Busy day yesterday: I went with Monk for his check-in with the doctor about his broken collarbone. (It's healing just fine, although these things never go as fast as one would like.) Then I spent a charming two hours tormenting a sweet man of my acquaintance, and after that I showered, changed clothes, and had dinner with my mother and her husband. Kinda one of those all-over-the-map days.

I’m also in the middle of a closet purge. Given that I’ve been getting a lot of new clothes lately, I felt it only right that I should get rid of a bunch. So, eBay, here I come. Here’s a link to what I have listed so far. It’s just the tip of the iceberg, I have several dozen more items. In this ginormous pile of stuff is fetishwear, street clothes, shoes and boots, some corsets, a couple of outrageous fetish costumes from a local fashion designer, all kinds of things. I’ll be putting up new items every few days until it’s gone, just so I don’t get stuck trying ship out everything at once. So keep checking back there.

Oh, and – the new column. Sticky sweet goodness….

Well, this is...interesting: platform shoes with built-in alarms for sex workers.

Given that more women are assaulted by husbands, boyfriends or family members than strangers on the street, ideas like this always make me scratch my head a little. It seems more appropriate to give them to women who’ve filed restraining orders against stalkers.

Plus, how long would the time lag be between a sex worker signaling that they were in trouble, and someone getting to them? I would imagine it’s going to be long enough to get hurt rather badly, if that’s what the other person’s intent was. (Handheld alarms designed to scare attackers away already exist, so you don't need these shoes for that feature.)

These shoes remind me of the call in/call out security system that some outcall ladies use. It usually works like this: you call a designated third person when you arrive at the location and you’re with the client, they call you back when it’s time to leave, and then you call them back when you’re safely outside and away.

There’s nothing wrong with that system as far as it goes, but if someone means to hurt you, neither phone calls nor these shoes will stop them. All it does is give the police an idea where to start looking for your body, however many days later.

I say that last sentence with an ironic twist to my lips that isn’t quite a smile. The idea that all sex workers live in minute-to-minute peril is a myth propagated by a society that doesn’t want women getting any dangerous ideas about what they are allowed to do with their bodies. In the well-over-ten years I've been in the sex industry, I can count on one hand the number of times I've felt like I was in real danger from a client. And none of those times ended with an actual assault. Was that fate, luck, divine intervention, my skillful handling of the situation, or was the danger just my imagination? I don't know. I will never know. I just know it hasn't happened.

However, a certain number of sex workers do get beaten or killed every year. Unfortunately, they are very frequently the most desperate of women, working on the street and often living on it. They are likely to be dealing with a substance addiction as well. Those high-tech shoes wouldn’t last a day before they were either stolen or traded away for money or drugs. Thus, those who need them the most are the least likely to have them. Sad but true.

I Got The Music In Me

For a while now, I’ve been meaning to blog about my severe case of what I call “Musical-Tourettes Syndrone”. But I hadn’t quite found the right way to describe exactly what I meant. So imagine my surprise when I found out that apparently, Stranger editor Christopher Frizzelle has Musical-Tourettes, too. He doesn’t call it that, but what he says is exactly what I do.

“There's a glitch in my brain that constantly scans what people say for references to the adult-contemporary-pop canon of my childhood, and if a friend says, "I'm tired," it's not unheard of for me to reply, no doubt obnoxiously, "I'm tired of play-ay-ing on the team/Oh, it seems I don't get time out anymore/Ooh-ooh-ooh." If someone says, "Here she comes," I will say, "Watch out, boy, she'll chew you up." Whenever I come across the word "wordplay," my mind sings: "You play with words/You play with luh-uh-uhve."

Mr. Frizzelle is speaking specifically of Hall and Oates songs - I don’t know if he does this all the time, with all different kinds of music. But I do.

I’m kidding about it being an actual disorder, of course, it’s not really. It’s just this really absurd habit, but it is pretty deeply ingrained in me. I have trained myself not to do it out loud in front of anyone but Monk. (Unless I have been drinking champagne, and then all bets are off.) I thought I was the only person silly enough to ever do it out loud, so I was quite delighted when I found that, if encouraged, Monk will do it, too.

And it’s silly enough even when other people can actually recognize the music. Part of my problem is that because I was a theatre major, I have lyrics from various musicals that I worked on/performed in forever etched into my head. No one else but another theater geek knows the lyrics to "Fugue for Tinhorns" from Guys and Dolls, but if you say to me, “Can do, Matisse”, in my head I’ll start singing “I got the horse right here, his name is Paul Revere, and here's a guy who says if the weather's clear, can do, can do, this guy says the horse can do.” If someone remarks in my presence “Just you wait”, then mentally, I hear Eliza Doolittle singing “Just you wait, Henry Higgens, just you wait, you’ll be sorry but your tears will come too late…” And I must firmly repress the urge to sing along.

Aside from musicals, it’s mostly unintentional quoting from seventies and eighties songs that brings on my little tic. I think it’s true that music from your childhood really get imprinted on you. So if you’re ever talking to me, and I suddenly look distracted and seem to be singing under my breath, feel free to join right in - if you know the words.

Edited to add: Now that I mention it, I do see one theatre-loving man who knows the same musical cues and does this right along with me. It really adds something unique to a BDSM scene when both of you occasionally break into a Rogers and Hammerstein chorus.

The new column: America's Next Top Domme, episode two...

And can I just wax rhapsodic for a minute about a very under appreciated portion of the male anatomy? An unsung hero of CBT, it goes by many names - the taint, the landbridge, or more prosaically, the perineum. That bit of real estate, found between the balls and the asshole proper, is a favorite spot of mine for intimate impact play. Last week, I spent the better part of ninety minutes kicking a really brave and extremely fun guy in the genitals. I mean, hard. Call me Mistress Becks on this one. I don't often get to do intense ball-busting, as it is called, but this gentleman can really take it. We've played together before, not super-frequently, but every so often he'll turn up and we'll spend an enjoyable hour or two together.

This time I had him staked out on the floor in the classic four-point position, so when I kicked, I could really get the top of my foot to smack into his balls, thrusting them apart and ending with a teeth-rattling jolt, right on that aforementioned perineum. (His teeth, not mine.) He ended up rather sore and swollen, and quite happy.

Love my life, oh yes I do...

Edited to add: Also? I need this t-shirt.

Last Friday, a reader mentioned a show I did at Vain a few years ago. He was referring to the Paradise Hotel party, in 2003. It was a promotional party, put on by the people at the Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival. There was a typical DJ/dance/drinks thing happening in the salon space proper, but on the floors above the salon is a very old hotel, long since fallen to ruin and boarded up. This concept of this party was that it would feature a bunch of intimate performance art pieces, one in each of the various small rooms along the hallways, and people could wander through all various rooms at their own pace. It was my understanding that the pieces would all be erotic in theme. Hence the name "Paradise Hotel".

Now, the SG&LFF is a very good event. However, this party was not a trip to heaven for me. The Stranger wasn't impressed with it, and now that the statute of limitations has run out on good-performer-etiquette, I can say it too: it wasn't a very good show. The producers meant well and had an interesting vision, but it just didn't come together well. That happens sometimes.

My biggest complaint was that that most of the people wandering through the little performance rooms were mildly-to-extremely drunk. And doing BDSM in front of drunk vanilla people is about the most annoying thing in the world. The crowd was tilted towards queer rather than straight, which helped, but there were enough heterosexual-frat-boy types making stupid comments to produce some serious eye-rolling from me and my crew. The Paradise Hotel party was the last straw as far as me doing public shows - for free, anyway. Yes, I got sweet-talked into doing that show gratis, it was a good cause and all. But never again. You want me to perform where there is alcohol? Sure. But it will cost you plenty. No, no, don't talk to me about good publicity. Show me the money.

However, I went back through the photos that my pal Malixe took, and I did find some good ones. They've not seen the light of day before, because I didn't have a blog in 2003. So, without further ado: scenes from the Paradise Hotel party.

I miss this guy and his sweetie, who have moved too far away from here...

I did take some volunteers from the audience. This guy was great fun!

Here's Jane Duvall watching people do their thing.

I love what Jae lets me do to her.

This one's a tiny bit blurry, and the camera flash washes out the violet wand's purple glow. But I love the expression on Jae's face.

I believe this is a shot where someone in the crowd had just said something extremely stupid to me, like "C'mon, hit her harder!" My answer to those remarks is usually something like, "Drop your pants, bad-ass, and we'll see if you're as tough as she is." No one ever takes me up on that invitation, funnily enough.

I do love Jae. And she loves me. Which is lucky, since she could bloody well have me arrested for some of the stuff I've done to her over the years.

A little after-scene comparing of marks. Always a good chance to cop a feel, heh heh...

Weekend Fashion Blogging

Is this not the most gorgeous dress you've seen all day? I'm slightly surprised that the designer brought it out for fall, because to me the colors and the fabric look like spring/summer. But who cares, the blues and greens are so yummy I just want to eat them with a spoon. And it looks slinky, too. I like slinky.

This one is so not my usual style, but there's something about it that I like. It's exotic.

And more appropriate for the cooler months ahead: After searching high and low because they're sold out everywhere, Armani actually found these Giuseppe Zanotti boots for me in my size! I'm very excited.


Edited to add: I'm sad that I've been outbid on this dress, because I think it's smokin'. But I have a limit, and it's gone beyond it. Curses!

Edited again: (This is the last edit, I swear. I need to stop shopping and get busy with other things.) I really like this skirt, it's a great cut for me, and I'm interested in adding both more white and more gold to my wardrobe. It's a decent price, too.
But please tell me, fashion ladies and gentlemen, what color top I'd wear with it, because I'm stumped. Black seems too contrast-y, and I fear red would make me look like a Christmas-tree ornament. So would gold.
In a perfect world, I'd wear a plain knit shell that matched the white, but I know that the odds of find a plain knit shell that exactly matches the skirt are slim.
I have a rule: if I don't know what I'd wear with something, then I can't buy it. Unless one of you offers me a brilliant solution, I'll have to let it go by.

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It's new-column day, but first, a note: if you read the paper copy of The Stranger, they are undergoing a re-design process right now. For the time being, my column will appear online every week as usual, and I'll link to it here as I always do.

But I will only be in the dead-tree version every other week.

I've already gotten some plaintive "hey, what happened to your column?" calls and emails. And I'm glad you're reading me! However, this is not within my control, so I'm just being patient while the higher-ups shift things around. Any suggestions you might have about it should be addressed to the good people at The Stranger.

And thus, here is the new column...

Books I’m Browsing

The Harlequin: Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, Book 15, by Laurell K. Hamilton
Yeah, I know, the last couple of them really sucked. (Pardon the expression.) But there was a sweet spot for this series, when it was as addictive as cocaine-sprinkled brownies. I keep hoping Ms. Hamilton will find her way again. (The Meredith Gentry series does nothing for me.) I have yet to find another paranormal fiction line that amuses me so much, and I have read some real dogs of books trying. Hence, hope springs eternal. But I’m buying it used.

Don't Believe Everything You Think: The 6 Basic Mistakes We Make in Thinking,
by Thomas E. Kida
This looks extremely interesting. I’m always very interesting in understanding why people – including me- think and act as they do, and this books looks to be all about the debunking of pseudoscientific crap pushed at us by, say, Madison Ave and the Bush Administration.

The Pleasure's All Mine: Memoir of a Professional Submissive, by Joan Kelly
Looks like an interesting twist on the more common pro-domme memoir.

The Art of Detection (Kate Martinelli Mysteries), by Laurie R. King
I prefer Ms. King’s books about Sherlock Holmes and his wife (!) to the modern-day stuff, but she creates good characters and has a knack for building up tension and dread in a thriller.

The Emperor of Scent: A True Story of Perfume and Obsession, by Chandler Burr
I don’t wear perfume. For one thing, I have a not-very-acute sense of smell, so I’d probably put on too much and make people’s eyes water in elevators. Also, alcohol-based perfumes leave tiny brown blotches on my skin wherever I’ve applied it. Some kind of allergy, apparently. I tried the essential oil thing for a while, but really, between hair products and lotion, I’m sweet-smelling enough anyway.

But I like knowing how things work. Publishers Weekly says: “Nobody knows for sure what makes our noses work the way they do, not even the $20-billion-a-year perfume industry's legions of chemists, whose jobs depend on appealing to those noses. So what happens when Luca Turin, a likable scientist who happens to possess an unusually sensitive nose, proposes a new theory of smell that promises to unravel the mystery once and for all? That's what readers find out in this often funny, picaresque expos‚ of the closed world of whiffs, aromas and odors-and the people who study them.”

Really nice things that happened yesterday:

I went with Monk to see a shoulder specialist, who was extremely helpful and reassuring. He told us everything was going as it should be, and he fixed Monk up with a high-tech brace/cinch sort of thing that gives him much more mobility and much less pain. Yay. Kisses to the fabulous medical man who helped me arrange the appointment.

Then I went off and had a dee-lightful interlude with Armani and another young lady, who may identify herself if she wishes to. Red, warm behinds were the order of the day.

Oh, and that Prada bag? It got Armani’s vote, and he ordered it for me. I think there are some tall black patent boots in the works as well. Example # 3,427 of how I have the sweetest guys in the world.

I listened to (yes, I’m admitting it) Kayne West’s new song, Stronger. Several times. It’s embarrassingly catchy.

Upcoming stuff: Miss Candy is having a kinky-ish fitness fundraiser in Cal Anderson park at 2pm this Sunday. Here’s the very lovely poster for the event, but basically, she’s having a 30-minute Boot Camp class, which I gather is some sort of exercise-based torture. (I so don’t do exercise classes.) But there’s a pushup contest, raffles, free food and drinks, and all queer and queer-friendly people are welcome.

Also, I am judging the Northwest LeatherSir, Leatherboy & Community Boot Black Contest the weekend of August 31st /Sept 1st. If you’ve never been to a good old-fashioned leather contest, here’s your opportunity. Way back in the day, leather title contests like this used to be one of the few publicly-accessible kink-based events. Not so much anymore – there are so many other social venues. But there’s a charm to them – just look at Miss Candy, who is the reigning Washington State Ms. Leather. She’s extremely charming!

I myself never ran for a title because, frankly, I thought I’d hate the high level of kink-community attention one receives when one is a title-holder. Every little move you make gets scrutinized and talked about, it’s a lot of pressure. I mean, you can’t so much as pinch someone’s tits without…
Oh, wait a minute. That happens to me anyway. Whoops. How did that happen?

I've decided that on weekends I'm going to post, if I feel so inclined, about fashion. So if you're just here for the kink, come back Monday.

Ladies (and metrosexual gentlemen), I need a new purse. You were all very helpful the last time I had to make such a momentous decision, and here I am again. Last year I did indeed buy a black nylon Kate Spade bag, and I've liked it. But it has to go, because it's just a shade too small. I carry so much stuff around that 13 inches across by 10 inches high is just not cutting it. The damn thing is always spilling over and when it's packed full, I can't get to anything in there. Annoying.

If Kate Spade made a slightly bigger one in the same style, I'd buy it. But she doesn't. So I've been shopping and shopping, but damn, it's hard to find what I want. The requirements are: it must be bigger than what I've got - but not too big, of course. Say, 14 or 15 inches across, and 11 or 12 inches high. It must be black, or mostly black. And it must have a single shoulder strap that goes to my waist. With short little straps, your bag is sort of bunched up under your arm, and I don't like the way that looks, especially on a not-tall woman like me. And I don't know how women deal with purses that one must hold in one's hand or at best, loop on one's elbow. I am always either carrying other stuff, or talking on my phone, or something - I need both my hands free.

I know this will come as a shock, but I really am not all that drawn to leather bags. Not plain leather anyway. Patent leather, okay - or really crinkly leather or something, maybe. But plain leather purses just always look kinda suburban to me. Like a mom purse. (I'm sure I'm going to get blowback from all you leather-bag-carrying women out there for that.) So it can't be just plain black leather.

I admit, I'm looking at pretty high-end stuff. I thought about going honestly fake. But I'm getting really spoiled for more expensive clothes, et cetera. It's not like oh, I simply have to have a designer bag, it's just.... they look nice. So I've narrowed it down to some likely options. Give me your vote:

The perfectly basic black Prada bag. It fit my requirements exactly and it goes with everything - although one risks being a fashion cliche. And the retail price tag is rather ridiculous, I'd have to find one on eBay or something. But it's the perfect size and shape. Impossible to go really wrong with this one.

Perlina Patent Leather bag. A little bigger than I really need. And the shoulder strap is a bit short. But it's pretty.

Elliot Luca Drawstring Bag. A strong contender. I could live without the tassels and I wish the hardware was silver instead of gold. But a good size and stylish without being too-too trendy.

What do you think?

The new column... What does one call that other person you're involved with?

Meanwhile, I'm busy with my world, which is really a lot of fun some days. The key is being creative. Take vibrating nipple clamps. Now, they're nice enough on nipples. But they're much more fun on genitals, and the other day I put a sound in a lovely man's cock, and attached them to the rod. Presto! Vibrating sound. His eyes rolled back in his head, I laughed happily, and Jae was completely fascinated. She loves to watch me do CBT. I had her hold the rig so I could snap a photo. Wanna see?
This one's close up and extremely personal!
Here's Jae looking very absorbed in what she's doing.

Love my life....

Furniture Musings

Every Mistress needs nice furniture, and I'm very fond of the stuff I have. Just three really well-made basic pieces - the bondage chair, the bend-over bench, and this, my table. I don't like my dungeon to feel crowded, and I have found that most of the time, one doesn't really use the super-specialized pieces all that much. Stocks, for example. They look nice in porn pictures, but in real life, many people have a hard time staying bent over at the waist with no torso support. And I don't like any bondage position that relies on a fragile area like the throat as a lock-down point.

So I stay with what works for me. It makes me sad that the brilliant twisted man who built all my furniture has since hung up his carpentry hammer. It’s been about seven years since I commissioned my bondage table from Mr. Wood, and I love the piece, but it’s starting to show its age a bit.

I had it re-upholstered about a year ago and that helped. But eventually I’m going to need a new one, and I cannot imagine where I’m going to get one. I know exactly one kinky carpenter and she’s extremely busy.

And plus I’ll have to think about design. This one, as you see, has two inserts that come out. I wanted to be able to lay someone down on their stomach and still get access to the fun parts. Sometimes I lie on the floor and do CBT on boys from that angle. It’s more scary for them when not only can they not see what’s coming, they can’t even see me. Once I draped the bottom with fabric and had Jae hiding underneath there like an evil little sprite under a bridge. Wasn’t that boy startled when he saw me standing several feet away and felt…someone/something… touching his bits. It was delightful.

But perhaps something different for the next piece. I’ll often be playing and think, “Gee, I wish I could do X right now.” And I try to make notes about what I find myself wanting to do and design accordingly.

However, my next piece of bondage furniture will probably be a new addition: a stand-up frame. I have points in the ceiling to tie people's hands up to, but I want something against a wall. Not a St Andrews cross, I don’t care for those. A lattice-work frame, one heavy enough to take a real beating. If you’ll pardon the expression…

Non-Professional Ladies

So I have a question for the ladies who are NOT sex workers. I want to know why do you choose not to do sex work.

I’m perfectly serious, and this is not rhetorical, I'm really looking for a thoughtful answer. I have a certain point of view on this and I’m going to write a column or something about it, and if you’d like to give me your views, please email me the answers to these questions. DO NOT post them here. If you do that, then they are “previously published” and I cannot as effectively publish them elsewhere.

Got that? Any answers in the comments box will not be considered for part of the article.

The Question: Have you ever seriously considered doing some form of sex work? To include: phone sex, webcam work, porn modeling/performing, bondage modeling, peep shows, jack shacks, exotic dancing, sensual touch/massage, professional domination or submission, and of course, having any form of direct sexual contact with other people for money in any context whatsoever. (If I’ve forgotten anything, let me know, because I probably mean that, too.)

If you did seriously consider it, but you did not do it, why not? Was it due to:

• Fear of assault by client.

• Fear of arrest.

• Fear of STDs.

• Fear of disapproval of other people – purely social/emotional.

• Fear of disapproval of other people – loss of child custody, loss of traditional job, loss of housing situation, ect.

• Lack of means/opportunity - ie, the peep show wasn’t hiring, you didn’t know how to set up a pay cam site, etc.

• Made an attempt, and met with initial negative experience, changed mind.

• Decided it was morally wrong.

• Or some other reason?

Tell me about it, please… The email address is: MistressMatisse AT aol.com

And naturally, all information will be completely confidential. No real names will be published, no email addresses, no identifying details whatsoever.

I had a mostly-lovely weekend. I spent a lot of Friday with Monk, and then Saturday night I went to a private party at a pal's house. Being a party-thrower myself, I do appreciate it when other people put out the time and energy to have their own, so I enjoyed myself.

It was also an an opportunity to wear a fabulous new dress - a white Herve Leger "bandage" dress. This dress has convinced me that Herve Leger has both talent and good business sense. With some designers, you try one of their outfits and think, "This dress is uncomfortable, it makes my figure looks stumpy, and the color gives me the complexion of a three-day-old corpse. Why would I spend money on this?"

Mr. Leger, however, knows how to make a woman's figure look good. Really good. And the stretchy knit is comfortable to wear, how amazing. My female friends told me how nice my dress looked, and my male friends told me how nice my ass looked, so that all worked out just like it should have.

I didn't really play at this party, being in a fairly mellow mood, but I watched some lovely scenes. Candy was also there, making like a trapeze artist on a bar hung from the ceiling. (Photos may follow, if I get permission to post them.) Jae showed up and brought me a little gift - she's always so thoughtful when she sees things she thinks I'd like.

Aren't they cute? And I'm glad no little mice will die in them. They'll serve a much happier purpose in my dungeon.

A handsome man was generous enough to try one of them on his nipple for me, and we agreed that the level of static pressure wasn't too bad. The smack when the spring was released, however, was noticeable. They'd work nicely on cocks or pussies, too. Jae refused to have one tried on her tongue, however.

So Saturday was lovely. Sunday, however, brought...some stressful news. But that's all I can say at the moment because it's actually not my news. More on that as information becomes public.

Edit: The information is now public. Monk had an accident on his motorcycle yesterday.

Today is Monk’s birthday. I got him a birthday gift, and I’m pleased to be able to give it to him. But since the first night he turned up at my door, with flowers, champagne, and a wicked gleam in his eye, Monk has been a much bigger gift to me than I can ever express. Let me count just a few of the ways in which Monk is an amazing partner…

Monk will do pretty much anything to make me laugh.

Monk asks me for my opinions and my advice - and then listens to it.

If I’m having a disagreement with someone, Monk takes it as given that I must be right. Until I tell him I was wrong, at which point he kisses me and tells me that everyone makes mistakes.

Monk thinks it’s fun to brainstorm plots for (as-yet-unwritten) novels with me.

Monk gives me massages (foot, face, back, whatever) when I’m tense.

In many ways, Monk is my male twin. There are silly little things that I do that I thought no one else did. But Monk does them too. (And, no I’m not telling you what they are.)

Monk picks out movies and music he thinks I’ll like – and he’s always right.

Monk laughs at me when I inform him how irresistibly handsome he is, but it’s probably safer for women (and men) everywhere that he not truly understand the seismic power of his big blue eyes and dazzling smile.

If I say, “Try this, it’ll be okay” – then Monk will trust me and take chances with me.

Monk would honestly and diplomatically tell me if these pants made my ass look big.

Monk understands exactly why I fear the things I fear.

Monk has held my hair back while I was rather spectacularly sick with the flu.

Monk can read my body language from across a crowded room. He can often finish my sentences. In fact, he can damn near read my mind sometimes, which would be scary if he wasn’t so good at showing me that he loves what’s in there.

Monk and I can talk endlessly for hours, or we can relax in an easy silence.

Monk and I both have egos of such size and strength that they could lay waste, Godzilla-like, to Tokyo. But our egos do not fight with each other. Instead, they dance.

The new column...Letter from a reader answered.

Also: I got quoted in Esquire magazine, which is charming. (Of course, now I wish I'd said something much more witty and insightful, but that's what I said, so....) My thanks to the writer, Litsa Dremousis, for including me!

So I’d planned on writing something longer, but the sweet summer heat got to me and I’m being lazy.
But – I pulled from the archive an older post that stirred a lot of comments when I first wrote it, just over a year ago. Let’s see what the new kids have to say. (Or, let’s hear what the longer-term readers think about the matter one year later.)
Post comments here, though, so we don’t have to click back to read them.

Talking to strangers: eye contact and the street-corner flirtation.

The new column. I'm picking on my silly callers again.

I'm thinking of interview question to ask the brave souls who volunteered.

I'm also thinking about a new dress. Now, what I should buy is something classic and practical, like this black D&G number. The cut will flatter me, the style won't date much, and I could wear it anywhere, any season.



So why do I have an urge for this madly impractical Pucci number? But can't you just see it with thigh-high boots?

Another note to clients: Late July and August are traditionally slow times of year in the sex industry. (At least in Seattle.) People are away on vacation, or they’re just spending time outside while it’s sunny. So unlike most of the rest of the year, in the late summer, I am often not booked 4 or 5 days out.

Thus, if you’re a guy who can’t book far ahead and has had trouble getting in to see me because of that, this would be the time of year to call me and ask for a next-day appointment with me. *

(*I actually granted someone a same-day appointment the other day, and wouldn’t you know, I wound being sorry I had done so. But that’s a story for another day.)

***

I’m continuing to clean out stacked-up emails, so look for lots of letter-answering in the next few days as I wade through my “Saved Emails” file.

I have a bombshelter (in Seattle) (30 foot tunnel -cinderblock & cement- into the hill behind my house, small room, big room, complete with escape hatch), and really have no use for it. I have been considering renting it out- only real use I can think of (and friends keep suggesting) is as a dungeon. Unfortunately, I'm not into using it for that purpose myself, however, I think anyone inclined in that direction would probably get excited at the prospect. How would I go about renting it out? I would prefer to rent it to the same person(s) on a regular basis. And how much does one charge for the pleasure of a real bomb shelter?

What an interesting question. I have no idea what you should charge, but I’m sure someone would love it. What’s the square footage like? How high is the ceiling? Is it soundproof? Would you let people put in bondage furniture, or install suspension points in the ceiling? How many people do you think would fit in there at any one time?

If anyone’s interested, drop me a note and I’ll forward your email along to this bomb-shelter owner.

The new column, in which I make a faux pas of my own. Apparently Dream Dresser, that kinky clothing company, is no more. I should have known, because I used to get tons of catalogues from them, and then the flow of slick-paper retail therapy abruptly ceased. I thought I had just fallen off their mailing list, but it seems they've closed their doors. Whoops.
Anyway, I've already gotten some "thank you!" responses to this column, and I'm sure I'll get some negative feedback too. So, love it or hate it, there it is...

Gentlemen of my acquaintance: Due to a last-minute cancellation I have most of the afternoon and evening free tomorrow. Call me if you'd like to see me!

From The Inbox

Hello from Chicago,

How are you? I thought I'd ask your expert opinion, as I'm just a "normal" student and feel I might have gotten in over my head. (1)

I have encountered a situation I would very much appreciate your thoughts on. I randomly met an incredibly wealthy attractive person who wants to pay to be my butler or "slave". Though I can't see any negative in this, I'm a bit confused and hoping to avoid being raped/murdered. (2)

Could you refer me to information on this sort of "slavery" or even just dominance and submission? (3)

It seems crazy, but I've been dominant before (not to the point of having a slave or anything) and I could really use the money for grad school. (4)

He grew up in the projects worked hard to get through college, wrote software that made milllons and now fantasizes about being indentured servant to a "perfect" asian woman (apparently very demanding, confident, and goal oriented). He's at that midlife crisis age, lives alone (and apparently friendless?) and describes his personality as akin to that grating but brilliant Dr on the show House (I don't watch TV). Anyway, will he hurt me when he discovers I really meant it when I said I'm not perfect? (5)

Since he is a stranger, I checked his W2, ran a background check and he's clean and could send a kid or dozen through grad school. Do you think I should run a psych eval on him (perhaps myself) as well? (6)

He's making a contract (like a real legal document) indenturing himself to me for lots of money. (7)

I think I'm going to stipulate that he sees a professional psychiatrist to check on his stability. He doesn't seem like a violent person, just eccentric and loving of dog collars. (8)

Thank you so much for reading this,

Just Do It?

PS He doesn't seem to want sex, just to be my slave...I'm very very confused.

Thank you so much for your thoughts on this.

***

Huh. Maybe I’m just feeling bitchy today, but I found myself irritated by this letter. For one thing, I think it’s probably a fake. It just doesn’t feel genuine to me.

But assuming that this writer is what she says she is, and the situation is real, why did this letter piss me off?

1. I don’t like the I'm just a "normal" student remark. Being kinky does not make one abnormal, with or without quotation marks.

2. I also get huffy at the idea that being kinky makes someone likely to be a rapist/murderer. I’m sure that’s a belief that many narrow-minded people share – but if that’s really what you think, then no matter how much money someone offers you, you should not be participating in our sexuality.

3. Can I direct you to some information on kink? Uh, yeah, sweetheart, I can. But don’t ask me to spoon-feed you for free. I disapprove of intellectual laziness. (If this millionaire of yours truly exists, he can pay me to teach you, although I suspect it would be an uphill battle.

4. & 5. If you have “been dominant before” – something I’m rather skeptical about - then why the hell are you making remarks like “will he hurt me when he realizes I’m not perfect?” Has anyone else you’ve “been dominant" with done so?

6. Should you run a psych eval on him or on yourself? See answer number one. Another remark – along with the “it seems crazy” comment - that indicates to me how much you respect people who do BDSM.

7. Apparently both of you cut class the day your history teachers talked about Abe Lincoln and the Civil War, but legal slavery – to include indentured servitude – was actually abolished in this country well over one hundred years ago. Quoted from the 13^th Amendment:

Section 1. Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.

Thus, there is no such thing as a legal slave contract. They don't exist. You two can write up whatever you want and sign it, and if it pleases you, then that’s fine. But it has no legal power whatsoever. I am always stunned when seemingly intelligent, educated people seem to not be aware of this not-exactly-minor event in American history. I’d of thought they’d at least have seen Gone With The Wind or Roots, or something.

8. Oh Christ, more with the kinky = serial killer crap.

So, in short – no, don’t just do it. If this guy actually exists, he deserves someone who has some basic understanding of, and respect for, how he’s wired. You lack that.

Good Day, Bad Day

The bad news: I got stood up by a client yesterday. Grrr… My instinct told me he was dodgy when he called, but I let him talk me into an appointment. An evening appointment, no less, which I rarely do. He was in from out of town, he had business meetings all day, but he really, really wanted to see me, please, please Mistress….

Oh, all right. Thus, I structured my whole day around coming back to the studio in the evening after I worked out. He even called in the afternoon to confirm. So I made the half hour drive across town from Gold’s, got dressed, got the space ready, and waited. And - he blew me off. No call, nothing. And guys wonder why I don’t make appointments with new people. Bah.

It’s an excellent reminder that I should not let my head overrule my gut instinct. This had all the earmarks of a session destined not to happen, and I just didn’t listen. Take evening appointments. One of the reasons I don’t see people late at night, in spite of being a night person, is that there is a much higher no-show rate for any appointment past eight pm. I don’t know why that’s so, but it is. (Naturally this does not apply to my good friends, who do not stand me up no matter what time we arrange to get together. I am speaking of new people, or people I’ve seen just once before.)

But the nice part of my day was my early appointment. It was with a man I hadn’t seen in some time, although for a while he’d been a good regular of mine. I always liked playing with him – he’s attractive and sweet, and our kinky tastes and style mesh well. So I was very pleased to renew our connection.

There are some delicate courtesies in my profession. If someone you haven’t seen for a while comes around again, you don’t say, “Hey, where have you been? Why haven’t you called?” The whole point is that it’s a no-strings arrangement. If he wants to tell you why he hasn't been around, he will.

So I simply told my old friend I was pleased to see him again, and wondered aloud how long it had been since we’d played.

“Three and a half years,” he responded instantly.

Longer than I thought – and goodness, wasn’t that a fast answer. I made a pleasant noncommittal remark, but arranged my face into a care-to-tell-me-more? expression.

“Well, you see – I was getting a little too attached to you,” he said. “We had such great times together, and you’re such a cool person, and… I just was thinking about you all the time.” He ducked his head a little, sheepishly. “But it’s my birthday and I really wanted to see you, so – I thought it would be okay now. And you’re just as great as I remembered you being.”

My, my – what a way to make a girl feel flattered by your absence.

I had a very Harry Potter-ish weekend. Friday night some pals and I went to see the latest HP movie. After it was over, we walked over to the Barnes and Noble in Pacific Place and said hi to Puck and her sister, who were waiting in line to get the new Harry Potter book. It was after midnight, the store was full of people wearing various HP-themed costumes and colored wristbands that indicated their place in order-filling process – a real-world version of the Sorting Hat, you might say.

Naturally I had pre-ordered mine, so I wouldn't have to wait in line. However, watching people leave with their hardbacks clutched jealously to their chests, I had a pang of regret that it wouldn’t be delivered until the next day. Someone remarked that Amazon should have charged everyone a few dollars more and had the book delivered on the stroke of midnight. Hey, I’d probably have paid it.

I considered writing a column about the connection between kinky people and Harry Potter - something about how we relate to the otherness of witches in general, and Harry Potter in particular. But I think the character’s insanely widespread popularity is testament to the fact that many people feel like they are outsiders, misunderstood and persecuted, at some time in their lives. A commentary on our culture, perhaps.

Saturday afternoon when I came home from a housewarming party, there was a fat little box on my doorstep, and oh, how I really wanted to just curl up on the couch and dive into Book Seven. However, I made myself work on That Writing Project until about midnight. That was about as long as I could be self-disciplined.

I’ve now finished the book. I admit it – before I even started, I read the last page. I never do that with books, but I just needed to know what to prepare myself for, you know?

So, with that information in my head… I enjoyed the book. I have wondered before if knowing her books would be made into movies would impact Rowling's writing, and I do think there's some Hollywood influence in this one, especially in the epilogue. But it's still good fun. I know Rowling says that’s it, the end, but I do think she’s created an engaging world there, and I could see creating other characters and stories in the same reality. But I don’t blame her if she doesn’t. Lord knows, she doesn’t need the money.

The movie was fun also – although they have to jump so fast and leave so much of books out of the film, it’s more like watching a really long trailer. And there was not nearly enough hissing, sneering Alan Rickman in this movie, wah. Still, I have a slight thing for Daniel Radcliffe, so… those scenes where he’s tossing and turning in bed, damp with sweat, flushed and panting, looking like he’s in (beautiful) pain? Yeah. I have to admit those little snippets turned me right on. I admitted as much to Puck later, and she said, “Yeah, I thought the scenes where Professor Umbridge is talking how Harry is bad and needs to be punished were kinda kinky.”

Maybe I need to find a cute just-barely-18-year-old boy and do a Bellatrix Lestrange/Harry Potter scene. I know what I’d do with my wand.

Monk and I fly home today. It's been a great trip, but we'll both be glad to be home. Wish us a good flight, and a happy reunion with Max and Tambo....

So I began this post thinking: this guy is not a total twit.

But he is barking up the wrong tree. I mean, this guy isn’t even in the right forest. My original motivation for running his letter in the blog was because I knew this man is not alone in his stated desires. He’s also not alone in hoping I’ll give him my attention.

Unfortunately for him and his brethren, what he’s seeking is not something I’m interested in. I wish them luck, but I am not a female supremacist, and I am not looking for personal slaves. Because the smallest amount of research would have revealed that, I decided to give him a few taps with Mistress Matisse’s clue stick.

Mistress Matisse,

First let me start by saying that i genuinely do not want to waste Your time. If You have read this far, i thank You very much and gratefully appreciate it. With that, i am writing for maybe a little different reason than most. i am sure You have received emails like this before though as i am sure. i am a male submissive. i am a full believer in Female Supremacy. i would be interested in sessioning with You, however, i think i may be looking for more.

Quibbles: a full believer in female supremacy? As opposed to…a partial believer? A member of the American Association of Reformed Female Supremacists?

I am not down with the lower-case i thing. It offends me as a writer. I think I have a few upper-case “Me/My” usages on my professional website. I admit it, I caved to peer pressure years ago and never bothered to correct it. But in the soon-to-be-launched new site, there will be none of that.

i really want to stress that i don't want to waste Your time, but i am really looking for something permanent with a Mistress. i truly believe in Female Supremacy as i mentioned and it is truly a lifestyle that i would like to live. i know many say that 24/7 is not possible and is too strenuous on both the Domme and the sub which is probably true to some degree, but if there were ever such a thing, i would love to one day find it and make it happen or at least get as close to 24/7 as possible. Based on reading Your entire site, i don't think this is something that You are looking for which is understandable.

Ok, so – you know I’m not looking for this. But you’re asking me anyway, because that's just how submissive you are. Hmmmnn…

That said, i truly just hope to find a Mistress that one day at Her discretion may decide to collar me and take ownership of me. Please don't take this as me trying to Dom from below either. i certainly would never, ever Dom from below once i find that one Mistress that takes me as Hers.

He seems to have no compunction about trying to get me to do what he wants, but I can only assume that’s because I haven’t taken him as mine.

Like i said, i don't want to waste Your time but i thought maybe You would be a good resource to get to know. So the main reason i am writing to You is to see if You might have the interest and or the time to assist me in anyway in moving forward for in my goals. And i am certainly willing to tribute You in any way that You want and require in exchange for any time, advice, or assistance that You may be able to lend to me or help me with if You are interested in something like this.

Actually I doubt I'd be the best resource for him, since my philosophy and practice of BDSM seems to be rather different from his.

I’m also not sure what he means by “tribute”. If he means he’d pay me my usual rate to be his kink advisor…Well, even then, I probably would wish him the best and politely decline. I don’t think I’d feel ethical about taking someone’s money for that. I know how I got where I am, and I think I can give good advice to my friends when they ask for it. But I’m not a therapist and I’m not a matchmaker, either. When you accept someone’s money, you accept some responsibility for the situation. I wouldn’t take money for a job I wasn’t sure I could do.

Besides, I have a feeling he doesn’t mean cash on the barrelhead. I think he means some type of service exchange, and I don’t do that with people I don’t know. (Hell, I rarely do it at all.)

Finally, if You made it this far, i thank You for reading my message, and spending a few minutes with me as i explain myself. i know Your time is very precious and valuable and i do hope i have not wanted it.

So, I scanned over this email quickly, saw that it wasn’t anything I wanted to involve myself with, and went on to the next thing. He gave it a shot, no harm in asking, but he’s right: it’s not something I’m looking for.

A few days later, he resends the email with this tacked on the top:

i just wanted to write once more and say that i hope i did not offend You or upset You with my email from the other night. i am sure You are very busy and whether You plan to write back to me or not, i just hope i did not upset You or make You feel as if i wasted Your time. i truly did not and do not want to. i hope You are having a wonderful week.

Offend me? Upset me? Dude, I’m a sex worker. I have an ad in the back of the Stranger. I regularly get voicemails in which callers bark like dogs and talk dirty to me. People send me photos of their genitals and beg me for dirty underwear. You’re not even in the same galaxy as anything that would upset me or offend me, and I suspect you know it. This little game of faux-contrition is just a second attempt to get my attention. You took a sharp turn from nice, but not for me into manipulative sleeve-tugger. You keep reiterating how you don’t want to waste my time? Well, you’re wasting both yours and mine. Trot along, boy, I’m not interested.

I’m still on vacation. Monk and I are almost alarmed by how relaxed we are. At least, we would be, if we weren’t so relaxed.

We’re hanging around the beach, eating food that’s bad for us, and drinking drinks with umbrellas in them. Or rather, I am. He’s mainly drinking Mexican beer.

So far, I’ve gotten a mild sting from a jellyfish. No big deal, I’ve had worse. (But no, I did not ask Monk to piss on it.) And he has some sunburned spots on his leg where I missed with the sunscreen. But other than that, everything is going just grand. He'll be posting about it in his blog as well, so go over there if you want his take on things.

Here’s a completely non-kinky video clip of a really odd-looking creature that we learned was a horseshow crab. Ew. Looks like a prehistoric monster. Monk is convinced it’s been swimming through some nuclear waste and will quickly grow to enormous size and start eating co-eds. So if you don’t hear from us ever again, you’ll know: the Mutant Crab got us.

New column: I hope you'll be entertained by this...

While I get ready to pick up Monk at the airport, and entertain him - and probably some other people as well - with this...

While I'm away, check out this really good example of a really bad poly situation. That's my take, at least. I think the man involved should keep his pants zipped and be, if anything, a platonic, non-kinky friend to this young girl. Because the whole think looks like a train wreck waiting to happen. Too many red flags to ignore...

I am so not ready to leave town tomorrow! But there is no denying that packing for non-fetishy travel is simpler than packing for kink events.


No latex, no thigh-high boots, no trench-coat to cover myself up as I walk through hotel lobbies - it's easy.

But I had to do something rather masochistic over the weekend: shop for a bathing suit. Now, I have two bathing suits already, and they're gorgeous, but they're ridiculously expensive little creations, designed for lounging elegantly in the hot tub at a hotel. I would just not feel right about wearing them in and out of the ocean all day, sitting in the sand, and then throwing them over a railing to dry.

So I thought: no big deal, I'll just go buy some inexpensive little suit somewhere and let it get trashed.

Well. How naive of me. Old Navy and Target yielded nothing that I would be caught dead in. Even Macy's wasn't that great. And I had Jae with me, who kept trying to get me to try on dreadful Hawaiian print stuff, just because she's bratty that way. No. I don't want a boring navy-blue tank suit, but I refuse to wear anything that's all tarted up with faux gold chains and sequins, either. It was like all the suits were either for a) teenage girls who idolize Mariah Carey and Lil Kim, or b) their sensible mini-van driving mothers. I am neither of those things.

And I was further handicapped by having resolved not to pay more than twenty-five dollars per piece for this silly thing. It's funny - I like expensive clothes and I will buy them. But sometimes I just get it in my head that I am not going to spend a lot of money on X item, and that's it. I am not going to the damn South of France, you know? I'm not even going to Hawaii. My destination is extremely casual. So it would just be silly to be swanning around in some suit that cost more than the locals make in a day.

I'll just have to do some shopping when I arrive. Hopefully a warmer climate will have better choices. Wish me a good flight!

Fashionable Friends

Note: All photo links today are work-safe!

The women’s clothing sale/swap was last Sunday, and it was great. It was sort of what one would call a “proof of concept” event. As the hostess, I wasn’t really sure how it would all work out. I just knew I had a ton of clothes and other stuff, that while I could eBay them and probably make more money, this would be more fun.

Because it's not really about wanting a ton of money. Especially with my fetishwear, my clothes have some stories and some history to them. I have some one-of-a-kind, local-designer stuff - costumes I wore in fashion shows at places like SAM and The Showbox in the late nineties. And they don't fit me anymore, I'm smaller now. I'd like to see them go to someone who is as excited about having them as I once was. It seems like a waste to have them sit in a box in my closet.

So a dozen of my pals showed up with stuff to sell, and probably another half dozen folks came just to shop and be social, and we had a ball. It was mostly all girls. Max was hanging out, holding one cute girl’s new baby while she tried on clothes. (The baby tried some things too.) And then later a boy who looks good in women’s clothes came by, so we dressed him up a little.

But overall, it was lot of women running around in their panties (or nothing, in some cases) trying on each other’s clothes.

Observations: it’s very interesting to watch four different women, who all look different in their body shapes, all try on the same piece of clothing. There were certain garments – like a cute black jumpsuit – that more or less fit many of us, in spite of four to six inches in height differentials, and a difference of twenty pounds in weight from the smallest person to the largest.

The other interesting thing about this event: at some point, every single woman I invited made some variation of the same remark to me. “Well, there’s probably not going to be very much there that’ll fit me, because I’m so fat/thin/tall/short/busty/hippy/whatever.” Baloney. If you didn’t come because of that, you missed out. There was a variety of sizes, and even aside from clothes proper, there were awesome shoes and other accessories – I scored some rocking retro 80’s ankle boots, and some gorgeous bling at an amazing price. I am becoming such a jewelry-loving girl, and I have a weakness for the "statement" ring. They're topaz, amethyst, an art deco ring with little sapphires and a diamond, and an aquamarine. They all need to be sized down, and I’m actually thinking of getting new settings designed for the solitaires. But I got them from a friend who I trust, and that made me feel good about buying them in a way that I wouldn’t if I’d gotten them online.

So, from the biggest and tallest to the tiniest person, we all got rid of stuff we didn’t have any more use for and we all got new-to-us stuff that we’re happy with. As things wound down, we all agreed that we should do this again. Any excuse to run around in our underwear.

Happy Fourth Of July, my friends. Today I'm going to hang with my pals, cook burgers on the grill, and be pleased to be an American. Even in the middle of what is surely the most venal, corrupt and callous presidential administration of my lifetime.

Form Letters of Love

Hmmnn, I'm feeling vicious today. I want to be mean to someone. Right now.

That's easy. Just open the inbox, and presto!

This email has the distinct whiff of a form letter. I suspect that the writer CC's it to ladies on the various BDSM personal-ads sites. (Probably without regard to whether they identify as dominant or submissive - men on those sites often do that. Post a cute picture, and no matter what you say about yourself, some guy will write you and say, no, no, you just don't understand that it's your true nature to be a stern Mistress/helpless slave! Or they'll just ignore your text completely and address you as if you already are what they want you to be.

Why he's sent it me, I have no idea. The very smallest amount of research would indicate that I'm going to fillet him here on the public blog, but perhaps he'll enjoy the attention.

Dear Mistress Matisse,

Your passion for life, and love for BDSM attracted my attention and since we share common values I thought it would be great to introduce myself to you. My name is XXX, 6ft, single, never married, no kids, caring, genuine and loving person seeking a loving, caring Goddess like you.

Note the sincere-sounding but carefully vague compliment. We share common values? Really? One of my values is I don't pester strangers, and I'm afraid you're striking out there. Also, I am not a deity that I am aware of. Neither am I single. And why does he include his height in a list of common values?

I really like you enjoy being a Goddess, have a great sense of humor and sharing intelligent conversations with you would be nice. I am also very new to the BDSM scene, and would love to talk to you and learn from you. True submission comes ONLY from the heart, and I am willing to give myself completely to you and to worship you in mind, body and spirit. I have always been intrigued by the BDSM scene and am seeking a mistress and a lover.

More non-specific compliments, and phrases I think he cribbed from some One True Way kink site somewhere. I think that first phrase is supposed to read "I really like THAT you enjoy being a Goddess..." As opposed to, "I really, like you, enjoy being a Goddess..." Which would make him a Goddess, too. I know it's snarky to pick on typos - I make them myself. But Jesus, if you're going to send unsolicited form mash notes to a strange Mistress who's also a writer, could you at least proofread them?

New BDSM people often love to make sweeping capital-letters statements about what True Submission is - and what organ it must spring from. Oh please. Sorry, as comforting as it would be to think that you leave all the confusing complexity of human nature behind you when you enter the dungeon, it's ain't so.

I am at the point in my life where I am looking for a life partner with whom to share home, travel, and enjoying our lives. While I'm politically and socially very progressive, I am pretty traditional when it comes to relationships and family. I value commitment, loyalty and the usual "family values." I like talk, closeness, and affection and am most compatible with women who feel comfortable with the same.

This is how I know this is a form letter. Um, hi, I'm the polyamorous dominatrix? Perhaps ten seconds with Mistress Google would have shown you that? So, no, I am not traditional when it comes to relationships, and I do not have "the usual family values". I am a walking, talking threat to that entire system. Yay me.

I Sincerely believe that....... 1. A submissive's place is to honor his Mistress 2. A submissive's place is to obey his Mistress 3. A submissive's purpose is to serve his Mistress 4. A submissive's pleasure is in accepting Guidance and Discipline 5. A submissive's joy is to please his Mistress.

Blah blah copied from a website blah blah usual cliches blah blah completely meaningless blah blahbbity blah...
Oh, but wait, here's the "call to action". That's what they call it in marketing, right?

Are you looking to create a life which combines love, family, stability and adventure? If so, I'd love to hear from you.

No, I'm not. I prefer seething lust, deliberate childlessness and spontaneity. And yes, adventure. But just not with you.

Prompted by a pal’s remarks in a private journal, I read this article yesterday in the NYT about women who have rather time- and money- intensive personal-care routines. Nice to read about how relatively low-maintenance I am. Lord knows I feel like I spend more time than I really should having various beauty-type things done to me.

Articles like this arouse conflicting emotions in me. What I am clearly supposed to think when I read this is “Wow, those women are ridiculously vain, self-indulgent and shallow, and their priorities are terribly skewed.” Indeed, they might be. I don’t know those women. But I dislike feeling that they’ve been hand-picked and set up by the NYT for me to simultaneously envy and loathe.

And maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think some of what they do is that excessive. I get my hair done every three weeks, and my eyebrows waxed, and I have an amazing dermatologist who takes care of my skin. So, a thousand bucks a week? No way. But not because I disapprove of the idea of cosmetic self-improvement. (I wonder if that hyperbaric oxygen chamber thing really works?)

In the matter of the lead interview subject, Ms. Grace: I do think that two different physical trainers seems odd. But don’t you love how they’re lumping physical fitness in with manicures? Rather different things, I would have said. Regardless of why you want a buff body, the long-term benefits of having one are greater than the benefits of perfectly buffed toes. So I think that’s cheating.

What also interests me is how while the Times delights in detailing exactly how much all these things cost the interview subjects, they don’t tell us what percentage of these women’s income those fees make up. If Ms Grace makes, say, four hundred thousand dollars a year in her job as a realtor and she feels that looking a certain way helps her make that money, then a thousand dollars a week to maintain her looks is not that unreasonable.

Okay, maybe it’s a little high. And if she makes $150,000 dollars a year, then a thousand a week begins to seem out of balance. But in fact, it’s her money. Would the Times approve of her more if she spent it on fine wines, or sports cars, or antique art? Because I have seen articles in the Times detailing the joys of all those things, with nary a suggestion that it wasn’t the best and highest use of someone’s money.

And I love this snarky little injection about how if a woman invested the money she spends on manicures she’d have a fortune when she’s 65. The implication is that women in general should never get manicures, because it’s frivolous, and that seems both condescending and unfair. It also suggests – without actually saying so - that these particular women are managing their money badly, something I doubt the Times really knows.

Now, do I think young women should save and invest money? Hell yes - I wish I’d started younger. But to present it as an either/or is overly simplistic. You could make the same comparison about damn near anything. If you gave up the non-essential pleasures in life that cost money and saved the cash, yes, you’d have it when you were old. But what about having some enjoyment in life while you’re living it? How many things do we all do just because it’s nice and we enjoy it, even if the pleasure is fleeting?

I also completely agree with these women – looking good helps you in the world. There is not a shadow of a doubt about it. And looking good has as much to do with one’s perception of oneself as it does with how other people react to you. I myself have had beauty things done where I thought, “The only person who’s noticing this is me.” But I was noticing, and it was driving me nuts, so, I dealt with it, and I was happier. So I definitely don't think that looking good must involve spending lots of money, but if you've got it and you think it helps, go ahead.

But this article is manipulative journalism, and I think it's manipulating women in a way that's not pretty. We’re supposed to shake our heads at these women, but we’re also being subtly encouraged to consider our own beauty routine, whatever that is. Does it need upgrading? Could we find more ways to spend time and money on it, perhaps even within the NYT’s very own advertisers? Because there are plenty of ads for beauty products and services within those very pages.

You can call it foolish to set such store by appearance, but it’s a trait of human nature and it always will be. And in a capitalist culture, people are going to sell things designed to appeal to that. People have to make their own decisions about what they want to buy. But I think a newspaper like the NYT should be above using editorial space to stir up resentment of other women’s choices and using that emotion to make money for it’s advertisers.

The new column...

And a reminder: I'm out of town from July 10th to the 18th. I'm getting booked up, so if you want to see me before I'm gone, call me.

Recent iTunes Downloads

I got some reasonably current stuff…

Bubbly, Colbie Caillat. A simple song, but she’s got a sweet voice.

Tainted Love, Marilyn Manson. Loved the original, and this is an awesome cover.

Makes Me Wonder, Maroon 5. It’s got a fun funky seventies sound to it.

Rockstar, Nickelback. I know, everyone sneers at Nickelback, but hey, I liked This Is How You Remind Me, too, so obviously I have plebian tastes.

U+ Ur Hand, Pink. Fabulously bitchy dance music, every bit as good as Get The Party Started. If I still stripped, I’d dance to this song.

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol. Monk turned me on to this plaintively sweet song.

Then I succumbed to a total eighties rock blowout…

Rock Me Tonight, Billy Squier
My Sharona, The Knack
Dream Police, Cheap Trick
My Kinda Lover, Billy Squier
Rock Of Ages, Def Leppard
The Stroke, Billy Squier
Dancing With Myself, Billy Idol
Everybody Wants You, Billy Squier

You should see me dancing around my house, playing air guitar. I’m not even embarrassed.

As promised...Video clips of two pals of mine doing evil, evil things to each other. There are needles, there are boobs, and there are loud shrieks of laughter and some bad words. I love my friends.

Clip One: "Oh, it is so your turn!"

Clip Two: "You rock!"


The sidebar to this is: I really need to find a place to host my not-quite-porn video clips. I put up three clips in Photobucket: these two, and then another, not for public viewing, that included the faces of the women playing. For some reason, that one video clip, and one still photo, got pulled by the site for violating TOS. But for the moment, these two clips remain.

What makes them okay and the other clip and picture not okay? I have no idea. It's in a password-protected album, so I am guessing no one just happened onto them. Very mysterious.

These clips may get pulled too, so carpe diem. Meanwhile I'm looking for another place to put them...

Semi-private social event: So, a bunch of women I know are getting together at a private location next Sunday afternoon to have sort of a group rummage sale of women’s clothes. It’s not our wish to publicize the address of this, and thus have random strangers dropping by. But if you’re a woman in the Seattle area and you’d like to do a little shopping amongst various sizes and styles of nice, gently-worn clothes (both fetish and regular) it's possible we could arrange that. I make no promises, but drop me a note telling me who you are, and we’ll see about giving you the location. Bonus points if I’ve ever actually met you…

Do My Research For Me?

I'm wanting to create some poll/surveys for various questions about sexuality. What I'd like is for people to answer a series of questions, and for them to have a space to add additional comments/clarification after each individual question.

My second choice would be for there to be a single place at the end of the list of question to add comments.

Any have any suggestions about a free/low-cost place to host such things? Or for a super-easy bit of software to create and host it myself? Webspace is not the problem, I just don't want to have to learn complex new software for this.

I've googled this and I see that there are some options, although many of them seem to be vote-only, without the comments part. But I'm interested in personal opinions.

I am really not that into astrology.

However, sometimes Rob Brezsny is sort of spooky. He's lucky we don't burn witches anymore.

Snippet from a conversation I had recently: “If you already hate yourself when you get into sex work, you’ll have bad experiences, because you won’t be able to tell when someone is treating you inappropriately until it’s too late.”

I mused yesterday, as I often do, how happy I am with the clients I have. Not just because some of them are sweet enough to give me beautiful gifts, although those are nice. But there’s something eternally charming about having a man just light up when you come into the room, stare at you with ardent appreciation and tell you, every time he sees you, and with obvious sincerity, how beautiful and wonderful and amazing he thinks you are. Even when one is a trifle cranky – as I have been the last day or so – how could my ruffled fur not be smoothed by such silky strokes? Purrrrr.....

I suppose it is a measure of my ego that I think this is precisely how I should be treated. So call me spoiled, but I believe that expecting to be valued and treated well – and accepting nothing less – is the reason why my experience as a sex worker has been positive rather than negative.

The praise and fervor of my boys is not the basis of my self-esteem – that comes from a deeper place in me. But it’s a very sweet frosting on my cake.

Tuesday, edited: Ok, I was a bit cranky last night when I put up that entry. After a night's sleep I'm in a better frame of mind.
Perhaps because I watched this recent video clip of me spanking a charming man and it made me smile... (About ten seconds, opens in a new window.)

Note to clients and friends: If I owe you a phone call or an email, I am not mad at you, and I am not blowing you off. Monday went rather pear-shaped on me, and Tuesday isn't going to be a lot better. (Nothing tragic, just tragically overbooked, is all.)

But I will survive, hey hey. And I will contact you. (Unless you're that very odd man who keeps calling me looking for Jae. You, I will not be calling back. Actually, a number of people seem to think I'm Jae's answering service, which should be sourly amusing to the nice people who can't even get me to call them back in a speedy fashion. So Jae-seekers, you should know that I just delete those messages.)