The Doughnut Files

Notes from the weekend: Monk and I did indeed go record some more podcasts Friday night. We were at a professional sound studio – because that’s just how we roll, you know. Anything worth doing is worth overdoing. Afterwards we went into the booth, and the tech guy flipped a switch and it was like: oh, there’s my voice, talking. But, wait, I’m not talking. Oh, no - it’s the recording. I was really almost startled. It’s kind of wild to hear your own voice played back to you, crystal clear and super-high quality. One gets used to hearing it distorted by voicemails, speakerphones, etc. But I thought yes, that’s what my voice really sounds like. I’m guessing ya’ll won’t hear it like that. It’ll be compressed and sent through this crazy series of tubes that is tha intraweb. I do wish I sounded a little more like Kathleen Turner. But hey, I’m not too Jennifer Tilly.

Then we went to The Frontier Room and ate a lot of protein. Yum. We virtuously declined dessert. But then, as we drove back down 1^st Ave, we passed the yawning maw of Atkins hell: Krispy Kreme.

Now, I have a history with Krispy Kreme doughnuts. A certain boy loves to tease me by bringing Krispy Kremes to my parties. I have threatened him about this, but apparently it’s going to take some serious personal violence to persuade him to refrain. Not that Krispy Kreme doughnuts don’t go great with Veuve Clicquot champagne, because I happen to know that they do. But I’d like to try and make healthier choices. You know, like maybe heroin?

So I’ve gotten better at pretending they aren’t there. At our last party, I was able to stay away from that green and white box long enough for all the other guests to scarf them up. It only took about twenty minutes. Seems I’m not the only one with a wee Krispy Kreme addiction.

But Friday night, they had that Hot Doughnuts Now sign lit up, and what could I do? I was powerless. And I led Monk astray. Remember my remarks about how anything worth doing is worth overdoing? Yeah. That’s how we wound up naked in bed, with a dozen little frosted rings of heaven. We both knew we’d have to pay dearly at the gym, but to hell with it. I have sworn never to publish The Doughnut Pictures, but I must say, I’ll never look at those crème-filled ones quite the same way again.

However, that night of sugar debauchery is over, and I'm back on the wagon. So if you turn up at my door with doughnuts, I will consider that your way of saying, “Use your stun gun on my balls, please, Ma’am.”

Fans of the whackasaurus phone callers – which is pretty much all of you, judging by the emails I get – enjoy the new column…

***

A question for my Seattle readers: are any of you professional interior decorators? Because I’m thinking of doing some remodeling in the new year, and wow, I really don’t have much of a knack for that kinda thing. Wall treatments, lighting, and especially combinations of colors. I don’t think I have bad taste, but I just don’t have much imagination. Apparently it all went to my sex life.

I’m planning a bathroom remodel too, and I may even need an architect, if I decide to bump out any walls.

I’ve read dozens of books on decorating, to little avail. Both Jae and Miss K are quite good at this – Jae actually has a degree in it – and they have said they’ll help me. But you know, more input is good, and frankly, someone who I am paying to prioritize me is also good. Jae and Miss K have lives of their own.

However, I imagine a lot of decorators would be somewhat taken aback by my dungeon, so I need someone who - while they need not be kinky themselves – is at least able to work with that. Drop me a note if you have a suggestion...

People who do BDSM talk a lot about safewords, and what they are talking about is ways to communicate ease up or stop. But while red and yellow get the most press, there’s another color on that wheel, and it’s green. Understanding how to communicate harder, more, is sometimes a challenge. But some folks have a knack for it.

Take the gentleman I played with yesterday. He’s new to me, it was only the second time I saw him. And the first time I met him, I knew I was going to have to be very firm with him, because he’s rather a strong personality, sort of a classic East Coast type. Not a bad guy, but not a guy who was inclined to follow the rules unless someone was strictly enforcing them.

As it turns out, there may be a method to his madness. He likes impact on his ass, and when I met him, he claimed to have both a high tolerance for pain and a tendency not to bruise easily. Now, I do heavy impact scenes, and I enjoy them. But while I do listen when people tell me they can take a lot, I also reserve judgment until I’ve actually tried them out. As I said to this man, it’s okay if you come back and tell me, “You can go harder this time”. What I don’t ever want to hear is, “Last time we played, you went too far.”

So for our initial session, I gave his behind a very respectable beating, and when he came back to see me this time, he told me straight out I could go harder. Which is one of the right ways to communicate that.

There’s another way to signal green, though, and that is: the provocative smart-ass remark. And this guy, rather in keeping with his general personality, was pretty non-stop with the heavy jabs and wisecracks for the first half hour or so.

(He’s not the only person I know who uses wisecracks to indicate green – in fact, now that I think about it, Armani occasionally does it, and so do some of my other play-partners. And for that matter, Monk and I do it with each other when we play. Our classic come-on: “Oh, is that the best you got?” The answer is always, “Why no, sweetheart, it’s not!” Followed by a serious ratcheting-up of whatever is happening.)

So I read all the smart-assery as, “Hit me with your best shot.” And obliging girl that I am, I did. It was great fun. I don’t generally approve of manipulative behaviors, but hell, I am a sadist, and it was in character for the role-play were doing, so I got right into the spirit of the game and just went to town on his ass.

It wasn’t the single hardest impact scene I’ve ever done, but it was on the high end of the scale. And what made it really interesting was that he barely had a mark on him afterwards. He was red, but I could tell it was the kind of red that’s going to fade in a few hours or so.

And this was not a hand-spanking, either. I used heavy wood paddles and a nasty little two-tailed strap called a Dragon’s Tongue, and those are evil enough. But then I caned him pretty good, too.

Now I think canes are great fun to use, but I don’t cane anyone unless they tell me it’s okay if they have some marks afterwards. Because a cane is going to mark you up. Bamboo, rattan, fiberglass rods, whatever – you do more than a baby tap with any kind of long, flexible rod-type-toy and you will generally get a long red welt, that you can see and feel, within a few minutes. The stripe often turns dark over the next few hours and it usually stays noticeable for a week or two. I have had people tell them it took months for their cane stripes to go completely away.

I could not raise a welt on this man. It was the damnest thing. You can swing a toy from your wrist, your elbow, or your shoulder, and obviously the amount of force you can get behind it increases with each joint you recruit. I wasn’t swinging from the shoulder – well, not much, at least – but I was giving him quite a lot from the elbow, and with a cane, that’s plenty. I have made people cry with less. He just closed his eyes and smiled and shuddered pleasantly. Occasionally I got some wiggling and some noises, but not much. Amazing. The smart-ass remarks, however, did cease.

Afterwards I remarked that the pairing of a high pain tolerance with a resistance to marks was not such a common thing, and that it was a very felicitous combination.

“So maybe you’ll write about me in your blog,” he said, grinning.

“Oh, do I have your permission for that?”

“Absolutely!” he said.

So I did.

I Love A Man Who Can Make Me Laugh

You know who I love? I love William Shatner. I think he is the coolest, because for one thing, he’s made a whole career out of playing the hand he was dealt. He’s the perfect example of the saying “If you can’t fix it, feature it.” He’s not Robert De Niro. He’s not Dustin Hoffman. He’s Captain James T. Kirk, and he’s always going to be Captain Kirk for many of us. A lesser actor would have railed against the injustice of being so firmly hitched to such a campy role – George Reeves, the original Superman, comes to mind – but Shatner ran with it.

I also love that he makes fun of himself and the cult around his character so deftly. In the BDSM community – and especially among professional dominatrixes - there's a certain tendency towards pomposity and self-importance. In my opinion, you should take what you do seriously, but you should never take yourself too seriously.

So I found this Shatner ad for WoW very amusing. Not as good as my favorite Priceline ad, but the robes and the “I’m a shaman” part looks and sounds just like a lot of guys I’ve met at various kink events over the years. Only they weren’t kidding.

Pictures, And Some Words

I'm working on some other writing today, so meanwhile, be entertained by the newest column, and some photos...

Craig Morey has put up a gallery of me on his membership site, from the shoot we did several months ago.


I'm both extremely flattered and sort of horrified at the same time, because of course I look at photos of myself and think, Oh, I should have pulled my shoulder back instead of forward there, and tilted my head differently, et cetera. But I know I'm not objective and everyone else seems to like them, so there you go.

Also, because you asked: A couple of snapshots of me in my pretty dresses... Herve Leger, in the suite at the Phonecian. And a shot of me at a party, in the bronze-gold sequin dress. I'm not sure how Max managed it, but amazingly, I have neither a glass of champagne in my hand, nor a stun gun, nor a surgical stapler. Those were all features of that evening, which explains why I look so happy.

And I modeled for my sweetheart Monk, for his new Twisted Monk apparel.

He's got new steel toys and a DVD of easy-to-follow instructional videos, too. Please, bondage-lovers, for my sake, start your Xmas shopping early. Santa's workshop has nothing on the Abbey when it comes to holiday madness!

A new podcast, in which Monk and I talk about how to initiate a "Let's try something new in bed!" conversation with your lover. It's from the first recording session, so it's a bit raw, but we had fun doing it...

And no matter what Monks says, neither frogs nor lawn gnomes were harmed in the making of the podcast. Really.

Hey ya’ll... You’ve read about my excellent friend Miss K? Well, she’s in the hospital again. Without going into detail, she’s had a recurring medical issue for the last few months and it’s flared up again, requiring major surgery. Not a fun time for her.

She’s not reading the blog right now. But eventually she’ll catch up with it, and when she does, I think she’d like it if she saw a bunch of people saying, “Get Well Soon”. (Even though she’ll already be well-er, if not 100% perfect.)

So please wish Miss K a speedy recovery. She’s a tough cookie, but she’s been through a lot lately.

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?

Caller: Hey, where are you located?

Gotta love a guy who calls up strange women and demands to know where they are before he even says hello.

Me: Who is this?

Caller: Bob.

Me: Do I know you, Bob?

Caller: I think so. Where are you located?

Me: No, clarify for me. Do-I-know-you?

Caller: I think so.

There's a silence while I pause to see if Bob is going to explain why he’s twice stated that he thinks I know him. He doesn’t. This doesn't seem like a question that's open to vague interpretation, but apparently Bob sees it differently. Let's try to sharpen his understanding.

Me: Bob, yes or no – have I met you before or not?

Caller: I’m not sure, but tell me your address I’ll know.

Oh, wow, that’s special. Bob is asking me to believe that he doesn’t remember people he’s played with, but he remembers their addresses. Mmm, no, I don’t think so. I was less choosy when I first began my career as the Mistress, but even way back in the beginning I don’t believe I would have dealt with someone so abrupt and pushy. I would bet any amount of money I have never met this guy. And I sure as hell don’t want to now.

Me: No, I’m not telling you my address. Why don’t you think it over and see if you can come up with some other way of remembering if you know me.

Click. He hangs up. The song If You Don’t Know Me By Now runs through my head. This guy will definitely not be knowing me…

Ring Ring!

Caller: I know we talked about it before and you said you didn’t want to do this…But I’d like to fly you down to Orlando from December 23^rd to 28^th.

Me: Mmmm, no, I don’t want to do that.

Caller: I’ll buy your ticket. I really really want you to come.

Me: No, it’s not about the money. I am just not willing to go to Orlando for Christmas.

Caller: Oh, I’m so disappointed!

Me: I know that, Mom, and I’m sorry, but I’m not going to.

Some days I am not sure if a lifetime of dealing with my mother is what shaped me into a dominatrix, or if being a dominatrix is what enables me to deal with my mother. Either way, I am now going to vent about her a bit. No sexy today, just family dynamics. Leave now if you’re not interested.

The usual disclaimers: my mom is a wonderful person. I love her. By all rights she should have sold me to the gypies as a child, but she refrained from doing so in spite of what I’m sure was strong provocation. She loves me very much. I appreciate all that. You can employ the Search box in the upper left corner to read all the nice things I have said about my dear mamma over the years I’ve been blogging.

However…she is a steamroller. A five-foot, 110-pound steamroller, but a steamroller just the same. And if you don’t push back, she will roll all over you, baby. She’ll do it in the most loving and enlightened way possible, you understand, because my mom is – you have to love this – a therapist. I’m not kidding. And she’s not the kind of therapist who just nods and says things like, “How does that make you feel?” No, she’s of the Dr. Phil school, wherein she will tell you what you’re doing that’s not working and what you need to do to fix it. She expects you to do it, too. My mother is rather like Napoleon in a Chico’s tunic – if Napoleon had had a Master’s degree in emotional manipulation.

Whoops, did I say emotional manipulation? I meant to say: she expresses her feelings very clearly. And she can think of lots of very good reasons why you should do what she thinks is best. I am sure her clients make rapid progress, because she has an intense energy and she’s rather compelling when you’re in the room with her. Once she decides that she wants something, part of her brain will work ceaselessly on the problem, creating and examining possible solutions to the obstacle, until she gets what she wants. Those are traits I’ve been accused of inheriting, and I can think of worse characteristics. But it means that I have to be very straightforward with my mother about my wishes. Polite evasions will not suffice, because she’ll come back with an answer for whatever smoke screens I throw out.

And I definitely do not wish to spend Christmas in Orlando, which is the ugliest and most sterile bit of Florida. (I’m sorry, Orlando people, but you know it’s true. I grew up in Tampa, I know Florida. And Orlando is terrible. Even Jacksonville, a strong contender for horribleness, at least has the ocean nearby.) But my brother works for Disney, and my mother has lately decided that she would go visit him for Christmas this year, and that I should come down there. This in spite of the fact that I traveled last year, and it’s someone else’s turn this year. The idea of leaving my home, and my sweethearts, to go sleep on my brother’s lumpy fold-out couch is only minimally appealing at any time. But Christmas week in Mousetown? It’s absolutely insane – tourists overrun the place, it’s like a zombie attack. Zombie families, I should say. You can’t go anywhere or do anything in any sort of peace. I’d rather have my brain eaten than wait in line for a wobbly table in Appleby’s while sleep-deprived and over-stimulated toddlers scream and strew cracker crumbs six inches from elbow.

Never mind the fact that my mother loves nothing as much as a bargain on airfares. I shudder to think of the tickets she’d buy me. My mother would purchase airline tickets flying from Atlanta to Seattle via New Zealand if she could save fifty bucks. To be fair, she does this when buying tickets for herself, too. Talk about zombies - I have seen her stumble off planes looking like one after some hellish series of connections and delays and stopovers. This woman is not poor. Quite the contrary. And if there is one thing that money can make infinitely more pleasant, it’s air travel. Yet when I suggest to her for the forty-seventh time that she should get a non-stop ticket, she tells me all about the great deal she got on FlyingSardineCan.com or wherever. This baffles me.

Okay, after having written this little rant, I can feel my indignation jag subsiding. I love my mom, and it’s okay for her to want what she wants. But she’s the one who taught me that it’s also okay for me not to be willing to give it to her. This is why I laugh whenever people try to coax and wheedle me into doing something I don’t want to do. They have no idea I was trained by a professional.

The new column – some examples of rules for couples who are shifting into polyamory…

(I don't know why there isn't a Kink Calendar attached to it, I did submit one. Mine is not to reason why, though.)

***

It’s been a funny week. Last week it was sort of quiet for me, work-wise. Because I have huge control issues about my career, I often will get into a swivet about that, but last week, I just shrugged and said, “Oh well…”

However, this week I was rather aware of the fact that I wanted to be busy. It’s interesting how every week, there is one day that everyone wants to come in. It’s like all my guys are keyed to the tides or the full moon or something, and they all want to come in (for example) Tuesday. No, not Monday, not Wednesday –it has to be Tuesday.

Thus, the much-desired day quickly gets booked up, and I’m still turning people down for that day, and feeling frustrated because I can’t see people I’d like to see. Meanwhile I have the rest of a week to fill up, but for some inexplicable reason, nobody wants any other day. Arg.

This week the much-desired day was today, Thursday. I had some real-life things to attend to, which made scheduling even more complex, and I had to regretfully turn down at least three different people for today. And it was even more frustrating because I had no one at all on the calendar for Tuesday or Wednesday. I walked around in the world Tuesday feeling conscious of some pent-up sadistic energy.

But my frustration was mitigated yesterday, when one of my favorite victims called me at noon and said, “I know you said you can’t see me tomorrow, but what are you doing in an hour and a half?”

Now, I never do this. I simply do not book same-day. It’s a matter of principle. I mean, hey baby, do you know who I am? Chicks on Craiglist book dates for ninety minutes from now. Mistress Matisse does not do such things.

I’m kidding – sort of. Some reputable ladies prefer to be spontaneous with their appointments. That’s fine for them. Not me. I like to know what my week (my month, my year) is going to look like, and plan out my life accordingly.

But...it was a gentleman I rather like. I will refer to him as Agent Provocateur. Because he is. Agent P. loves to tease me and try to provoke me. He’s very naughty. In anyone else his behavior would win him a quick trip to the sidewalk. But he makes me laugh, and that does make up for a multitude of sins in my book.

I dithered, audibly. I had some errands to run, some plans I’d made… And the silent subtext: I do not do same-day appointments.

“Oh, come on, please? I really want you to make me scream.”

Schwing! Oh, wow. Way to melt a mistress’s resistance. “Okay, yeah, you just talked me into it, baby. Meet you there in an hour and a half.”

I had to rearrange my whole afternoon. But I definitely enjoyed making him scream.

What’s Going On?

I’m going to put up one more raw podcast from my very first recording session. I have a date with my sound guy to record some bookend files, but this is another unsweetened one of me telling Monk a story about the first time I ever consciously and purposely took sexual control of a man while in bed with him.

If you're an iTunes user, you can download the podcast from iTunes via this link. (Note: clicking this will open your iTunes program). Or you can just search for "Mistress Matisse" in iTunes.

Speaking of podcasts, I just wanted to say thank you to pervy podcaster and blogger Graydancer for his mention of my podcast in his podcast. Gray is a very entertaining speaker himself - even when he doesn't take off all his clothes - so I recommend him.

Bid On Me: My stuff, anyway. The eBay auctions are going like crazy. Ya’ll love the latex clothes, don’t you? I’ve collected a fair amount of latex, but a lot of it doesn’t fit me anymore, so I’m pleased to pass it along. The current round of sales end today, so carpe diem.

And Happy Halloween!

Response To Another Comment-box Question

"Do you socialize much with non-kink people?"

No. All my friends are kinky to some degree. It’s not like I’ve ever told myself that I couldn’t be pals with someone non-kinky. It just doesn't work out that I do.

For one thing, I don’t meet a lot of non-kinky people. It’s a function of having a well-developed subculture. You see, when I moved here to Seattle in 1992, I was most definitely looking for other kinky people. And I found them. That’s the main social circle I have been in ever since. The BDSM scene here in Seattle is a culture that you can stay very busy with and meet a lot of people in, and I do.

I have participated in some secondary social groups, like other sex workers, and non-kinky polyamorous people. However, most of the sex workers I’m pals with have wound up being somewhat kinky anyway. The non-kinky poly people I have hung around with, while nice folks, have always been either really New Age/vegan/boho, or hardcore SF/gamer/geek. Both those cultures are interesting places to visit, but I’ve decided I don’t want to live there.

(Occasionally I do take hostages, though. Hi, Scarlett!)

I don’t think of this as a kinky country club. When I speak of the kinky country club mentality, I mean people who only want to be around other kinky people who have exactly the same kink they do. Exactly. For example, masculine-het-male-masters and their girly-female-slaves who want to socialize exclusively with other masculine-het-male-masters and their girly-female-slaves. That means they really don’t want to socialize with male switches or submissives, or female dominants, and certainly not butch-dykes or swishy gay men or cross-dressers or trans people.

The het-male-masters example is merely one example, I’ve seen all kinds of kinky people do this. But if you come to a party at my house, you are going to meet a variety of kinky people, and I like it that way.

What I like about the Seattle kink community is that it seems to pretty easily accept other sexual minorities. Many of my kinky pals are also poly, and those folks that aren’t are certainly poly-aware and poly-friendly. Gay men and lesbians have their own subcultures within the larger kinky community, but I’ve never been to a Seattle kink event that didn’t welcome them. Female bisexuality is such a non-issue as to never even be commented upon. And in my observation, kinky people also treat male bisexuality with respect – if not with appreciative enthusiasm. I have seen that be less true in other sexual subcultures.

Being a sex worker is still a little iffy, depending on exactly what kind of sex work you do. Being a pro domme is considered higher-status than some other forms of sex work, and that means I get very little shit – especially now that I’m rather a local diva. Not everyone was quite so supportive and accepting back when I was an escort. I occasionally roll my eyes at how a few people I met way back when changed their tune about me when I became fashionable. I do not forget stuff like that. But overall, kinky people respond much better to sex workers than the average person on the street.

As a kinky/poly/bi/sex-worker, I’m a very sexually other person. That informs a lot of what I do with my time and how I perceive the world. When I stop and think about difficult it would be to communicate with someone who didn’t share any of my understanding about love, sex, relationships, and didn’t know any of my cultural references or have any comparable experiences… Wow. I mean, what would we talk about? Books and movies?

Not every single one of my friends is as actively involved in the kink community as I am. Miss K, for example, is much less participatory in the kink social scene than she used to be. But she did spend a lot of time in the scene, so even though she doesn’t go out to events anymore, she gets the whole culture/social-dynamic thing, and she knows exactly what I’m talking about.

Jane Duvall used to refer to this as “living in the love bubble”. She meant moving exclusively in a world that honored who you were and respected your choices. It may be that someday I have to go outside my love bubble for my social life. But right now, I don't, and I’m happy about that.

Because You Asked

Answers to several questions in the comment box lately…

Pussies in bondage...The link to the cat-suspension post, complete with photos of kitty-shibari. Well, just one, actually. And one picture of a fussy and demanding feline dominatrix, who has successfully brought not only me, but other famous dominants to her furry heel.

Advice on buying a strap-on harness… Well, I have several. The one I use most often is the one in the picture below, a plain black leather model with a strap around the waist and two separate straps for around the legs. I don’t like the ones with just one strap between the legs, but that’s just me. Some people claim you get better pivoting that way, but I prefer the higher level of control you get with the two-strap models.

It’s a toss up between d-rings and buckles. Buckles are easier to adjust one-handed, no mean consideration when you have lube all over the other hand. But with d-rings you get more precise adjustments and the shafts don’t jab you in the side if you’re rolling around acrobatically with it on. The one I use most has d-rings.

If you’re having any fun with it, it’s gonna get really messy. I have put mine through the washing machine many times. Yes, a leather harness, through the wash, really. This is not a Hermes Birkin bag, it’s fine. Or I just put it in the sink with hot water and scrub it with a big ole scrub brush and soap.

The best strap-on, by far, that I ever had was this latex-panty-thing that had the dildo built into it. I mean, it was all one piece. So you couldn’t change sizes, but man, I could fuck with that thing as if I’d grown it, the control was excellent. I’ve never seen one like it since then. It was years ago that I had it, and I’ve seen a few things since then that were sorta similar, but nothing that was nearly as well-made and solid as that one. Unfortunately my ex-girlfriend stole it when we broke up. I think she ran over it with her car and then chopped it in half. She was really hot and rather crazy – why do those two things so often go together?

So that’s what I think about strap-on harnesses.

What squicks me? Not much, but there are a few things…. I’m turned off by adult baby play, also called infantilism. I’m not real big on serious age-play in general. I mean, a fun little role-playing with say, naughty teenage boy/girl, okay, that’s fine. Deep headspace games, with people way into the role of being small children…hey, if that’s your kink, that’s fine for you, but it’s not for me. I’ve been around people doing it at conferences and parties and such, and it just unsettles me a bit.

Animal role play, now, doesn’t bother me at all, although it doesn’t especially schwing me, either. But I’m fine with giving someone a scratch behind the ears if they are roaming about on all fours, woofing or meowing or whatever. And sometimes people are just so obviously enjoying themselves in their animal role that it makes me smile.

Other than that? Well, the idea of scat play makes me wrinkle my nose. It’s not emotionally a problem, but just…esthetically. I like piss-play, though, so go figure.

I can’t think of much else.

Tomorrow – Why I don’t have non-kinky friends…

Weekend Fashion Blogging

Oh, wow...I am so tired of seeing baby-doll empire waist dresses. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like empire waists like this.

But no one can tell me this isn’t a maternity smock for Nabokov's Lolita. I mean really, what is the point?

Not for me. I’m lusting for something slithery and clingy. It’s the clash of the titans, Kors vs Cavalli.

I like the Kors, but what’s with that “coffee” color? I like my coffee black, Michael. The Cavilli is great, except for the strings hanging down. I suppose I could cut them off.

And how crazy am I to be considering buying a white sweater-dress? I haven’t worn a sweater-dress since eighth grade. But look, it’s so cute! And the way it’s cut, I actually don’t think my behind would look like The Stay-Puft Marshmallow Woman.

If you feeling like shopping yourself, I have a new bunch of stuff up on eBay. Latex fetishwear, some party dresses, skirts, boots, a silver trench coat, and some waist-cincher corsety stuff.

Now I’m off to hang out with the Cunning Minx, who is visiting Seattle…

Ya’ll should know: some days I just feel like being a wise-ass, to pretty much anybody.

Ring ring!

Me: hello?

Caller: Um, yeah, can you tell me what, exactly, it is that you practice?

Me: What I preach. At least I hope so.

To the caller’s credit, he laughed. Good man. We then had a brief “why don’t you go read over my website and see if I’m what you’re looking for” discussion. Because I cannot possibly explain what I do in thirty seconds or less. So he said he would, and who knows, perhaps he’ll find his way back to me someday.

***

Meanwhile – behold my Weapon Of Ass Destruction. Isn’t it a beauty?

It was presented to me by a man whose eyes are not, in fact, bigger than his assshole. (Even though his ass is pretty damn tight.) I’ll call him Chance. Yes, Chance can take this. All of it. Really, really hard.

It’s amazing, especially given than he’s a rather slender guy. I swear he’s missing some internal organs or something, because otherwise I don’t how he’d swallow this monster up. But he does.

It’s not like I don’t give him warm-up. Hey, I’m a good responsible top. I do this thing where I insert four fingers as far as I can into him and then rotate my hand rapidly, as if I were making the gesture for “so-so”. The effect this has on Chance is anything but lukewarm. His eyes roll back in his head and he makes the nicest moaning noises. I can only assume I’m giving his prostate gland some kind of butterfly kiss.

Then I spit on this bad boy strapped to my hips and start working it up into him. It’s a process, but once I'm all the way in, I can rock him like a hurricane.

I’ve never fisted a guy, but every time I fuck Chance, I think, “Damn, this thing is about as big around as my wrist…” So one fine day I’m going to see if a certain gay male pal, who’s an anal expert, will pay Chance and I a visit and talk us through the process. There aren’t so many things left that I’ve never done. It seems like I should explore all the depths…

Birthday Wishes

So certain people have reminded me that my birthday is coming up soon - November 21st, to be precise. And I know those same certain people, who often indulge me in pretty things, already have something picked out. But I have had a few other people ask, “So what do you want for your birthday?”

The usual disclaimer: No one has to buy me presents, I do not expect them, this is purely optional. And lord knows, I get spoiled a lot as it is. Some days I truly marvel at how sweet and generous people are to me when I am so mean to them. Heh.

Be that charming mystery as it may... If you want to buy me something kinky, there’s a list of kinky things I'm browsing here. There are book on the Amazon list. Or if the sheer scale of the Metawishlist daunts you, here's a few suggestions.

For the jock side of me: Ironman Abdominal Slings I love these things. I credit them with making my stomach look like it does. I use them at the gym, now I want some for my office so I can do some ab work when I have a few minutes here and there.

For the girly side: A lighted mirror for my face.

An evening bag, in black.

A cashmere wrap for the girl who's always cold, in black.

Silver Tiffany Ring, size 6.5

A pretty cashmere sweater, size medium, in black.

Or, if you want to be instantly enshrined forever in my warm regard, there's also something like this. I'm definitely not expecting any of my more casual boys to show up with a blue box, but I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't like it.

Meanwhile, it's now time for me to start shopping for holiday gifts my my dear ones. Since most of them are not so obliging as to provide me with lists, I have to scout around and try to think of something I know they haven't got. A challenge, sometimes...

Ring ring!

Me: Hello?

Caller: Um, yeah, hi…I read your articles, and you’re talking about these femdom parties you go to. I was wondering if these are like private parties, or can anyone go to them, or what?

Mmmm…What we have here is someone who's reading me through the wishful-thinking filter in his head. I’ve never written about a femdom party, for the simple reason that I’ve never been to one. What he means by femdom party is an event at which all the female attendees are dominant and all the male attendees are submissive.

(Although I suppose I’ve been to parties where all the dominants were female. But then, all the submissives were, too. They were all-female gatherings. There was one at my house on Sunday, come to think of it. I doubt it looked like he imagines it would, though. Especially since one of the ladies present was only six months old.)

But that’s not the way my social life works. I choose friends based on liking them as people, not for what role they play in their kink. And a good thing, too, since many of my friends do their kink a very different way than I do mine. Heck, I don’t even pick lovers based strictly on gender/bdsm role. My way of thinking is: If I like you, whoever you are and whatever you’re into, we’ll work something out.

I have a feeling I know how this conversation is going to go, but let’s give him the party line and see if I’m wrong.

Me: Well, yes, I do write about private parties, but there are a lot of social events at places like the Wet Spot, if you’re looking to get into the kink scene.

Caller: Are there femdom parties at the Wet Spot?

Me: There are parties with female dominants there, yes.

Caller: No, but are they femdom-only parties? I don’t want to go to parties where there are…other kinds of people.

Me: You know what, they might have something like that. But I don’t know. All the parties I go to are with all kinds of people, and I like that better.

Caller: You see I’m a male submissive, and I only want to be around…you know.

Yes, I do know. He wants to be around people exactly like him. Exactly. I sometimes call this the “kinky country club” mentality.

Now, I try to be patient with people like this. I tell myself they’re just intimidated and that they can learn and grow. I tell myself that yes, Matisse, you have a little button about this, but, really, there is nothing inherently evil about wanting to socialize with people who share your precise BDSM taste. If that’s really something you need in order to feel okay.

But it’s difficult for me not to mentally translate this into: “My kink is the only acceptable kink, and furthermore, my head will burst into flame if I have to look at people engaging in erotic behavior that does not, personally, make my dick hard.” If that’s really how you feel, your kinky social life is going to be extremely limited, and my feeling is that you should probably just stick to your own bedroom.

This mentality is by no means limited to male submissives. I have heard kinky people of all genders and every possible pervy permutation express similar sentiments at some point in my life. My favorite was a person who called me looking for public parties attended only by female-to-male transgender guys and gay men who were attracted to them. Oh, and ideally the gay men should all be dominants and the trans guys should all be submissives. My suggestion that such a highly specific gathering could probably be held in the caller's own living room was not well received by the (transgendered) young man on the other end of the line.

So I guess I’m not all that patient, am I? At least not in my own head. But I’ll be polite.

Me: I see. Well, that’s not the way I socialize. All the parties I know about are a mix of all different kinds of people. So I’m afraid I can’t help you.

Caller: Oh. So you don’t go to any femdom-only parties?

Me: No.

Caller: Oh. Okay. Goodbye.

Good luck finding that country club.

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Today, for the first day in what seems like forever, I am not insanely busy. Or rather, I am, but I am sitting at my desk going through stacks of mail and making phone calls. So if you've been wanting to talk to me on the phone, today would be a good day. It will not come as a surprise to many of you that I am very hard to catch on the three-two-nine-seven-three-two-eight number. I just don't pick it up very much. But today I might, for the next few hours at least.

If you're a friend and you've been thinking of wanting to see me, I do have time available this week, but it's trickling away, so carpe diem.

Question for the locals: I have an event coming up, and I want to wear my hair up for it. I never wear my hair up, largely because I have a lot of hair and no skill at creating pretty up-dos. So, I will employ my usual solution for things I don't know how to do: I will pay someone to do it for me. I have worked with a number of stylists for photo shoots, but no one I really clicked with. Does anyone have a recommendation for someone who'll come to my house and do my hair? It's an evening event, so going to a salon isn't an option.

Okay, back to this towering stack of mail...

So – everyone survive Seattle Windstorm ’07 last Thursday? Kinda wasn’t all that big of a deal, was it? Although the weather gave me a few minutes of unease, I confess.

You see, Thursday was my date with Armani to get out of town for a night, and without getting into too many details, I will say that our getaway involved a ferry ride. Now, for those of you who don’t have ferry boats as part of your daily routine, let me explain that these are large boats. You drive on board, get out of your car, go get a cup of coffee from the little snack bar, wander around the deck, look out the windows, et cetera. It’s a pleasant-enough way to travel, but not what one would call a maritime adventure.

Except – if you’re on one during high winds.

Armani and I knew it was a bit breezy, and we saw the whitecaps on the water, but we didn’t think it would be any big deal. However, no sooner had we gotten on the ferry than a voice over the loudspeaker informed us that we must all sit down and hold on for the duration of the trip. “That is not a suggestion,” said the voice, managing to be both flat and staticy and yet somehow ominous at the same time. “You are required by the state of Washington to comply with this instruction. Remain seated until a Washington State Ferry official instructs you that it is safe to stand up and move about the deck.”

Armani and I exchanged oh-my glances and sat down, just as the boat lurched sharply in a manner I have never experienced a ferry boat doing. There was a distinct groan and shudder of timbers as it righted itself. I flashed on the scene from Titanic where Leonardo Di Caprio and Kate Winslet are clinging to the rail of the upended ship just before it sinks like a rock, sucking everything in the icy water down with it as it goes. I grabbed the seat and shot Armani a look that anyone who’s ever been with me on a plane during heavy turbulence would recognize. It’s the look that says, “It is your fault that I’m in this situation, and if I die, you better hope you die with me, because if you don’t I’m going to come back from the grave and murder you. Slowly.”

Reading it accurately, Armani shook his head and said, “God, if anything happens to you, Monk will kill me.”

That was a cheering thought, but still, I’m sure I looked extremely unhappy for the rest of the ferry ride, because it was without doubt the roughest one I have ever had. And pretty much everyone sitting within earshot agreed that yes, this was, um, (clutching seat to keep from cartwheeling across the room) pretty rough. I didn’t see anyone on the outer decks, although people being what they are, I would guess someone was. But I didn’t hear any cries of “Man overboard!”

However, in spite of all my nervousness, we actually reached our destination safely. And we had a perfectly marvelous time. It was great to get out of town, the accommodations were perfect, there was a fabulous hot tub, yummy food, and extremely delightful entertainment, of the private sort. And Armani gave me a gorgeous pair of diamond earrings to mark the occasion of our first overnight date. I’ve never actually had diamond earrings before, so I’m quite taken with them. And I’m very fond of Armani, so even if the ferry had capsized, I’m sure I wouldn’t have really murdered him anyway.

Or at least, not slowly.

A new column in The Stranger, with a kinky calendar too. (Ignore the random boldface in that column, that's some kind of web glitch, not any intentional emphasis of mine.)

Wow, it’s being a busy week around here, and in some unusual ways. For one thing, I have had rather non-stop feminine action in my dungeon lately. Jae has come over to play with me and several different boys, and then another cute girl helped me chastise a charming but naughty man, before admitting that perhaps she deserved a little spanking herself. I’m so used to seeing boyish behinds bent over my spanking bench that when I see a girlish one there, it’s like: Oh my, that’s a whole different kind of pretty.

Other interesting events: this week, I’m doing an overnight date with Armani. We’ve never done this before. So, new frontier!

We’re not traveling far away, but I think it’ll feel very removed from my daily world, and I’m looking forward it. It’s interesting, Armani and I know each other very well in certain ways – we’ve been seeing each other for some years now. But spending time with each other in a different context and surroundings will be – well, different. And fun.

I’m also spending time with friends who are here visiting this week. I need to get her go-ahead before I say who, but I predict I’ll have a kinky good time today. Imagine me being evil to a widely-renowned former courtesan and sex author/expert. (No, it’s not Belle De Jour. Although Belle, if you’re ever in town….)

But Matisse, you say, you're getting all teh sexy! You need to give us something sexy! Well, I heard a rumor – just a little hint, mind you - that that girl Hannah? Is all about her ass. I mean, ALL about it. Go see. I’m guessing you could even tell her you’re getting yourself off to her writing. I could certainly see how you might.

***

P. S. If you have a shopping fetish, take note: my current eBay auctions end today, so carpe diem. There’ll be another round coming up in a few days, as I continue to purge tons of fetishwear and regular clothes that have been sitting in my closet, unloved, for way too long.

Ring ring!

Me: hello?

Caller: Are you a transsexual?

It’s nice when I know right away that an interaction is not going to go anywhere. It’s not like OMG, I’m so horrified, how could you even imagine I’m a tranny-girl? I have seen some incredibly lovely transsexual women, and lusted after one or two of them, although I have never actually been sexual with a tranny girl. A hole in my otherwise comprehensive sexual resume.

I’ve gotten sexy with lots of cross-dressed bio-boys, but that’s almost always a different matter. I say almost always because I suspect some of them were a bit mutable in their gender.

I note in passing that this guy is using the word “transsexual” as a synonym for “male-to-female transsexual”, as if there were no other kind. Tell that to my ex-husband, who was a woman when I first met him – at least on the outside – and who then transitioned into a handsome man. (At least on the outside.)

But I’m guessing this guy isn’t asking me if I shoot testosterone and bind my boobs. He’s asking if I’m a chick with a dick, as the parlance goes. Which tells me that he has no idea who he’s talking to, because if Mistress Matisse had a dick, I’m thinking word would have gotten around about that. You can do a lot with duct tape, as any drag queen can tell you, but if you’re prancing around the dungeon in outfits like this, well, that's going to be a problem.

So the tenor of my reply to him is not outrage about his perceptions of my gender status as it is displeasure with his rude and abrupt phone manner, and his obvious lack of preparedness for talking to me. I count to seven, slowly, before answering in a slow, biting drawl.

Me: No.

There’s a pause while he waits for me to say something else. I don’t.

Caller: But your ad is in the transsexuals section.

No, actually, it’s not. The Stranger does put the “Fetish” section right next to the “Transsexual” section, so he’s not a complete idiot. But last time I checked, the tranny girls all had the word transsexual or TS in their actual ad, which the bio-girls like me don’t.

But that's beside the point, because I don’t like the challenging tone of his voice. What, does he think I’m lying to him about this? “Whoops, you caught me, I actually do have a penis. Just kidding!” Not likely. The tranny sex workers I know are all pretty invested in making sure their customers know that they’re tranny. You don’t want to deal with a guy who gets an unexpected surprise there. It tends not to go well.

Me: I am not a transsexual. So if that’s what you’re looking for, you will have to look elsewhere. Goodbye.

I hang up. I’m pretty sure that he was not, in fact, looking to meet a tranny Mistress. But I’m also pretty sure that I didn’t want to meet him.

A female pal of mine who blogs got a comment on her journal the other day that unsettled her a bit, and she asked me to look at it and give her my opinion.

This anonymous person basically said he’d been reading and jacking off to her journal for some time now. This girl is not a high-profile blogger, but she gets a trickle of traffic. And she does occasionally mention mildly sexy stuff, but she’s not at all what I’d call a sex blogger. I rolled my eyes at the idea that some guy is wanking to her descriptions of the weather, her recipes, and her musings about her inner life. However, it’s entirely possible.

He went on for a few sentences about his whole emo-masturbatory process, in a sort of New-Age intellectual way, meant to suggest that he had some kind of insight and real intimacy with her. Insight and intimacy based on his spanking the monkey to her blog. Right.

And then he ends it all up with, “…but don’t worry, I’m not going to stalk you.”

What an asshole.

Her question was: did I think this guy might really be a danger to her? No, I don’t. I have learned to threat-assess odd behaviors rather well in the course of my career in the sex industry, and my read of his comment is that this man is speaking the literal truth: he’s not going to inappropriately place himself in her real life.

But a comment like that suggests to me that he does want to reach through the internet and scare her, just a little. It’s like saying, “I’m not going to do anything bad – but let me just remind you that I could.” It’s a petty little power trip, designed to make sure he has her attention, and to make sure she spends some time thinking about him and how she might be vulnerable to him. And it worked, she did.

There’s an archaic term for prostitutes: “a public woman.” As opposed to a woman who stayed in private, in the home of her father or husband. The implication being that if you were a public woman, and someone tried to mess with you, well, you were basically asking for it, because you had made yourself public property.

I am definitely out in public, and I could tell you story after story about weird little shit people do to try to fuck with sex workers from a safe anonymous distance. However, I don’t want to give anyone ideas. Suffice it to say that some people have way too much time on their hands, and a desperate need to feel powerful over someone, ever random strangers they’ll probably never even be in the same room with.

So I walk around in the world assuming that wrong people are going to display inappropriate interest in my doings, and that given the slightest chance, those same wrong people will attempt to inject themselves into my thoughts and influence my actions, and that I must be ready to repel such attention. I rarely even think about it very consciously anymore. It’s just life in the big city of sex work.

But her getting that comment pissed me off, because she’s a sweet kid and she doesn’t need that shit. It’s not as if I thought only women who wrote about sex ever got creepy little people saying inappropriate things to them. I’m guessing it’s a rare woman who hasn’t had this happen. But every now and then one sees a particularly annoying manifestation of truly tacky behavior.

One More Weekend Fashion Post

A question for my sharp-dressed readers: I want a pair of gray fishnets, or something sort of like fishnets, and I'm struggling to find them. I have a cool pair of retro gray snakeskin ankle boots and they are just crying out for the right hose. I'm not tall enough to pull off contrasting hose with them, so they must be gray. And not just plain tights, that would be boring. I'll be wearing fairly short skirts with them, so they should be pantyhose, not thigh-highs.

Wolford has let me down here, so I'm turning to you. Any suggestions on where to look?

Well, Monk and I went to a fancy sound studio last night, and with the help of a local sound technician, recorded several short segments addressing some of the questions ya’ll asked, and also just generally cracking jokes, talking dirty, and being silly.

I’ve been a guest on several other podcasts before, and I’ve done lots of public speaking in general. But I found myself unexpectedly nervous at doing this podcast of my own. What if I’m, like, boring or stupid or something? I know, intellectually, that I am neither. But still…

Monk was great, he played interviewer/color commentator and really helped me relax. I think we stayed fairly on topic, rambling only occasionally. I am sure that I talked too fast, as I am prone to do, because my brain always runs faster than my mouth. That’s especially true when I’m a bit wired up. So I’ll work on that, for next time.

For now, the sound guy is going to do all the mysterious things than sound people do to create tidy little uploadable WAV files. He is busy, so it’ll probably be next week before I get anything.

I also have set up a 1-800 voicemail number so in the future, ya’ll can call and leave a voicemail, and then I’ll play your actual message on the podcast, and then answer your question, or mock you mercilessly, whichever seems appropriate. That number is 1-800-519-6198. It seems to be taking a day or so to get that system online, so don’t start dialing this minute. But it should be set up soon. Please note: this is NOT the line to call to ask about appointments. Do NOT call this number to ask me about anything confidential, because by leaving me a message at the 1-800 voicemail, you consent to having it played on the podcast. That’s what that line is for. If you want to speak to me confidentially, call me on the number published on the MistressMatisse.com site.

In other news, I got some very nice compliments yesterday from erotic author/editor Rachel Kramer Bussel, by way of SF Gate columnist Violet Blue. They’re both fascinating writers themselves, so I was extremely pleased and flattered to be so mentioned – Thanks, Rachel!

This evening, Monk and I are going to go record some podcasts in a sound studio. What would you like to hear me talk about for five to ten minutes?

***

Also, a local beauty review for the ladies and metrosexual men: Since my long-term hair-dominant, Craig, had the audacity to be out of town when my hair needed attention - how dare he! - I was unfaithful. Yes, I decided to try a different hairdresser. I waffled a bit, and then chose the Quint Eby Salon on 2nd Ave, where I had my hair done by, of course, Quint Eby.

Survey says: not bad. He did it a shade darker than it’s been, more dark brown/blondish than the usual light-brown/blondish. It's nice, but I think I prefer it lighter. But Quint is a very pleasant man, seems quite skilled, and the salon is nice overall. I think I paid a bit more for it than I would have at the Robert Leonard salon, which surprised me. So while I’m sure I could work with Quint, I didn’t feel any real magic there. I don’t see breaking up with Craig for him.

I have some long-term clients myself, and now and then one of them sheepishly admits having recently seen some other mistress, often when I’m unavailable. I usually just laugh, because I’m not the jealous type in these matters. They always hasten to assure me that she wasn’t as good as you, Matisse. Which I am happy to hear, although tastes vary, of course. But the mere fact that they are back in my dungeon speaks for itself – if they’d liked her better, they’d be there. Craig is as skilled in his art as I am at mine, and just as self-confident, so when I sit down in his chair and admit my infidelity, I’m guessing he’ll take it in much the same way. Sometimes a little fooling around just proves that you made the right choice to begin with.

Question About Ethics in Polyamory

I’ve been reading your blog for quite a while now and I always enjoy it. I know that you don’t answer advice questions often…but I have been rolling a certain situation around in my head for a while now and I would love an opinion from an experienced poly person such as yourself…

…There is a dear friend of mine, (let’s call him Boy), that I have had a crush on for a year or two but he has always been in a relationship. Now he finds himself single and we had a wonderful make-out session a few nights ago. Our sexual kinks seem to line up remarkably well and I was sensing the beginning of a very promising relationship. After our make-out session I discovered that he has also been playing around with another mutual friend of ours, (how about I call her Girl?). No big deal - I didn’t expect monogamy from Boy. Except that Girl really wants to have a monogamous relationship with him. He has told me that he is not ready for a relationship and has expressed that clearly to her. They continue to get drunk and fuck around. All fine and good except that I strongly suspect Girl to be the type to believe that she can sleep her way into a relationship with him. She has even approached me on occasion to ask if Boy possibly talks with me about their relationship. This is awkward as she does not know that I made out with him. I am doing my best to stay out of their relationship, and when questioned I gently told her that she should ask Boy directly if she wants to know his feelings. She responded, “Oh we’ve talked about it. Many times. That’s the problem.”

My question (finally) is whether I am somehow betraying Girl if I continue pursuing a physical relationship with Boy? If Boy was involved with a girl I did not know I would not be concerned in the slightest provided she knew the situation (Boy does not plan on being monogamous). But since I know Girl and consider her somewhat of a friend I find myself feeling like I am betraying some kind of sisterhood by going after the man she wants. I also think that if Boy were to tell Girl that he and I were involved she would be hurt and angry with me. I worry that she would possibly try to make it look like I was the reason Boy would not commit to her among our mutual friends who are generally not too poly/kinky but who know that I am. Am I crazy to be thinking about taking this risk? Usually I would just step away from such a charged situation but I have been waiting years for a crack at Boy. What’s the ethical thing to do?

An interesting question. This is why doing polyamory with people who don’t already identify as polyamorous can be very challenging. The short answer is: I don’t think you’re doing anything that’s ethically wrong. But I think this situation could be right-er.

First let’s focus on you. You’re responsible for your own behavior and for taking care of your own needs. If I were you, I’d say to this Boy, “Hey, I dig you and I’d like to continue down this path, but you need to tell Girl that we’re having this involvement, because it’s really feeling weird for me to keep it from her.” I think that’s an entirely reasonable thing to say. If he refuses to do that, I’d call that a big red flag.

After he tells her, I think I’d initiate one short conversation with her in which I’d say, “Hey, you’re my friend, and I have no problem with you being involved with Boy. This might be a little complicated, but it’s my intention to behave ethically and honestly in both my relationship with him and my relationship with you, and I hope we can all handle this like adults.”

I understand that you feel uneasy about that, but I do think it’s the lesser of two evils, because trust me, she’ll find out. In a situation like this where you all know each other, people always do. Being up-front about it now will not only be better for your own karma, it will cut the ground from beneath a lot of her indignation. Carrying on a long-term deception will just make it seem as if you were doing something wrong. And that you knew it.

She’ll have whatever response to this she has, but what you are not responsible for is other people’s feelings. If she’s upset because he’s dating other people, well, gee, that’s a shame, but that’s not your dog. He’s the one in charge of making choices about that. You are definitely not betraying a sisterhood or anything like that, so don’t apologize for your involvement with him. Why would you feel she had some right to be involved with him that took precedence over yours?

It is not your job to process her feelings with her about you two being involved. In fact, unless she shows a big change in her attitude about the situation, I personally would decline to have much further conversation about him with her, period.

So I think you’re on solid ground ethically. Socially, you may run into a bit of drama. I think most grown-up people will understand that if Boy wanted to be in a monogamous relationship with Girl, he would be, and that if he’s not, it’s not your fault. What, are you holding a gun to his head? Once in while you do run into people who are silly or spiteful enough to think otherwise. One does find out who one’s real friends are, in such situations, and I say that as someone who’s been in a similar circumstance myself. Would I let such a thing stop me from pursing a relationship I wanted? No, because I’m one of those publish and be damned! types who dislikes bowing to the threat of social disapproval. I have never regretted it, but your mileage may vary.

One other possible downside: if they do wind up having a monogamous relationship, your friendship with both of them could end, because she’ll be threatened and he’ll find it awkward.

Now that I’ve said all that, I will also remark that in terms of making this go as smoothly as possible, Boy is really the question mark. You've told me that you're an experienced poly person, so we assume that you’ll handle it well, and we can also assume that Girl is going to be angsty about it, although hopefully in a manageable way. But Boy’s behavior is going to make it or break it. The line, “They continue to get drunk and fuck around” does not fill me with confidence that Boy is someone who’s highly conscious of poly ethics. But I hope, for your sake, that before the drunkenness and fucking, he’s also being as clear as he says he is about his intentions, and that he continues to be clear, and to keep good boundaries around his two involvements.

Good luck to you…

So I'm writing a longer post about poly ethics, in response to an email I got. But for now, be amused by this article talking about how strippers make more money when they are ovulating. I can't say I ever noticed anything like that when I was dancing, but it's an interesting idea.
(Thanks to the many people who sent me this URL.)

My two pieces in this week's Stranger...the column, and the Two Big Meanies piece...
Enjoy!

Images From Folsom

I sent pictures to Dan Savage and he posted some of them yesterday in the Slog, with commentary, so you can see them and read his thoughts there.

But here’s a few more…

A band of fabulously pink people. I think I want a zentai suit.

A single-tail in action at the Society of Janus booth.

I love happy naked people prancing around in the street. This guy seemed so cheerful.

This man, on the other hand, had a rather serious demeanor. He has clearly spent a lot of money on this gorgeous, butter-soft, piss-yellow cop uniform. And the biceps were quite impressive, too, although one suspects that there’s some chemistry at work there. Still, the fellow looking at him seems to approve.

I’m not sure what exactly the persona is here, but this gentlemen seemed to be enjoying himself.

And one of Monk, looking all fag daddy with his cee-gar.

Speaking of playing at different sexual orientations...I didn't take this picture, but I just want to note that here that, upon seeing me, the delicious gay man on the right, Titan star Tony Buff, vaulted across the table and lifted me up in his arms, so that I had to wrap my legs around his waist. And then he pumped his hips. Oh my. I do like inspiring that kind of response in a man.

But I'm sure that's just Tony's way of saying, "Oh, hi, Matisse, nice to see you."

As I laughed, I said, "Tony, every woman here hates me right now, you know that." And he grinned back and said, "Oh, Matisse, you make me feel so...straight."

"Could you hold onto that thought for, say, an hour or so, Tony? You could go back to being gay again afterwards."

Snippets of my day yesterday…

I go to a Capitol Hill bank to make a deposit. Sitting in the drive-through, I put my slips through the teller’s drawer. She picks up the paychecks from The Stranger and says from behind her glass, “Oh, do you work for The Stranger? A lot of people from The Stranger come here.”

I have a habit of not chit-chatting with strangers, and certainly I do not volunteer personal information to them. It always startles me slightly when people I don't know - even bank tellers, whom one supposes have access to a certain level of one’s personal information - ask me such questions. I think of it as a ladylike reserve. But Max informs me I’m a bit of a curmudgeon, so I tell myself, I’m sure she just means to be friendly. Thus, I smile and say, “Yes.”

“Oh, what do you do for them?”

Ok-ay. “I write for them.”

“What do you write?” She's still smiling brightly at me as she counts my money. Do I want to have this conversation? Not particularly. Do I see a polite way out? Not really. I suppose I could claim to be Erica Barnett, but that’s not the name on my check.

“Control Tower.”

She furrows her brow quizzically at me. Ah, so fickle is fame. “I’m Mistress Matisse.”

“Oh. OH. Oh, really.” She looks down at her desk, away from me. “So, anything else for you today?”

Hey, don’t ask the question if you don’t want to know the answer.

***

Later, I’m standing in my dining room with Nerdygirl and her um-friend. (This gal needs a blog moniker and an official job-description, but I am not authorized to assign her either.)

Monk is modeling his outfit for Folsom Street Fair for us. “I just need to make sure I look gay enough,” he says seriously. You see, Monk is always one to wear the appropriate costume for an event, and since FSF is a heavily gay-male event, Monk is dressed like, well, a gay leatherman. But I won’t give details, as he might want those for his blog.

“Honey, I think you look as gay as a straight guy can look,” I say.

“But is gay enough?” Because with Monk, whatever it is he’s doing, it can’t ever be just-okay. It has to be faaaaaaabulous.

“Dude, you could be a backup dancer for the Village People. That’s a very gay outfit.”

Nerdy and her companion agree. Then Nerdy says something about Monk being an otter.

I say, no, he’s not an otter. “He’s not hairy enough to be an otter. Galahad is an otter.*”

“Well, he’s not a twink. Or a bear.”

“He doesn’t really have to be any of them, you know,” I say, laughing. “Especially since he’s not really gay.”

“But do I look gay?” says Monk, getting us back to the important matter at hand.

We all assure him he couldn’t look gayer unless he was fucking a twinkie boy in the ass with a cigar in his mouth.

Hopefully I’ll get a picture of him at the fair proper.

***

*Galahad is actually not gay, either. Although like Monk, he enjoys flirting with gay men.

Further Thoughts On Labor Issues In The Sex Industry

Molly said yesterday: It kind of depresses me to hear you say (I paraphrase) "Just accept your crappy working conditions, that's the way it is and it's not going to get any better."
Sure, if you just roll over and accept terrible working conditions, your work environment isn't going to improve. But workers, in the sex industry or otherwise, have rights to working bathrooms and to have their contracts (number of scenes, whatever) agreed to. If no one stands up and says "Hey, don't treat us like shit!" management won't change.
Maybe I'm just idealistic, but I've seen direct positive results from the labor movement. I think those ideas can be adapted to sex work. Then again, I've never been a sex worker, so this is all theory.

I understand what you’re saying. I myself put in quite a lot of time doing sex-worker activism in the nineties. I helped run a local sex workers organization called Blackstockings, I wrote articles, I made speeches, I produced sex worker events, I helped put out the ‘zine. (Remember 'zines?) So it's not that I don't care, or that I don’t think social change can happen.

But I am a pragmatist, and I am also a capitalist, albeit something of an anarcho-capitalist. I have seen a lot of smart, earnest women expend a lot of energy trying to change the way sex business owners treat their contractors (read: de facto employees) and achieve...not very much. It's great and wonderful that they/we achieved anything at all, given the level of resistance that exists, but to me, it was like trying to bail out the ocean with a bucket. I saw that if I worked really, really hard, I might, just might, help create…a slightly better place for women to go make money for sex business owners. Hmmnn. Didn’t seem worth it to me.

I suppose part of it is my family background – I come from a whole nest of self-employed people, and I was raised in an atmosphere where if you wanted something to happen, you made it happen for yourself. The idea that workers have the right to make demands about how a business owner runs their business is sort of strange to me. I’m not saying it’s wrong, because I know, intellectually, that it’s not. I’m just saying that it’s not a way of thinking that would ever naturally occur to me. For me personally, if I don’t like what’s happening in a work environment, my rights are my feet: I can leave and work somewhere else, or better yet, start my own business and run it my way.

The sex business owners don't care because they don't have to. As it is now, if women quit because they don't like the conditions, it doesn’t matter, because there are plenty more where they came from. There is no financial incentive for them to change, and appealing to their better nature is a joke. Thus, my answer was to quit bouncing from one workplace to another and create my own work environment. I think that’s a better solution. If enough women quit working for someone else and started their own businesses, that would make an impact on sex business owners. They’d be inspired to offer more competitive working conditions, or see their labor pool dry up.

But I think that's unlikely. Many people want to work for someone else. This baffles me, but I see that it’s true. However, I’m hoping that if I keep talking about how I have created what I want, then I will inspire other women to do the same - whatever it is they want.

I didn't dance at strip clubs or work at lingerie-modeling joints to create social change, I was doing it to make money for myself. While I was there, I saw and accepted the trade-offs that come with the gig. But I made plans to get myself out of there and into something better. I’d rather teach women how to do that then spend a lot of energy trying to change the rules of someone else’s game.