Yes! Yes! Oh, I am so very, very happy right now. I got a note today from Dan Savage (the editor of The Stranger) telling me that in two weeks, my column will be back in the paper version of The Stranger.
This is fabulous news. I've been trying to be patient, but I really missed being in the paper, and I'm very pleased that, after five months of being only in the online-version of The Stranger, I'll be back in the actual paper again. (Don't worry, non-local readers, I'll still be online, too.)
And, the extra-cool part: I'll be at 725 words instead my previous 400-word-limit. Whittling something meaningful down into 400 words was always a challenge, but I can do something with 725 words.
Happy, happy girl! What a nice almost-birthday present!
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
I need a volunteer. I found this link to - brace yourself - a Christian FemDom site, and I just cannot bring myself to go explore it. Someone else has to go and come back and tell us about it, because I'm sure it's just rife with opportunities for spoof and sarcasm. But I just can't do it.
I've tried. I enter the URL, I get to the entry page, I look at the warnings and the cheesy tiled graphic and my hand, with any conscious volition, moves the mouse to the upper right corner and hits that tiny X to click it away, away, away.
I did gather my courage to click (on a picture of a frigging cross, no less) and enter the body of the site just once. But some terrible MIDI music began playing and I shuddered so violently that I accidentally (?) closed the window. I took it as a sign from God.
So I need a volunteer. Some brave pervert, with a snarky sense of humor and the ability to remain undaunted by the unholy marriage of christianity and kink that has spawned this GeoCities website. Go forth, and report back to us. We'll be praying for your safe return.
I've tried. I enter the URL, I get to the entry page, I look at the warnings and the cheesy tiled graphic and my hand, with any conscious volition, moves the mouse to the upper right corner and hits that tiny X to click it away, away, away.
I did gather my courage to click (on a picture of a frigging cross, no less) and enter the body of the site just once. But some terrible MIDI music began playing and I shuddered so violently that I accidentally (?) closed the window. I took it as a sign from God.
So I need a volunteer. Some brave pervert, with a snarky sense of humor and the ability to remain undaunted by the unholy marriage of christianity and kink that has spawned this GeoCities website. Go forth, and report back to us. We'll be praying for your safe return.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Okay, I think it's time for another video clip...This is taken by me rather than of me - it's footage from a private BDSM play-party where my lovely friend Trinity was suspended by her ankles. It is a bit choppy, because I was trying to avoid getting the faces of any camera-shy party guests in the frame. And it's obviously not work-safe.
Hosting for the clip has been generously provided by Twisted Monk, just because he's a sweet guy. We'll probably take it down after a week or so, or if the traffic to the clip is so very heavy that we're threatening to suck up all of his bandwidth. But in the meantime, enjoy!
Trinity Suspended
Hosting for the clip has been generously provided by Twisted Monk, just because he's a sweet guy. We'll probably take it down after a week or so, or if the traffic to the clip is so very heavy that we're threatening to suck up all of his bandwidth. But in the meantime, enjoy!
Trinity Suspended
Monday, November 15, 2004
A photo from the archives, just because...It's from my self-portrait series, Dec 2002.
Meanwhile, I'm spending my day puttering around the house, doing all those little things that one keeps meaning to do and getting too busy to take care of...
And perhaps doing a bit of quiet contemplation as well, on the topic of my upcoming birthday, six days from now. Max is going to take me out for an intimate dinner alone somewhere, which is exactly what I think I'd really like. I adore all my friends, but the social whirl gets me a little...dizzy, sometimes. And since there are a number of other big events coming up soon, I decided I'd save my social diva energy for those.
Speaking of social occasions, and my opinions about how to behave at them: there was a bit of a snafu with the column last week - but it's up now, and correctly formatted, yay!
And speaking of November birthdays...I'm not really into astrology, but it's fun to read about it sometimes. I was amused to see that Clean Sheets has some sexy astrological lore about me and my possible partner combinations. But she doesn't seem very sanguine about me and any of my boys...Max is a Taurus, and I do have a history of picking Taurus men. (Not on purpose, it just turns out that way.) And Roman is a Leo, and doesn't that just fit him? But according to the author, I should be choosing Virgo or Pisces, and I've never had a lover with those signs that I know of. (I admit I haven't really kept serious track of these things.) So, not something I'd steer my life by. But entertaining, and we're all about entertaining around here.
Video clip of Trinity tomorrow!
Sunday, November 14, 2004
"Why don't you have any tattoos?" People ask me that sometimes – meaning, people who've seen enough of my body to be certain that in fact, I don't.
While it's true that lots of kinky people in Seattle do have tats, it's actually not a legal obligation. And I'm not the only pervert I know with no ink. Why, I live with another: Max. But I think I can count the other un-tattooed kinksters I know on one hand, so yes, we are in the minority here.
Why not? Well, I've just never had a burning desire for one, and I think if you're going to have the damn thing for the rest of your life, you better be real sure you want it. (Yes, I know, now there are laser treatments to remove them, but I'm told that's a long and rather expensive process, and that it doesn't always yield perfect results, either. I'd prefer that any time and money I spend - and any discomfort I endure - in my dermatologist's office be spent gilding the lily that I am, rather than dealing with self-inflicted wounds.)
I might have been more impulsive when I was younger, but even then it was clear to me that the clients of my chosen profession disliked tattoos. The vast majority of my clients were (and still are) middle/upper middle class white guys living in the suburbs, leading relatively traditional lives, and their ideas about beauty are fairly, well - mainstream. (I'm not saying you can't make it as a sex worker if you have tattoos. But I think it's a handicap.)
Sure, I could have gotten by with a dainty little anklet or something, but if I were going to get a tattoo, that is not what I'd get. I'd probably get a big-ass Celtic blackwork piece. Go big or go home, a friend of mine likes to say - I took the latter option.
I don't have any permanent piercings, either, except my ears. Again, I've just never felt a big desire for any.
The only body modification I've ever done is of what I would call a semi-permanent type - cuttings. When BDSM people say cutting, what they mean is: someone takes a sharp implement, like a surgical scalpel, and makes light cuts in someone elses skin, usually no deeper than a cat scratch, and usually in a design or shape of some kind.
A lot of people squick when I mention this, and that always perplexes me a bit, especially when the squickees have tats themselves. On the scale of such things, a cutting blade doesn't seem any more intrusive into the body that a tattoo needle. Cuttings are usually completed much more quickly, and I definitely don't think it's any more painful – it's always seemed to me like it would be less so.
For the adventurous among you, I do have some photos from a shoot I did of a friend getting a cutting. (And the finished product here.) Don't go if you faint at the sight of blood.
What you essentially wind up with is a drawing in/on your skin. When it's fresh, it looks a lot like a red tattoo. Most people choose shapes and designs that have meaning to them, although lots of people also just like the endorphin buzz they get from the process. I've done cuttings on people as part of a BDSM scene, although I got mine as just a body-mod experience. Either way, cutting is a careful, measured activity, and you must observe all the reasonable safety precautions – sterile tools and a clean area, etc.
As the cut heals, it goes away, but sometimes it leaves a very faint scar in the shape of the original cut. If you like the scar effect, you can re-do the cutting over again until it becomes more raised and noticeable. I haven't done that myself, but I've admired it on other people.
So you can just call me the Mies van De Roe of the body modification set. No tatts, no permanent piercings, just those very faint lines that are visible in certain angles of light.
While it's true that lots of kinky people in Seattle do have tats, it's actually not a legal obligation. And I'm not the only pervert I know with no ink. Why, I live with another: Max. But I think I can count the other un-tattooed kinksters I know on one hand, so yes, we are in the minority here.
Why not? Well, I've just never had a burning desire for one, and I think if you're going to have the damn thing for the rest of your life, you better be real sure you want it. (Yes, I know, now there are laser treatments to remove them, but I'm told that's a long and rather expensive process, and that it doesn't always yield perfect results, either. I'd prefer that any time and money I spend - and any discomfort I endure - in my dermatologist's office be spent gilding the lily that I am, rather than dealing with self-inflicted wounds.)
I might have been more impulsive when I was younger, but even then it was clear to me that the clients of my chosen profession disliked tattoos. The vast majority of my clients were (and still are) middle/upper middle class white guys living in the suburbs, leading relatively traditional lives, and their ideas about beauty are fairly, well - mainstream. (I'm not saying you can't make it as a sex worker if you have tattoos. But I think it's a handicap.)
Sure, I could have gotten by with a dainty little anklet or something, but if I were going to get a tattoo, that is not what I'd get. I'd probably get a big-ass Celtic blackwork piece. Go big or go home, a friend of mine likes to say - I took the latter option.
I don't have any permanent piercings, either, except my ears. Again, I've just never felt a big desire for any.
The only body modification I've ever done is of what I would call a semi-permanent type - cuttings. When BDSM people say cutting, what they mean is: someone takes a sharp implement, like a surgical scalpel, and makes light cuts in someone elses skin, usually no deeper than a cat scratch, and usually in a design or shape of some kind.
A lot of people squick when I mention this, and that always perplexes me a bit, especially when the squickees have tats themselves. On the scale of such things, a cutting blade doesn't seem any more intrusive into the body that a tattoo needle. Cuttings are usually completed much more quickly, and I definitely don't think it's any more painful – it's always seemed to me like it would be less so.
For the adventurous among you, I do have some photos from a shoot I did of a friend getting a cutting. (And the finished product here.) Don't go if you faint at the sight of blood.
What you essentially wind up with is a drawing in/on your skin. When it's fresh, it looks a lot like a red tattoo. Most people choose shapes and designs that have meaning to them, although lots of people also just like the endorphin buzz they get from the process. I've done cuttings on people as part of a BDSM scene, although I got mine as just a body-mod experience. Either way, cutting is a careful, measured activity, and you must observe all the reasonable safety precautions – sterile tools and a clean area, etc.
As the cut heals, it goes away, but sometimes it leaves a very faint scar in the shape of the original cut. If you like the scar effect, you can re-do the cutting over again until it becomes more raised and noticeable. I haven't done that myself, but I've admired it on other people.
So you can just call me the Mies van De Roe of the body modification set. No tatts, no permanent piercings, just those very faint lines that are visible in certain angles of light.
Friday, November 12, 2004
I have this question that I used to use as an icebreaker at cocktail parties, and it’s this: If they were making a movie about your life story, who would you want to play you?
There are a number of possible variants, like: Salary-is-no-object, or B-movie budget? Do I get different actors for different ages of my life? Do they have physically resemble me?
I still haven't found exactly the right person to play me yet, and that may be because I'm not the biggest film/TV buff. I suck at remembering most actors names – I usually have to call up my brother, who worked in Hollywood and knows all this shit, and say something like, "Who was that girl who was in that movie, you know, with the car and they drive it over the edge of the cliff at the end?"
He'll sigh patiently and say, "Geena Davis." When it comes to movies, my brother can read my mind. (Thank god that's the only area in which he has that skill.)
So, while I don't think it's strictly necessary that the actor physically resembles you, I do think they should seem to possess some trait that you identify with. That's why when I play this game, some of my choices over the years have been: Jennifer Jason Lee, because she's so freakin' intense. Or: Madonna, because she can convey someone who's driven and determined. (But only if it was a musical.)
If Annette Bening was a little younger, I would love to have her play me, she's fabulous. Catherine Zeta-Jones would get my okay, too.
Various suggestions from other people have included:
"Sarah Michelle Gellar". Yeah, okay, I can see that.
"Andie McDowell". What? "Well, I've always had a thing for her. And she's got a southern accent, too." Mmmmn, I don't think so.
"Ellen Barkin". Not sure I really see that, but I think she's cool, so, all right.
"Rose McGowan". A little on the goth side, but okay.
"Linda Fiorentino". Oh, now you're talking. She hasn't done much lately, but I loved her in "The Last Seduction".
I have decided that come what may, Max must be played by Kevin Spacey. Quiet, low-key, until he unleashes his inner barracuda. If Kevin absolutely isn't available, perhaps John Malkovich, if he could convey a little more warmth that he usually does.
Roman? I think…Jim Carey. Tall, irresistibly boyish and cute, and tons of kinetic energy. Or maybe, just maybe, Tim Robbins - if you gave him speed. A younger John Travolta could have captured his charm, but while I like Mr. Travolta, I think he's peaked.
Jake? Oh, that's a hard one. Vin Diesel? But I'm just saying that based on looks. Nicolas Cage might capture Jake very well, though. Very intense, and just slightly...left of center, somehow.
So – who would play you?
There are a number of possible variants, like: Salary-is-no-object, or B-movie budget? Do I get different actors for different ages of my life? Do they have physically resemble me?
I still haven't found exactly the right person to play me yet, and that may be because I'm not the biggest film/TV buff. I suck at remembering most actors names – I usually have to call up my brother, who worked in Hollywood and knows all this shit, and say something like, "Who was that girl who was in that movie, you know, with the car and they drive it over the edge of the cliff at the end?"
He'll sigh patiently and say, "Geena Davis." When it comes to movies, my brother can read my mind. (Thank god that's the only area in which he has that skill.)
So, while I don't think it's strictly necessary that the actor physically resembles you, I do think they should seem to possess some trait that you identify with. That's why when I play this game, some of my choices over the years have been: Jennifer Jason Lee, because she's so freakin' intense. Or: Madonna, because she can convey someone who's driven and determined. (But only if it was a musical.)
If Annette Bening was a little younger, I would love to have her play me, she's fabulous. Catherine Zeta-Jones would get my okay, too.
Various suggestions from other people have included:
"Sarah Michelle Gellar". Yeah, okay, I can see that.
"Andie McDowell". What? "Well, I've always had a thing for her. And she's got a southern accent, too." Mmmmn, I don't think so.
"Ellen Barkin". Not sure I really see that, but I think she's cool, so, all right.
"Rose McGowan". A little on the goth side, but okay.
"Linda Fiorentino". Oh, now you're talking. She hasn't done much lately, but I loved her in "The Last Seduction".
I have decided that come what may, Max must be played by Kevin Spacey. Quiet, low-key, until he unleashes his inner barracuda. If Kevin absolutely isn't available, perhaps John Malkovich, if he could convey a little more warmth that he usually does.
Roman? I think…Jim Carey. Tall, irresistibly boyish and cute, and tons of kinetic energy. Or maybe, just maybe, Tim Robbins - if you gave him speed. A younger John Travolta could have captured his charm, but while I like Mr. Travolta, I think he's peaked.
Jake? Oh, that's a hard one. Vin Diesel? But I'm just saying that based on looks. Nicolas Cage might capture Jake very well, though. Very intense, and just slightly...left of center, somehow.
So – who would play you?
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Phone Messages I Did Not Return – A Retrospective…
Obviously I didn't get all these on the same day…But they are just a few messages lately that have stuck in my mind…
Beep!
Beep!
Well, it's nice that he made it clear that I actually wasn't the woman he saw – a 22 year old? No way! – because I'd hate to think I played with anyone who sounded this stoned.
Beep!
Oh, I think not.
Beep!
Can't say I have the slightest urge to see a lame-ass fuckhole, thank you just the same. Sounds a bit redundant somehow, doesn't it? Does this technique work with other women, I wonder?
Obviously I didn't get all these on the same day…But they are just a few messages lately that have stuck in my mind…
Beep!
"Hello, Mistress Matisse, my name's Jim, we haven't met before, but I wanted to make an appointment with you for this Saturday night around nine. Oh, yeah, I saw on your website that you don't usually do weekend appointments, but I'm only going to be in town that one night, so that's the only time I can do it. So give me a call back, please, at XXX-XXXX to confirm the appointment and tell me your address. Thanks."Can you say, "rude arrogant asshole who thinks rules don't apply to him"? I knew you could. No, Jim, you don't confirm appointments you don't have, and you don't assume I'll see you - I talk to you and then I decide if I will accept you. In this case, the answer is no. So don't wait by the phone for my call, baby.
Beep!
"So, I like, saw a mistress once and I don't remember her name – and I was wondering if are you her? My name's John, and I'm like 24 – except it was two years ago, so I would have been 22 then – and I have brown hair and I wanted to get pissed on. Call me back at XXX-XXXX. Peace."
Well, it's nice that he made it clear that I actually wasn't the woman he saw – a 22 year old? No way! – because I'd hate to think I played with anyone who sounded this stoned.
Beep!
" 'Allo? 'Allo? Miztress? 'Allo? You call me, yes, Miztress? Call me now,
XXX-XXXX!"
Oh, I think not.
Beep!
"Mistress, I know I don't deserve to see you, I'm a worthless piece of shit, I'm scum, but if you wanna see me so you can tell me to my ugly face what a lame-ass fuckhole I am truly am, call me at XXX-XXXX"
Can't say I have the slightest urge to see a lame-ass fuckhole, thank you just the same. Sounds a bit redundant somehow, doesn't it? Does this technique work with other women, I wonder?
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Busy, busy girl….Glad you enjoyed the video clip. I've got another one in the chute that's quite different – it's a clip of my lovely friend Trinity being hung by her ankles at a party recently. Onfuego won't host it, though, because she's nekkid. So Monk (of TwistedMonk.com, best hemp rope vendor in the world) has graciously offered to host it on his site. A round of applause, please, for Monk. Look for that in a day or two.
I'm way booked up with clients this week – I spent all yesterday afternoon playing with one of my all-time favorite boys, and then he and I went out to a great dinner. He's back in my clutches today for another extended session with me and a lovely friend of mine…I hope she'll enjoy him as much as I do.
A busy day Thursday, too, but Friday is mine – I'm going to spend a little time with Roman and then Max and I are going to go see a play.
The days do go by quickly sometimes…
I'm way booked up with clients this week – I spent all yesterday afternoon playing with one of my all-time favorite boys, and then he and I went out to a great dinner. He's back in my clutches today for another extended session with me and a lovely friend of mine…I hope she'll enjoy him as much as I do.
A busy day Thursday, too, but Friday is mine – I'm going to spend a little time with Roman and then Max and I are going to go see a play.
The days do go by quickly sometimes…
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
That pesky thing called Real Life has been rather busy lately, but for your entertainment, here's another video-blog entry...
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Snippets of my life lately…
I recently administered a caning to man while wearing – at his request - a red PVC ball gown, complete with tight-laced bodice, puffy skirt, and a train. I felt like a fetish Scarlett O'Hara.
Roman and I had a writer-to-writer discussion about conflict as a plot device while he went down on me. (Obviously he had to sort of stop licking me to talk, but it was still damned impressive. I know I lost my train of thought a few times.)
Jake and I talked about the increasingly incestuous little band of perverts that's floating around the edges of my social life these days. Except for me, I think all of the small pool of women that Jake is playing with, or has played with lately, is/has also played with two or three other guys – by which I mean, the same two or three other guys. That's not inherently bad, you understand, it just makes social events where everyone is going to be there a little – unpredictable. For example, the bondage class/party tomorrow night. I have no idea who's coming with who, or what mix-and-match configurations might result. I'm going with Max, that's all I know. And anyone who wants him to tie them up should be very nice to me.
I've been unsure about talking about this here – but, what the hell. I recently became the proud owner of a fucking machine. I've always wanted one, and I'm extremely pleased by this one. Not only does it work like a charm, but it even looks cool. I'd post a picture of it, but I need to get Mike's permission. You remember Mike, my previous secondary? Well, actually, Mike came back onto the scene a little while back. Naughty of me not to have told you, but I can be that way sometimes. Things with the other girl didn't quite fly, so Mike turned up, being as charming as he can be, which is considerable. I thought about playing hard to get - but he seduced me back, because he knows one of my major fetishes.
You see, Mike is a metal artist. He works in other mediums as well, but that metal thing, mmmm-hmmmn, it's sexy. And so is Mike.
So Mike built me a really cool fucking machine, and I foresee having a lot of fun with it. There's something so delightfully relentless about machines. They just don't care about you one little bit. (This is also one of the reasons why I like playing with electricity.) So if someone set this machine in motion and walked away, well, it would just keep on pumping until I – whoops, I mean they – came back. Doesn't really matter whether you like it or not.
Oh, that's sexy. Very sexy.
But the thing is, Mike has a very distinct style in metal art, and if you knew him, and you saw a picture of this machine, you'd immediately recognize it as his work. Now, he may not care, but I need to check with him first. So perhaps we'll have a picture of the machine – probably without a victim attached – sometime.
I recently administered a caning to man while wearing – at his request - a red PVC ball gown, complete with tight-laced bodice, puffy skirt, and a train. I felt like a fetish Scarlett O'Hara.
Roman and I had a writer-to-writer discussion about conflict as a plot device while he went down on me. (Obviously he had to sort of stop licking me to talk, but it was still damned impressive. I know I lost my train of thought a few times.)
Jake and I talked about the increasingly incestuous little band of perverts that's floating around the edges of my social life these days. Except for me, I think all of the small pool of women that Jake is playing with, or has played with lately, is/has also played with two or three other guys – by which I mean, the same two or three other guys. That's not inherently bad, you understand, it just makes social events where everyone is going to be there a little – unpredictable. For example, the bondage class/party tomorrow night. I have no idea who's coming with who, or what mix-and-match configurations might result. I'm going with Max, that's all I know. And anyone who wants him to tie them up should be very nice to me.
I've been unsure about talking about this here – but, what the hell. I recently became the proud owner of a fucking machine. I've always wanted one, and I'm extremely pleased by this one. Not only does it work like a charm, but it even looks cool. I'd post a picture of it, but I need to get Mike's permission. You remember Mike, my previous secondary? Well, actually, Mike came back onto the scene a little while back. Naughty of me not to have told you, but I can be that way sometimes. Things with the other girl didn't quite fly, so Mike turned up, being as charming as he can be, which is considerable. I thought about playing hard to get - but he seduced me back, because he knows one of my major fetishes.
You see, Mike is a metal artist. He works in other mediums as well, but that metal thing, mmmm-hmmmn, it's sexy. And so is Mike.
So Mike built me a really cool fucking machine, and I foresee having a lot of fun with it. There's something so delightfully relentless about machines. They just don't care about you one little bit. (This is also one of the reasons why I like playing with electricity.) So if someone set this machine in motion and walked away, well, it would just keep on pumping until I – whoops, I mean they – came back. Doesn't really matter whether you like it or not.
Oh, that's sexy. Very sexy.
But the thing is, Mike has a very distinct style in metal art, and if you knew him, and you saw a picture of this machine, you'd immediately recognize it as his work. Now, he may not care, but I need to check with him first. So perhaps we'll have a picture of the machine – probably without a victim attached – sometime.
Friday, November 05, 2004
So, hopefully the new Stranger column should be up today. I don't know why it's apparently not being put up on Thursdays any more.
This would make me slightly happier. I cannot stand John Ashcroft, he's the worst of the bible-thumpers we have in office these days. Ashcroft Likely to Leave AG Post.
Oh, you know, I'm not trying to stifle anyone's freedom of expression or anything, but "community outreach" like this hurts us as much - or more - as it helps us. Sex slave, dominatrix claim they are feminists.
The submissive, in particular, really needs some training before she's ever put in front of another bunch of vanilla people. Jesus, telling people you met your top when you were fourteen, that you once tried to commit suicide, and that your top had you get breast implants, and that you don't think you could leave? Oh, that all makes you look real healthy.
I totally support this woman and her partner structuring their relationship however they want. But when you're doing a public speaking engagement, there are things you talk about - and there are things you don't.
And apparently Penn, of Penn and Teller, has a kinky streak. How charming.
This would make me slightly happier. I cannot stand John Ashcroft, he's the worst of the bible-thumpers we have in office these days. Ashcroft Likely to Leave AG Post.
Oh, you know, I'm not trying to stifle anyone's freedom of expression or anything, but "community outreach" like this hurts us as much - or more - as it helps us. Sex slave, dominatrix claim they are feminists.
The submissive, in particular, really needs some training before she's ever put in front of another bunch of vanilla people. Jesus, telling people you met your top when you were fourteen, that you once tried to commit suicide, and that your top had you get breast implants, and that you don't think you could leave? Oh, that all makes you look real healthy.
I totally support this woman and her partner structuring their relationship however they want. But when you're doing a public speaking engagement, there are things you talk about - and there are things you don't.
And apparently Penn, of Penn and Teller, has a kinky streak. How charming.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Enjoying Yourself is Sexy
I got a sweet email from a client after a recent session. It's very flattering, but more than that, it's interesting. You see, he's been to see a lot of different pro doms, and so he's able to compare and contrast me with a number of other professionals. A lot of my guys have never seen another dominatrix, or maybe they've seen just one or two. So I was curious about this rather experienced gentleman's opinion.
I got a sweet email from a client after a recent session. It's very flattering, but more than that, it's interesting. You see, he's been to see a lot of different pro doms, and so he's able to compare and contrast me with a number of other professionals. A lot of my guys have never seen another dominatrix, or maybe they've seen just one or two. So I was curious about this rather experienced gentleman's opinion.
I think that there are a couple of things that make you stand out. One is that you convey far more than most ProDommes that you are enjoying the session, what you are doing, and my reactions. I'm not nearly that outgoing myself; I just seem to go naturally quiet in session, and my reactions are much more physical than verbal. But as I've told you, your responsiveness really does inspire me to want to take more for you, since you make it so evident that you are enjoying the activities.Mistress Matisse's Tips for Dominant # 16: If you tell them, and show them, that they're pleasing you, they will work as hard as they can to keep doing so.
The second thing I think I can safely say now that you've seen me three times, and I trust you consider me to be one of the "good guys" who has read your rules page, and respects your boundaries. I think I can say without you getting the wrong impression that you conduct a very sexy session. You are far from the dispassionate, either almost purely D/s or almost purely sadistic demeanor that I've experienced from most other ProDommes. I'm one of the people who believe that BDSM play is very much about sex -- not having sex, not sex acts, to be sure, but still very sexual in nature. To me at least, you convey that sense of a BDSM session being a sexual experience, and very fun!An example of a client who's a very good match for me. Always nice when it works out this way.
I think that many other ProDommes are very inhibited in that area, even those who conduct sessions with a laughing, fun-loving demeanor. Few are willing to let go and convey the sense that yes, a session is very sexy, and yes, that it's sexy fun. That may well be for good reason, such as a result of bad experiences with clients who get the wrong idea; or they may hold to the prudish philosophy of "it's not about sex; it's about submission." Or it may be their personality, just the way they are, and I don't mean to be critical of that, since I don't think I'm very demonstrative during a session, either. But you are, and you conduct a very sexy session, and to me that is another thing that makes you a lot of fun to play with.To me, this speaks to the virtue of simply being yourself in BDSM, as opposed to adopting a fake demeanor because you think it's more "domly". Like him, I'm not dissing those who have a different style, if it's a genuine reflection of who they are. But even though I get occasional flak from the "real and true mistress" types, I'm not interested in pretending to be jaded, bitchy or cold. It's nice to have boys who appreciate me exactly as I am.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
All right, tomorrow we go back to sex and kink...but a few final thoughts for the day of mourning.
Looks like a lot people had the same idea... Still, there are at least Ten Reasons Not To Move To Canada.
For myself, I'm going to try focusing on the fact that the people who helped elect Bush will now expect him to fix what's wrong. And that's going to be rather difficult.
Looks like a lot people had the same idea... Still, there are at least Ten Reasons Not To Move To Canada.
For myself, I'm going to try focusing on the fact that the people who helped elect Bush will now expect him to fix what's wrong. And that's going to be rather difficult.
Well, I'm pretty depressed this morning. This reminds me of when Newt Gingrinch and Co. swept into office. Jesus.
So, be aware - if you aren't already - that I will delete any comments I don't like. It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, so if you're in a celebratory mood, take it to one of the more like-minded blogs. I don't want to hear it today.
So, be aware - if you aren't already - that I will delete any comments I don't like. It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, so if you're in a celebratory mood, take it to one of the more like-minded blogs. I don't want to hear it today.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Oh god, I have a nasty feeling I'm going to be stuck looking at that monkey boy's ugly face on TV for the next four years. Jesus. I've heard that "we get the government we deserve", but I think that, actually, just slightly more than half of us do.
I should look at the bright side: I'm not going to get drafted, I don't have kids to inherit the huge debt we're running up, and since Washington state is looking to remain strongly Democratic - a female Democrat governor and two Democratic female state senators, that's a historical first - at least I don't have to worry about my being able to get an abortion should an unfortunate accident happen.
I should look at the bright side: I'm not going to get drafted, I don't have kids to inherit the huge debt we're running up, and since Washington state is looking to remain strongly Democratic - a female Democrat governor and two Democratic female state senators, that's a historical first - at least I don't have to worry about my being able to get an abortion should an unfortunate accident happen.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Haven't done a reading list for a while…
The Boxer Rebellion, by Diane Preston. No, it's not a book about guys in satin shorts beating up Don King. "In the late 1890s, a virulently resentful peasant movement spread across northern China; foreigners nicknamed its adherents "Boxers" for the martial-arts exercises they practiced en masse. When the movement erupted into open violence in 1900, the imperial government supported attacks on foreigners that escalated into a siege of the foreign embassies in Peking. Diana Preston's The Boxer Rebellion is an account of the 55-day confrontation that alarmed the world." (Snipped from the Amazon site.)
How To Use Adobe Premiere 6.5, by Douglas Dixon. Because thanks to Roman, I now have good video editing software. It's already bristling with Post-Its.
Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates Of Human Societies, by Jared Diamond.
You've probably heard of this one – it won a Pulitzer, and it's been sitting on my desk for a while, waiting its turn. It's pretty dense, but very interesting.
Turning Life Into Fiction, by Robin Hemley. From Amazon: "…this is an enlightening and even inspiring guide to utilizing elements of one's own life and of one's family history as fodder for writing novels and short stories... Journal keeping is heavily encouraged…" Okay, I think I've got that part going on.
Jacobite Spy Wars: Moles, Rouges and Treachery, by Hugh Douglas. The Jacobite story was one of history's longest running spy sagas. Adherents of the exiled branch of the house of Stuart after the Glorious Revolution of 1688, the Jacobites sought the restoration of James II. A reminder that there's nothing much new under the political sun.
In a bit of possible market research, I've also been reading some "chick lit" novels – and I hate to sound like a snob, but my god, they're terrible. I've read a best-seller called The Devil Wears Prada, as well as Good In Bed, one called Mr. Maybe, and a couple of others whose titles have already left my mind – and I was severely unimpressed with all of them. And these are the trade-sized paperback, not the smaller size, which means I was shelling out ten to fifteen dollars apiece for these things.
I know no one is pretending this genre of books is great lit-ra-choor. But Jesus, even for beach or airplane reading, it was pretty flat. I like reading fluffy fiction sometimes, but only if it's good fluffy fiction. I could write a better novel than some of these authors.
So, maybe I will…
The Boxer Rebellion, by Diane Preston. No, it's not a book about guys in satin shorts beating up Don King. "In the late 1890s, a virulently resentful peasant movement spread across northern China; foreigners nicknamed its adherents "Boxers" for the martial-arts exercises they practiced en masse. When the movement erupted into open violence in 1900, the imperial government supported attacks on foreigners that escalated into a siege of the foreign embassies in Peking. Diana Preston's The Boxer Rebellion is an account of the 55-day confrontation that alarmed the world." (Snipped from the Amazon site.)
How To Use Adobe Premiere 6.5, by Douglas Dixon. Because thanks to Roman, I now have good video editing software. It's already bristling with Post-Its.
Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates Of Human Societies, by Jared Diamond.
You've probably heard of this one – it won a Pulitzer, and it's been sitting on my desk for a while, waiting its turn. It's pretty dense, but very interesting.
Turning Life Into Fiction, by Robin Hemley. From Amazon: "…this is an enlightening and even inspiring guide to utilizing elements of one's own life and of one's family history as fodder for writing novels and short stories... Journal keeping is heavily encouraged…" Okay, I think I've got that part going on.
Jacobite Spy Wars: Moles, Rouges and Treachery, by Hugh Douglas. The Jacobite story was one of history's longest running spy sagas. Adherents of the exiled branch of the house of Stuart after the Glorious Revolution of 1688, the Jacobites sought the restoration of James II. A reminder that there's nothing much new under the political sun.
In a bit of possible market research, I've also been reading some "chick lit" novels – and I hate to sound like a snob, but my god, they're terrible. I've read a best-seller called The Devil Wears Prada, as well as Good In Bed, one called Mr. Maybe, and a couple of others whose titles have already left my mind – and I was severely unimpressed with all of them. And these are the trade-sized paperback, not the smaller size, which means I was shelling out ten to fifteen dollars apiece for these things.
I know no one is pretending this genre of books is great lit-ra-choor. But Jesus, even for beach or airplane reading, it was pretty flat. I like reading fluffy fiction sometimes, but only if it's good fluffy fiction. I could write a better novel than some of these authors.
So, maybe I will…
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Never-Ending Story
Ring Ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Uh, hi, my name's Jim, and I have a question.
Me: Okay, go ahead.
Caller: So, I used to see this girl named X a while back – you know, she's an escort.
I know exactly who he means, she's a friend of mine. But I don't know where this is going so I just say….
Me: Go on.
Caller: Well, her old number doesn't work anymore and I want to see her again. She told me she knew you. Do you have her new number?
Now, I have a general policy: I don't give out other people's phone numbers without asking them. And I most especially don't give out people's numbers to strangers. For one thing, the fact that this guy doesn't have her contact info says to me that she may not really want him to have it. It also indicates that he ain't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, because a half-decent Google search would turn up a website for this girl.
But frankly, none of this is my dog. She's my friend, but we're not business partners, and I don't want to be involved in any of her dealings with her clients. I find it sort of gauche for him to even ask.
Rather than explain all of this to him, however, I try to take the shortest distance between two points.
Me: No, I don't have a number for her, sorry.
Caller: Oh - that's weird, because she told me you two were good friends.
Damn. I gotta speak to her about telling people that.
Caller: Are you going to see her around, do you think? Can I give you my number and have you give it to her and ask her call me?
Me: Look, I don't know when I'll be seeing her, I don't want to be in the middle of this.
Caller: Well, I just really want to see her and she doesn't have an ad in the paper anymore. Is she still working?
Me: Okay - stop. I don't know where she is, I don't know what she's doing, and I don't want to be a go-between. If you can't find her, I can't help you.
Caller: But isn't she a friend of yours? I think you wrote about her in your column once.
He's not going to let me be polite about this.
Me: Listen to me: this conversation is inappropriate. I am not going to give you any information, and I am not going to carry any information for you. Goodbye.
Click. I hang up.
Several months go by. In the interim, I speak to the woman in question about this call, and she responds by saying, "Oh, that guy? Hell no, I don't want him calling me, that's why I didn't give him my new number."
"Do you owe him money or something? Because he sure was hot to find you."
"No, he's just a total pest. Everyone else in town has probably cut him off, too."
I thank her for confirming my decision and dismiss the matter from my mind.
Until…
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Uh, hi, my name is Jim, I talked to you a couple of months ago, I'm the guy looking for X.
Oh, fuck.
Me: Jim, I told you, I don't have any information for you.
Caller: But I thought you might have seen her by now. Are you sure you don't have her number?
Oh, I do not like people who won't take no for an answer, and this guy also has the sort of whiny, nasal voice that's like fingernails on a blackboard to me. I have a vivid memory of my college drama professor railing at all of us to "speak from your diaphragm, not through your nose!" So while I have a lot of patience - that's a lot of patience to lose. I'm losing it with this guy.
Me: Get this in your head: I am not going to give you her number. If you can’t find her, you'll just have to call someone else. But I am not a fucking pimp, so do not call me again looking for other girls, do you understand?
Caller: But I really want to –
Click. I hang up.
It's been several months. He hasn't called back. I'm hoping I can score one for brutal clarity. But I'm not assuming.
Ring Ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Uh, hi, my name's Jim, and I have a question.
Me: Okay, go ahead.
Caller: So, I used to see this girl named X a while back – you know, she's an escort.
I know exactly who he means, she's a friend of mine. But I don't know where this is going so I just say….
Me: Go on.
Caller: Well, her old number doesn't work anymore and I want to see her again. She told me she knew you. Do you have her new number?
Now, I have a general policy: I don't give out other people's phone numbers without asking them. And I most especially don't give out people's numbers to strangers. For one thing, the fact that this guy doesn't have her contact info says to me that she may not really want him to have it. It also indicates that he ain't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, because a half-decent Google search would turn up a website for this girl.
But frankly, none of this is my dog. She's my friend, but we're not business partners, and I don't want to be involved in any of her dealings with her clients. I find it sort of gauche for him to even ask.
Rather than explain all of this to him, however, I try to take the shortest distance between two points.
Me: No, I don't have a number for her, sorry.
Caller: Oh - that's weird, because she told me you two were good friends.
Damn. I gotta speak to her about telling people that.
Caller: Are you going to see her around, do you think? Can I give you my number and have you give it to her and ask her call me?
Me: Look, I don't know when I'll be seeing her, I don't want to be in the middle of this.
Caller: Well, I just really want to see her and she doesn't have an ad in the paper anymore. Is she still working?
Me: Okay - stop. I don't know where she is, I don't know what she's doing, and I don't want to be a go-between. If you can't find her, I can't help you.
Caller: But isn't she a friend of yours? I think you wrote about her in your column once.
He's not going to let me be polite about this.
Me: Listen to me: this conversation is inappropriate. I am not going to give you any information, and I am not going to carry any information for you. Goodbye.
Click. I hang up.
Several months go by. In the interim, I speak to the woman in question about this call, and she responds by saying, "Oh, that guy? Hell no, I don't want him calling me, that's why I didn't give him my new number."
"Do you owe him money or something? Because he sure was hot to find you."
"No, he's just a total pest. Everyone else in town has probably cut him off, too."
I thank her for confirming my decision and dismiss the matter from my mind.
Until…
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Uh, hi, my name is Jim, I talked to you a couple of months ago, I'm the guy looking for X.
Oh, fuck.
Me: Jim, I told you, I don't have any information for you.
Caller: But I thought you might have seen her by now. Are you sure you don't have her number?
Oh, I do not like people who won't take no for an answer, and this guy also has the sort of whiny, nasal voice that's like fingernails on a blackboard to me. I have a vivid memory of my college drama professor railing at all of us to "speak from your diaphragm, not through your nose!" So while I have a lot of patience - that's a lot of patience to lose. I'm losing it with this guy.
Me: Get this in your head: I am not going to give you her number. If you can’t find her, you'll just have to call someone else. But I am not a fucking pimp, so do not call me again looking for other girls, do you understand?
Caller: But I really want to –
Click. I hang up.
It's been several months. He hasn't called back. I'm hoping I can score one for brutal clarity. But I'm not assuming.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
"Oh, I am so blogging about that!" That's become a phrase in my vocabulary, and if you tell me a really good story, don't be surprised to hear it.
For example, Miss K and I were having our usual dinner at Hana this week, along with Lynn, another local luminary in the fantasy-fulfillment trade, and of course we got into weird-ass phone calls discussion.
Miss K said, "Oh, I got one. Crazy!"
"Tell, tell," I said.
"It wasn't an irate spouse, exactly," she began. "It took me a while to figure out just what this woman wanted, because she was so indirect. But what we eventually got to was: she wanted me to call her if her boyfriend ever called me."
"Wait," I said, clutching my head. "Some woman called you. She says she has a boyfriend. And she wants you to notify her if said boyfriend contacts you about a session."
"That's right."
"You would of course be able to identify this man using the sophisticated voiceprint technology on your cell phone."
She laughed. "Apparently she thinks so."
"And you would do this…why, pray tell?"
"Damned if I know."
"Oh. I thought maybe she offered you a high-ranking political position in her imaginary kingdom or something."
Miss K shook her head. "But it gets weirder."
"Oh, god. What?"
"Well, then she started asking a bunch of other questions and it turns out she's always wondered about being an escort herself. So she wanted me to tell her all about how to do that."
"Which, naturally, you refused to do."
"Hell, yes, I refused, I'm not about to talk about that with some whacko. But she kept asking, and I kept saying I wasn't going to talk about that. You keep thinking they'll hang up, you know, but she kept coming up with questions."
"Yep – that's pretty fucking weird." I then told Miss K and Lynn about the "Secretary Man," star of this week's Stranger column. "But your call is so charmingly bizarre, do you mind if I write about it?"
"Go right ahead," said Miss K.
So I did…
PostScript: A big "Happy Birthday" goes out to T. - along with my thanks, for being so extremely cool.
For example, Miss K and I were having our usual dinner at Hana this week, along with Lynn, another local luminary in the fantasy-fulfillment trade, and of course we got into weird-ass phone calls discussion.
Miss K said, "Oh, I got one. Crazy!"
"Tell, tell," I said.
"It wasn't an irate spouse, exactly," she began. "It took me a while to figure out just what this woman wanted, because she was so indirect. But what we eventually got to was: she wanted me to call her if her boyfriend ever called me."
"Wait," I said, clutching my head. "Some woman called you. She says she has a boyfriend. And she wants you to notify her if said boyfriend contacts you about a session."
"That's right."
"You would of course be able to identify this man using the sophisticated voiceprint technology on your cell phone."
She laughed. "Apparently she thinks so."
"And you would do this…why, pray tell?"
"Damned if I know."
"Oh. I thought maybe she offered you a high-ranking political position in her imaginary kingdom or something."
Miss K shook her head. "But it gets weirder."
"Oh, god. What?"
"Well, then she started asking a bunch of other questions and it turns out she's always wondered about being an escort herself. So she wanted me to tell her all about how to do that."
"Which, naturally, you refused to do."
"Hell, yes, I refused, I'm not about to talk about that with some whacko. But she kept asking, and I kept saying I wasn't going to talk about that. You keep thinking they'll hang up, you know, but she kept coming up with questions."
"Yep – that's pretty fucking weird." I then told Miss K and Lynn about the "Secretary Man," star of this week's Stranger column. "But your call is so charmingly bizarre, do you mind if I write about it?"
"Go right ahead," said Miss K.
So I did…
PostScript: A big "Happy Birthday" goes out to T. - along with my thanks, for being so extremely cool.
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