Some Brief Observations En Route, In Chronological Order…

1. Whatever type of drugs the guys who work at the MasterPark lot in Seattle are taking, I want some. It was still dark outside when we were getting on the shuttle to the airport, and those guys were a) abnormally cheerful, and b) slinging my 70-pound suitcase around like they were having a pillow fight. Unbelievable…

2. Speaking of drugs…I’m not a big fan of cartoons, but even in a deep Xanax-induced haze, with no sound, the movie “A Sharks Tale” looks amusing. Perhaps I will actually see it sometime when I’m not on a plane, and am thus coherent.

3. The 3-hour stretch of Highway 16 in between Macon and Savannah is the most empty, boring, godforsaken stretch of nothing I’ve ever seen. I’ve been driving it at least once a year for fifteen years now, and it looks exactly the same – like the flat, brown, ass-end of nowhere. There are hardly any radio stations, and god knows there's no cell signal. It’s the kind of thing that makes you want to stick your head out the window of the car to see if the wheels are really moving, because the landscape just doesn’t look any different.

4. Tybee Island, Georgia doesn’t look much different than it did fifteen years ago either. I can’t decide if this is charming or scary. This is a town my brother once described as being “kinda like Mayberry on acid.” And he’s right.

5. Atlanta, on the other hand, looks different every time I see it. It’s a bitch because I rely on landmarks (turn right at the Publix next to that big blue building with the awning) to remember how to get to my mother’s house, and if they keep building and changing stuff, that system is going to go to hell.

6. My mom generally asks me about twice per visit if Max and I have any plans to get married. She’s already done so once this trip. But she was very sweet about, really, so I don’t mind…

So, here I am at my father’s house in beautiful, sunny coastal Georgia, the food is great, the people are nice, and I’m going nuts because I have to use a DIAL-UP internet connection. I think I’ve lived in Seattle too long to ever leave.

I’ll be driving back up to Atlanta tomorrow, which, while it’s slap in the middle of The Redneck Heaven State, now seems like a futuristic paradise compared to the Beach Town That Time Forgot where my dad lives. Why couldn’t he have lived on Hiltonhead, for god’s sake? My mother, at least, has a wireless network.

Meanwhile, if you didn’t see it on Monk’s blog, here’s that local-access TV thingie he and I both appeared on a couple of weeks ago, Sex Life Live with Dane Ballard. I come on about halfway through the show for the part where I talk a bit, and then later I sort of help Monk tie up Dane. It's amusing.

Be aware, though, even with high-speed, it’ll take a while to download. I suggest you click on the link, and then pause the video and go do something else while it loads. I mean like - have dinner or something. The file is big, and the server is clearly not very fast.

And now I should post this before the connection craps out on me. More soon, I hope...

So, as I mentioned, I'm going to be out of town - in Georgia, to be exact, visiting my family for a week. I'm leaving tomorrow, so I should be packing right now, except I think I'm still in some type of denial that I'm really getting on a plane and (more or less) voluntarily going to the place I regard as the Birthplace of All Things Redneck. Jesus.

Still, it's better than having them come here. When I go there, it's simpler to get myself into the appropriate mom-visiting headspace, which is: I do anything she wants. Yes, it's true: my mother is more dominant than I am.

I'm not giving her what she really wants, you understand, which is for me to move back to Georgia, preferably into a house not more than a mile away from her. I have gently informed my mother that if it somehow came down to: either I join the National Guard, or I move back to Georgia - well, then I'd be off buying body armor with my signing bonus.

So that's not going to happen. But otherwise, when I visit, whatever she wants to do, I do it. It's just my way of saying, "Hey, thanks for not drowning me at birth." Because now that I'm a grown-up myself, and I reflect back upon some of my childhood antics, I feel sure there must have been times when that seemed, just a moment, like a lost opportunity.

And God knows I learned some very effective getting-my-way techniques from her. It's just that she's the one person in the world I can't use them on.

I'll have the laptop with me, so there will be updates throughout the week, although probably not every day...So stay tuned for scenes from "A Seattle Dominatrix in Zell Millers's Court."

Linky Goodness…

The new column and the Kink Calendar are up, so check those out…

Apparently I've been nominated – a couple of time – for a BOB Award. (That's Best Of Blog.) I seem to have a lot of company, but still, that's nice. Plus, the link-list of the other nominees makes for interesting surfing.

An award I hope I never get: The Literary Review Bad Sex award, given for "the worst description of sex in a contemporary novel." This year's winner, Tom Wolfe, declined the invitation to accept the award and his prize, a statue (of what, I do not know) and a bottle of champagne.

I've read a bit about this before, but it's nice to see the history of the vibrator making mainstream news…In the "Health Features" section, no less. (Link snagged from Amorous Propensities)

A note to clients - I'm out of town from the 20th to the 27th. I'll be checking email at least daily and phone messages every couple of days, so if you'd like to see me after I get back, drop me a note, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.

Speaking of travel – I'm looking for suggestions. I've got two trips in mind for the late winter/early spring, and I'd be pleased to hear ideas from ya'll.

Trip number one: a low-key weekend getaway – so, let's say someplace less than four hours drive from Seattle. Something on the Oregon coast, maybe? I had in mind something like a cabin or a cottage, rather than a hotel, something on the beach or in woods, that kinda scenario. Something rather private and quiet - comfortable, but not necessarily fancy.

Trip number two: I've never been to Mexico. (Well, Tijuana, but that doesn't really count.) So I was thinking about a vacation down there, but I don't know where to go. And finding the right destination is going to be tough, because I'd be quite happy to lie on an empty beach with a drink in my hand and read trashy novels for a few days, but Max would quickly get bored with that – he likes to do things on a vacation, and he generally prefer a more metropolitan atmosphere.

Of course, Miss K and I have been saying for several years we should go on a vacation somewhere warm together, so it may wind up like that…Not as sexy as going with Max, but good best-friend-bonding time.

Either way, for this trip I'm not looking for anything too rustic - I don't speak Spanish, and I'll go into withdrawal if I can't check my email everyday, so no remote villages with mud huts.

Ideas?

Lucky Girl

I write a lot about the silliness I deal with from would-be clients via the phone and email, to amuse both myself and you.

But what I don't write about as often is how really, really fabulous my regular clients are. I'm always aware of what wonderful guys I have, but I'm thinking of it more than usual right now, because I have been on the receiving end of some incredibly sweet and thoughtful gifts lately. Between my birthday last month, and now Christmas presents, several of my favorite boys have turned up with gifts that they obviously took a lot of time and trouble over, from the careful choices to the pretty wrapping (that they did themselves!). It's immensely touching to me that they did that for me. I've gotten great books, a plushy, velvety-soft black bathrobe, David Yurman jewelry, a vintage camera and some lenses, a bunch of high-end electrical toys, and a beautiful bustier, not to mention more than the usual amount of flowers, candy and wine. One of my best boys has actually offered to send Max and I on a trip to New York. (And I know he means it!) How amazing is that?

And even the less-traditional things touch me – one sweet boy turned up with a bunch of gorgeous tomatoes in the wake of my post about them. I like it when people pay attention to what I say and use that knowledge to do something I'd like.

And you know, it's not the things themselves that are so important, although they're quite nice. I'm just so touched that my clients would go out of their way to do this for me. They don't have to. You don't need to buy me presents to be a favorite of mine. That only requires that you treat me with respect, behave towards me with integrity, and communicate honestly. (It also helps if we have big fun playing together.) That's what I want from my boys. And having guys who give me that, and bring me lovely presents…Well, it just really knocks me out sometimes.

I always say I don't believe in luck. We make our luck – it's called hard work. But when I look at what sweet boys I have, I have to admit – I think there's some plain old good luck involved here…

Okay, who remembers the Top Secret Date? I've gotten a few plaintive emails about this, but not until now could the secret be revealed. So here it is:

Yeah, that's a plaster dick. It's made from a mold of an actual person, though, and that person is, of course – Roman.

(Now, I have to do a sidebar here. Would those of you have not yet figured out that Roman = Monk of Twisted Monk please raise your hands? Okay, you, you, and you over there, listen up: "Roman" is the pseudonym I gave Monk when we started seeing each other, and that worked fine for a while. However, lately Monk and I have decided that we actually don't care who knows our little secret anymore – we know we weren't fooling many of you, anyway. I think we'll probably continue to use the pet names we gave each other on the blogs for the sake of continuity, but yes, the secret is now officially out. Okay, back to the regularly scheduled program.)

So, at some point in the past, Roman's lovely wife had apparently made some remark to him about how it would be cool to have his dick cast in plaster. Actually, I was told there was also some conversation about having one cast in a nice flexible silicone, too – "for when he wasn't around"….And what a charming idea that is.

Loving husband that he is, Roman decided to pursue this idea as a birthday gift for her. So one fine weekend when she was out of town, he called me and said, "Hey, I'm going to go get a dick casting – wanna come with me?"
"Can I bring the video camera?" I asked.
"Sure," he replied.

So off we went to see Cosmo, plaster body-caster extraordinaire. I did indeed bring the video camera, and I've uploaded a 4-minute video clip of the adventure. The video-hosting site, Onfuego.com, isn't down with anything too sexy, so it's a pretty PG-13 version of the afternoon. (Although streaming a huge video file would be problematic for us, Roman and I are considering making the adult version available on a limited-edition DVD or something…)

Because, you see - the thing about doing a dick-casting like this is that, well, you have to be hard. (Now you see why he asked me to come along.) The unexpurgated version shows me doing various things to encourage that state – not that Roman needs much encouragement – and then tying his dick up in some nice hemp line to help him maintain the erection while he had cold, gloppy alginate goop poured all over it.

And then of course I had to offer the sweet boy some comfort while he had his dick trapped in a PVC tube full of what looked like lumpy baby food that was slowly hardening into a solid state. Mwah hah hah hah ha…I may have to get some of that stuff for the dungeon – talk about cock and ball bondage!

Luckily, Roman was able to detumesce enough to get his dick out without messing up the mold, and while art takes time, he recently took delivery of several lovely plaster replicas of himself. Mrs. Roman's response? "This is AWESOME!"
So I think that counts as a successful gift.

It's apparently a sucess art-wise, too - I understand that Cosmo will probably be displaying Roman's cock in the next Seattle Erotic Art show.

Oh, and why did he get more than one, you ask? Well, I wanted one, too, naturally. Doesn't that picture look nice, with the rope all wrapped around it?

Trust Me – I'm a Professional

This is a written version of a small rant that, for some time now, I've been delivering to my cool sex-worker friends whenever we get to talking about certain behaviors we see in the larger sex-work community. I'm quite sure they're all tired of hearing me go on about it, so hopefully posting it here will exorcise me of some of my tendency to harp about it in person. One does hate to be tedious.

There are lots of women in the world who do sexy stuff for a living, and while I support their right to do so, from a business standpoint, they are definitely not all created equal. I have a way I categorize it. To me, there are people who are professionals, and then there are what I call the "lifestyle girls".

A professional sex worker is someone who cares about doing what she does to the best of her ability, and to that end, she looks beyond the money that's in her hand right this minute. She asks herself: What about tomorrow? What about next month, next year? Where do I want to be, business-wise, and how can I make sure I get there? What are the best strategies for running my business?

Me, I'm a professional. For example, I have a schedule – it's been the same schedule for years now. My boys know when I'm available.
I have an office. Yeah, it's a dungeon – but it's my dedicated space for what I do.
I make appointments with carefully chosen clients, and unless I'm all but spurting arterial blood, I keep those appointments, on time, every time. I admit, there have been some days when I really didn't feel like playing. But I take pride in what I do, so – I get my game on, and I do it. And not in a half-assed manner, either. There is such a thing as chemistry, and I do click with some guys more than others. But if I agree to an appointment with you, and I take your money, I will do my damnedest to deliver a good experience, every time. And you know what? I usually find that I feel extra-good about myself when I can make some magic happen for someone even if I'm not feeling much like a rock star. It's deeply satisfying.

Occasionally, yes, there are unforeseeable circumstances that are beyond my control. But I think I've canceled maybe five appointments in the last eight years. (And it goes without saying that I do not "no-show".) This is the way I run my business, because I am a professional person.

The lifestyle girls, well – that's a different story. That's what I call the women who derive their income from sex work, but who seem to just drift from moment to moment, without any kind of plan about what they're doing. They don't run their business in any ongoing, organized manner, it seems to revolve around whatever the next financial crisis is. The rent is due tomorrow? Oh, guess I better try to work tonight.

So they put a post up on Craig's List, shove their kid's toys under the living room couch, and start sending out their address via email. Or they get a motel room, or whatever. And some guy shows up, and maybe they do what they said they would, or maybe they just try to get as much money as they can, while doing as little as possible. She doesn't take any pride in what she's doing, he sure as hell isn't made happy by his experience, and because the whole thing just doesn't feel right, she tries to numb the critical part of her brain by drinking or getting high. And, as financial responsibilities inevitably come due, the cycle repeats over and over. Unprofessional sex worker has unhappy interactions with dissatisfied clients and resorts to unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with it all. Not good.

Now, on an emotional level, I have some compassion for people who, for whatever reason, are caught up in negative patterns of behavior. There are a lot people doing sex work who, though they are not emotionally equipped for it, feel like they have no other acceptable options. I think that's a damn shame.

But on a professional level, these women drive me nuts. Not the truly desperate ones, you understand – the girls on the street, or the really low-end escorts – because I don't ever have any contact with them. But I have dealt with a lot of other women from what I call "the middle-class of sex workers". Nice girls, who were plenty smart enough, and pretty enough, to create a safe and stable business that would support them comfortably.

But a lot of them just can't seem to do it. They'll go along all right for a few weeks, and then you begin hearing about the problems. They make appointments and then cancel them at the last minute, or just fail to show up at all. They don't return calls or emails to make new appointments. If they do see clients, they don't fulfill the job description, and the client is unhappy. Word of all these things spreads a bit, and the phone doesn't ring as often.
And then they realize that, oh shit, the power is going to be shut off if they don't pay the bill right now! So they panic, and in that state of panic they accept a date with a client who, if they were thinking clearly, they would know better than to go anywhere near. They have an unpleasant experience – anything from just emotionally icky to downright dangerous – and coping with that just sets them back even further on the road to stability and physical/emotional safety as a sex worker.

Over the years that I've been doing sex work, I have watched so many different women go through this loop so many times, I can now spot it a mile away. When I was younger and more optimistic, I used to try to mentor women who were engaged in the cycle. I mean, it didn't seem like rocket science to me. Plan ahead, I'd say. Figure out how much money you need to make each week to meet your bills. Schedule yourself days on and days off, so you don't get either burned out or too far behind.

Yeah, that's a good idea, they'd reply. And then the next week they'd tell me about how they blew off an appointment because they were so stoned they forgot about it. Oh, and could they borrow a hundred dollars to pay the phone bill?

I realize I may be coming off like some kind of sex work Uncle Tom here, but that's not what I'm about. There are lots of smart, together women doing sex work. It's just frustrating to watch people squander an economic opportunity for no discernable reason. I'm not saying anyone should do anything they don't want to do. It's crucial to figure out where your personal boundaries lie and work within them. But allowing for that, choosing to stay perpetually on the edge of financial crisis, even though you're capable of generating an adequate income, is inconceivable to me. Why the hell would you do that?

So now when I see someone who's in the lifestyle loop, I just steer very clear of any involvement with them. It may seem callous, but it's like that old adage about teaching a pig to sing. I'm not so concerned about annoying the pig, but I definitely dislike having my time wasted.

Google searches that have led people to this blog:

Some are pretty predictable - but I'm guessing I'm not exactly what some of these folks were originally looking for...

This person's quite specific: Pictures of complete humiliation of men in dresses & lingerie by women

This is so not me: High Protocol in BDSM?

Some people need me to do a fashion intervention, it's true. Mistress Haircut Forced

Everyone has their fetish: Odd shaped dicks

I really hope they meant "chosen family": Family in BDSM

I'm down with this concept, although the porn-speak seems a little over the top: severus bondage oh god yes more yes yes yes

Eeeeeewww: DOG FUCK GRANNY

Oh, this is weird: wanna know jesus livejournal

Depends on what you mean by small: small money investment

Some seriously off-topic results: Candy making classes seattle

Last night, Roman talked dirty to me in the voice of Yoda. "Mmnn, daddy, who is your?" "Very sexy ass have you, mmnn!"
My abdominal muscles hurt from laughing so hard. And maybe from some other isometric stresses as well...

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After dinner and a bitch session with Miss K, we came up with…

Five Ways To Really Annoy Sex Workers*

Miss K says…When calling about an appointment, ask them "Are you clean?" Oh yeah, 'cause if she did have the clap or something, she would definitely tell you about that, since you asked. Right. And we're not even a little offended by the suggestion that we're so unclean, while your hound-doggin' ass is somehow presumed to be all sanctified, even though you've been dipping your wick who-knows-where.

She also says…When calling about an appointment, ask them, "Is this discreet?" Yeah, we know so many ladies have a big neon sign over their door saying, "This Way For Pussy! C'mon In!" And publishing your client's names in the newspaper is such a good way to create repeat business, isn't it? What smart business woman wouldn't do that?

We both agree you shouldn't…Haggle over price. Do we really need to talk about this? Tacky, tacky, tacky.

My pet peeve…Require major emotional handholding prior to the session. If you want to do three (or more) separate phone calls with me to process your feelings of anxiety and guilt before you've ever even seen me, you don't need a dominatrix, you need a shrink. Or a nursemaid. Grow some balls, and then call me back.

Also high on my bullshit list…Ask for something, then flip out about it afterwards. If you get all hot and bothered and ask me to (for example) piss on you, don't start freaking out on me after the session is over and trying to say I shouldn't have done that. You're responsible for what you say, even if it's the little head that's doing the talking.

While we're dispensing advice, Miss K would also like to mention that while going down on a woman, you should swallow your own saliva occasionally, so that your partner doesn't wind up lying in a puddle of drool. She doesn't find that erotic, and I can't say I blame her. I've not ever had that problem, but then – I'm usually on top.

*(Okay, now, if you're one of my good regular boys, don't go off into a tailspin just because I'm having a snarky moment. Don't take any of this personally, none of this means I don't like you. If I'm seeing you, assume that I think you're cool. If you weren't, I'd let you know about it, trust me.)

No video clip today, sorry. Video clips will return next week, though...For now, some links and a bit of poly discussion.

I did an email interview with an e-zine called, "All Things Girl" a while back, and it's up on the site now. It won't tell you, my regular readers, anything you don't know already. But I was surprised by the fact that a pretty mainstream site would want to publish something like an interview with a dominatrix. We must be making some progress somewhere.

This guy always makes me laugh. Which is good, because otherwise I'd be screaming.

Unusual But True: I was once (legally) married to one of the guys on this page.

Interesting webpage about secondary partnerships in poly. I agree with a lot of what's written here, but there's one passage that I choke on...

"When I am in a relationship with one person, I am in a relationship with all the other people that person is involved with, especially the primary partner(s)--even if there is no romantic connection between us!"

Nope, I'm not down with that idea. I'm much more in line with the "Passionate Marriage" concept of well-differentiated partners. That means: I'm one person, Max is another. We're lovers, we're partners, we have a primary commitment to each other. But that doesn't mean we are thus morphed into one socio-sexual unit. Max is friendly with Roman, for example. But he isn't having "a relationship" with him, any more than I'm having one with Maura. Max and I adore each other, but we're two separate people, and I view with extreme skepticism any notion that tries to blur us into one entity. (Hell, if we wanted to do that, we'd get married.)

The author goes on to say...
"When one partner has problems with a poly relationship, it can tend to negatively affect a secondary partner, creating unhappiness for everyone. Compassion demands that everyone involved work to resolve any resentment that may exist on the part of any of the members of a primary relationship toward the secondary relationship."

I agree that serious problems shouldn't be ignored, and I agree that secondary partners should always be treated with courtesy and kindness by the primary. (And vice versa, for that matter.)
But I reject the idea that a poly-related problem in the primary relationship must necessarily affect the secondary. Max and I have resolved any number of hiccups in our poly without having to hold a three-way committee meeting about it. The secondary partner in question never even knew there was a problem at all, and that was fine, because it wasn't their dog. It was between Max and I. This is what I call "having good boundaries". If I have a problem, it's mine to deal with, and likewise, I expect other people to deal with theirs. Ask for help from your lovers? Sure, that's fine. But I don't accept what I see as a "my problem is everybody's problem" attitude.

So the workshop yesterday went very well…Workshop days are always busy ones for me, and yesterday was especially so because Maura, Max's submissive, injured her hand lately and was unable to help us the way she usually does. Max and I have a deal, you see – when one of us teaches, the other acts as stage manager, assistant and general fetcher-and-carrier.

Max has been teaching these classes at the Wet Spot for over a year now, so we know the drill, and the three of us can usually set everything up in twenty minutes flat. But things do go more slowly when you only have two pairs of hands, and it's tough because many of the attendees are friends and acquaintances, and the temptation to stop and chat with them as they arrive is severe. But one has to stay focused on the set-up, or the class won't start on time. And my friends, the phrase "not on time" isn't in Max's vocabulary. I have remarked to several people that if you want to bottom to Max, there are three crucial rules to remember.

Rule Number One: Be on time.
Rule Number Two: Be on time.
Rule Number Three: Make good coffee.

The coffee part is easy to learn how to do. The Turkish say, "Coffee should be black as Hell, strong as death and sweet as love." Max doesn't take sugar, but otherwise…well, you get the picture.

The punctuality part – that seems harder to teach, but it's essential. No matter how cute or how sexy or how whatever you are, your ass better be on time, because Max takes that quite seriously. And in the finest traditions of good tops, he holds himself to an equal or greater standard of behavior. He once told me, "If I'm ever twenty minutes late for anything, call the hospital." He was kidding – a little. A very little.

So starting the workshop a few minutes late was not an option, and we were moving around pretty smartly gearing up for it. After it started, though, I got to sit down and catch my breath while Max did his thing. I like watching him, and I generally like teaching myself, but I'm lazy about creating opportunities to do it. If Toys In Babeland calls and asks me to come teach, I'm happy to do that. But producing workshops is a lot of work and I'm too damn busy already. Thus, I'm quite happy to just help Max, and get some of the pleasures of teaching with much less responsibility.

So we did the class, loaded out, and went over to Louie's for dinner, and then we came back to the Bondage Party. Max circulated, dispensing advice and technique tips, and I just lounged and chatted. I watched two friends do a suspension scene involving a nosehook (!), I was cuddled by the lovely Trinity, and then I watched Max do a complex and charmingly brutal suspension scene with a certain girl who isn't nearly as fragile as her dainty appearance would suggest.

Half the fun of that was playing commentator to the friends sitting with me. I know Max's style and habits so well that I can predict what he's going to do with a fair amount of accuracy.

"Oh, watch, he's going to do a mid-air inversion. Yep, there she goes…"

"Jesus, see how he's winding that rope around her. He's going to spin her like a top."

"Now, check this out, he'll lower her down until her feet are almost touching the floor, but not quite."

You must imagine me saying this in tones of great fondness and admiration, of course. Because I do admire skill and creativity in sadism, and my darling Max has skill, creativity and sadism to burn.

Email Silliness...

Dear Mistress,
Your website is penetrating, poignant and articulate. And indeed, You are absolutely stunning, Mistress Matisse, as You must surely know. I am a handsome and well-built 35 year old man from London. Whilst successful in the vanilla world, I crave to give it all up to live as a pathetic slave who has nothing but love and obedience towards his rightful Female Owner. And as You are the most beautiful Mistress in the world, I am already humbled by You and crave to submit to You.

Well, it's always nice to be told I'm beautiful, although it strains even my credulity to believe that I'm "the most beautiful Mistress in the world". I'd like to know exactly how much research he did to arrive at that conclusion.
And I'm pleased to hear that he finds me articulate – but just based on this first paragraph, I have a feeling he may not have really grasped what I try to convey about my style of dominance, since pathetic slaves really aren’t my thing. I prefer slightly sassy ones, who sometimes laugh while I'm torturing them.

I hope that my Owner-to-be will eventually take everything from me over a sustained period - my manhood, my real estate, my assets and my inheritance. And better still to expose my demise and castration on Her website, whilst I am photographed naked, weeping, genderless and penniless whilst Mistress is amused at my plight and maybe even wearing my former testicles as ear-rings to display Her supremacy over me, hence total humiliation is complete.

Honey, if I'm wearing your balls as earrings, I will be the one who is humiliated. Testicle earrings are so five minutes ago! The new thing now is to put them into a lava lamp, in either a blood red or milky white fluid.

I wish to ask you whether you have experience in luring a (vanilla) successful submissive man into a safe and legal medical castration (by professionals) in tandem with signing his life and assets to You?

Ah, yes, my good friends and professional associates, the Safe and Legal Medical Castrators, LLC. Just look them up in the yellow pages! They do a sideline in getting people to sign over assets while under sedation. It's a pricey extra service, but I have always found it worthwhile in the dozens of other cases where I've had them safely and legally castrate someone for me.
I just call them up and say, "I'm luring in a successful man! He's vanilla! Can you get us in at 2?"
"Sure!" they say cheerfully. "Would you like the testicle earrings with that?" They don't realize, you see, and I'm sure some mistresses who are not as hip as I am are still wearing those silly testicle earrings, not realizing that they are so out of fashion.

If so, do You maintain a D/s relationship with Your subjects who undergo this?

No, once I've milked you dry – so to speak – I will throw you, naked, weeping, genderless and penniless out into the snow to die. (But perhaps you won't die. Perhaps, instead, you'll crawl away into the woods, where you'll hide. You'll survive by eating insects and berries and trapping small animals, gradually regaining your strength, and you'll continue living in the woods in a crudely constructed hut. The local villagers will fear you as a madman, but one day you'll encounter a lost traveler who's desperately ill, and you'll take him into your hut and nurse him back to health with your newly-learned herbal lore. He'll turn out to be a Jedi Knight, who's on his way to help otherthrow the evil Lord Vader, and as a reward for saving his life you'll ask him to take you with him as his sidekick and train you in the ways of a Jedi, so that you can eventually take your revenge on me, and he'll decide to say yes, without knowing that, in the interval of time that's passed, I've actually become Lord Vader's girlfriend, and…No, wait, wait, wait – that's a whole different movie!)

And then there's the emails that balance him out.

Matisse:
I'll tell you what- I just want to get my huge cock in your hot vagina, save the torture for some wuss. I want to mount you, because I am KING STUD!!!
Thanks sweetheart…

"Ooooh, mount me, baby, mount me now!" Mount? What the fuck kind of word is that? Has this ignoranus been reading too many romance novels or something? Or maybe animal husbandry – it's hard to say. Why is it that the ones who really need their balls cut off never ask for it?

I had a lovely, lovely time with Roman last night…details on that later, since I'm about to plunge into a busy day.
I will note that - big event here - Roman stayed over last night. Meaning, he slept with me in the literal sense, as well as the euphemistic. That's only the second time in a roughly six-month relationship. (Usually we play at my studio, and then we both stagger home at some ungodly hour.)
Sleeping with a secondary has generally been a limit for him, and the first time we did it, during the Week Of Wickedness, he was sort of endearingly nervous about breaking his own rule. But it was fine, and then lately he told me, "I'd like to do that again." So we played at my house, and then slept together, and it was…very sweet. A nice marker for a relationship.

Meanwhile, if you're in Seattle, don't forget about my darling primary partner Max's bondage class this Sunday…I'll be there with him, doing my kinky Vanna White impersonation. (No sequined dresses, though.)

Fixed Point Bondage - Soft Flesh, Unyielding Objects
Sunday December 5th
2:30 PM to 5:30 PM at the Wet Spot in Seattle

Remember Little Nell on the railroad tracks?
Learn how to tie your lover to a variety of objects, from posts to chairs to bamboo poles.
This month's workshop presents a number of ways to tie your partner to something else. We'll cover a few basic knots and techniques, do a very nice demo, and then spend the bulk of the workshop practicing positions involving fixed points and/or pieces of bamboo.
The positions presented are broadly adaptable and don't require special hardware or equipment. In fact, we'll be using the furniture, posts, doors and other fixtures in ways guaranteed to get your creative juices flowing.
While some familiarity with rope and bondage will be useful, this workshop assumes no previous bondage experience. The knots presented in the workshop are all pretty simple - the fun is in the things we'll do with those basic knots.
Most of the class will consist of hands-on exercises so you'll have plenty of time to practice and enjoy what you've learned. And, as always, the handout distributed at the workshop will help you when you practice at home.
If you can, come with a practice partner. If you don't have a partner, come anyway and we'll make sure you get a chance to practice the basic techniques. Rope Bottoms - this is your chance to meet some rope tops - come learn and get tied up!
Some rope will be provided for the workshop, but bring four 10’ lengths and three 20-30’ lengths of 3/8” rope if you can.

Registration and Fees
Workshop fee: $30
Workshop + party (Wet Spot members only): $35

Wet Spot membership is NOT required for the workshop. Please bring ID to verify that you're at least 18 years old.

The "Bondage is the Point" party afterward is limited to Wet Spot members, who will receive a $5 discount if they attend both the workshop and the party.

Apparently I should have cultivated a taste for caviar instead…Bad weather and pest problems have created a tomato shortage. That's bad news for me, since la pomme d'amour is one of my favorite foods, either cooked or raw. QFC sells me a whole lot of those vine-ripened tomatoes in the little plastic boxes, even though they're so bloody expensive I think that I could buy good quality heroin for less money. And now they're going to be more so, apparently. Sigh.

Interesting article about managing jealousy in poly relationships…

A twistedly humorous page about military discipline - or, not.

Speaking of discipline, here's something kinky: Steve Unfreid, a principal at a Christian school, was fired for being voluntary whipped in front of two students. Steve, Steve, Steve - those paperback books you've been hiding in the garage? Those are fiction. Really.

And speaking of being voluntarily whipped...I have a date with Roman tonight, and I'm definitely of a mind to be evil. No flogging, I don't think. I did that last time, and one doesn't want to be too predictable. However, Roman has thrown down a gauntlet or two lately, and hey, call me easily manipulated, but I do like to rise to a challenge from a lover. (Of course, Roman rises to challenges very nicely himself. I do like that in a man.)
There may well be pictures. Perhaps even video. Possess your souls in patience, and maybe I'll post one within a few days...

Event Notes…

So the Sex Life Live show taping at ReBar last night went well. (Much more fun this time than the last time I worked with Dane, because I was actually sick as a dog for that one.) We had a good-sized crowd, and they seemed to enjoy me, as well as Allena Gabosch, Caroline from The Stranger, and Monk. You'll have to check Monk's blog for his version of events, but I think we done good. When the show goes live on the Sex Life website, I'll post a note…

Best left-handed compliment of the night: in the midst of a swirl of people talking to me after the show, a sweet young thing rushed up, saying, "Mistress, mistress, mistress!" excitedly.

Erg. Now, I'm quite fine with being introduced to people as "Mistress Matisse", because that is my professional title. But in fact, I really prefer people wanting to converse with me one-on-one to just address me as Matisse. Unless I'm actually playing with you (or you are my contracted personal submissive), calling me "mistress" – well, it's just a shade too familiar.

But that's a very fine point of BDSM etiquette, and not one most people could be expected to know. This girl clearly meant no harm, so I smiled at her. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to tell you, I've been reading your column, and I kind of had a certain mental image of you from that, and I just had to tell you; wow, you're like, so much hotter in person than I thought you'd be! It's amazing!"

Um. Okay. Thank you. I think. (What, do I write like an ugly person?) I do give her credit for good intentions - it was obvious she meant to be paying me a compliment. But – hmmn.

I just smiled again and thanked her for coming to the show.

I also met someone else who is a blog reader – or so her friend claimed. So, greetings to The Woman in White Overalls.

A note about video clips, because I got a plaintive little email about this today - because of the bandwidth issues presented by maintaining a permanent archive of all the clips, the clip will be replaced each week. (Or I should say, each clip will be replaced by its successor. I may not have something video-able every single week.)
What that means is that if see something you love and will want to watch again and again, download it to your hard drive - for your personal use only, of course - because it will go away soon.

So, it's Video Clip Day, and this week I've decided it time to show you the latest bizarre toy in my collection: The Fucking Machine. Now, before you get all excited: this clip is just of the machine. There is no victim attached, sorry. (If some cute girl or boy volunteers themselves as a video star in the future, I'll think about that.)

But I thought it might amuse those of you who've not seen such a thing before. And even if you have, like snowflakes, few fucking machine are precisely the same...

I was going to lay a music track over this clip, but Max said, "Oh no, you should let people hear the the sound it makes."

Be aware that this mechanical delight lives at my house, not at the location where I see my clients. So if you are thinking of coming to see me in my professional capacity, you need not fear it's insistent attentions.

As usual, hosting for the clip has been generously provided by Twisted Monk, a man who is not afraid to accessorize his cock with miniature mariachi hats and tiny guitars. (Don't try this at home, kids, he's a professional.)
Click Here To See "The Fucking Machine"

Downloaded from ITunes lately…

All My Life, by Foo Fighters
Barrel of a Gun, by Depeche Mode
Bela Lugosi's Dead, by Bauhaus
Born Under A Bad Sign, by the Neville Brothers & Buddy Guy
Brave and Crazy, by Melissa Etheridege
Can't Get You Out Of My Head, by Kylie Minogue
I Put A Spell On You, By Screaming Jay Hawkins
Nights In White Satin, by The Moody Blues
Paper In Fire, By John Mellancamp
Personal Jesus, by Johhny Cash
Rubberneckin' by Elvis, the Paul Oakenfold Remix
Sex Is Violent, by Diamanda Galás & Jane's Addiction
She's Tight, by Cheap Trick
Show Me How To Live, by AudioSlave

I have very eclectic taste in music, and since I'm not a music-scene hipster, I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers (and friends) to expand my musical horizons. Any suggestions?

Miss K and I were sitting in Hana during one of our weekly dinners, talking about work.
"So there's this guy I saw once, a long time ago, who's still calling me. I mean, I saw him when you still had your old dungeon, off Dexter Avenue," she began.
"God, that was five years ago. You saw him once and he still calls you?"
"Yeah, and I didn't like him, so I don't want to see him again. And I've got his number programmed into the phone so I usually know not to answer. But this one time a couple of days ago I didn't look at the caller ID before I picked up, and of course, it was him."
"Fuck, don't you hate that?"
"Yeah, and it's like – how do you say 'no' and get off the phone gracefully?"
"What'd you do?" I asked.
"Well, he hardly lets you get a word in edgewise - he was going on and on about wanting to see me again. He has this panty fetish, and I don't mean sexy panties, I mean he has a thing for granny panties." She made a face. "Really ugly big white polyester granny panties."
"Let me guess – he brought you some to the session you had with him and asked you to wear them?"
"Yep. And I did. If you're paying me, and you like ugly panties, hey, I'll put 'em on for you. Whatever floats your boat." She took a sip of her water. "Within reason, that is. If they want really weird shit, I send them to you." She grinned.
"Oh, thank you ever so much, dear," I said. "But I can do without any guy who's still calling the same escort for five years even though she never calls him back. That's a little freaky."
"You're telling me. So I said to him, 'You know, honey, you should call someone else, because I really don't think we're very compatible'."
"How'd he take that?"
"Oh, he started trying to persuade me to change my mind. He said, 'No, no, you don't understand, I've been dreaming of you all this time'."
"All this time? What is he, Rip Van Winkle?"
"Oh, wait, it gets better," she said. "Then he tells me how he wants to see me so much, that I was a goddess, that our session together was the best one he ever had, etc. And he wanted to know if I still had the panties that he gave me in our session together."
I laughed. "He wanted to know if you'd saved his granny panties for five years? Well, I'm guessing they'd be in perfect shape because you never, ever wore them again."
"Yeah, except I think I used them to wipe bird shit off my car right after I saw him. So I explained to him that no, I didn't have his panties - and he asked me 'Why not? Did you gain weight or something?'"
"Smooth talker, huh?"
She snorted. "Yeah. I said, no, I hadn't, that I was still the same size as the last time he saw me, and I was going on to say that I didn't save them because I didn't want to do another session with him, but he interrupted me and said, "Tell me what you look like again?'"
I started to laugh. "Wait, wait, wait – you're saying this guy told you that you were a goddess, and that he's been dreaming of you for five years, and then asked you what you looked like?"
She pressed her tongue deeply into her cheek and nodded, eyes closed in disbelief.
I laughed harder. "What did you say?" I asked, when I caught my breath.
"What'd you think? I said, 'What, you've been dreaming about me for five years but you don't remember what I look like?'"
"To which he replied…?"
"He said, "I remember that you're tall."
I laughed again. "Oh, that's special."
"Yeah. But it was fine, because it made me feel much less sorry for him when I told I never wanted to see him again."
"Boorishness does make it easier to be clear, doesn't it?"

I wouldn't normally do another link roundup so soon after the last one…but I'm having a busy few days, and I don't want you, my loyal readers, to go without any entertainment from me. So, presented for your approval...

I've been watching – with horror – the advances made by anti-evolutionists in terms of children's textbooks. When I came across this page of disclaimer stickers for science textbooks, I had to laugh, although my laughter is heavily tinged with incredulity. I mean, what next – the world is flat?

You knew it was only a matter of time before the BK chicken spawned some cheesy but amusing imitators. If you haven't already, go see the Virtual Bartender:
Suggested orders: butt, splits, kiss her, topless, cowgirl, kiss, wet, yoga, banana, pillow fight, fight, kick, sleep, jiggle, naked, tattoo, jump, pour beer, drink beer, sing, stretch, dance, lick, hummer, wave, tickle, hat, strip, breast, dance on bar, be a pimp, magic, karate, robot, shoes, show me something, spin, read, write, hair, belly, gymnastics, fire, spread, pitcher, kiss me, hand stand, arms, phone number, I love you and laugh.

And here's a newer blog, written by someone I know, chronicling her life as an emerging kinkster… I think that's always worth encouraging.

More and better posts soon....

So, to those of you here in the USA, Happy Thanksgiving... Max is downstairs right now, gearing up to cook the big traditional dinner, which I think is amusing considering just how un-traditional we are. But he enjoys it, and he's definitely the chef in this family – I can cook some basic meals, but I prefer to just be the assistant on occasions like this.
And in any case, the whole big-traditional-meal thing is a gentle compromise on my part, because left to my own devices, I'd go out for Chinese and a movie and skip the whole thing. T-Day is just not my favorite holiday. It just reminds me of tedious family get-togethers where, in lieu of real conversation, everyone just bickers mildly over exactly the same meaningless things they bickered about last year, to the soundtrack of the endless games of televised football. I'm fond my parents and my brother, but I'm not close to anyone in my extended family. We just don't have much to talk about.

For that reason, I haven't gone to visit my blood family on Thanksgiving for, let me think - at least seven years. If I have to do the turkey and all, let it be with friends. So Miss K and her husband and Roman and his wife are coming over, which will be nice.

Actually, when I think about it, I'm not really into any organized holiday. Christmas is sort of nice, I suppose, but most of the other big ones – July 4th, New Years Eve, Halloween, Valentines Day – I'm pretty whatever about. I resist being told by someone else when exactly I should feel merry or thankful or romantic.

But dinner with friends is always a good thing, so I'll enjoy that. And if you're doing The Bird, I hope you enjoy it, too.

Hey, it's Tuesday, and that means it's Video Clip Day.

This week's clip: Mistress Matisse Pierces a Nipple. This would be a temporary piercing, often called a "play-piercing", not the permanent kind you put jewelry in. I myself don't think this clip is particularly disturbing, but yes, I am pushing a needle through flesh, so don't look if this idea flips you out. There's also a quick glimpse of some naked boy-bits, so it's definitely not work-safe.
For those of you who are interested in learning more about this, SubRosa has written an interesting post, with a good photo, about play-piercing.
The footage was shot by my friend Gwen, and special thanks to my brave and anonymous play-partner, who generously allowed us to make use of his body.
Once again, hosting for the clip has been generously provided by Twisted Monk, just because he's a fabulous guy.

Click Here To See "Needle Play"

A little linky goodness for you….

If you didn't already, go read my column…This week's topic: Poly Conventional Wisdom.

Another Seattle blogger thinks about porn movies…

Politically, I must be a something of a centrist, because I've been reading this blog and it all seems pretty reasonable to me.
…Although there are some interesting things on this more liberal Seattle blog, too.

KinkFriendly.com – "a searchable database for all Kink Friendly and Kink Aware businesses, professionals and web sites worldwide." Looks a bit embryonic as yet, but I like the idea.

If you're a single guy who's thinking about going to a swinger's club, Monk has some words of wisdom for you…

Oh, and check this out - here's what you get if you transpose a few letters while typing in this URL. I'm not sure whether to be flattered or terrified that these people evidentally think I'm important (Evil? Satanic?) enough to warrant setting up this page. (Thanks to Chris for sending me this...)

News Flashes...In two week, The Stranger is going to start publishing a sexy-events calendar, and I'm going to be writing it. That means, if you're producing a public sexually-oriented event, you should drop me a note and tell me all about it.

And speaking of sexy events, there is going to be a fetishy party at The Rebar on Nov 30th, with Dane Ballard and The Stranger Lustlab. (This is the same guy who interviewed me back in October.) I'm still a little fuzzy on what, exactly, the show consists of, but I'll be there, The Twisted Monk will be there tying people up, Lustlab is giving stuff away, and Dane will be talking dirty. More info on this as I get it, but mark your calendars.

Today is my birthday....So thank you, all of you who sent me friendly birthday wishes - they are much appreciated!

Since some of you expressed some curiosity yesterday about my date with Roman – and since he's given the okay to me writing about it in some greater depth – I suppose I could talk some more about that…
I knew he had a special surprise of some kind planned for this date in honor of my birthday. And I knew better than to take his mock-hints about Mexican wrestlers, midgets and trained llamas seriously. But I really had no idea what he had planned, and it's hard to explain why I enjoyed what he did so very much without first giving you some backstory.

You see, back when I was a teenager, and I was figuring out that gee, my sexual desires didn't line up with what the other kids seemed to get off on, the internet wasn't yet a part of people's daily existence. So it was a lot harder for a young person who was…questioning their sexuality, to find much evidence of a sexual world beyond very tame vanilla heterosexual monogamy. I was already a bibliophile, and in spite of what James Walker once said, I had occasionally found some vague intimations of who I might be by searching through books.

But the first real clue I ever had that there might be a culture that embraced me was…The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I was sixteen years old. I went into the theatre at midnight with a group of friends, without really knowing what I was going to see. I watched the movie, and watched the strangely dressed people cavorting in the aisles, and I knew there was something there for me. As I watched Frankenfurter, that bitchy, dominant, omnisexual drag queen, wreak sexual havoc on Brad, Janet, and Rocky, I saw what I wanted. I wanted to be him: dangerously transgressive yet irresistibly sexy. And I wanted to fuck him, the hot hungry man/woman, with whom nothing would be too much or too far. I wouldn't have to explain what I didn't yet have words for - he would know who I was. He would know what I wanted.

"At the late night, double feature, picture show…
I wanna go…Oh ohhhhhhh…
To the late night, double feature, picture show…"

I went back the next weekend. And the next, and the next…
The idea of getting all excited about a rather cheesy B-movie with a few only mildly naughty sex scenes will probably seem quaint to the under 25-crowd. But you perverts from my generation – you know what I'm talking about. Back then, Rocky Horror was the only place, in a lot of smaller towns and more conservative places, where a teenager could go and be openly freaky without too much fear of reprisal. (Plus, it does feature the young and quite yummy Susan Sarandon running around in white cotton panties.)
That's how I came to be a Rocky Horror regular for several years. Yes, I was in the cast for some of that time. (I was Magenta.) Yes, I have the bootleg copy of it on video with Japanese subtitles, from back before you could buy it legally. And yes, I still remember all the words to the songs, and all the audience partici – (Say it!) -pation lines. I haven't been for years, but still, whenever I see a snippet of the movie somewhere, or hear the music, I smile, because I remember how it felt to finally find a place where I felt…at home. Roman and I have talked about this, and he understands perfectly. He's a Rocky Horror alumnus himself.

So when I sat on my couch with a blindfold over my eyes, and the sound of Tim Curry's rich, throbbing voice came to my ears,
"How d'you do,
I see you've met my,
Faith-ful handy-man…"
I threw back my head and let out a shriek that was part delighted laughter, and part disbelief that no, I couldn't possibly see what I thought I was going to see when I took off that blindfold. He didn't really – he couldn't have…
"Okay, you can take off the blindfold now," said Roman.
He did.
Whiteface makeup with dark drag-queen eyeshadow halfway up his forehead, lushly painted red lips, a long black cape and – oh, my – fishnet stockings and fetishdiva six-inch platform heels. Roman danced and pranced around the room for me in those high heels like he'd been punching the clock at the Lusty Lady forever.
"But by night I'm one hell of a lov-a-hhrr!" With a dramatic flourish, he threw off the cape to reveal a black satin corset with garters, a silky black thong, and of course, a string of white beads, just like the ones Frankenfurter wore. With the fishnets and heels – it was…perfect. Just perfect.
"I'm just a sweet transvestite from Transexual, Transylvania." When he shook his barely covered package in my face, I howled like an overstimulated small-town girl at her first Chippendales show.
And I was definitely overstimulated. This is what went through my mind - try to imagine them all flowing through your head in rapid succession, several times in a row.

Oh, my god, look what he did for me! Look at all the trouble he went through to do something he knew I'd really like! This is so sweet and special!

Oh, my god, look at his cock in those shiny stretchy underwear. That's fucking hot.

He's really good in those heels. He must have been practicing. And, wow, they make him look about seven feet tall. Oh, yeah, bend over, oh yeah - nice buttcheeks, baby…

What a sweet, thoughtful, special thing to do for me. What a wonderful, kinky, nasty boy he is. I think I'm going to have to fuck him raw.

I was saying some of this out loud, of course, in between catcalls and wolf-whistles and various other sexually appreciative noises.

"So I'll remove the cause - but not the symptom." As the music faded, he planted one high-heeled foot – (Where did he get those shoes?) on the couch between my knees.
"So," he said, panting just slightly, "want your other present?"
"There's more? Did you bring Rocky as well?"
"No, I asked (insert name of Roman's good friend), but he passed. Didn't want to bleach his hair blond."
I stared up at him. "Hair…Oh my god, that's why you look so different. You shaved off your beard!"
He let out a whoop of laughter. "That's why I look so different?"
I flapped my hand at him. "Oh, you know what I mean! But darling – your nice beard. You shaved it off – for this? For me?"
He smiled, his teeth gleaming whitely against the dark, glossy lipstick. "No big deal, it'll grow back."
"You are absolutely the coolest thing alive, did you know that? Okay, if there's more, bring it on."
He brought me a gift-wrapped package slightly smaller than a shoebox. I tore off the paper, opened it, examined the contents.
"Oh my. Well, look at these pretty things…" I stared at him, arching one eyebrow questioningly. "For tonight?"
He nodded.
"You're ready for this?"
He nodded again, giving me Frankenfurter's come-hither look.
"All right then, baby…let's go downstairs."
So we did, and there, dear readers, is where I draw the curtain. Because certain things that happen between a girl and her drag queen in the dark of the night should remain…private.

"Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me!
I wanna be dirty!
Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me,
Creature of the night…"

Good god...A completely fabulous date with Roman last night, which resulted in my stumbling into bed at 5am. And far too early this morning: clients, email, phone calls, aarrggh...And I'm supposed to go the gym this afternoon, double aarrggh. It's gonna be a two-Rock-Star-day, I can tell.
But worth it...

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!

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.

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

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!

"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.

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?

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!

"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?

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…

That pesky thing called Real Life has been rather busy lately, but for your entertainment, here's another video-blog entry...

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

Obama won. That's not surprising, given that his opponent is an insane carpetbagger. But I'm glad, I think he's got a great career ahead of him.
I am keeping a very tight rein on my hope about the big one...Tick tock, tick tock.

God, I'm going to be a fucking basket case all day. Thank god Blue Eyes is coming to see me, I can vent some of my tension on his nicely helpless body.
And then perhaps, as Monk recommends, a stiff drink. Or else I'll go to the gym and run until I'm too exhausted to be tense.
I hate waiting.

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…