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It's linky goodness…

This week's column and Kink Calendar.

I noticed that I actually didn't post a link to last week's column, so here's that…

Note to self: buy yellow bandanna for Sean Nelson.

What am I thinking about current events….?

I think I'm appalled that the Supreme Court is trampling all over the 5th Amendment.

I think I want this book.

Would I burn a flag myself? No. Do I want the Constitution amended to ban it? No.

I'm not a big Tom Cruise fan, I think he's acting seriously weird lately, and I think the whole Katie Holmes thing is a sham. But my sympathy is entirely with him in the matter of this guy squirting water into his face. I think he handled it completely appropriately. (Click "Watch Now!" to see the video.)

I am thrilled that the AMA is going to take action on the infuriating issue of pharmacists refusing to fill prescriptions – and sometimes refusing to even return them to the patient. They damn well should. Pharmacists lecturing their customers about their legally-prescribed drugs? Fucking outrageous!

I have fond memories of riding down Broadway on the back of my girlfriend's Virago in the "Dykes On Bikes" segment of the march, and so I like the idea of Gay Pride on Capitol Hill. But I refuse to get agitated about it. I'll be out of town this year, anyway. But to all of you who go: Happy Pride Day!

I was going to write something desperately clever for today, but I'm too bloody tired. It's been sort of non-stop lately, and looking at my calendar, that's going to continue for a few more days.

I have some sweet boys to torment today, and then I'm shooting with Tommy Edwards tomorrow. And let me tell you, posing for Tommy is work. Or an experience in masochism, or something. He twists you into some insane pose, says "Don't move", and then starts twiddling with the lights, while you're standing there in four-inch heels with your shoulder where your kidneys usually are, every major muscle group trembling with the effort of holding the position.

But then when you see yourself in the photo, the pose looks so natural, as if you were perfectly relaxed and at ease. Such is Tommy's brand of painful magic. He's extremely good at what he does.

Saturday evening I'm going to a new erotic event being put on by my pal Jeff Hengst and his Little Red Studio troupe. I'm actually taking Roman to that instead of Max, since Max already had a play date booked with a certain dark-haired elfin cutie. And that's sort of sweet, since Saturday is actually the one-year anniversary of my first date with Roman.

And then on Sunday Roman and I are going off to spend two days alone, here.



We'd decided we wanted to spend a weekend at a very private little cottage somewhere. I was originally thinking of a renting a beach house, but I ran across the website for this little mountain cabin on the Skykomish river and liked the looks of it. It's quite secluded, which was a big selling point. We're going spend two days just relaxing and hanging out in quiet and privacy.

(With maybe just a little noisy Vulcan Klingon sex.)

(Okay, maybe a lot.)

Anyway, Roman's been menu-planning for days, since he is the designated chef. It's a good thing I'm shooting before we go, because I bet we both gain a pound or two. The cabin has an internet connection, so perhaps we'll do a weekend update. Or maybe not, if we're all tied up.

Sex-Positive? I Don't Think So.

So, Max and I sat down last night to watch a short video. It was a taped episode of a show on the Playboy Channel, Sexetera, and one part of it featured some riggers down in the Bay Area, the Two Knotty Boys. They've been around for a while, so of course we've heard of them, and Max has met them (or at least one of them, I'm not sure). They teach rope bondage classes and do demos like Max does, so he was interested to see the segment.

Anyway, the Knotty Boys themselves seemed cool. But jesus, the "reporter" the Playboy channel had doing the segment was the single most annoying woman I have ever seen. She acted like a classic ditzy blonde, and she talked in a very affected, fakey manner, over-emphasizing too many words and wiggling her eyebrows "suggestively" with every sentence she uttered.

And her behavior towards the people she was interviewing - the Knotty Boys, the bondage models, and the spectators - was really bothersome to Max and I. She asked inane questions, made dumb remarks and laughed inappropriately. And then, while one of the Knotty Boys was doing a suspension on someone, she picked up the long cord of the mike she was holding and whipped him on the butt with it.

Oh. My. God. I about fell off the couch. That is so incredibly rude, that is so unbelievably offensive, and that is so NOT what BDSM is about. "Gee, I have this cord in my hand and there's someone standing with his back to me. He hasn't agreed to this, and I don't have the slightest reason to believe that he'd like it, but I'm just gonna whack him with it anyway." Jesus, that pissed me off.

So Max and I shook our heads about that, and congratulated the Knotty Boy in question for not immediately turning around and smacking her back, since she'd demonstrated that she didn't see the need to bother with negotiation or consent. Stupid cow.

Then - oh, that regretted moment - we decided to fast-forward to another segment, about an outfit in Florida that throws fetish parties. And to cover that story, they sent not one, but two of the most annoying men I have ever seen on TV. Two youngish frat-house types, incapable of finishing a sentence without larding it with lame double-entendres. They were sniggering and elbowing each other ceaselessly as they walked around the fetish party - which looked to me a lot like a kinky swingers party, as opposed to what I would think of as a dungeon party. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

But their whole mien was "Oooo, lookit the freaks!" Of course, for the special interview, they found a person whose BDSM experience is guaranteed to totally squick Hometown America: a castration fetishist. Now, I'm sure he's a perfectly decent person, but a guy who actually has had his balls cut off in a scene is really not representative of the BDSM community as a whole. In all my years as a pervert, I've never met anyone who really did the castration thing, and honey, if I ain't seen it, it ain't typical.

After they finished flipping out over him - "Dude, you had your balls cut off? No way! Dude, that's like, crazy, man! Did it, like, hurt so good? Hyuh hyuh hyuh!" - then they walked around the party some more, tried to talk to people who were playing, and pointed the camera at all the boobies they could find. And, oh, of course, they also went up to random people and hit them. Naturally.

So, gee, Playboy, thanks for being so insulting and portraying us as freaks and weirdos. If anyone needs a nonconsensual whack on the ass, it's you.

Various

I've got a busy week lined up - I know: a busy week? Me? Who'd a-thunk it? (Oh, just everyone who knows me, that's all.) And I wasn't at all happy about beginning it by being caught in the downtown traffic jam caused by the Federal Courthouse shooting. (Or, I should say: caused by the cops having the streets all blocked off around the courthouse.)

Apparently the guy who got shot was known by police - there was a story about him in Real Change not long ago, and he contributed to a blog called The Hate Male Post. If you want to read it, it's a blogspot site, just backspace out mistressmatisse in the window up there and type in hatemalepost. But I'm not linking to it because I don't want them tracing the traffic to me. I have a feeling we wouldn't get along so well.

No one stuck in the gridlock knew what was going on - a fire? A bomb? Anthrax mail? A pop star on trial for child molestation? But whatever the crisis was, I was determined to fight my way through to my hair salon on 6th avenue. I mean, a girl has her priorities. But I do admit, at one point, to thinking, I hope this isn't like the first half hour of one of those disaster movies, where all the portents of doom seem trivial, and and then Godzilla or the aliens or whoever shows up and things start exploding and buildings start falling over. That would suck.

But no alien attack today, and I got my hair done, so life is good. (For me, anyway. Not such a good day for ol' Perry. But hey, if you walk into the courthouse holding a hand grenade, you cannot expect the armed guards to smile and wish you good day.)

In other news...

As a protest about the many impossibly pretentious, not to mention badly written, BDSM personal ads, a clever LiveJournaler wrote this hilarious ditty...

Ever wondered about how to get started doing phone sex? I've never done it myself - not professionally, anyway - and I understand it's not the cash cow it used be back in the eighties, but here's some advice from an expert.

It's gross, but it still makes me smile.

Guys, do not sign up. Do not give them your picture, and most importantly, do not give them any money.

On the other hand... I tried to read this and it sort of made my brain hurt, so I stopped. Perhaps I lack holistic consciousness.

I just want to mention that in spite of my having caught her at a bad angle in that blown-up snippet yesterday, Miss Candy is, in fact, a smokin' babe. She's modeling for Miss Rose Algren's new line of fetishwear that's due to hit the street - or rather, the web - any day now, so look for that.

Gossipy

It's Monday again, after a all-too-brief weekend. It was fun, though. Max and I went to a party over at a friend's house Saturday night. It was a good party, with lots of my favorite pals, and I had a good time, in spite of some unusual incidents. You see, we had two women pass out – one of them twice!

That's definitely not a common occurrence. You can read Miss Candy's account of her faints here. Candy is no weak sister – the girl's a personal trainer, for Chrissake, she is strong. And Rossi, the other swooner, is a tough little high-capacity player, too. But vasovagal syncope does sometimes rear its ugly head in kinky situations, and you need to be prepared for it. That's why Max always talks about when he teaches bondage classes.

It's easier when you've got a bunch of people around to help, of course, and everything was fine, no one fell down or was hurt. But three faints in one night – that's wild, I can't ever remember that happing at any play party I've ever been to before.

And of course it had to happen when Roman had invited along two new kids in the community, a very sweet male/female couple who've been coming around the bondage parties and such for a while. They were among the 58 people I kissed a few months ago, and I must say, they were a highlight. They're still pretty new at this, and it was their first private play party. We assured them that fainting trilogies were not common, really. I hope they believed us. Yeesh.




Here's snapshot of the double rope suspension, taken shortly before poor Rossi (on the left) passed out. This is a pretty rigorous position - they are actually up off the floor here, in case you can't tell. Lots of pressure on the chest, and being tied back-to-back like this with someone almost forces you to lock your knees. I'm guessing that Griffin and Max will be thinking of ways to do a modified version of this position that's more sustainable, because passing out is really not the goal here.

As a side note: look at this blown-up snippet from the corner of the shot; it's Roman and Candy!

Omigod, they're demons! They look like the stars of "Village of The Damned: Ten Years After". Maybe they were using their evil psychic powers to torment those poor cute almost-naked girls. You think?)

But as I said, in spite of all that, it was a fun party. Malixe gave me an awesome massage that turned me into a puddle, but I revived with some of J's birthday cake. (It was a pretty high-calorie evening, considering Max and I had gone to dinner before the party with Roman and his wife, and the two New Kids – and we went to yet another great pizza place Roman has turned me on to: Madame K's, over in Ballard. Cake, pizza – jesus, and you people wonder why I spend so much time at the gym.)

I got to give my pal Shane a hug – he's soon to move to Hawaii, and he and his sweetie will be missed here. I saw Jake, and his very sweet date. (But darlin', you really shouldn't tell a roomful of perverts like us that you're a yoga teacher. It just gives us nasty ideas about what kind of ultra-flexible things you could do.)

But I was glad Jake was next to us when Candy fainted. Muscular guy that he is, he was strong enough to hold her up with ease while Max got her out of the corset.

I have a fun bunch of friends, and I'm quite grateful for that. There's something really nice about going to a party where you know you don't have to be "on", you can just relax and hang out with people who know you and like you, even when you don't have your thigh-high boots on.