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.