moment, or the magic won’t happen.

I myself am pretty good at broadcasting the woo-I-like-this signal, because I know it’s important. But still, I have done scenes where I had to expend huge amounts of energy reassuring the bottom that yes, I like what we’re doing, yes, you’re a good boy, yes, the Mistress loves X activity, over and over, to the degree where what he obviously feared became reality: I stopped enjoying it. He wouldn’t let go of trying to control our encounter. I was trying to create an experience for him that we could enjoy together, but he was too busy trying to create my experience to let that happen.

But that’s not your job, when you bottom. Think of it like painting: you give me the tubes of paint, and your body is the canvas, and I make art with you. My challenge and my pleasure is to do that no matter what colors or textures of paint you give me. So don’t try to be both the artist and the canvas at the same time.

***

Edited to add: Telling me about a fantasy-roleplay is not like giving me a script. So if you've turned up with a theme you wanted to act out, do not fear that you annoyed me.

Bad Mistress, didn't write a post for today. It's all Monk's fault, he distracted me.

Back to our regularly scheduled shenanigans tomorrow...

Happy Friday, everyone…

The new column…A chat with Betty Dodson

Lisa V of CineKink looks at male dominants in film. It’s fun. But where is Hannibal Lechter? Okay, he’s a bad dominant, but he is definitely topping Clarise Starling. And what about John Malkovich as Valmont in Dangerous Liaisons? I actually picked up a number of my early style points from those two movies.

The second half of my interview with Cunning Minx of Polyamory Weekly. As before, I think I’m sort of rambling, but ya’ll seemed to like first half, so hopefully you’ll like this one too. Minx is great and I’m very pleased to have done it. Perhaps I’ll actually get off my behind and get my own podcasts going soon.

Have a lovely weekend…

Pink Box
God, where is my pink box? I thought. I want to find it. I need it.
Monk came into the bedroom and looked at me curiously. “What are you looking for down there?”
“My pink box,” I replied. “I put that pretty glass dildo in it, and I now I want it, and I can’t find it.”
“Well, that sounds like a problem.”
“It is. Will you help me find it?”
“Sure, darlin’…”

Oh, wait. Are thinking I mean something dirty? Well, as it happens, you’re right. But probably not the way you think.

This is what I was looking for: my pink box! (It was under the bed.)

I keep a lot of my toys at my dungeon space, but there’s a certain amount of my stuff kicking around the house where I live, too. Some of it lives in this pink box. I often refer to it as the pink box for pink bits because a lot of what’s in it is small stuff I use for genital torment.

Want to see? I'll give you the tour.

The top layer: Needles. (Not just for genitals, but yes, I do put ‘em there sometimes.) Lots of chopsticks and the corresponding elastic bands, held together by a spring clamp that can serve many functions. I rarely get to actually put that puppy on someone, but often just brandishing it will instill an appropriate level of fear in a bratty bottom.

A cock ring. It's the male equivalent of a push-up bra. Holds everything nicely together and out there.

A toothbrush. Toothbrushes made great abrasion-play toys. You may think, oh, a toothbrush, that doesn’t hurt. Hah. Take that thing and start scrubbing your clit, or the corona of your cock. Keep going. No, don’t stop. Oh, starting to get uncomfortable now, are we, smarty-pants? Too bad. We’re not stopping. Scrub, scrub, scrub. You know, you’d pay big money to get this done to you at a fancy spa, you should be thankful to me. Look how red and sensitive you’re getting! Have I convinced you to fear the toothbrush? Good.

What else do we have? Hall’s Mentholated cough drops. I put one of those in Jae’s pussy once and it was like I put ants in her pants. Big fun. Altoids also work well. (Yes, yes, I know you could get a yeast infection. Get some cream and use it afterwards, if you’re that worried about it, but you’re actually not going to die from a yeast infection.)

That black thing is called a bite blocker and I stole two of them from a dentist’s office. It holds one’s mouth open, and sometimes that’s a terribly intimate way to scare someone.

On the second level: A wartenberg wheel, bamboo skewers - so nice and pointy and disposable - various sizes and shapes of clothespins, a small tube of toothpaste - which tingles nicely on your bits, try it – and those Listerine breath patches, which also tingle really nicely. If you like intense tingles.

And some eighteen gauge needles, I have no idea why those are there, I don’t think anyone of my acquaintance is crazy enough to let me punch railroad spikes through their bits. But if I’m wrong, do let me know.

But where the heck is my glass dildo? Hmmn, maybe I should look in this drawer...

Bingo. There it is. The one with the big knobby end - I saw it when I was doing the podcast for the Blowfish people down in SF and had to have it!

Oh, and there’s that pretty metal butt-plug Monk bought me, and some rope, and another vibrator. (That purple one – it’s lavender-scented. I mean, really, really lavender-scented. Why the hell would someone make a sex-toy that smells like bath salts?) And that blue thing is some skin-care gizmo that’s supposed to suck blackheads out of your pores. It does suck, all right. I don't know what it does for blackheads. But did you know it’s possible to give someone little tiny round hickeys on their labia?

These would be my irrelevant streams of consciousness, because I’m not feeling profound today...

Wow, am I suddenly swamped with things I have to write. It’s crazy. Someone wants to do an interview with me, and a non-kink writing project is heating up, too. I suppose it’s fortunate that we’re still in the annual post-tax-season-slump, appointment-wise, because I’d never get it all done.

But I’m mildly frustrated because I so want to go shopping, and I just gave all my disposable income to the federal government. (And some income that I wasn’t even planning on disposing of in quite that manner, ouch.) Yes, yes, I know I should pay quarterly. I didn’t, okay?

I always want to go shopping when the weather turns. But I have to wait, and it’s killing me. I want to go buy one of every Sledge USA t-shirts they have at Nordstrom. (The long-sleeved ones.) Those shirts fit me so nicely. I have a couple already, but I want more, because I am a greedy American.

I know someone who needs this cut-out girdle…

This site has interesting and unusual jewelry. Not as classic as David Yurman, and I tend to prefer white metals to yellow gold - but this bracelet is quite striking.

I also want these books…

When the Dancing Stopped: The Real Story of the Morro Castle Disaster and Its Deadly Wake, by Brian Hicks
The Lives and Loves of Daisy and Violet Hilton: A True Story of Conjoined Twins, by Dean Jensen

The first one is about a mysterious fire that broke out on a luxury ocean liner in 1934, killing half the passengers. The second is about a set of conjoined twins born in 1908. I am so the popular history fan.

Look Both Ways: Bisexual Politics, by Jennifer Baumgardner
I don’t angst a lot about being bisexual – at least not anymore – and I don't worry a lot about whether fucking women is a political act or not. But I’ll be interested to read what Ms. Baumgardner, who calls herself a “3^rd wave feminist”, thinks about it.

The Anti 9-to-5 Guide: Practical Career Advice for Women Who Think Outside the Cube, by Michelle Goodman.
I read these career books, and they sort of fascinate me, because the only cube I’ve ever been near in my life is a Rubik’s one. It's like reading about another country.

Danse Macabre, by Laurell K. Hamilton
I have read all of the Anita Blake books, even though they started being not-so-great at about Book Seven and proceeded south to terrible by Book Ten. However, I cannot resist seeing if perhaps Ms. Hamilton has pulled up out of her literary nose-dive.

All right, time to go write some more. Somewhere else.

Edited to add: if you haven't already seen them, Monk has placed a bunch of short videos of basic rope bondage instruction on YouTube. They're great introductory clips - beautifully produced and easy to follow. Go watch them!

I'm a busy girl today. But you can go look at more pictures from the party on Puck's blog....

And if you're wanting time with me this week, there is some left. But it's getting nibbled away, so call me soon...

My, what a charming weekend I had.

Friday night I went to The Frontier Room with a cool pal and ate way, way too much. That place is dangerous.

And Saturday I took Jae to a party. Yes, this is the party I thought was all-boys, and boys did make up a noticeable number of the guests, but they seemed happy to have us non-boy (and non-gay) people there, too. Like the one sweet gay boy who has, just so far, let me stick needles in him - the first time anyone has ever done that, yay for cherry-popping - and zap his bits with electricity. And it's pretty early in our acquaintance. We talked about how kink itself can be a sexual orientation that occasionally supercedes the usual gender-based orientation.

Our illustrious host has, among many other things in his playroom, a cage/cell sort of thing built into one corner. It's about six by eight feet, and it's made of heavy wire mesh, rather than bars. But if you're in there, you ain't getting out unless someone lets you out. Sometimes I miss the cell at my previous dungeon, even though I rarely used it. Perhaps I'll have one put in the new place sometime.

But I got Jae in there and locked the door behind us and showed her the new toy I'd brought with me: A stun gun. You may recall I borrowed one of these for my scene with Jae at Kinkfest, and that went very well. So well that Jae bought me one of my own, sweet twisted girl that she is.

And she's not the only one. A kind and thoughtful young man- not a client, just a social pal that I know through Puck - decided he'd buy me one as well. So now I have two. Heh heh heh...

I rolled Jae around on the floor, smacking her, prodding her, and zapping her with the stun gun. It was great fun. It wasn't a lengthy scene, just enough to get us both pleasantly endorphin-stoned. I try not to bruise Jae all up unless she's planned for that to happen. See, I am so considerate of my bottoms.

But Jae is never one to quit while she's ahead.



She wound up back in the cage with Candy, who is an accomplished trampler. I think there's something about having legs that long that makes you just need to walk on people. And look how happy it makes her. Jae was happy, too. Really! And I was taking pictures of it, so that made me happy.

Afterwards, the four of us went home and made pancakes. As I said, a charming weekend.

Addendum: As an experiment, I took some video clips at the party. They are both very low-light, so the results aren't great. But, if you want to see them, here's one of me zapping Jae's inner thigh with the stun gun. (Photobucket link.) This wasn't in the cage, it was later. At first, she's holding the camera, and then after she starts thrashing around I take it away from her, so it's a little confusing. Plus I'm holding the camera wrong because I always think I should be able to shoot video in portrait mode. Whoops.
The second one is Candy stepping on Jae, which I was shooting through the mesh. There's some background noise, and it's pretty dark, but still kinda fun.
They're both about thirty seconds long, and they have sound.

I don’t usually blog on weekends, but Rachel Kramer Bussel is promoting her two new books, She's on Top: Erotic Stories of Female Dominance and Male Submission and He's on Top: Erotic Stories of Male Dominance and Female Submission, by doing a virtual book tour. She asked me to participate, and today is my day, so I’m making an exception…

From She's On Top, here’s an excerpt a story about a professional dominatrix, called “The Mistress Meets Her Match”, by Kristina Wright.

If you’ve never squeezed a man’s balls in your hand and seen the terror in his eyes, you haven’t known power. If you’ve never cracked a whip and watched a man flinch, you haven’t known anticipation. And if you’ve never had a man grovel at your feet, you haven’t known what it means to be a bitch goddess. These men who come to me, hearts pounding, cocks hard, they know who I am, they know what they want. Because I am a benevolent bitch goddess, I usually give them what they want, but not before they suffer.

The story goes on to detail how the dominatrix meets a man who can be all things to her: submissive, lover, and occasionally, the boss in bed. It’s hot, I recommend it!

I snagged these Technorati tags/Blogger.com tags from Viviane, over at Sex Carnival. So thanks, Viviane!

• bdsm
• bondage
• book
• domination
• erotica
• femdom
• rachelkramerbussel
• submission

Many of you have written to say how much you liked the latest poly column. I'm pleased to hear it. If you'd like to hear more from me and my opinions about poly, you can listen to me on Cunning Minx's podcast, Polyamory Weekly.

I hope you find it interesting. Truthfully, I listened to it and thought, "Oh my God, I rambled on so bad in this! Jesus, I sound like I'd been smoking pot or something." (Which I had definitely not.)

The thing is, I've been speaking and teaching about kink, and also about sex work, for some years now. I have had the opportunity to respond to fairly similar sets of questions from the people I'm talking to, over and over again. So I have developed a pretty camera-ready set of tight, on-point answers to most of the common questions on those topics.

That's not true of poly. True, I've written some about it, but that's totally different. I haven't spoken or taught about it at all, except in very limited ways. So when Minx asked me questions, what she got was my unedited stream of consciousness. My lengthy stream of consciousness, which did not always include a precise answer to her original question. Tight and concise I am not, in this podcast. Oy.

Minx was very sweet about it, though. She split me into two parts, so I'll be on this week and perhaps next week as well, unless she decided to alternate me with something else. And she's a great host, so you should go listen. If you like it, send the lady a little donation, it's a labor of poly-love that she's doing there.

Have a lovely weekend...

The new Control Tower column...

What I’ve been reading lately…

Talk To The Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World, or Six Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door, by Lynne Truss. I love observations on society and culture, and I love a good rant, especially when it’s a) about rude behavior and b) written by someone who styles herself “the Queen of Zero Tolerance”. So while this little book’s not what I would call weighty, it’s great fun to read, if only because you’ll find yourself nodding and saying, “yes, yes, I hate it when people do that!”

Fox Evil, by Minette Walters
From Booklist: The title of Walters' latest fright fest comes from a peculiarly virulent kind of skin disorder, in which hair falls out in mangy clumps. It also serves as the delightful nickname of one of Walters' main characters in this compulsive page-turner, which puts a deranged spin on the conventional village cozy. Walters, who has won both the American Edgar and the British Gold Dagger Award, is expert at ratcheting up suspense while she portrays credibly confused and terrified characters meeting their fates. Great psychological acuity in a hair-raising suspense story.

It’s pretty easy for me to find non-fiction I like, but I’m tough to please when it comes to fiction. I wanted to like this mystery novel – it seems like exactly the kind of thing I’d enjoy. And the author has a huge backlist I could buy up.
But while there was nothing really wrong with it, it was definitely not hair-raising. If anything, I was a teensy bit bored. Walters writes well, but the characters didn’t engage me.

Carter Beats The Devil by Glen David Gold
From Booklist: Gold's debut novel opens with real-life magician Charles Carter executing a particularly grisly trick, using President Warren G. Harding as a volunteer. Shortly afterwards, Harding dies mysteriously in his San Francisco hotel room, and Carter is forced to flee the country. Or does he? It's only the first of many misdirections in a magical performance by Gold.

Another one I should have loved, since it’s about the life of a stage magician, and I have a little fetish for non-fiction about the history of magic. (Oddly, I have no desire to actually go see live magic shows, though. It’s the behind-the-scenes elements of the books that I like.) This novel certainly got a lot of critical acclaim. My verdict? Well…not bad. It doesn’t exactly zip along, that’s for sure – the slow pace reminded me of both The Prestige and Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. I did like seeing how the author wove real-life incidents from stage-magic history into the thread. However, like the Walter’s book, I found it rather put-downable. Still, it was a very sweet gift from a man I like playing with, and that alone endeared it to me.

Now, not everybody I see is into heavy intense sensation. But I do have a handful of boys who like it as heavy as I can dish it out.

I’ve written about this kind of scene before, and that may have been what prompted a gentlemen I’ll call the Bicycle Man to come see me. Like the guy in the column, Bicycle Man also likes impact on the ass, just as hard as I can do it. (I can actually get him to the "enough" point, though.)

There are so many different pleasures in BDSM - I could never settle for just one. But there is something viscerally satisfying about hitting something as hard as you can, and since I’m a sadist, I particularly like it when that something is a nicely responsive human body.

And since I’m a generous person, I decided that Jae should meet Bicycle Man, too. I'm strictly a gym queen when it comes to athletics, but Jae played softball in high school and college. Golf, too. She’s got a serious swing.

The three of us had a great time. Wanna see? (The usual disclaimers apply…)

Me lining up the stroke.

She swings and…

The bounce-back.

I do sort of bat like a girl, though, don't I? Jae has great follow-through.

We did catch one stroke just at the moment of impact.

But Jae and I are sure we could capture still more spanking art, so the Bicycle Man will just have to come see us again sometime…

***

Client Update: I still have time open on Wednesday and Friday of this week.

Also: Spring Cleaning at the dungeon continues. That means I'll be around there a lot over this weekend, and I'd love to be distracted from more mundane matters by spending an hour or two playing with someone. Thus, if you'd like a weekend appointment, contact me...

My glamorous life: I spent a lot of my weekend cleaning out a storage room in my workspace. Just over a year ago, when I moved in, I shoved a ton of boxes and excess dungeon furniture into the smallest bedroom and closed the door. I have rarely opened it since. I just haven’t wanted to bother with it.

However, it was high time I dealt with the matter. So Saturday I sorted a dozen large boxes of BDSM equipment into Throw Away, Give Away, and Keep piles. I found some toys I liked and had forgotten I had, some toys that I cannot imagine why I ever bought, and some things even I could not identify.

Luckily, Jae was with me - she was able to remind me about the provenance of a few of them. “That’s the paddle the guy from Montana made for you, you got those clamps when we were in Texas, and that looks like part of that leather sling you and (my ex) used to have in your basement.”

Afterwards, she and I studied the Throw Away pile, with old dildos, worn-out floggers, beat-up cock rings, and broken nipple clamps. She turned to me and said seriously, “Ma’am, I think you need to get some opaque trash bags for this.”

I laughed. “No kidding. The heavy-duty ones, too.” I don’t even want to know what the garbage collectors would make of a can full of my discarded BDSM gear.

The Give Away pile – which is pretty large – will be distributed according to propinquity. There are a few people close to me who get first look, and after they’ve chosen anything they want, then I’ll probably just set out the boxes at our next house party and say, “Take it away.” As I’ve stated before, I like passing along BDSM gear I'm not using. Nerdygirl was there helping out, and I gave her a black leather bar vest with an Onyx Leather tag in it. Raise your hand if you’re a Seattleite who remembers Onyx Leather. Yeah, not very many, huh? But way back in the day, if you wanted kinky leather work done, you went to PJ at Onyx Leather. She was pretty much the only game in town for a while.

So I explained that to Nerdy, and how this was a hand-made vest that been given to me, and I was now giving to her. She looks mighty cute in it.

And now I have a neatly organized room, instead of a disaster area, and a whole bunch of toys that I’d forgotten about to play with again. Kind of like going shopping without spending any money.

The new column...

And an amusing photo comparison that a reader sent me. I suppose I can kinda see the Catherine Deneuve thing in this shot, especially since we both have the widow's peak. But her chin and jaw have an elegant sweep that I lack, and plus I don't have zat sexy French accent...

Have a good weekend...

Warning: Cranky Mistress

Between various snafus with parking meters, dry cleaners and the gas company, I had a rather annoying day yesterday. My two very sweet clients were the high points, I assure you. Oh, and getting my hair done, although I had to be there at nine o’clock in the bloody morning, because my boy was so booked it was the only time I could get with him.

(And spare me any condescending remarks about how you get up at six am every day. I don’t, okay. I do not have kids. I’m a sex worker and a writer. One of the reasons I passed on the joys of parenting and steady paychecks was so I could go to bed at 3am and get up at 11am. Thus, I dislike having to alter my circadian rhythm to match the morning people.)

But after I left the salon, things went swiftly downhill, in ways too banal to detail. Suffice it to say that by late afternoon, I was in no mood to suffer fools gladly.

Enter fool, stage left.

Ring ring!

Me: Hello?

Caller: Mistress?

Me: Yes?

Caller: I need to feel…special. I don’t feel special.

I pause and look around me. It seems to be the same day and same time it was before I answered the phone. I am thus reassured that I have not, in fact, fallen into some kind of time warp wherein I’ve conducted an entire relationship – an unsatisfying relationship, apparently – with the whiney-voiced person on the other end of the phone.

Which leads to me to ask why the hell this yabbo is calling me up to initiate Breakup Conversation #46 with me? And he’s starting in the middle, too. You have to lead up to this line with something like, “I need to talk to you about our relationship…” But these two statements make absolutely no sense to me.

That’s not true, though. I know why he’s saying them. I know exactly what kind of conversation he’s trying to lead me into, and I’m not interested in having it. So I say nothing, hoping he’ll revert to a more appropriate conversational style, and I can get him off the phone.

He doesn’t. Okay, we’re gonna have to play this one through.

Me: Who is this?

Caller: Bob, Mistress.

Me: Bob, have we ever met?

Caller: No, Mistress.

I pause lengthily again. But Bob’s a stubborn fellow and he doesn’t crack.

Me: How’d you get this number, Bob?

He pauses, trying to think of a way of answering that will keep us out of the real world and in Bob’s Non-Sequiter World. Bob has figured out that the longer he can keep a professional girl confused and off-balance conversationally, the longer she’ll stay on the phone with him, trying to sort him out, because he might be money. This is a very common game. Unfortunately for Bob, I don’t care if he’s Bill Gates. I don’t deal with game-players.

Caller: I want to feel…special. My other Mistress…She didn’t make me feel special.

I’m supposed to say, “What would make you feel special?”

I don’t.

Me: How did you get this number, Bob?

Caller: Um… a website.

Me: Okay, so you’re calling about my professional dominance services….

I give him the standard rate/hours/appointments spiel, including the “I’m not really taking very many new clients these days” part. (That happens to be quite true. However, if I think I’d like you, then exceptions will be made.)

Me: If you like, you can leave me your number and I’ll call you if my schedule opens up.

I’m pulling this completely out of thin air, as I don’t ever do that. But it seems like a non-confrontational way of saying don’t call me, I’ll call you.

Caller: Can we… talk?

Me: If you want, Bob, you can leave me your number and I’ll call you if I get room in my schedule. Or if hell freezes over.

Caller: Could I be your slave? Your special slave?

Me: Goodbye.

I hang up, and program him into my phone: NOANSWER17

He calls back about three times in the next twenty minutes. I don’t answer. He didn’t leave a number for me then, either. Which is okay, because I've already got it.

More picture samples, because I'm busy finishing a column, getting my hair done, and being evil to some sweet boys.

Very mistressy!

Someone called this "the Catherine Deneuve shot." It's funny, he's the third person lately to tell me I remind them of her, and I don't see it at all. If you asked me what celebrity I think I resemble, I'd probably say "Marie Osmond", because when I was an teenager, with much rounder cheeks, I used to hear that all the time. That, or Geena Davis, although I'm about a foot shorter than she is.
I just think the angle of my head, and the tousled hair, is reminding people of this shot of Catherine.

And one more resting one, since ya'll liked the other one.

Bye!

Addendum: Client Note
Because I've been out of town and otherwise so unavailable lately, I've decided to take appointments this Saturday and Sunday. This is quite rare for me, so if you've been yearning for a weekend session, carpe diem.

*****

Hi, I'm kind'of in the same industry, and have 1 cross over client; but appointments w/ him are hard for me so wanted maybe some tips from you (since I read your column and respect you) on how to handle him.
I NEVER do this. He likes to tie me up; put a ball gag in my mouth; parade me around; make me do things, etc. I hate it. + he's not that great at it.
The 1st time the top of my hand was numb for 3 months. I think he sees the pictures in the magazines and copies them, or reads the how to articles.
How is it supposed to work? Does a submissive have any rights? I'm a good submissive I guess b/c I take it and endure it. But I hurt and try not to panic.
Any advice you can give me is good. Thanks.

These emails scare me. Dear comrade of mine, stop. Just stop. Do not see this guy anymore. If you hate what he wants you to do, then that’s all there is to say. Don’t see him again.

I could go on and on about how HELL YES submissives have rights, but that’s not the point. You’re not having a healthy dominant/submissive relationship with him, because you don’t like what he’s doing to you, you’re just doing it for the money.

That hand thing? That’s nerve damage. Yes, he’s doing the bondage wrong, although in a good BDSM scene, you’re supposed to tell him that your hands hurt/have gone numb. And he’s supposed to fix that. Frankly, you’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Mobility and sensation don't always come back with nerve damage. Next time it could be your fingers that go numb or lose grip strength.

But seriously, do not see this guy again. I know what you’re talking about, I’ve been there. I have dealt with people I really didn’t like just because they were paying me, and it was bad for my mental health. No more. I know it’s hard to turn down money, but it’s better in the long run. I really believe that if you stop seeing guys you don’t like, you’ll have so much more positive energy to put into your work that you’ll attract really sweet, nice guys who’ll treat you like a princess. That's absolutely what's happened with me.

No one can take care of your physical and emotional safety but you. I hope you can hear what I'm telling you.

As I admitted yesterday, this week has been slow as far as any substantial posts. I feel mildly guilty, but what can I say? No sooner had I returned from Portland than I had to deal with some annoying and time-consuming matters, so it's been rather hectic. But things have calmed down the last few days, and I'm just enjoying being home and settled again, after several weeks of travel, etc.

Sweet events of Thursday included Armani bringing me an Easter basket containing chocolate, champagne, and that gorgeous David Yurman chain I wanted. He spoils me.

Monk and I opted for a very mellow evening in, so he came over with a Stellar's pizza and a complete season of Doctor Who on DVD. I love Stellar's and yes, I'm a big ole nerd, I love Doctor Who. And my Doctor Who geek score is pretty high - I actually went to a Doctor Who convention when I was a kid. I swear.

It was the season with Christopher Eccleston as the ninth Doctor, and he's pretty good, although Tom Baker will always be the real Doctor for me. Monk and I kicked around what other actors might play the Doctor in the future, and we decided that John Cusack and James Spader would do it well. I also voted for Jason Statham, but Monk thought he'd be a bit too violent.

I'm sure I'll be in more of a writing mood next week.

I'm not writing a whole lot this week, am I? Oh well, I'm sure something will inspire me soon.

Meanwhile, here's the new column, straight from the voicemail archives.

Photos: Me looking all mistressy and stuff.

Me resting while Craig snaps pictures of me.

Amusing event of the day: buying and using of those nifty little pineapple-corer gadgets. They actually work reasonably well. Which is good, because my pineapple addiction is getting just a little out of control, and it's way cheaper to buy them whole rather than pre-cut.

At least that was the amusing non-kinky event. There was something involving Blue Eyes, the Magic Wand, and this purple attachment for it that Jae and I refer to as "Gonzo" because it reminds us of the Sesame Street character... But as Monk would say: that's a story for another day.

Professional query: (no, my OTHER profession) If you're a writer and you've used Power Writer or Power Structure software, would you drop me a note? I'm thinking of buying one of them.

Edited to add: I have watched the Alanis Morissette spoof of "My Humps" about twenty-seven times, and still it cracks me up. Brilliant parody. I think I'll watch it again now.

Short Cuts

Another photo sample. And one more.

Other silliness: Complete and exact text of an email I got today...

say my name is mark and i'm looking for a job escoting sexy women on date's. call me at my number XXX- XXX- XXX from 9am to 6pm okay. thank you bye for now

Say Mark? I hate to tell you, pal, but this is not “bye for now”. It’s bye - forever. Don’t even get me started on the general absurdity of this email. I’ve covered that elsewhere. Repeatedly.

No more today, though. I have to get all my tax stuff together and deliver it to the very patient man who does my taxes for me. I hate this stuff, it makes my head hurt just looking at it. (And that’s before I even write the check to the government.)

And then maybe I’ll do a scene where I pretend someone is an IRS Agent and make them recite tax law while I beat them. That would make me happier.

Got the CD from Craig Morey yesterday! I haven't had time to really go through and pick my favorites, but here's a nice one. And here's one more sample.

But now I have boys to torment and a column to finish, so you'll have to wait until tomorrow for more peeks.

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...