Recent phone oddness….

I’ve been getting a spate of dirty phone messages lately from one particular person. That’s not distressing to me – I generally just fast-forward/delete such things, unless they sound unusual enough to be interesting. They’re generally pretty predictable, though.

The odd thing about these recent messages is that, if I didn’t know better, I’d think it was a woman. I suppose I don’t know better, actually. But the caller is certainly representing themselves as male, referring to his dick and how he wants to fuck me with it. It’s very standard vanilla dirty-talk, no reference to anything kinky.

But wow, this person’s voice? Very high. Very effeminate. It’s either a female-bodied person, or a very young boy whose voice has not changed yet. Or it’s a grown man I feel sorry for, because he’s got a voice about one shade more masculine than Marilyn Monroe.

It doesn’t sound forced, either. I’ve had crossdressers call me- in their female persona - with their voices pitched up high, and I know what that sounds like. This sounds like a child, frankly - so that's probably what it is. I’m not disturbed by it – boys will be boys – but it’s just a trifle weird to hear this sweet little voice talking about his cock and what he’d like to do with it when he could still be singing soprano in a choir.

Vacation

I just bought a pair of plane tickets. In July, Monk and I are going on a little trip together. Like, a vacation.

It’s sort of a wild concept for both of us. Going away somewhere, and not working. That’s not something either of us do much, that not-working thing. When you’re self-employed, there is no rest for the wicked. If you step off the treadmill, everything stops moving. And the Mistress? She doesn’t like it when things stop moving, no no.

I like what I do, and I like where I’m going, and I wouldn’t consider doing anything else. So I can see that’s there’s some value in getting away from things once in a while – but somehow I hardly ever do it. Because God knows, the world will come crashing down if I’m not there every single minute overseeing it, right? Right?

Uh, yeah, right, Matisse. Definitely time for a vacation.

(Yes, I know I just got back from Chicago. But while I love leather conferences, they’re not precisely a vacation. I think I get less sleep there then I do when I’m home. Leathercons are about see and be seen, learn something new, perform for the crowd, teach a class, wheel and deal, and make or freshen your professional/political contacts. So, lots of fun, but you often wind up more exhausted than when you arrived.)

Work is such a subjective word. Monk puts in a lot of hours in his shop making rope. He works hard with his body as well as his head. For me it’s different – the time I actually spend with my boys each day is often the smallest part of what I do, and it’s the fun part.

The rest of it? Not so entertaining. Administrative work – mainly answering the many emails and phone calls - probably takes up the greatest amount of my working day. The second biggest job is cleaning and maintaining my space and my equipment - including wardrobe. Way more time-consuming than people realize. That includes shopping for supplies – I go through boxes of latex gloves faster than a surgeon, for example.

And then there's writing, which is a whole separate job.

So Monk and I are taking off for a week. We’re not going to a kink event. We’re not bringing fetishwear. We’re not bringing huge toy-bags. (Just a few little things…) We are going someplace warm, and we’re going to sit on a beach, and do nothing productive whatsoever. For several days in a row. We’re going to eat a lot of food that’s bad for us, and have drinks with umbrellas in them, swim in the ocean, read trashy novels, watch bad cartoons on the laptop, and sleep late. That’s about it.

I think we won’t even tell where we are. Perhaps we’ll post pictures and see if ya’ll can guess. (If I know you in real-life and you know where we’re going, you MUST NOT say. Don’t spoil the game.)

And I’m so extremely pleased that Tambo feels just perfectly fine about us going off together. She is so the rocking partner.

So, once again – I’ll be gone from July 10th to the 18th. Meaning, the last day you can see me is the 9th, and the first day I’ll be around again is the 19th. I will be seeing people the weekend of the 7th and 8th, though, so if you’ve been yearning for a weekend date with me, let me know.

And try not to let the world crash while I’m gone, okay?

The new column. Fans of the weird voicemails, take note...

Yesterday was the birthday of two very cool people: Prince, and Jae. They have both given me a great deal of pleasure in my life, even though they have occasionally both done things that left me completely baffled. It must be because they're artists... So Happy Birthday to His Purpleness, and Happy Birthday to Jae...

I know, I’m not posting a lot this week, but hey, I’m way busy, getting back in the groove after being out of town. Plus, I have some additional writing to do right now, so ya’ll are getting shortchanged a bit.

***

So, some mundane and non-sexy stuff. Seattle people: I need a good yard person. Does anyone have any recommendations? I don’t need a landscape designer or anything, but I’d like more than just a guy with a mower, if you know what I mean. I could find that on CraigsList.

I admit right here that part of what I need done involves blackberry bushes. Yes. The dreaded blackberries. And just to make it even more fun, my house sits on a slope.

Before you start posting comments, be aware that no matter what you say, this will not be something I’ll be dealing with myself. These lily-white hands? No way. I will be paying someone to deal with this – that’s what I’m looking for. So, names and contact info, not strategies. Unless I can hook up a defibrillator up to the blackberries and kill them that way.

The other thing I need is a glass-repair person. And I have a resource for that, but if you're a kink-friendly professional glazier, talk to me, I have a job for you.

***

Fashion fans: The Herve Leger dress on eBay (see last Friday's entry) went to someone else, which is okay. It was four or maybe even five hundred dollars worth of pretty, but I'm not sure it was twelve hundred and some-odd dollars worth of pretty. So I’m not sad.

But what is very sad is that the gold and black Wolford dress seems not to exist. None of the stores have it, in the US or overseas. It's very cruel of them to tease me so. So, fine, whatever, Wolford. Michael Kors wouldn't do that to me would you, Michael? Even if I do think this cute little number is a trifle overpriced, I'm certain that Nordies would actually have it to sell it to me! (The skirt is sexy, too.)

And I like everything about this dress except the buckled straps. (Although: why is the model posed as if she has a stitch in her side?) My experience is that metal details on shoulder straps make them fall down. Now, of course I sometimes let straps slip off my shoulder just to be flirty and provocative. But only when I want them to.

***

Note to my boys: I’m probably going out of town from around July 10^th to around July 18^th.

***

I think that’s about I have to say. Now I must go back to work on other things…

One other Shibaricon story…And another story to file under: “Do as I say, not as I do.”

It was Friday night at the dungeon party. I had just played, and I was feeling pleasantly endorphin-buzzed. I was taking a stroll around the room, looking at the other scenes, and walked up to a group of people who fall into the category I call conference pals. Conference pals are folks from other cities that I tend to encounter a couple of times a year at the big kink events. Not close friends, but I enjoy them when I see them, and we occasionally swap an email here and there.

So a dozen people, give or take a few, were milling around one of the suspension frames, and it was obvious that some sort of scene was about to happen. So I stopped and began chatting with various people, waiting to see what was going to unfold.

Now, I’m not really sure how the next step developed. As I said, I was pretty endorphin-buzzed, and I was making no real effort to process anything analytically. I was just letting sights and sounds sort of flow over me. It was pleasant.

But somehow, a cute girl was bouncing up and down in front of me, saying, “Matisse! Matisse! You have to single-tail them! Will you single-tail them?”

Uh, what?

The story was thus: three guys were going to do hip-harness on themselves, much in the manner of climbers, and suspend themselves, next to one another, from the suspension frame, and lean back so that they were hanging upside down. Their female friends had announced their intention of tormenting them with whatever kinky implements were at hand.

The whole situation had a rather charming touch of adolescence to it. The guys were showing off their rope skills and their ability to endure a physically strenuous position. The women were testing their mettle by upping the stakes, while still rewarding them with a lot of feminine attention. It reminded me of being a kid on the playground. And while this certainly wasn’t your traditional BDSM scene, we call doing BDSM “playing” for a reason. It is play, for grown-ups.

And then one of the ladies decided: hey, there’s Matisse! She should be the one to apply the sting to the suspended boys.

So let me get this straight: three good-looking men are going to hang themselves upside down, and you want me to hit them with a very nasty whip? Hmmn, do I want to do this? Let me think about that.

One nano-second later; “Sure!”

The whip was fetched. Now, what I knew but did not say was: it was a friend's whip, which means it was a four-foot single-tail. The single-tail I usually use? A three-foot.

Also: I’ve never single-tailed anyone while they were upside down. They were all wearing pants, which meant that their legs and ass would be less vulnerable. (Although a single-tail can bite you through your clothes, for sure.) But their backs would be at an unusual angle, and fairly low.

So, a longer whip than I’m used to, and a different angle of attack, and three guys who I have never played with and don’t know the first thing about. Oh, and let’s not forget I’m endorphin-high.

Does this deter me? Not at all. It’s not like a girl gets this kind of opportunity every day!

“You guys consent to this, right? Good.” I went and stood behind them as they swung into their positions. The frame resembled a child’s swing set: V-shaped supports with a long pole in the middle. They were lined up like bats getting ready for a day’s sleep. Only I was going to keep them from resting easy.

Before I could strike, though, a friend appeared beside me. “Take off your top,” he suggested.

“What?” I was wearing a very sexy Dolce and Gabbana leopard print bustier, with matching panties, and black boots. “Why? They’re facing away from me, anyway.”

“Look, you’re gonna beat the guys, the least you can do is do it topless.”

I rolled my eyes slightly. “I think you’re sympathizing with them a bit too much. And with this long whip, I’ll probably catch myself on the backswing, too.” But there seemed to be some crowd support for the idea, so I shrugged, popped open the tiny hooks and eyes, and discarded it.

So there I was, the Topless Top. I started slow, getting my range and also getting a sense of how much each man could take. It was fun to see if I could catch one man with a good sharp stroke and make the other two react in sympathy/anticipation.

It was also interesting to see how much I respond to verbal feedback. Two of the men were being pretty stoic. One of them, B, I’ve seen play before, and I know he’s a high-capacity guy, so that was all right.

The other, L, I have never seen bottom ever. In fact, I hadn’t even known he switched until then. So I had no idea where I was on his pain-scale.

But the fact that they weren’t making much noise made me inclined to hit them harder. The third man, though, was giving me much more of a reaction, moving and making noises, so I found myself easing up a bit just a bit on the strokes I gave him. Neither reaction was wrong, but if definitely informed my level of intensity.

The scene didn’t last long – there’s no way it could have. Hanging upside down is stressful enough as it is, and I caught them all some pretty stingy strokes. So, maybe fifteen minutes or so? My sense of time wasn’t at its sharpest.

The amusing coda is: because someone present was the official Shibaricon photographer, photos exist of this little event. I haven’t seen any – I imagine it’ll take awhile before the photographer is able to process through all of them. But I’m sure some will float my way sometime, and if I deem it appropriate – and get everyone else’s permission – I’ll put one up…

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

For your entertainment...

The new column in The Stranger...

The other side of yesterday's story.

Legal Note: The conviction of kinkster-gone-too-far Glenn Marcus was upheld. Here's some interesting analysis of it by a kinky lawyer.

Bye!

Ok, I have a busy day, but here's one story from Shibaricon....

It was rather late Sunday night, and I was sort of hanging out in the dungeon, thinking that I should really go upstairs to bed, but not quite wanting to leave the last party.

As I was strolling idly around the room, looking at the various scenes, a gentleman of my acquaintance, whom we shall call L, came up to me and said, “Matisse! You have to come over here and help me.”

What could it be? He led me over to where a lovely young woman was standing tied to a post. Very beautifully tied, in a body harness and lots of tight rope. L explained that she was a reader of mine and that she was terrified of me. So, he said, I should step into the scene for a brief while and do something mean to her.

Now, it’s not something I teach people to do, but it’s actually not at all unheard of for people to do what I call grazing on someone else’s scene. The thing is: You can’t invite yourself, the top has to invite you. And you better be sure the top knows what he/she is doing. And you need to ask some questions about what’s okay to do and what’s not.

Or else…you’d better be like me and think, what the hell, I’ll be able to figure that out as I go along. I am so bad sometimes, I amaze myself. So understand that I am not advocating this kind of thing, but it does happen.

I stepped right up to the pretty girl, who was giggling madly and nervously, and she started sliding, still tied, down the pole, until she was sitting at my feet, butt on the floor and legs out in front of her.

“I hear you’re scared of me,” I said, looking down at her. “But hey, I'm not scary, I’m a pussycat, really…”

I had no toys of any kind with me, so I decided to use one of Monk’s tricks. I placed my booted foot on her tightly bound and charmingly helpless-looking breasts, and started to lean my weight onto them. First a little and then – encouraged by the deep, guttural, good-pain noises she was making – rather a lot. I assume she’s had some kind of warm-up, I thought. Oh well, if she hasn’t, she’s having it now.

Then I sort of rotated my foot a bit. More noises. It looked pretty painful. What fun.

When I took my boot away, there was a nice, boot-shaped red mark on her chest. Then I knelt down and slapped the sides of her breasts a bit, eliciting more nice squeals.

At one point L came up, inserted a piece of banana into her mouth, and informed her that she was not allowed to chew it. She just had to hold it in her mouth while I hurt her.

“Oh, that is so mean,” I said. “See, I would never do anything like that to you. I just do stuff like this.” And I pulled out a trademark of my play with Monk: I got her pectoral muscles between my thumb and forefingers and squeezed, really hard. That got some good loud noises.

Pretty Girl’s husband was standing a few feet away the whole time, grinning and making encouraging gestures. That’s always nice, to have the spousal blessing.

So I did that sort of thing for a few minutes, and then L took back over. I often find it delightful to do little cameo appearances like that. It’s like the tapas of kink.

Shibaricon

I'm checking off my lists: My hair is done and my clothes are packed. Both the house-sitters are in place and fully briefed. I took the battery out of the stun gun so it wouldn't accidentally go off in my luggage and get me put on the no-fly list. (But I bet they still search my suitcase.) I think I'm ready.

So I fly to Chicago today, and I return next Tuesday the 29th, and thus I'll be taking calls again as of Wednesday. Otherwise, my business phone will be turned off most of the time I'm gone. I will try to answer emails if it's a genuinely time-sensitive matter, but don't hang your hat on that.

And to all the people who whom I already owe emails: sorry, sorry, sorry, I have been so busy. When I get back next week, I'll get all caught up, I swear!

Now I'm looking forward to a highly amusing weekend....

I was going to write a long-ish post about this lesbian porn movie premier that Monk and I attended Wednesday night, because it was an interesting experience on several levels: social, political, sexual, professional…

But it’s been a busy few days, and that seems like too much effort right now. So I’ll talk about that next week…

Meanwhile, let’s talk about something simple, like shopping. (The rest of this post is all about fashion stuff, if that bores you, click away now...) I need some summer clothes and lucky me, I have some money put aside for that. Two weeks ago, Armani handed me a very sweet card and said, “I know you’ve been wanting to do some shopping – this is for you, to spend on you.” Inside the card was, well, enough to do a very substantial amount of retail therapy! Thank you, Armani, you do spoil me.

But I have not had a free afternoon to actually hit the stores, until now. (Admittedly, I have been scoring some stuff on eBay. Some brand-new David Kahn jeans, really nice, for about a third of what they go at Nordstrom, and a Wolford t-shirt style dress.)

But I want some summer sandals, maybe something like this, and some shorts, and some short sleeved t-shirts.

And okay, a dress. Or two. I like dresses. And I’m really trying to restrain myself from buying this one, because it’s more than I need to spend on one item, and it’s not exactly a dress you could wear all summer long, is it? I mean, without people noticing. But the colors are so pretty…

It’s hard to find dresses to my exact taste. What I really want is something in a sleeveless or tank-style, in clear jewel tones, in a sleek knit, or something sheath-like, with princess seams. I know those big shapeless baby-doll things are in fashion at the moment, but forget it, I am not spending all this time at the gym to just wear a sack. (Some empire-waists work on me, it depends on the cut.)

I’ll also have to go get humid over the David Yurman case in Nordies. Of course, there are some other nice designers there too - Lagos and Judith Ripka do lovely things. But I like the way David does diamonds and white metal. I didn't care very much about jewelry until just recently, but now that I'm wearing it, I like it. (Armani, I think this your fault.)

Since I am going to Shibaricon next week, the evil imp in me is so incredibly tempted to buy – and wear – this dress. But I’m sure that would be rude of me. Really. Plus, someone might take me seriously, and that would just be… bad. I am not a kimono girl!

A link to the new column.

Note: I've already gotten one email - and I expect I'll get more - from someone telling me, "Defibrillators? Oh, no, they're so easy to use, really, you could do it..."

Understand, I do not doubt that I have the simple wit to plug the thing in, read the directions, and then zap someone.

But I am in no way qualified to decide that someone needs their heart jump-started. I firmly decline to take any such responsibility upon myself. Dammit, Jim, I'm a dominatrix, not a doctor. Doctors don't spank people in their offices*, and I don't diagnose heart attacks in mine. That's my position - one firmly supported by my lawyer, I might add - and I'm sticking to it.


(*Yes, yes, I'm expecting a lot of pervy remarks about the evil things doctors do to people in the name of medicine. Knock yourselves out, kids.)

Some pictures from the party: Monk likes to do bondage on the coffee table, and he got a very cute and flexible girl as a model... Stretch, and bend. Pretty!

I’m busy recovering from the party, writing a column, and doing evil things to sweet boys. The post-tax-season slump is definitely over! I’m pretty much booked up until I get back from Chicago on the 29^th. I like looking at my calendar on Monday afternoon and thinking, yes, I know what I’m doing, and when, for this whole week. Make the rest of my life much easier to plan.

Amusing moment of yesterday: I went in to my doctor to have a routine physical. I'm an extremely healthy girl overall, no real issues, but the doc wanted to do some blood work to just check my various levels of things and get a baseline. You know the drill.

So I went into the lab area and sat down to get the draw. The tech was a good-looking young woman, maybe early twenties, and just slightly butch-of-center, who I strongly suspect was a lesbian. She gave me The Look, you see.

What’s The Look? It’s a look that straight women do not give other females. You only get it from women who are sexual with women. It’s usually just for a moment, unless she’s seriously cruising you, but it is, shall we say, an acknowledgement of sexual possibility. Usually it’s just the woman acknowledging it to herself, not to you, but if you watch closely, you’ll see it. The eyes widen for a minute when she looks at you, that’s always a tip-off.

Not seeing The Look doesn’t mean that a woman is heterosexual – she might just be very subtle, or just not in the headspace. But if you do get it, it definitely means the woman giving it to you is not 100% straight.

I got it from the tech. How nice. I don’t think she meant me to see it, I just think she’s just young and hasn’t yet learned how to school her expressions. So I gave it back to her, somewhat less subtly. And that seemed to completely throw her for a loop. Even nicer.

She began sort of fumbling around with syringes, stammering, and left the area – twice - to get various vials and labels and such that she needed. I just sat there smiling at her with one arched eyebrow, like she was a sweet but clumsy submissive.

It did occur to me that deliberately flustering someone who was about to jab me with a needle might not be the best idea. But I've actually been stuck with needles by some extremely mean people, and I handled that, so I figured I could deal with this. Because it was fun.

She dithered around a bit more, and then tied the rubber strap around my upper arm. “Um, is that - is that okay?”

“That’s just fine,” I said, slowly, holding her gaze. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty easy to get blood from.”

“Um, great, okay…” She dropped her eyes. I watched her focus on the vein in the bend of my elbow and stick the needle in. She glanced up at me as she did so. I didn’t flinch. I smiled.

“Sorry,” she said, for no apparent reason. “I mean… it’s no fun getting stuck with a needle.”

I contemplated answers I might make to that, but my conscience spoke up. Matisse, don’t mess with the kid’s head anymore, unless you’re serious. And you’re not.

So I just said pleasantly, “It’s fine.” We both watched my dark red blood fill the three vials.

“You’re right,” she said. “You are easy to get blood from.”

I couldn’t resist. “I'm pretty good at taking it, too.”

She blinked uncertainly and was quiet for a moment. “Um, well, thank you for being so, uh, helpful.”

I think I was probably the opposite of helpful, but I sat silently and let her fuss with taping the cotton ball to my arm. Then I stood up and gave her The Look again, just because I’m bad that way.

“Goodbye,” I said with a meaningful half-smile, and stalked off down the hall.

I wonder what she thought about that whole little incident.

Did I mention busyness? Much, much with the busyness here. But good busyness!

Go read the new column...

Bye!

I noticed a familiar question in the comments yesterday. “Have you ever thought of writing a book?” I get asked that all the time. It’s flattering. And someday I probably will write a book all about my experiences as a sex worker.

Not for a long time, though. Because you see, if you write a tell-all book, you better just write the end on your career in the sex industry, too, because it’ll be all over. Whether you meant to retire or not, your sex work business will tank. I’ve seen it happen before. There are several reasons why.

The primary thing is: it’s going to make clients, both existing and potential, nervous. And justifiably so. Some of my guys have given me permission – even encouragement – to mention details of our sessions in this blog. But most people are concerned about their privacy, and I don’t blame them. Discretion is a big part of what I offer. Even if/when I do write a memoir, I will be extremely careful to fuzz up the details, and the sheer passage of time is a filter all by itself. But publishing a book now would send a message: what happens in Vegas doesn’t necessarily stay in Vegas. That’s not a message one wants to send if one is still in the business.

There are other things as well. The legal problems are less an issue for me than they would be for, say, a full-service escort. But I still exist in a gray area, and to some degree, I am dependent upon the fact that law enforcement simply has bigger fish to fry than lil’ ole me. I’m high-profile enough as it is, with The Stranger column. Publishing a book would only increase the chances that some politician with a moral axe to grind decides to make a fuss about why this perverted harlot is allowed to ply her disgusting trade in our fair city, etc, etc.

There’s also the mystery factor. Once you show people what’s behind the curtain, the wizard isn’t very impressive anymore. Obviously I’ve chosen to reveal certain things, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing about my career at all. But I pick and choose, leave many things unsaid, and spin events to best illustrate the points I want to make. This is, after all, just a blog. It is understood to be a casual and limited form of writing.

But a book is different. To write a worthwhile memoir, you can’t be so selective, you can’t leave out crucial facts and events that shaped the experiences you’re writing about. You have to at least acknowledge all the realities, or else you’re lying to your readers, and the book becomes a hollow shell. I personally know of several women who’ve written books about their sex work experiences who chose to leave out significant pieces of information about their lives. It made reading their books a somewhat odd experience for me. When it’s my turn, I don’t want to do that.

This is my career. I plan on doing it for a good long time. So, no memoir for a while. Ask me again in ten years.

I have thought about writing something that draws on what I’ve learned as sex worker without actually detailing exactly what I did, when, with whom. A sex-advice book would be fun, and I could carefully seed it with selected stories of my own. Or a book about poly, or kink in general.

However, at the moment, I’m pursuing other venues for my writing. I’m interested in writing non-kinky fiction, and I have a finished manuscript that I’m in talks with an agent about. I say finished, but of course, no book is ever really finished until it goes to press, and I need to polish mine up here and there.

But sorry, I can’t tell you any more about it here, because when it gets published, it’ll be under another name. Actually, I hardly even talk about the MS with people in real life, because I think the more you talk about a writing project, the less you do it. I’m sort of superstitious that way. So when it sells, I’ll probably mention it, but until then, I’m not inclined to chat about it.

I just have to do it.

I'm a busy girl today, so, for the benefit of the newer readers, here's a list of some oldie-goldie favorites from the archive.
Sadly, most of the original comments were lost when I had to switch to Haloscan. That's a shame, because some good points were made.
But anyway, read and enjoy...

***

If you're not familiar with the ways of kink, here's a good place to start: The Ethics of BDSM

My opinions, experiences, and general musings on life
Human Interest Story
BDSM Word Of The Day
Mr. Defensive
Open Secret
The Sixty Four Thousand Dollar Question
and the follow-up post: Comments On Female Clients
What I'm Not
Word Whores: The "Not My Dog" post
Poly Stars In Alignment
Public Encounter
You Dirty...
French Farce Weekend
Sex Positive? I Don't Think So!
Sex Index
Looking at Women
Demeaning To Women (And Men, Too.)
Gym Guy, Part One
Gym Guy, Part Two

About Monk (aka "Roman")
The Naked Truth
He's Just A...

Playing with my boys:
Flying High Again
My Idea of a Good Time

Conversations about the biz:
Advice on Clients
More Advice
Dinner with Miss K: Furniture Fantasy
Conversation with Miss K: Her Weird Phone Calls
Tips For New Sex Workers
Feminism and Sex Work

And, everyone's favorite category: Strange Communiqués From People: The phone calls, the emails, and the voicemails.

The Thirty Seconds Rule
Near Goddess Experience
Sexual Darwinism
And This Would Be My Problem Why?
Legend In His Own Mind
New Cell Phone - Old Memories
New York State Of Mind
Master and Commander
Weirdass Email Of The Week
Phone Messages
I Couldn't Make This Stuff Up (I know everyone likes Ryker Blackstar, but this guy is actually my personal favorite.)
From The Malebag
More Email Silliness
Freakazoids
By Rights He Should Be Taken Out And Hung
Barbie Reborn
Mentoring
Don't Worry, Be Happy
Sex Machine

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.