More work with doorways. I have jokingly referred to this image as, "The X-Files photo", because I used to be a fan of the show, and to me it kinda has that, "Here come the aliens!" look to it. Other people have commented that it suggests someone praying. Depends on your point of view, I suppose.


Self-portrait from 2002. Digital capture with one tungsten spot, and sepia toning added in PS.

In other news...a cute kinky story by Liss about her adventures with a creative top. I was at this party - you should've asked me to X you, Liss. I'd of been nice. Really. Hey, stop laughing!

Girly Fashion Stuff

I'm in love. Or at least, deeply in lust. And who can blame me, with such sexy Spaniards like this around?

#9674, Itali Negro Rock Negro, Malicia Tacon Acero. Even the name sounds sexy. I'm lusting from afar for today, but I really don't know if I'll be able to restrain my passion...

I'm in pre-KinkFest shopping mode, you see - it's only two weeks away! On Monday, I went over to see Rose, of Imp Of Satan to order some new tight-n-shiny clothes. She does such great work, and it's so nice to have her right in the neighborhood. She's going to make me some yummy blue PVC pants and a matching top, with black mesh insets down the sides. While I do wear fairly traditional fetish outfits when I'm in my dungeon, for social events these days I'm drawn to fetishwear that looks sort of like Italian motorcycle gear, or like it might have been designed by Nike. Something different - you don't want to go to a conference and be one of seventeen women in a room all wearing a corset, miniskirt and thigh-high boots. Oh, the horror!

Rose makes all kinds of fetishwear, but one of her specialties is catsuits. Now, I'm generally of the opinion that catsuits look best on taller people - say, five-foot-eight or better. (Although I did see a small woman at a party recently wearing a bright red catsuit by Rose, and she looked smashing.) However, Max decided he liked the idea of me in a black catsuit, so we bought one of those, too. I have to say, while I still don't think it's my absolute best look, Rose's catsuit makes me look far better than any other catsuit I've ever tried on. That's talent.

My other fashion designer friend, Orion, is also making me an outfit, so I went fabric-shopping for that - and naturally would up buying a ton of stuff, enough for three or four pieces. But it's gotten so I hate buying fetishwear off the rack, because most of it is so badly made, and so wildly overpriced for what it is, that it just drives me mad. So, custom-made is the only way to go. I see that another local girl I know, Tonya Winter, is doing custom latex clothing, I should think about getting something from her sometime.

Now if I just knew a shoe-store owner, I'd be all set...

Greatest Hits

Congratulate me. I've now been blogging, quite steadily, for just over one year. I think that's an accomplishment.
For those of you who are new around here and haven't gone all the way back through the archives, I've picked out some of the best/most popular entries. ("Most popular" being gauged by the number, and the passion, of the comments.) I only went up to January of 2005, because even if you just this minute found me, you should at least have read back a few weeks.

Opinions, experiences, and general musings on life
Human Interest Story
Thoughts On Being A Pretty Girl (This may well have been the most controversial post I've written.)
BDSM Word Of The Day
Mr. Defensive
Open Secret
The Sixty Four Thousand Dollar Question (The other "Most Controversial" candidate.)
and the follow-up post: Comments On Female Clients
What I'm Not
Word Whores: The "Not My Dog" post
Poly Stars In Alignment
Public Encounter
You Dirty...
French Farce Weekend

About Max:
Fifth Anniversary
More About Max

About Roman:
The Naked Truth
He's Just A...

Playing with my boys:
Flying High Again
My Idea of a Good Time

Conversations about the biz:
Advice on Clients
More Advice
Dinner with Miss K: Furniture Fantasy
Conversation with Miss K: Her Weird Phone Calls

And, everyone's favorite category: Strange Communiqués From People: The phone calls, the emails, and the voicemails.

The Thirty Seconds Rule
Near Goddess Experience
Sexual Darwinism
And This Would Be My Problem Why?
Legend In His Own Mind
New Cell Phone - Old Memories
New York State Of Mind
Master and Commander
Weirdass Email Of The Week
Phone Messages
I Couldn't Make This Stuff Up
From The Malebag
More Email Silliness
Freakazoids

Okay, so now that Roman has posted the results of "The Weakest Kink: Week One", I will issue the next challenge to our remaining contestants...

Go to a pet store that does custom pet tags and get a pet tag cut with a name you'd like Roman and I to call you by. Could be your real name, if you want. But it could a play name - perhaps something more...creative. Or it could be your name, plus a descriptive phrase of some sort. Like, "Ann - the little pain slut". How bold can you be in a Petco?

We'll want to see a picture of it, obviously, and make sure we can read the inscription. Happy shopping!

All About Kissing
I kissed fifty-eight people in two hours at the Kink Carnival last night. That's definitely some kind of record for me. And I'm quite sure I wouldn't care to try and beat it, because I was wiped out afterwards. I'm still a little wiped.

Some of you wrote to me asking why I was in a Kissing Booth, and not, say, a Spanking Booth. Well, there's a bit of history there. Aiden, the extremely cute tranny boy who's one of the Kink Carnival organizers, is an old friend and lover of mine, and he and I did a Kissing Booth one time before, years ago, at a Gay Pride event. (This was when Aiden was still living as female.) We had a good time with it then, so he thought it would be fun for us to do it together again. I agreed, and without really examining the idea too much, I also made the assumption that this would be a somewhat similar experience.

Wrong.

When Max and I arrived, the event was jam-packed - you could hardly move in there. It looked like everyone was having fun, though. We did a loop of all the different booths, talked to some friends, and then I dropped Max off at the Bondage Booth and made my way to the Kissing Booth. And pretty much as soon as I got there, it got busy. I thought, based on my previous experience with Aiden, that it would be slower paced. But it wasn't, it was two hours of non-stop sexual performance, changing partners every two minutes. And yeah, I can do that - but it takes a lot of energy, and I was exhausted afterwards.

Max was quite busy over in the Bondage Booth, too. Several people came up to me with rope on them and said "Look, look, Max tied me up!" It was very cute.

And a lot of the people themselves were very cute. I had several couples who both wanted kisses – that was sweet. There were some sexy boys, some of whom kissed my boots and my latex-pants-covered ass as well as my lips. There were several women who said they hadn't ever kissed another woman before - that was fun. Love to cherry-pop.

And there were some very pretty girls who clearly had kissed other girls before, including a pair of sweet young things who both kissed me so sweetly and passionately that I almost tied them up and took them home with me. Mmmmnn…

But, wow, it was just very intense. I had people waiting in line most of the time, and when they were shutting down the event at 10, people were still hovering around with tickets in their hands, looking at me hopefully. Aiden had to shoo them off. Crazy. It's sort of flattering at some level. But tiring.

We went over to a friend's party afterwards and I got a nice back and neck massage from Malixe, who gives the best massages, and put my head in pretty women's laps, and watched other people do mean things. That was nice.

And today I'm going to go lie on the couch, and later, Roman is going to come over and bring me Chinese food. That's about the extent of what I have planned. Mellow.

Okay, I'll tell. Several of you did guess, or reason it out, correctly. There is just one model - me.

I did this self-portrait by putting two long skinny mirrors into a V-shape, I arranged myself with my feet in the point of the V, I reached out and hit the shutter button (with the ten-second-timer already engaged), and then I arranged my head and arms. There are so many of me because the mirrors are reflecting both the original me and the reflections of me, if that makes sense.
I had no idea exactly what this shot would look like, but I figured it would be interesting. The lights were brighter than I'd wanted, but it kinda worked out okay.
Taken in 2001, I believe, with the Nikon digital.

I think there will be a post later today about the next challenge for The Weakest Kink contestants, and you should check Roman's blog for updates on who we kicked off the island.

But I am planning on spending some quality time at the gym this afternoon, before going and being all sexy tonight - to someone else's financial benefit, for a change. Not only will I be in The Kissing Booth this evening, Max got a last-minute plea to be in The Bondage Booth. All this at The Kinky Carnival - so drop by, get tied up by him and smooched by me, between 8pm-10pm.

Also, for your reading pleasure: The newest column and the Kink Calendar are up...

Visual puzzle for the day: How many models are in this photo?

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes, it is.
Caller: Well, Mistress, I just wanted to apologize to you. I mean, you don't know me, I live in Texas - but I feel I've been very disrespectful of you.

Hmmnn….I have a feeling this guy's about to launch into some kind of emotional manipulation game. I tend to chew through such attempts like Pac-Man chewed through those little balls, but let's give him the traditional thirty seconds to see where he takes it.

Me: I'm afraid I don't know what you mean.
Caller: Well, you know your website? I found it a few months ago, and I've been looking at it a lot ever since. At the pictures of you, I mean. And, (pauses) I've been…I've been…thinking inappropriate thoughts.

I don't say anything.

Caller: I mean, sexual thoughts. About you, Mistress. I know that's very wrong of me. I know you wouldn't want me to do that, it's very disrespectful.

I still don't say anything. I see what he's doing – he wants me to scold him and tell him what a bad, bad boy he is. But I didn't consent to this little scene, and I'm damn sure not getting paid for it. So I'm simply not going to give him the response he's hoping for.

Me: Mmmmnnn.
Caller: And Mistress, I have to confess something else. I didn't just think…I, I touched myself. I mean, I stroked myself. My penis, I mean.

Oh, well, that's a huge shock, now isn't it? Imagine, someone masturbating to pictures on the internet. Who knew such things happened?
Frankly, I don't care if this guy is wanking off to my pictures every ten minutes. They're supposed to get people excited, that's why they're there. I don't care if his keyboard is so sticky that he types the entire alphabet every time he touches a key. But I'm not interested in hearing about it, and he's clearly not going to stop of his own accord, so it's time to wrap this up.

Me: You know what? This whole conversation is inappropriate. You need to stop talking to me about this, and –
Caller: Oh, Mistress, I'm so sorry! I've offended you, I'm such a bad boy, please, Mistress, I'm so sorry!
Me: Stop talking! I'm going to hang up, and I don't want you to call me again.
Caller: Mistress, please, I'm sorry –
Click. I hang up.

Jesus, I hope this doesn't catch on. If everyone who's ever jacked off to a picture of me calls to tell me about that, my cell minutes are going to go through the roof.

This and that...

This seems like poetic justice somehow: Prostitution Vigilante Hooked For Pimping. What an asshole. (Link snagged via Daze Reader)

Interesting "Poly Contract" written up by one couple. Max and I definitely don't do everything the way they do – which is only to be expected. But this piece would certainly provide some food for discussion in any couple considering poly.

The Stranger is looking for a woman to blog about her sex life - and they'll pay you. But only for a month.

And speaking of sexy blogs, the intrepid Candy Girl did indeed post about her recent scene with Max.

Not kinky but interesting: From Gawker Media, the site LifeHacker, which promises to, "saucily decipher the latest in personal productivity technology and reveal the million ways hardware and software can improve our busy lives." God knows I could use some help, given that I'm only modestly techie.

Oh, a social note for the Seattle folks. Want to kiss me? I'll be in the Kissing Booth at the Wild At Heart Kinky Carnival this Saturday from 8-10pm. Check out the website for more details…

...Addendum: Rossi has posted her half of the double-suspension story...

Great class this weekend. Great party last night. And I'm hoping someone else blogs about Max's double-inverted-suspension scene, so I can be lazy and just link to it, because the last two days have been completely non-stop, and I'm feeling rather weary.
Now it's Monday again, and I've got a busy day at the dungeon, and then a date with a treadmill at Gold's, and then, hopefully, a short romantic interlude with Max, before I start working on the Stranger column. Now, I generally regard "Valentine's Day" as nothing but crassly commercialist crap, cooked up by Madison Ave to sell useless, tacky chatchkes. I don't need Hallmark to tell me when to feel lovey-dovey, thankyouverymuch.
But romantic interludes with Max are always a good thing. However, that means no long post today. Perhaps tomorrow - if I'm feeling caught up with my life.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Roman has put up the page showing all the contestants, so that means it's time for: This Week's Challenge to The Weakest Kink Contestants!

This week, we want to see how creative and imaginative you can be about BDSM. So here's the challenge. Take five dollars, no more than that, and go buy the most interesting pervertible you can find. Take a picture of it and send it to use along with a description of how it would be used in BDSM play. Ideally, it should be something you can imagine being used on you.

Some of you may be thinking, "What the hell is a pervertible?" So glad you asked. The term "pervertible", coined by leather activist David Stein, is used to describe objects intended for some non-sexual use, especially everyday household objects, that can nonetheless be appropriated for BDSM play. I wrote a column about this once.

However, the pervertibles I mention there, while fun, are rather obvious. Roman and I would like to see something…different. But don't go thinking you can go buy any old thing and claim it's a BDSM toy. If Roman and I aren’t convinced of it's pervertability, we will have to see some pictures of it in action. And if you wind up winning – well, expect to have your pervertible used on you, by us. So be sincere in your toy shopping, and may the nastiest mind win!

Well, after a fun date with Roman last night, we're getting ready to post the first round of "The Weakest Kink" contest info. So look for that quite soon.

Meanwhile, the new column and the Kink Calendar are up, so check those out…Fans of my weirdo-callers entries will enjoy the column particularly.

And here's something I enjoyed reading...It's presented as some advice for writers, but I think parts of it are actually applicable to many life-situations. Certainly I intend to steal some of it for my future "advice to aspiring pro dommes" rants.

This is a photo from the very first porn shoot I ever sold. It was shot in 2001, and I sold it to a magazine called - you're gonna love this - "Naughty Neighbors". It was an "amateur" magazine, as you may have inferred, presenting the models as "real, girl-next-door" types. The illusion of potential acessibility is powerful for some men, it seems. Odd, when you consider that even Playboy Bunnies have to live next door to someone.
It wasn't the best set technically - note the shadow from the studio strobe. But I had a beautiful and very enthusiastic model, the lovely Rose Algren, and she made it work. This is just a sort of mood-establishing shot I took at the beginning, which of course the magazine didn't use because what the fuck do they care about establishing mood? They used the ones with the shower going and the wet t-shirt - and then with the shower going and no clothes at all. And naturally Rose looks scrumptious in all of them. But she looks so happy in this shot, with her little band of dildos. And somehow, they look sort of happy, too. (I suppose that's to be expected, given what she does with them.)
I'm on a picture posting jag lately, aren't I? I'm working on another writing project, you see, and can't spend as much time here as I would otherwise...But never fear, I won't desert you entirely.

Missing Persons Bureau - or Employment Agency?

Phone message left a few days ago…

BEEP!

Hi, Mistress Matisse, this is Bob The Artist. We've never met, but I gave a ride to a young woman last week and she said she was a licensed dominatrix. I wanted you to give her a message for me. Her name was Vanessa, she was in her mid-twenties, with a ring in her lower lip. I can't find a listing for her - she said she had kind of a limited practice - but since she said she was licensed I thought you'd know who she was. I wanted to track her down because I have had some intriguing ideas about some mutually benficial business opportunities that I wanted to share with her. So would you have her call me, please. I go by 'Bob The Artist' and my number is XXX-XXX.

You can just imagine how I'm responding to this one so far. This guy apparently thinks I'm some kind of fucking den mother to every little wandering goth chick who says she's a dominatrix. Oh, excuse me - licensed dominatrix, whatever the hell that means. I myself have got a business license, which I would bet money "Vanessa" doesn't – but there is no license-granting body specifically for dominatrixes. Not even if they have "a limited practice". If I thought such a thing would keep out the riff-raff, I'd vote for it, but I doubt it would even put a dent in the hitchhiking-Mistress population.
But wait, it gets better.

So, if you could just tell her I wanted to talk to her, that'd be great. But let me also tell you about myself – I'm Bob The Artist, I'm a very intense guy in my forties, well-built, good size, not into pain, but with fantasies of domination. So if you ever need a well-built, middle aged guy, intelligent, full head of hair, Scottish background, clean and STD free, for your sessions, we should talk about that. I'm fixed, too – don't know if that matters, heh heh. As an artist, I'm very intense. So if you need a drone or a stud, or anything like that, for your sessions, just call me, I'm Bob The Artist. Okay, thanks, and thanks for passing that message on to Vanessa.

He definitely wants me to know he's intense, doesn't he? And the Scottish thing – what is it with people telling me their ancestry lately?
And, of course, now I know exactly what the "mutually beneficial business opportunities" Bob The Artist wants to share with Vanessa are. The thing about these pitches that never ceases to amaze me is how guys like Bob The Artist always think they're making me a unique offer. Because, yeah, a girl like me just doesn't get men offering themselves to her for sexual services every day.
Oh – wait. Actually, I do! Actually, not only do I have people offering up their bodies to me for every imaginable use – and a few even I can't quite visualize - there are people who would pay me money to fuck someone else as part of a scene with me. (Not that I arrange such things, you understand.) And while he doesn't explicitly say so, I have a very strong suspicion that Bob The Artist would want me to pay him for his stud services. I could be wrong – but I bet I'm not. Historically, anytime a strange guy calls me up and starts talking to me about "business opportunities", what he always wants is A) to have sex, B) to get paid for it, and C) for me to make that happen.
Bob The Artist does get points for one thing – he didn't specify that he would expect to be fucking women only. Usually with calls like this, the guy will make sure to state that he's into pretty much anything – but no other men, of course! He's straight! So either Bob The Artist isn't straight - or it just didn't occur to him.
So, sorry Bob The Artist, but I don't have a license to pimp out well-built middle aged guys, even they are very intense. Guess you'll just have to drive around again until you find Mistress Vanessa.

Another video snippet, in which Roman and I muse about just what we might do to our "The Weakest Kink" contest winner.
By the way, if you're wondering what I'm talking about with the "chopsticks" reference, I will refer you to the top image on the page of genital torment pictures I put up back in October. If you're new here since then: this is a graphics-heavy page, the images are fairly intense, and it is oh so very not work-appropriate.

By Request
Some of ya'll said, "Why don't you post a picture where you're facing the camera?" Okay - here's one. Self-portrait, early 2003.


Photographers info: I shot this on a Nikon Coolpix 950. I've done a lot of different shots involving this set of pocket doors, they're great. For this one, I put two cheap tungsten spots on the other side of the door, and taped white tissue paper all along the opening to diffuse the light. Then I shot through the glass panels of a French door. I intensified the grain slightly in Photoshop. It's one of the "Filtered Nudes" series.

The Mistress's Saturday Night

Last night Max and I dropped by the SNM Underworld party for a little while. I didn't think I was really in the mood for a party – we came over right after working out at at the gym, and I was feeling rather low-energy. But Max, who is actually much more of a social butterfly than I am, insisted.

It turned out to be quite crowded – good news for Sam, the owner. The new shop looks great – from what one could see of it, given that it was stuffed with people. A lot of Goth kids in wild outfits, some kinksters I'm sort of slightly acquainted with, and a handful of what I think of as "my crowd" – Allena, Malixe, Lydia McLane, and few other folks.

I was hanging out by the food table stuffing grapes into my mouth – we hadn't gone to dinner yet – and being amused by the fact that I was one of the most non-fetishy looking people there, if you went purely on clothing. Many of the other guests had really pulled out the wardrobe stops – there was a lot of PVC, leather, rubber, corsets, you name it.

Now, I do own a fair amount of fetish gear like that - but you know, most of the time, it seems like a lot of bother to wear it. I dress up a bit for my clients because they deserve that, and I can enjoy getting all decked out for big-deal fetish occasions. But while Sam is great, and I wish her continued success, there's no way I was going to put on a rubber dress and thigh-high boots to come to the store opening party. Nine times out of ten if you see me at a local fetish event, I'll be wearing some skimpy, stretchy little cotton tank top, leather or PVC pants that are cut like jeans and are thus comfortable, and a pair of New Rock boots. Sexy, but comfy.

Last night I hadn't even bothered with that. I was wearing what I almost always wear when I need something slightly nicer than jeans: black slacks – from The Limited, no less - a plain black long-sleeved T-shirt, and boots. There was a time in my life – long ago and far away – when just wearing all black was a "statement", and people regarded nervously someone who was dressed so. That day is over. Soccer moms wear all black now. But I just haven't quite admitted that to myself, because I am so not a fashionista.

I noticed that almost all of my friends were also dressed down. Max was wearing jeans and a cotton shirt. (Though it was black.) Allena was wearing jeans and one of Monk's tank tops. And I'm pretty sure I remember Malixe wearing basic black jeans and shirt. So I was smiling to myself over the fact that three of the people who I knew to be quite advanced and ferocious BDSM players were really not dressing the part. Four, if you count me. (Lydia was the exception. She was dressed up in a very fetching little fetishy outfit, and she is a disturbingly creative sadist. Lydia has a way of laughing that makes even me a little uneasy.)

But I've observed this phenomenon more than once at Seattle fetish events over the years. I wouldn't exactly say that the newer/less truly kinky the person is, the more dressed up they are – that's not quite right, although sometimes it would be an easy conclusion to jump to.

But I do think that once you get to a certain place in BDSM, you realize that fetish clothes really don't matter so much. You no longer need to bolster up your sense of yourself as a kinkster, or to prove something to other people. If you just like them – and lots of good people do, including me occasionally - that's fine. But they become non-essential.

In spite of the fact that Max wasn't dressed up, he apparently got a bit toppy with one woman. A female acquaintance approached him, bringing with her a second woman, who promptly informed him that she was there to grovel to him. Max has no philosophical objections to strangers groveling to him, but as he said to me later, he likes to know why.

After some more conversation it became clear that she was groveling with the hopes of getting into the sold-out Bondage Intensive class he's teaching next weekend. (She wasn't actually down on the floor, in case you're wondering. This was apparently to be sort of a verbal groveling.)

Max kindly but firmly said no dice, the class is full and that's it. They had a discussion about some private lessons, which she seemed interested in. Max finished by saying, with a smile, "And by the way, I like the wrist cuffs you're wearing, and I'd be happy to take a rain check on the groveling."

Looking slightly startled, the woman allowed as how she was really more of a dominant than a submissive.

Max replied, "Well, if you're dominant, you should make eye contact with me when you have a conversation with me." Because she wasn't. Looking down and away while you talk to someone isn't exactly the best way to come across as all domly and shit. (Never mind the whole issue of groveling and wearing wrist cuffs.)

He was telling me this story over dinner afterwards, and I asked, "So? Did she make eye contact with you after that?"
"Yeah, she kinda did that slightly wide-eyed, I'm-not-looking-away thing."

Oh, that's not quite right either, although I'm not really sure what the truly domly thing to do what have been there. And Max has a way of putting one in a position where no matter which way you go, he's gotcha. Either way, her fetishy outfit didn't seem to be doing her much good.

Maybe I Should Get A Septum Piercing Or Something…

Because I must look too normal. I realized this last Wednesday evening when I was changing clothes in the locker room at Gold's on Broadway after my workout. A woman I'd not seen around before walked in, set down her bag on the next bench over from mine and started getting her gear out.

She was a very butch woman – I mean, so butch you might have mistaken her for a guy. Unless, of course you'd spent a lot of time around butch women, the way I have. Most of my female lovers have been pretty butchy. I've always enjoyed that feminine-blending-into-masculine energy. And then I married a transman, so I'm well-acquainted with all the shades of gender expression a female-bodied person can achieve.

I was struck by this particular woman because she very closely resembled an ex-lover of mine, whom I just saw last week for the first time in – god, it must be well over a year. Frankly, although I wish her well, it's always a little unsettling for me to see her. (Especially when she flirts with me, as she did last week.) This woman and I went through a couple of rather tumultuous cycles of breaking-up/getting-back-together, and while I wouldn't exactly say she broke my heart, she chipped it a bit. It was a highly emotional connection for me, and while it's been about eight years since we broke up the last time, seeing her still arouses in me an uncomfortable mix of affection and pain.

So I suppose this woman in the Gold's locker room must have seen me glance at her a couple of times, and maybe she caught an odd expression on my face, because she turned to me, and said in this half-defensive, half-condescending tone of voice, "Yes, I am a woman."

Christ, I thought, do you have me pegged wrong. Aloud I said, "Yes, I was just thinking you look kinda like my ex-girlfriend."

She had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed, muttered something vaguely apologetic and retreated to the bathroom stalls.

But I thought, God, do I look that straight? That's scary. Okay, I don't have a labrys tattooed on my ass, but still… And I know butch women get a lot of shit for walking around in the world looking and acting like they do. But for god's sake, we're on Broadway, in the queer Mecca – lighten up, sister. I hate to think how you'd have reacted if I'd been cruising you.

I related this story to Max over dinner, and then we recalled another women's locker room story of mine that's rather at the other end of the scale. We used to work out at Olympic Athletic Club in Ballard, and they have a big, sort of open shower/hot tub area in the women's locker room. Now, Ballard's not a big gay area, but one day when Max and I were working out, I spotted two cute women who were clearly queer, and lovers. One of them I'd describe as a tomboy-femme, and the other – well, let's call her butch-of-center. Nice, I thought, and then went on through my workout.

Later, I got undressed in the locker room and went down the tiled passage to the showers. As I walked, I saw the two cute lesbians sitting in the hot tub, facing me. Now, contrary to porn-video fantasy, women rarely cruise other women, and almost never jump each other in places like, say, gym showers. But still, these two women were most certainly…watching me walk towards them. I could almost hear the strains of "Standing on the corner, watching all the girls go by…"

I took in the fact that they were looking at me, and I happened to be in the mood to play along. So as I walked towards them, I let the towel I was sort of casually holding up to myself slip down a bit to see if I got any reaction.

Definitely watching me. That's nice. Now, the showers are arranged in a semi-circle around the hot tub, so when I got there, I stopped about three feet away from the tub and let the towel fall away from my nude body completely, as I paused to wrestle with the complex issue of just which shower stall I should go into.

Hmm, let's see – that one? (180 degree swivel, toss the hair, arch the back a little bit.) Or, no, maybe that one over there? (Turn back the other way, shoulders back, deep breath.)

I watched from the corner of my eye - they both had smiles well-laced with sensual appreciation, and the butchy one giggled slightly, which caused her girlfriend to jab her in the ribs with her elbow.

Without quite making eye contact, I let a slight smile hover around my lips. Then I hung up my towel on a hook and stepped into one of the stalls.

But - what's this? It looks like someone left a bottle of shampoo in here. Huh, imagine that. Gee, I wonder if it belongs to anyone…

I stepped back out of the stall and took a few steps towards the women in the hot tub, holding out the shampoo bottle. I made eye contact with them, smiled slowly, and then said, in my best magnolia-blossom drawl, I asked, "Is this ya'lls shampoo?"

The butch woman stared at me wordlessly for a moment like she'd been struck by lightning. It was charming. Then, as if reflexively, she shook her head and said, "No."

But the minute after she said it, she sort of squeezed her eyes closed and put her hand up over her face. You could see her mentally kicking herself and thinking, "Fuck! Why did I say that?"

The femme gave her an affectionate, pitying smile and said to me in velvety tones, "Oh – I'm not sure… Can I see it?" and held out her hand to me.

So I walked closer to her, letting my hips sway a trifle more than is my custom, bent over the tub slightly – barely audible intake of breath from the butch – and handed the femme the white plastic bottle. As I hung over the water, the steam rose gently from the tub, misting my face with warm, dewy beads. She turned the bottle over in her hands a few times, and then looked up at me.

"No, I don't think it's ours," she said. But she didn't hand it back to me. She just looked at me.

It's hard to say what would have happened if we’d been alone. Based on my experience of how non-casual-sex-oriented most women are, I can't really make myself believe these women would have seriously made a pass at me – but I suppose anything's possible.

However, we were not alone in the locker room, and at that moment, another woman walked into the shower area. I cocked an eyebrow and smiled at the femme, who gave the tiniest shrug and smile and handed me back the bottle. The butch woman sank a little lower in the water and grinned sheepishly at me from under her wet bangs. I went and took my shower, and when I came out, they were gone. A droll and gently erotic little exchange that left me smiling.

So, as promised, another video clip about the "The Weakest Kink" contest. Roman will be posting some text about it on his blog later this afternoon as well.
Now I'm off into my day - more later...

From The Photo Gallery

Self-portrait, taken sometime late in 2000. That's a metal grate I picked up at The Re-store over in Ballard. I have no idea what it's original purpose was, but I just liked the shape of it.
It was shot on my old Nikon Coolpix 950, with a single tungsten spotlight, and a white paper backdrop.
This is one of the first prints I ever succeeded in selling online, and it's one of my favorite color pieces.

From a recent email:

Mistress Matisse, you talk so much about where you're going and what you're doing – aren't you ever afraid that one of your clients will come and find you? What would you do if you ever ran into one of your clients in public?

This is what I call "a preconceived idea question". To do the issue justice, not only do I need to answer the question, I have to untangle the assumption that prompted it.

No, I'm not ever afraid that one of my clients will seek me out at a social event. It happens on a regular basis and I'm quite fine with it. Why shouldn't I be? I have nothing to hide. And I certainly don't mind having a few minutes of chat with a client I meet at a fetish event – if for no other reason than because it frequently means I'll get a phone call for an appointment soon after.

There have been a very few occasions when a client tried to take up a little too much of my time at a fetish party. It wasn't a malicious thing on their part – it was just a manifestation of their attraction to me and their general excitement at being there. A gentle verbal nudge has always taken care of the situation.

And I do run into my clients in non-fetish settings once in a while. It doesn't upset me. (Unless I look scruffy, in which case I'm mortified. Reason number thirty-seven never to leave the house without mascara.) Even if we're in the most vanilla of places, it's not like we have the words "Mistress" and "slave" tattooed on our foreheads. If, while we're browsing linens at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, a certain guy in a baseball cap and a polo shirt smiles and says hello to me, and I smile back at him, no one around us knows the precise nature of our acquaintance. No harm, no foul.

I once ran into a favored client while eating pizza at Piecora's on Capitol Hill. I happened to be with another woman who is an escort. He made eye contact with me and gave me a unmistakable "can I acknowledge you?" look. When I waved him over, he came and sat in our booth for ten minutes, while a table full of his basketball-buddies visibly seethed with curiosity about who the hot babes he was flirting with were. I'm told he took great pleasure in being mysterious about it.

That was entertaining. But since I do recognize that not everyone makes the same choices I do, my rule with clients is that in public – including fetish events – I will pretend not to know them, unless we've previously agreed that it's okay to do otherwise. If they want to approach me, that's fine. Based on what I'm doing at the moment, I may just give them a smile and a quick hello, or I may have time to chat a bit. But it's never a problem.

In fact, the only thing I worry about is bumping into a client when he's with his wife or girlfriend. You see, I'm told I have an expressive face, and my concern is that the significant other might be able to tell that I knew her guy. I'd hate to create a problem for one of my harem.

The thing about questions like this is that they presuppose an adversarial relationship with clients, and that's so not the case with me. I do not fear being stalked or harassed by my clients, and since everyone who knows me knows what I do, I don't fear being "exposed" by them in any way. I guess it's not the case with every woman in the industry, but my regular group of guys – well, they're just fabulous, that's all, and I'm quite happy with them.

Amusingly, the one "oh, shit" moment I can remember happened with a young woman. She'd been to a class I taught at Toys In Babeland, and then, a week or so later, I ran into her at the Broadway QFC. She looked across the produce department at me and cried out in a penetrating voice, "Hey, it's Mistress Matisse!"

Now, that's not the best plan under any circumstances. But I was extra jumpy because my mom was in town visiting me at the time. Luckily for me, she wasn't in the store with me. But it would have been a bit awkward if she had been, and so I spoke to girl and (politely, I hope) told her to please not call out my name like that.

So: discreet, but friendly – that's how I handle it...

I've been out of the house almost all afternoon - I went and saw Roman's new workspace, and it's way cool. (Very clean, too.) Then he and I cruised around Georgetown a bit, and then I went off to the gym.
When I got home, I found a very interesting email from the good people at OnFuego.com, which I'll talk more about later. But, the short version is: the first video clip is live. You can see it here. Enjoy!

Well, the video is now ready, but I'm having a technical difficulty with Onfuego.com. Hopefully it'll be resolved with an hour or two, and then I'll post the link.
This clip doesn't say all that much that I didn't talk about in the original post. There will be a couple of other clips this week that will feature Roman and I discussing just exactly how we're going to "challenge" our contestants, and I'll talk a bit about things I might do to the woman we wind up playing with at Kinkfest. Stay tuned for that.

Meanwhile, since it's Monday, I'm busy writing a Control Tower column and putting together the Kink Calendar. So until I get done with that, be entertained by these links…

Another video clip - this one is an absolutely hilarious clip of women getting their pubes waxed. I've never done this – shaving's always been good enough for me. And now I know I made the right decision! I like certain kinds of pain, but that doesn't look like fun to me. However, I could enjoy being the waxer...
(Link snagged from Mithras.)

A red-light district in Liverpool? England's first prostitution tolerance zone could be set up within months after councillors in Liverpool approved the move.

Closer to home: Houston Officers Can Now Get Naked To Arrest Prostitutes. Don't you feel safer knowing that?

Okay, I lied. The video clip isn't ready. I spent yesterday afternoon at the gym, and then we went out to dinner and to the Wet Spot. Max had a date to deliver a first-single-tail scene to a charming high-capacity girl we know. Of course, a bunch of our friends turned up to watch, so it was quite the social night at the WS.
The scene was lovely. I'm guessing Liss will be writing about it, so I won't scoop her. But it was quite delightful to watch, and my thanks to all the Wet Spot volunteers who moved furniture around to suit Max's playspace needs, and got me (and Tambo, too) a chair so I wouldn't have to stand the whole time.
So I'll do a quick-and-dirty edit on the video and throw it up tomorrow, I swear. We do have one contestant already, and some other people who are sort of dithering. My attitude is: whatever happens is cool. I feel pretty certain of having a good time at Kinkfest, one way or another. With both Max and Roman there, how could I not?

The Contest

It all began when Roman and I started talking about our possible plans for KinkFest, the upcoming BDSM convention in Portland. Now, he and I very much enjoy our informal, give-and-take style of SM play. Anarchist SM, I call it. But it seemed like it might be time to do something more like a traditional BDSM scene. And since we're both shameless exhibitionists, what better place to do it than in front of several hundred other kinksters? So we decided we should take the opportunity at Kinkfest to co-top someone (meaning: the two of us ganging up on one bottom).

But who? We both have a number of charming friends and acquaintances that might enjoy our evil attentions….Somehow, though, that just didn't seem like what we wanted for this.

We considered just cruising the dungeon to see what fell into our net. But that seemed a little too haphazard.

Truthfully, I don't recall which of us came up with the idea of a contest on the blogs. But, somehow, the idea that we would open this up to our readers was born. (Probably because of the all the ladies Roman has swooning over him. I'm just piggybacking here.)

We formed a concept not unlike a reality television show. We'll set out the rules and the eligibility requirements, there will be tests and challenges, and then at the end of it all, we'll pick a winner, and Roman and I will do a dungeon-stopping scene with her at Kinkfest.

The Rules, and Who Can Play

Well, obviously, you need to be going to Kinkfest. Sorry, we don't actually have a reality TV show budget, so we're not buying anyone a plane ticket.

Now I must deal a crushing blow to half the human race, because this contest is for girls only. Sorry boys, you know I love you, but Roman has this kinky-interest meter, and it doesn't go up for men. God knows I've tried to get him into some hot guy-on-guy action, but so far, he's declined. Plus, I've gotten a fair amount of complaints lately from certain people about my relentlessly Y-chromosome dance card, and it seems like it's time to address that. So, women only in this contest.

This is a big one: We cannot already know you. We're intrigued by the idea of meeting someone new. If you're a local friend of ours, and you'd like Roman and me to be mean to you, talk to us about that privately. This time out, we're looking for a sexy stranger.

Another uber-important rule: you must be an experienced, high-capacity SM player. There are times when it's charming to take someone who's brand new and slowly and carefully introduce them to the joys of kink. This ain't one of those times. I'm a safe but serious sadist, ladies, and I want to rock and roll at this party. Oh, and you have to be okay getting naked and playing in a public dungeon. We're not completely ruling out some private interaction, but it's more likely that the entire scene will be done in the Kinkfest playspace.

About sex: there will not be any with me. I'm not looking for that. Roman? Well, boys will be boys, and if you want to, and he wants to, I might be entertained by watching that. But we're definitely not expecting sex from you.

You must be willing to have your picture on the internet. Oh yeah, did we mention we're going to be posting all the entries? It'll be like the "American Idol" of BDSM scenes. Roman and I will block out your face before we post them if you insist on that, and we won't publish your name, your email address or any other identifying info about you. (Unless you ask us to.)

But in the photos you send us – and you will definitely be sending us pictures – we will have to see your face. I am quite clear that I'm not doing this scene with someone who won't show me her face beforehand.

(There will be no pictures of the scene itself, because public dungeons forbid such photo-taking. But we're certain to write about it.)

So your photos, your responses to our challenges, and Roman and my responses to them will all be posted online. Each week, we'll eliminate some contestants and some will go on.

Assuming we get any takers at all in this mad scheme, it should be a hell of a lot of fun.

And now, just because one has to say such things: The scene will be negotiated and it'll be completely safe, sane and consensual. Nothing will happen you didn't agree to. There will be other people around the whole time, so you know for sure you won't wind up in an oil drum somewhere. Obviously you know who we are, so you can check up on us, if you feel that's necessary.

If you're interested, send Roman and me an email telling us about yourself, and attach a picture, or direct us to a website where a picture of you can be seen. Spelling and punctuation will count for this email, and for all other communications you have with us, so run it through a spell-checker before you send it off.

If you'd like to hear a bit more from us about the contest and the weekly challenges we'll be putting our potential play-partners through, I'll be posting a video clip tomorrow of us talking more about it. Stay tuned for that...

People, I must tell you: if you leave me a voicemail that's longer than about thirty seconds, I'm probably going to think you're kinda weird. Okay, maybe forty-five. But if you leave me some three-minute rambling stream-of-consciousness message - especially if I don't know you – I will most likely think, "This person's gauge of appropriate social interaction is a little off. Maybe they're stoned. Maybe they didn't take their medication today. But wow, I really don't want to call them back."
I'm just saying. So now you know.

In other news…Roman and I had a date last night, and we took time out from having rabid ferret sex to shoot some video footage about a kinky little idea we've cooked up that could, possibly, involve you. Yes, I said you. We'll be making an interesting announcement tomorrow, so watch for that.

Now I have to go change the sheets…

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes it is.
Caller: Yes, I was wondering if you'd turn me into a woman?

Has sort of a through-the-looking-glass sound to it, doesn't it? This caller actually isn't expecting me to wave a magic wand over him, and he isn't even expecting me to prescribe him hormones and schedule him for surgery. He's looking for a heavy feminization scene - and he's doomed to disappointment, because I don't do that. It's just not a fetish of mine, and as Roman always says, "One must play to one's strengths."

It's not that I can't enjoy a boy in high heels. If you're a guy who wants to put on a bra and a garter belt and play "naughty-girl-who-gets-what's-coming-to-her", I'm down with that. Or if you just like the silky feel of the lingerie next to your skin, I'm quite fine with that, too.

But I don't do complete transformations on people, with wigs and makeup and padded bras and girdles and their cocks duct-taped up between their legs, and that's what this caller wants. And even if one assumes it's possible for someone to teach a man how to be a woman, I don't do that. That's a sub-specialty of professional dominance, and I leave it to the women who are good at it, because I'm not.

At least he isn't asking for the "forced-feminization" thing. I can sort of deal with that game, if it's kept at a very light and playful level. But, as I've said here before, I find the idea that I would seriously punish or humiliate a man by making him resemble a woman incredibly misogynistic, so it's rare for me to even dabble in that dynamic.

Me: You know, that's not really a specialty of mine. If you want to dress for a scene, that's fine, but I don't do serious feminization training.
Caller: Oh – you don't?
Me: No, I'm sorry. I know there are some other ladies in town who do, though. Have you called Mistress X?
Caller: It's just that – oh, you're so beautiful, I really wanted you to train me.
Me: That's very sweet, but, it's just not something I'm really into, so – I don't offer it.
Caller: So you've never trained a sissy-slave?

See, even the terminology for this turns me off. "Sissy-slave". I don't like that word.

Me: No, as I said, I'm just not into it.
Caller: Well, I'm very submissive and obedient, and if you'd just give me a try I really think I could please you. And then maybe you could teach me to be your little sissy-slave.

I love how people try to get me to change my mind about not playing with them by emphasizing how submissive they are. Am I the only one who sees the contradiction in terms here?

Me: No.
Caller: But Mistress, please, if you tried it, maybe you'd really like it!
Me: Listen to me carefully, because I'm about to tell you something you apparently don't already know: you cannot talk someone into sharing your fetish. You need to find someone else who's into this – but I'm not, so goodbye.

Click. I hang up. Better luck elsewhere, Miss Thing.

A note to my regular clients: I had a last-minute cancellation today - bad boy! But his loss could be your gain: I would be available to do a same-day appointment today anytime after 3pm. I'm busy all morning, but I'll start returning messages at noon...

What I'm reading these days…

Gentleman Spies: Intelligence Agents in the British Empire and Beyond, by John Fisher. The evolution of the British foreign intelligence bureau from before WW1. Not well-written, I'm afraid, but there's lots of interesting pieces of information in the jumbled-up writing. So I'm skipping around, reading a page here and there and skimming the rest.

Maiden of Tonnerre: The Vicissitudes of the Chevalier and the Chevaliaere D'Eon by Charles D'Eon de Beaumont, Nina Ekstein (Translator), Roland A. Champagne (Translator)
This one is so complicated I'll just let you read the publisher's blurb…
"Chevalier d'Eon de Beaumont was born in 1728. Raised as a boy, he was educated as a lawyer and entered the service of Louis XV as a diplomat. In 1756 he was sent to the Russian imperial court as a spy and was said to have dressed as a young woman to gain the confidence of the Empress Elizabeth. He later served in Russia (as a man) as secretary to the French ambassador. Returning to France in 1761, he was appointed a captain of the elite Dragoons and, after the Treaty of Paris in 1762, went to England as a diplomat and spy. During that time persistent rumors that he was in fact a woman arose, and he did nothing to dispel them. By 1777 he was officially recognized as female in both England and France. Recalled to France, he was reluctantly compelled by Louis XVI to give up his male attire. In 1785 he began to compose his autobiography, which presented much of his experience in religious terms, and he moved back to London. He lived there as a woman until his death in 1810, at which time his body was discovered to be unambiguously male." This volume includes the first English translations of d'Eon's autobiography (or "historical epistle") and other writings by d'Eon on his life, religious beliefs, and stories of women who concealed their sex to enter religious orders. As historian Gary Kates notes in the introduction, d'Eon's writing can be read on at least two levels: while it ostensibly tells the story of a woman who spent half her life as a man, it is in fact also the story of a man who spent half his life as a woman. As such it demonstrates both the construction and transgression of gender boundaries and historical narrative."

Whew. Complex - but interesting.

A Singular Hostage by Thalassa Ali. Sort of an adventure/romance novel, set in 1830's India. Good for light bedtime reading.

Elements of Fiction Writing Series: Scene and Structure, by Jack M Bickham. I like this whole series, it's very nuts-and-bolts, and while this one is almost - how shall I say, mathematical? - in it's approach, I got a lot out of it.

Chocolate: A Bittersweet Saga of Dark and Light, by Mort Rosenblum. I've just started nibbling at this one, a sort of cultural/historical look at the sweet stuff. It does tend to make one hungry.

God's Secretaries: The Making of The King James Bible by Adam Nicolson. Set a bit earlier than my favorite historical period, which is post-1750. But well-written and interesting just the same.

Mistress Ruby Ties it Together by Robin Shamburg. A short account of the author's experience as a pro dom in New York City. I'm unimpressed – she's not a bad writer, but her characters are one-dimensional and she's too eager to distance herself from the whole thing to really give us any insight into them, or herself. She's not really kinky, you see, she just did it for the money. As far as I'm concerned, that's an instant credibility-killer.

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrel: A Novel, by Susanna Clarke. Hmmn, what to say about this book? Aside from the fact that it's 800 pages and so big and bulky you could use it to club seals. The publisher says, "Susanna Clarke's ingenious first novel has the cleverness and lightness of touch of the Harry Potter series, but is less a fairy tale of good versus evil than a fantastic comedy of manners, complete with elaborate false footnotes, occasional period spellings, and a dense, lively mythology teeming beneath the narrative."
It didn't remind me of Harry Potter – those books read quickly and easily, and this book is very densely written. It is interesting, in a slogging-through-waist-high-water sort of way. But rather tiring to read, and coming from a muscular reader like me, that's saying something.

Busy girl today, so, some other things to amuse you...

Naked Girl Pics: This is what was going on in the cage in my bedroom last week. What a time to be sick! I was utterly unable to appreciate it properly, but even in my feverish state, I was pleased it was happening. Candy Girl and Rossi are not only pretty, they're cool girls...

Anyone ever tried this stuff? I hear it's big fun for those sensitive places...

Interesting article about Poly in the Denver Post. It's not bad, although it makes it sound like we're all perenially chasing new partners. Not me, I'm quite pleased with my little family.

Addendum: An ABC News story about the Extreme Associates case....

Local note: I'm looking for a plumber who does natural-gas work. I need a consult for a light-industrial application, preferably within the week. (I'm pursuing this off-line, of course, but I believe in putting what you want out to the universe. You never know.)

Now I'm off to renew my car tabs. Yes, my life is just one non-stop kinky orgy...

Winning...

I've gotten a few notes asking me about the outcome of the BOB awards. I'm reasonably sure that I did win in my category, although I still haven't heard anything official from the BOB awards folks. I'll let you all know when I do. Meanwhile, thanks to everyone who voted for me, I very much appreciate it!

As a side note...I have heard from a number of sources that some people feel I may have won this unfairly, because I have a professional site, with my own domain, as well as this blog, and they felt that I was using that site to drive traffic here.

In fact, I never mentioned the contest on mistressmatisse.com. And what's also true is that that site gets less than 500 hits per day, as you can see here. Here on the blog, I get between 2500 and 3000 hits a day. So if any site is driving traffic anywhere, it's this blog driving it over to my professional site. (Which is just as I expected, and was, in fact, a consideration in starting the blog in the first place. It's all about marketing, kids. I'm a very serious girl when it comes to marketing.)

I think all the other nominees are excellent bloggers, and I was pleased to be in their company. I'm actually going to decline some of the prizes, like the free blog hosting for a year, so that will trickle down to one of the other finalists, and I hope they enjoy that.

A much bigger and more important win: Obscenity charges have been dismissed against Extreme Associates!
EA is a porn video company which makes pornography of an extreme nature. They shoot piss and scat, simulated rape, and simulated murder/snuff. They are edgy and they are nasty, no question about it. In 2003, the federal government arrested Robert Zicari and his wife, Janet Romano, the owners of Extreme Associates, on 9 counts of violating Federal obscenity statutes and 1 count of conspiracy.
I've seen one of EA's videos - Forced Entry - and I didn't particularly like it. But that doesn't alter the fact that they have a constitutional right to make it, and so I am quite pleased that the court found in their favor. Here's a quote from another blogger who knows more about the legal part of it than I do... (BEGIN QUOTE)

"On Thursday, January 20, 2005, Western District of Pennsylvania Federal Judge, Gary L. Lancaster dismissed all charges against Extreme and the individuals. The decision found the obscenity laws unconstitutional as it applied to this case, which means the laws are still technically valid on their face. However, if you read the decision, the Judge essentially destroys the government's ability to prosecute obscenity at all. You can read about the case here. The Court summarized its findings, stating:

We find that the federal obscenity statutes burden an individual's fundamental right to possess, read, observe, and think about what he chooses in the privacy of his own home by completely banning the distribution of obscene materials. As such, we have applied the strict scrutiny test to those statutes. The federal obscenity statutes fail the strict scrutiny test because they are not narrowly drawn to advance the asserted governmental interests of protecting minors and unwitting adults from exposure to obscene materials, as applied to these defendants and the facts of this case. Because the federal obscenity statutes are unconstitutional as applied, defendants' indictment must be dismissed.

In addition, the court also flatly rejected the right of the government to enforce laws to further the interest of "morality", since the U.S. Supreme Court overturned all laws which ban private consensual sodomy between adults in Lawrence v. Texas, 539 U.S. 558 (2003). Here the court said:

The Lawrence decision, however, is nevertheless important to this case. It can be reasonably interpreted as holding that public morality is not a legitimate state interest sufficient to justify infringing on adult, private, consensual, sexual conduct even if that conduct is deemed offensive to the general public's sense of morality. Such is the import of Lawrence to our decision.

This decision is a huge victory for individual liberty and freedom of speech.

However, I see a huge logic gap in the Judge's decision which may make it ripe for reversal on appeal.The decision to dismiss the charges was not based on the 1st Amendment. In fact, the court conceded that the 1st Amendment does not protect obscenity. See Roth v. United States, 354 U.S. 476 (1957). However, the Supreme Court has also ruled that the mere possession of obscenity in your home could not be prosecuted. See Stanley v. Georgia, 394 U.S. 557 (1969).

Nonetheless, the government could (and did) freely prosecute anyone who distributes
obscenity. Here's what the judge did which appears somewhat curious. Judge Lancaster held that the 14th Amendment prohibits the government from prosecuting distributors of obscenity. Hence, it violates the Due Process clause of the Constitution to prosecute someone for distributing material which can be legally possessed.This means that even though obscenity is not protected by the 1st Amendment, the 14th Amendment protects an individual's right to possess and distribute obscenity. In other words, the government can make a law banning a form of speech (i.e. obscenity). However, they can't make it illegal to own it or distribute it. Under that logic, the entire concept of obscenity has become abrogated and essentially null and void. It's like giving the government a power, but not letting them actually use it.The government can choose to appeal this decision, and may have some grounds, as I've articulated.

Note: I applaud any decisions which protect freedom of speech, as this one does. However, I don't want to see good results overturned. Although there are risks for the government if they appeal. Since this is a trial level decision, it has no precedential effect on other jurisdictions. This means, that other courts can choose to ignore this decision entirely. If the government chooses to appeal and they lose in the Circuit Court or Supreme Court, then that decision would be binding on other courts.This decision may have a huge impact on the pending case of Nitke v. Ashcroft where the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom (NCSF) is fighting to overturn the Communications Decency Act, which is a law banning obscenity on the internet. The lead attorney on the suit is jwirenius I encourage anyone who is interested in either sexual freedom or freedom of speech to check out the NCSF website and find out more. " (END QUOTE)

Great info, all of it...I don't usually quote people at such length, but hey, he said it so well... So rejoice, lovers of free speech.

Another email question…

I read your blog the other day. I began the experience as an innocent, with no knowledge of BDSM whatsoever, and finished with an understanding of some of the motivations of the people who follow the lifestyle. You are in a polyamorous relationship that you find very satisfying. I get some understanding of why that is in reading your blog. What I don't understand (and I don't mean this in a judgmental way) is why you have chosen this kind of a lifestyle over a monogamous one. What are the benefits of a poly relationship for you that have lead you to prefer it to a more conventional one? In my admittedly naive view, a poly relationship would seem to entail a large number of costs - jealousy, a large commitment in terms of time, work and emotional support to multiple people, societal disapproval, interpersonal relationships that shift between friendship and being openly sexual, greater STD concerns, and greater vulnerability to being hurt emotionally. For you to undertake such a relationship with your primary partner, there had to have been some benefit beyond having more varied and enjoyable sex. In my experience, I have had very close and satisfying relationships with people without having sex with them. So I don't see the non-sexual reasons for polyamory. Could you enlighten me?

I've heard this kind of question before, and while I'm not offended by it – uh, yeah, it's pretty naive. What this questioner is essentially saying is: why do you have to have sex with anyone besides Max? Why can't you just be friends with other people?

In some ways, I think this is rather like asking a gay person why he/she can't "just be friends" with people of the same gender instead of having sex with them. I can't be truly happy being monogamous because I'm not wired that way. I haven't "chosen" anything – it's just the way I am.

The strange part of the way this question is presented, however, is that the writer takes a position that both over- and under-emphasizes the power and importance of sexuality.

He over-emphasizes it by setting monogamy up as the gold standard, giving me arguments to show how much better it is – safer, easier, more time-efficient – and by questioning why I'd risk all those supposed benefits.

Yet simultaneously, he under-emphasizes it by acting as if having a sexual love relationship is just like having a good buddy with whom you also like to do the wild thing. This writer talks about sex like it's going bowling or something - he seems to think that Roman and I could have built exactly the same type, and the same level, of affection, intimacy, trust, closeness and love, without having had sex with each other.

Now, I have a good friend – Miss K. We've been good friends for about ten years. She and I know each other in certain ways that no one else understands, and I love her dearly. But I'm here to tell you: it ain't the same. Friendship is a vitally important part of being fully human. But a sexual love relationship is a whole different thing. You cannot substitute one for the other.

(Yeah, I've had casual sex with friends before, and while it's not on par with an intense sexual love relationship, I still consider even the most no-strings of sex to change the nature of a platonic friendship. But polyamory means "many loves" and sexual love relationships are what we're talking about here. Casual sex is a whole other discussion.)

Poly is complicated, no question about it. But if one is going to argue strictly on the virtues of minimizing risk and maximizing efficiency, one could say: why have sex at all? Remaining a virgin would eliminate all the concerns that the writer brings up. Jealousy, STD risks, the possibility of being hurt emotionally, loss of time for other things – they all become non-issues. But I'm guessing he wouldn't advocate that. Nor would I.

In a sexual love relationship, you open your heart to your partner. You expose yourself, you make yourself vulnerable, and you do that because you want to. You want to be seen and be known in the most intimate of ways, and part of that intimacy is physical. But - I know I don't really need to explain this, I know that the writer must understand the power of physical intimacy, because he's essentially saying that it's so important it should be reserved for Max. But at the same time he's saying that it's so trivial he doesn't understand why I can't just subtract it from my relationship with Roman without altering that relationship's essential nature. I don't think one can logically hold both those positions at the same time.

What I say is: there is a connection that only happens when your body and your heart move as one, and I call that love. I am actively polyamorous because I have the ability and the desire to share that kind of love with more than just one person at a time. And because of that, I have a life that's filled with love. I happen to think that's worth a few inconveniences.

Whatever man first said, "It's better to get pissed off than pissed on," and thought himself ever-so-witty, had clearly never met some of the guys that call me.

Ring ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: How much do you charge for golden showers?

I think this guy has mistaken me for an a la carte menu. In fact, I have a feeling he's hoping he's at McDonalds. He's wrong on both counts.

Me: I do not charge per activity. I charge a per-hour fee for my professional time, regardless of what kind of scene I'm doing.
Caller: Oh. Well, what's your fee per hour?
Me: Two hundred and fifty dollars.
Caller: Oooo. That's kinda steep, isn't it?

It's not – it's exactly the same as everyone in town has been charging for some time. (Although I did notice lately that there's a newcomer charging three hundred. More power to her, if she's getting it.) Of course, he might also just mean "steep" relative to his discretionary income, which would be a not-my-dog situation. Either way, one always wonders how guys who say this think I might respond to such a remark. "Oh, do you think so? Tell me, dear man, how much would you like to pay me?" Surely, surely not. So I just say…

Me: Did you have any other questions I can answer for you?
Caller: Do you do fifteen-minute sessions?

Oh man. I get requests for half-hour sessions, and that's bad enough. But fifteen minutes? What the fuck does he think this is, a chair massage at an airport?

Me: No.
Caller: No?
Me: No.
Caller: But, I mean – you can't really pee for a whole hour, anyway. Can you?

I swear to god that's what he said. And there was the faintest little breath of crazy, I-know-it-can't-really-be-true-but-I'll-ask-anyway kind of hope in those final two words. I was so incredibly tempted to say "Oh, yeah! Sure I can." Just because then the little piss slut would be jerking off in a frenzy for the rest of his life, thinking about a woman who an hour-long bladder. A woman, I might add, that he'd never, ever get to meet. The torture of it!

But he'd never stop calling me. So instead I say…

Me: I think we're through talking now. Goodbye….
Click.

Piss off, indeed…

Health, Kink, and Silliness...

Well, I don't think I'd want to go run a marathon or anything today, but, on the whole, I seem to be well again. Thank god, I hate being ill, it sucks. So that's the health update. Now on to pervy stuff...

Hey, all of you out-of-towners, this is the excuse you've been waiting for to come to Seattle...

Two Day Bondage Intensive - Bondage Basics Through Suspension
Saturday, February 12th/Sunday, February 13th at Studio 120 in Seattle. It's 11 hours of focused rope bondage instruction, starting from the basics and going all the way through suspension bondage. If you have a practice partner, register them too. If you don't, that's OK - we'll form small groups and everyone will get a chance to practice. Class size is limited, so early registration is strongly encouraged.
Max will not be doing stand-alone suspension workshops in the future, so if you want to learn suspension bondage from an expert, now's the time. This will almost certainly sell out quickly, so register soon. I'll be there, it'll be a great event, and you can go from rope novice to bondage whiz in one weekend. Go read all the details on Max's site.

Now that we've covered the educational thing, let's have some entertainment...

While I was ill, I was amusing myself pasting bits of my own blog into this thing and seeing if it says I'm a boy or a girl. It's only right about half the time, which either means the algorithm is lame or I'm a hermaphrodite.

Oh, this woman may actually have me beat for the most Completely Insane Email of the Century. Caution: Do not drink anything while you read this, because you will spit it all over the keyboard.

New blog: Trinity, who comments here often and who has kindly allowed me to post nekkid pictures/video of her, has begun her journal, here.... So go check her out, and say hi to her, if you've got an LJ account.

Well, my temperature has dropped down out of triple digits, and my voice is sounding much less like Harvey Fierstein. That's progress. However, I'm still not feeling wildly creative, so we'll just pull the top letter off the email stack and answer it here….

I have been reading your blog for about a month now and have to say keep up the good work!...Anyway, I wanted to ask a question and I understand that you probably don't have time to answer all the questions you must get. I was wondering if you, as a sex worker, and particularly as a dominant female, have any sort of body image struggles, or could speak to that piece of being part of the sex industry. I know that in your blog you mention going to the gym and stuff, but I am wondering if having many people find you desirable improves a person's body image. I realize that this could be an incredibly offensive question and I am not so much asking you as in what is your personal experience, but more asking you as an expert. Thank you in advance if you have time to answer this and if not thank you anyway for the lovely blog.

What a sweet letter. This lady is right, I don't have time to answer all the questions I get, but I can answer this one. I'm not sure I'd call myself an expert on women's body image in a general sense, but I am definitely an expert on my body image.

Let me admit one thing right up front: I like having people think I have a pretty body. And it's my opinion that since I'm a sex worker, it is not only a personal but a financial benefit to me to have what the average America thinks of as "a nice figure". Yes, my feminist side deplores the endless barrage of you're-not-good-enough messages that are beamed at women by fashion/beauty magazines. But realistically, I see those types of messages as a "take some, leave the rest" situation. I am actually not a runway model in New York. So do I need to be a size 1 with 10% body fat? No, I don't need that. But – do I think I'd be as personally happy or as professionally successful if I were a size 18? No, I don't. For me, it's a question of keeping everything in balance.

I also think what I do to maintain my body affects how I feel about myself. I am not the jock-ish type by nature. I'd much rather lie on the couch and read a book. But unfortunately, I lack the kind of hyper-speed metabolism that will allow me to do that while looking the way I want to look. And strict dieting is such a negative, pleasure-denying place to live in all the time. I think it makes you a bit neurotic, and it doesn't even work all that well, either. Thus, I've made my peace with the gym. Two hours a day, three days a week, and I can eat pretty much whatever I want without angsting about it. 6 hours out of 168? I can do that.

(Plus, yeah, it's making me healthier, cardiovascular benefit, weight-bearing exercise wards off osteoporosis later in life - yes, I know all that, but right now we're talking about the visible effects.)

So if you call that a "body-image struggle"…Well, okay, then - I guess you could say I'm struggling. But it doesn't feel like psychological trauma to me, it just feels like: this is what I want, this is what I have to do to get it – so, that's what I'll do.

Do I think there's pressure to look a certain way in the sex industry? Yes, although more so in some places than in others. In the strip clubs I danced at, for example, anyone over a size 6 was at a disadvantage, and anyone over a size 10 was pretty much dead in the water. But I see plenty of big beautiful women who are doing just fine as escorts and sensual touch workers. I think just about any woman, regardless of looks/size, can make a living in some aspect of the industry. Obviously, the more people your looks appeal to, the more clients you'll attract based on that, so from a purely business perspective, it behooves you to make your looks as broadly appealing as possible. If you're targeting a narrower potential-client demographic, you may have to compensate for that in some way, like aggressive marketing or superior customer service. However, I witness this being done successfully all time.

Do I think being a professional dominant has affected how I feel about my body? No, not particularly. I do think pro domming is an area where skill and experience are definitely valued, perhaps more highly than in other areas of the sex industry. But a pro-domme's potential clients are certainly not above making their choice based on the mistress's looks. There was a time – I'm talking the 1950's here - when this particular branch of the industry was so taboo, and thus the market so underserved, that you could make money no matter what you looked like. But those days are long gone.

Do I think having people think I'm desirable improves my body image? I wouldn't say "improves", exactly. It's nice, although women of different shapes and sizes than I are also lusted after just as ardently. But the bottom line (no pun intended) is that if you don't feel good about yourself, no amount of praise from other will convince you you're beautiful. I can remember being in strip-club dressing rooms with women who were - I do not lie - goddesses. Fucking beautiful goddesses, with flawless bodies. And they'd stand in front of the mirror and say, "Oh, God, my tits are sagging, my ass is fat, I'm so ugly." It used to kill me that they couldn't see how gorgeous they were. But you couldn't tell 'em – they wouldn't listen. Guys threw handfuls of money at them nightly, howled and whistled and rolled on the floor like dogs in front of these girls, but…"I'm so ugly!" If you have a negative image in your head, that's all you'll see when you look in the mirror.
So, you have to feel good about myself, and then having other people praise you will be icing on your cake. The trick, of course, is to figure out just what you need to feel good about yourself. And that's likely to be more about what's above your shoulders than below it.

You Give Me Fever...

Sorry, no dirty stories about the sex party last night. As you may have inferred from Rossi's comment below, the Mistress is feeling a bit...under the weather. The sore throat isn't the bad thing, it's the 101 degrees of fever that's making me feel like I took some bad Extasy; the high is interesting, but my body feels terrible.

I'm reasonably sure it's the same bug that got Twisted Monk - although he's about 36 hours ahead of me with it. (Gee, how'd that happen? Hmmnn.) So I'm gauging my probable recovery by watching his. Survey says: I should be fine by Wednesday.

Hey! The Tylenol seems to have kicked in - thermometer now says 99.8. That's helpful - I have to conduct a telephone interview today for The Stranger, and I'd really prefer to be lucid for that. Maybe I'll go take a tepid bath and see if that gets me down to 99.

When I'm better, I'll tell you about the two naked chicks who were in the cage in my bedroom last night. And no, I did not hallucinate them...

What am I up to? Well, I'm busy with houseguests and such - Midori and her partner are staying with us this weekend, and if you're a kinky girl in Seattle, you should be at her party tonight.

Speaking of divas, I got a nice mention the UK newpaper, The Guardian, courtesy of the ever-gracious Belle De Jour, whose book is just out.

If you haven't already, check out this week's column, and the Kink Calendar.

I had dinner with Jake earlier this week, and in the wake of that, I have a private message for Jake's Canadian heartthrob. (This won't make sense to anyone else.) "Brionny, tell Vanessa to get over whatever weird issues she's got going on. Jake's a great guy, and she should definitely meet him face-to-face."
There. Now I've done my part for Romance...



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