In the wake of this new sex book: "She Comes First: The Thinking Man's Guide To Pleasuring a Woman", there seems to be a lot of chat online lately about cunnilingus. Lilith has some good things to say about oral sex and the clitoris...
Saturday, July 24, 2004
Friday, July 23, 2004
I'm sitting at my computer in a sleep-deprived daze, because I didn't get home from my date with Roman until around 4am. Luckily I had foresight enough not to schedule myself anything until 5pm, so I've had some time to get some caffeine working in my body and practice focusing my eyes properly.
How was the date? Well, I wasn't home until 4am – you should be able to infer a great deal from that alone…
For me, there are different kinds of attraction to people. Sometimes it's a very BDSM-based attraction. My responses to the object of my desire are rooted firmly in my SM-self, and my fantasies center around what kinds of play I want to do with them. Sex may or may not be involved, but when it is, it’s more of a method of expressing my dominance over them than achieving an orgasm or three.
And then sometimes I'm just plain sexually attracted to people. It's not about having a strong dominant (or submissive) response to the person in question. I just want to jump them. But they are usually kinky people, because that's who I hang out with. (Mike was a notable exception to this rule.)
Now, in the best of all possible worlds, once the two people in question have taken a little of the edge off their sheer animal lust, and they start getting to know each other a little more, they may find that they do have some complementary BDSM interests. When I approached Roman, I basically said, "I like you, and I think we should get in the same room together and take off our clothes and see what happens." Today I have some very nice bite marks on my back, and I'm guessing his nipples might be a bit tender. We had a fabulous time, and I think I know a lot more about what kinds of BDSM we might do together. It's always great when the first sexual experience you have with someone just fills you with inspiration about what else you'd like to do with them.
How was the date? Well, I wasn't home until 4am – you should be able to infer a great deal from that alone…
For me, there are different kinds of attraction to people. Sometimes it's a very BDSM-based attraction. My responses to the object of my desire are rooted firmly in my SM-self, and my fantasies center around what kinds of play I want to do with them. Sex may or may not be involved, but when it is, it’s more of a method of expressing my dominance over them than achieving an orgasm or three.
And then sometimes I'm just plain sexually attracted to people. It's not about having a strong dominant (or submissive) response to the person in question. I just want to jump them. But they are usually kinky people, because that's who I hang out with. (Mike was a notable exception to this rule.)
Now, in the best of all possible worlds, once the two people in question have taken a little of the edge off their sheer animal lust, and they start getting to know each other a little more, they may find that they do have some complementary BDSM interests. When I approached Roman, I basically said, "I like you, and I think we should get in the same room together and take off our clothes and see what happens." Today I have some very nice bite marks on my back, and I'm guessing his nipples might be a bit tender. We had a fabulous time, and I think I know a lot more about what kinds of BDSM we might do together. It's always great when the first sexual experience you have with someone just fills you with inspiration about what else you'd like to do with them.
Thursday, July 22, 2004
There's a phrase, "an open secret". That means a secret that isn't really secret. Something lots of people know about, but that isn't talked about – or at least, not much.
My open secret? Mistress Matisse is a switch. (What the hell is a switch?)
Lots of people know this about me – all of my friends, a fair number of my clients, and many, many random kinky strangers who've seen me playing with Max at various parties and leather conferences. But I have made only the briefest of references to this fact in my column, and I haven't talked about it here at all, and I have my reasons for that.
It's not that I'm worried about how other SM people will see me. Being a switch is not at all remarkable in the SM community. There are very, very few tops who have never bottomed at all, I've only met about four or five that I know of. (Max is one of them, interestingly enough.) I personally know a number of folks who, while perceived as badass tops by most people, say they would bottom in a second if they met the right person.
But outside the community, being a switch is a bit like being bisexual. The uninformed tend to assume that means your inclinations are split 50/50, and you like one role just as well as the other. Perhaps true for some - definitely not so for me. I don't think of myself as a submissive, and I'm definitely not a slave. Most of the pomp and ceremony of what people call D/s doesn't impress me as a top, and the idea of doing it as a bottom makes me laugh - I don't write my name in lowercase, and I'm not about to call anyone "Master". I have topped literally thousands of people. I can count the number of people I've bottomed to on two hands. That should tell you all you need to know about how I'm wired.
So what I really am is a top with a masochistic streak. My tastes are highly specific, and I'm quite selective about who I'll allow to provide the stimuli that I enjoy. Max happens to be very, very good at giving me what I like – probably because it's what he likes, too. Someone asked a few days ago how we handled being two-tops-in-love. Now you know...
While I'm not very good at the submissive thing, I do try to be polite while Max indulges our mutual kinky tastes. However, the physical stress of our play can strain even my deeply-rooted sense of courtesy, and so I don't always succeed. Fortunately, he seems to find it amusing when I scream curses at him while we play, even if it's in a crowded dungeon, like, say – Thunder in the Mountains. One might even suspect that he enjoys provoking me to such lengths, since he is such a sadistic son-of-a-bitch. (Kiss! Love you, darling!) But his pleasure is based on the fact that he knows I'm enjoying it, too – even if I have an unusual way of showing it.
The main reason I don't publish much writing about this side of my kinkysex life is this: I am generally able to regard with weary patience the emails and phone calls I get from strange people importuning me to be their Mistress. I don't mean the folks seeking professional appointments, I mean the will-you-have-a-relationship-with-me guys. True, I have occasional bursts of irritation. But most of the time, I have some compassion in my heart for such people, and I try not to treat them too roughly.
However, I find myself without any compassion for strangers who send me emails that say things like this:
And that's a relatively good-natured one.
I think the reason why electronic assaults by clueless poltroons who call themselves "Master" annoy me more than the grotesque entreaties of people like the Tampon Guy is this: I know how it should be done. I cannot say with any degree of sincerity that I know the perfect way to approach someone as a bottom. I don't ask strangers to send me used feminine hygiene products, you understand – but I'm guessing that my approach is probably a bit on the blunt side. (My initial offer to Max: "I'll bottom to you if you bottom to me." Once he picked his jaw up off the floor, he took me up on exactly half of that invitation.)
However, when it comes to entrancing and enticing potential submissives, well, my kung fu is the best. It should be, I've spent years polishing it. So when I'm on the receiving end of a really bungled pass, I am possessed by the outraged spirit of Cyrano De Bergerac. "Oh, what you could have said!" These weedy fly-bitten popinjays, these pribbling clumsy clay-brained miscreants – how dare they think they can share the same job title as me? How dare they presume to use the word dominant? Their sin's not accidental, but a trade.
See what I mean? I get all indignant just thinking about it. So you're on notice: if I receive, in the wake of this post, any stupid emails from witless wanna-bees asking to spank me, I will publish them here - including the email address – and I will, of course, rip the author to shreds for the entertainment of everyone. You've been warned.
My open secret? Mistress Matisse is a switch. (What the hell is a switch?)
Lots of people know this about me – all of my friends, a fair number of my clients, and many, many random kinky strangers who've seen me playing with Max at various parties and leather conferences. But I have made only the briefest of references to this fact in my column, and I haven't talked about it here at all, and I have my reasons for that.
It's not that I'm worried about how other SM people will see me. Being a switch is not at all remarkable in the SM community. There are very, very few tops who have never bottomed at all, I've only met about four or five that I know of. (Max is one of them, interestingly enough.) I personally know a number of folks who, while perceived as badass tops by most people, say they would bottom in a second if they met the right person.
But outside the community, being a switch is a bit like being bisexual. The uninformed tend to assume that means your inclinations are split 50/50, and you like one role just as well as the other. Perhaps true for some - definitely not so for me. I don't think of myself as a submissive, and I'm definitely not a slave. Most of the pomp and ceremony of what people call D/s doesn't impress me as a top, and the idea of doing it as a bottom makes me laugh - I don't write my name in lowercase, and I'm not about to call anyone "Master". I have topped literally thousands of people. I can count the number of people I've bottomed to on two hands. That should tell you all you need to know about how I'm wired.
So what I really am is a top with a masochistic streak. My tastes are highly specific, and I'm quite selective about who I'll allow to provide the stimuli that I enjoy. Max happens to be very, very good at giving me what I like – probably because it's what he likes, too. Someone asked a few days ago how we handled being two-tops-in-love. Now you know...
While I'm not very good at the submissive thing, I do try to be polite while Max indulges our mutual kinky tastes. However, the physical stress of our play can strain even my deeply-rooted sense of courtesy, and so I don't always succeed. Fortunately, he seems to find it amusing when I scream curses at him while we play, even if it's in a crowded dungeon, like, say – Thunder in the Mountains. One might even suspect that he enjoys provoking me to such lengths, since he is such a sadistic son-of-a-bitch. (Kiss! Love you, darling!) But his pleasure is based on the fact that he knows I'm enjoying it, too – even if I have an unusual way of showing it.
The main reason I don't publish much writing about this side of my kinkysex life is this: I am generally able to regard with weary patience the emails and phone calls I get from strange people importuning me to be their Mistress. I don't mean the folks seeking professional appointments, I mean the will-you-have-a-relationship-with-me guys. True, I have occasional bursts of irritation. But most of the time, I have some compassion in my heart for such people, and I try not to treat them too roughly.
However, I find myself without any compassion for strangers who send me emails that say things like this:
I WANT TO MAKE YOU MY ANAL SEX SLAVE !! I WANNA STRAP YOU DOWN, BLINDFOLD YOU , GAG YOU , SPANK YOU AND FUCK YOUR SWEET ASS WITH MY BIG, FAT , MONSTER COCK OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN !!!
And that's a relatively good-natured one.
I think the reason why electronic assaults by clueless poltroons who call themselves "Master" annoy me more than the grotesque entreaties of people like the Tampon Guy is this: I know how it should be done. I cannot say with any degree of sincerity that I know the perfect way to approach someone as a bottom. I don't ask strangers to send me used feminine hygiene products, you understand – but I'm guessing that my approach is probably a bit on the blunt side. (My initial offer to Max: "I'll bottom to you if you bottom to me." Once he picked his jaw up off the floor, he took me up on exactly half of that invitation.)
However, when it comes to entrancing and enticing potential submissives, well, my kung fu is the best. It should be, I've spent years polishing it. So when I'm on the receiving end of a really bungled pass, I am possessed by the outraged spirit of Cyrano De Bergerac. "Oh, what you could have said!" These weedy fly-bitten popinjays, these pribbling clumsy clay-brained miscreants – how dare they think they can share the same job title as me? How dare they presume to use the word dominant? Their sin's not accidental, but a trade.
See what I mean? I get all indignant just thinking about it. So you're on notice: if I receive, in the wake of this post, any stupid emails from witless wanna-bees asking to spank me, I will publish them here - including the email address – and I will, of course, rip the author to shreds for the entertainment of everyone. You've been warned.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Police in the Florida Keys are mystified by a bizarre new pastime — young people dangling themselves from meat hooks on a popular sandbar.
I think I'd try to find a more secluded spot, but that's just me. Maybe the Florida cops should consult with Fakir Musafar, who could explain to them exactly why people are doing this. I've never done a full hook suspension, but I've done an energy pull, and one of these days I'm going to have to do it again... Me and the flesh hooks, Part One...
And Part Two...
I think I'd try to find a more secluded spot, but that's just me. Maybe the Florida cops should consult with Fakir Musafar, who could explain to them exactly why people are doing this. I've never done a full hook suspension, but I've done an energy pull, and one of these days I'm going to have to do it again... Me and the flesh hooks, Part One...
And Part Two...
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
What nice comments on my previous entry…So yes, I will talk about Thunder, but I'm too brain-fried from my weekend to write coherently about that right now. Perhaps tomorrow…
Meanwhile, I'm listening to my voicemails. I cleared them twice while I was gone, but still, the phone messages stack up fast…
YOU HAVE 13 NEW MESSAGES. PRESS 1 TO HEAR MESSAGES.
Beep!
"Hi, Matisse, it's Pete, just following up on our email. I'll definitely see you Thursday at 2. Oh, I have a request, if you don't mind? Would you wear that PVC skirt and the boots that lace up? You look so hot in that. I'm looking forward to seeing you again. Bye."
END OF MESSAGE.
It's so nice to have good regulars.
Beep!
"Hi, my name is John. I'm going to be in Seattle this weekend and wanted to know about an appointment for Saturday night at around 8. My cell number is XXX-XXXX, area code, XXX. Give me a call."
END OF MESSAGE.
He sounds nice enough – but he didn't read my webpage, bad boy. It states "Monday through Friday" quite clearly. The trouble with guys who don't read the webpage is that not only do they not know my schedule, they often don't know a lot of other things – like what I will and won't do, for example. I may call him back and tell him my schedule and see if he wants to do a weekday appointment. Or I may not, depending on how busy I am.
Beep!
"Hi. This is Bob. I want to see you. Call me at XXX-XXXX."
END OF MESSAGE.
There's a flat, staccato tone to this guy's voice that I don't like. He speaks as if his sentences don't have any relationship to each other, like someone repeating the sounds of a foreign language that they don't really understand. It's not a good sign, and I've learned to always go with my gut response to stuff like this.
Beep!
"Hello? Hello? Are you there? Is anyone there? Can you hear me? Hello?"
END OF MESSAGE.
Jesus, what decade is this guy living in? Answering machines where you can screen calls are like dinosaurs these days. He sounds like an old guy, though, so if he calls back we'll cut him a little slack. I like older guys. My oldest client ever: seventy-seven. And horny as hell, no blue pills required.
Beep!
"Hi. This is Bob. I called earlier. Call me soon. XXX-XXXX."
END OF MESSAGE.
Oh, that's not good. I check the time of this message and it's about an hour after the first one. I don't like that.
Beep!
Ooooooo Mistress, I wanna suck your –"
MESSAGE DELETED.
Beep!
Hello, Mistress, it's Andrew. I saw you once before about two months ago and I'd love to see you again. I don't know if you remember me or not, but I was the guy who brought you a wooden cutting board and you spanked me with it. Can you call me – discreetly – at my work number, XXX-XXXX, after 11am tomorrow? That would be great. Thanks, bye."
END OF MESSAGE.
I do remember him, he was a sweetie, and I loved the originality of the cutting-board-as-paddle. Top of the call-back list for Andrew.
Beep!
"Hi. This is Bob again. Please call me at XXX-XXXX."
END OF MESSAGE.
Forty minutes since his last message. Bob is definitely creeping me out.
Beep!
"Hi, Matisse, my dear, it's James. I just wanted to tell you what a wonderful time I had with you last week. You're a beautiful lady and I really enjoy our time together. Oh, and I know you were a little concerned about that bruise on my cock, but I don't want you to worry, it's gotten much smaller and it's not terribly sore at all. You know I've done worse just playing around by myself. So don't worry, I'm tough, and I wouldn't change a thing about our scene. Take care and I'll see you soon."
END OF MESSAGE.
Oh, how sweet of James to call and reassure me. Cock and ball torture is a favorite of mine, and when I'm playing with someone who likes it as much as I do, occasionally we get so enthusiastic that, well, there are bruises. I always worry about this when it happens. I've never done any long-lasting damage to anyone, and I'd like to keep it that way. But James is an experienced CBT practitioner and, like many boys who enjoy heavy CBT, he's tried out a lot of creative and extreme forms of that art on himself. So I do trust his judgment, and I'm sure he's got the situation well in hand. (Yes, I had to say it.)
Beep!
"Hello. This is Bob. I called before. I really want to see you. Call me back at–"
MESSAGE DELETED.
No, Bob, I will not be calling you, because nothing says, "I'm a serious weirdo!" like calling me every half-hour.
Beep!
"Hi, Mistress Matisse, my name is Brandy, I was wondering if you were hiring assistants right now? If you are could you please call me back at XXX-XXXX? Thanks a lot, bye."
END OF MESSAGE.
Sorry, Brandy - not now, not ever.
Beep!
"Hello. My number is XXX-XXXX. Please call me."
END OF MESSAGE.
Ah-ha. Bob's trying a different tack – leaving a number without a name. I don't return calls like that anyway - but there's no disguising that Thorazine voice of his.
Beep!
"Oh, um, hi, this is John. I called before asking about a Saturday appointment, and then I read on your webpage that you don't do weekend appointments, so I feel kinda dumb. So would you be available on Monday? You can call me at XXX-XXX-XXXX. Sorry about the confusion earlier."
END OF MESSAGE.
I'm charmed by this message. I look favorably upon people who cop to mistakes, and what a nicely contrite tone of voice, too. Okay, John, you made it to call-back list. I do like a man who's trainable.
Monday, July 19, 2004
Just a quickie...Thunder was great, as always. We're on a plane home tomorrow, (later today, really) and I'll have to spend some time de-kinking the house before the Maternal Invasion begins on Tuesday. But I will find time to write some about my weekend.
But before I sit down to write about what I did at Thunder, I will have to settle an internal debate about just how much information about my personal kinky proclivities I'm going to disclose here. (My friends will know exactly what I mean by this.) The jury is still out...but I'm leaning towards telling you some things about me that may surprise or confuse the less BDSM-savvy among you. Stay tuned for revelations.
But before I sit down to write about what I did at Thunder, I will have to settle an internal debate about just how much information about my personal kinky proclivities I'm going to disclose here. (My friends will know exactly what I mean by this.) The jury is still out...but I'm leaning towards telling you some things about me that may surprise or confuse the less BDSM-savvy among you. Stay tuned for revelations.
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