A few other views of Kinkfest, some from real-life friends of mine, and some from people I know only electronically...
Liss,who continues to be much tougher than she looks, especially when she wears cute little hats.
Griffin,who is an evil genius and should write a book about perverted games to play with your lover. Or maybe he should be kept in an iron mask somewhere, I'm not sure which.
Rossi, who graciously let me teach a sweet young thing how to do play-piercing on her.
The Geriatric Riot Girl, who let me try on some of her wares even though I was too wiped out to make a decision about anything, and...
The Ranting Dom, who I glimpsed but missed actually meeting in person...

I am so loving this NYT article about how to get back at corporate stupidity.

I found some other recipes for drinks made with absinthe, which I'm pleased about. Roman and I did it the traditional way last time (ie, mixing it with water and a sugar cube) and I know that's the way the purists do it, but - yuck. If you like black jelly beans, you'll love the way absinthe tastes. Unfortunately, I hate black jelly beans, and I thought it tasted nasty, so I wound up chugging my drinks, which is really not the point of absinthe.

We got a nice buzz, though, and Roman and I actually have several hours of video footage that we took that night of us drinking the stuff and getting progressively more and more chatty and uninhibited. The sound quality isn't great, though, although there is one amusing segment of me chattering gaily about my ability, as a highly-skilled professional, to pee absolutely anytime, in damn near any physical position. If MTV had a show called "Kinky Real World", I'd be a shoo-in. But the Naked Public Life I and II are the only bits we ever posted...

And last but definitely not least, I got that black straight-jacket I was wanting from JT's Stockroom, and it's great! Jennifer, the head of the Stockroom Marketing Department, was sweet enough to bring one up to Kinkfest for me, after she read that I was wanting one. How's that for customer service? I was impressed... (Plus, Max and I agreed that she's awfully cute.)
I'm bummed I didn't get to meet Jennifer's husband, but I'm hoping we can get them both up to Seattle sometime, and there was also some mention of a LA erotic event, so who knows?

Bibliowhore

When Max and I were in Portland last weekend, of course we had to go to Powell's. (Twice, actually.) I bought…

Catfight: Rivalries Among Women--From Diets to Dating, from the Boardroom to the Delivery Room, by Leora Tanenbaum. "Catfight is a remarkably researched and insightful foray into the American woman's world of aggression, rivalry, and competition."
I've read this one already and it's interesting. Tanenbaum mixes stories of her personal experience with research and so it's easy to read and yet thought-provoking. It's odd, though - I would have thought I was a competitive sort, yet I actually don't engage in many of the behaviors described in this book. Maybe I work out all my anxieties putting chopsticks on other women's labia. Hmmn, perhaps I should start some kind of highly-specialized corporate-training firm.

The Book of Absinthe: A Cultural History, by Phil Baker "Opening with the sensational 1905 Absinthe Murders, Phil Baker offers a cultural history of absinthe, from its modest origins as an herbal tonic through its luxuriantly morbid heyday in the late nineteenth century."
I just started this. It's a bit slow so far, but I'll keep going. I'm thinking perhaps it's time for Roman and I to have another experience with The Green Fairy.

Call of The Mall: The Geography of Shopping, by Paco Underhill. "As a follow-up to the bestseller Why We Buy, he has written an arch entertaining ethnography of the shopping mall. It's about the shopping mall as an exemplar of our commercial and social culture."
I read "Why We Buy" and loved it. This one isn't quite as entertaining, but Underhill is definitely a sharp observer of the culture of shopping.

Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress: Tales of Growing Up Groovy But Clueless, by Susan Jane Gilman. "Gilman's latest is an acerbic, often side-splitting memoir that chronicles her bohemian youth in New York City's Upper West Side and her first years of adult life. Gilman's wisecracking, raw narrative about universal experiences--defeating bullies, weathering parental divorce, trying to find meaningful work--is reminiscent of David Sedaris' writing and will draw a similarly wide audience."
I actually bought this book mainly because it's the kind of book I never buy. I like memoirs, but I dislike the "totally hip, yet somehow depressed" tone of voice that finds its perfect outlet in much of Sedaris' writing. But since I am doing a certain amount of essay-style memoir-writing myself, I want to try reading as wide a variety of other people's as possible. So we'll see if I agree with the rapturous reviewers.

The Color Of Death, by Bruce Alexander "Sir John Fielding, a blind 18th-century London judge, is back in his Bow Street offices along with his young assistant Jeremy in this seventh installment in Bruce Alexander's well-crafted, intricately plotted historical crime series."
Fluffy paperback fiction. I'm a sucker for mysteries where people are named Sir Something and write with feathers.

Tobacco: A Cultural History of How An Exotic Plant Seduced Civilization, by Iain Gately. "Gately's Tobacco is a sweeping cultural history of the world's most prevalent addiction, and it's probably the best book ever written on its subject."
Haven't started it yet, but it's exactly the kind of thing I like. I'm actually looking for a good book about the history of opium and opium addiction in nineteenth-century England, to include when it started being synthesized into morphine.

The Serpent and The Moon: Two Rivals For The Love Of A Renaissance King, by Her Royal Highness Princess Michael of Kent. "Set against the stunning backdrop of Renaissance France and peopled by the titans of European history, The Serpent and the Moon is a true story of love, war, intrigue, betrayal, and persecution. At its heart is one of the world's great love stories: the life-long devotion of King Henri II of France to Diane de Poitiers, a beautiful aristocrat who was nineteen years older than her lover."
Sixteenth century France isn't my favorite era or place, but still, this looks good. And apparently written by a gen-u-ine princess. I hope that doesn't mean her writing sucks.

Mistress of The Elgin Marbles: A Biography of Mary Nisbet, Countess of Elgin, by Susan Nagel. "Filled with romance, danger, and scandal, Mistress of the Elgin Marbles is the intriguing story of Mary Nisbet, the Countess of Elgin -- one of the most influential women of the Romantic era whose exploits enriched world culture immeasurably."
1800's England, my favorite. I'm saving this one 'til I have a quiet night, so I can just go right through it.

I had to sternly restrain myself not to buy more, and we actually didn't get to Portland's other great bookstore, the alt/porn bookstore Countermedia. That's a shame, but in some ways just as well, because I always spend way too much money there.

I think I'll start a Powell's wish list - I don't think Amazon is inherently evil, as I usually buy used books through them, and can thus feel good about supporting a small businessperson. But I do think independent bookstores are an important social institution that we should support.

Plus, I love having big stacks of unread books by my side of the bed.

In Her Own Words

Here's a sweet note from the The Weakest Kink contest winner, Krystal, about her encounter with Roman and I...

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When I first met Matisse, I was in the vendor's area looking at floggers with my friend and had a heavy and thuddy but fur covered flogger in my hand that I wanted to get a feel for. The words on the tip of my tongue were, “Hey, will you try this on me?” I turn around, and my friend has nearly moved on to the next booth and in her place stood the fabulous Mistress Matisse, standing there waiting and watching me. The moment was so beautiful - I don’t think I’ll ever forget how I felt. For a split moment, I couldn’t speak - I think my knees even buckled.

My challenge last night was to be at the doorway to the dungeon at nine and take one item of clothing off every five minutes. That’s the longest striptease I’ve ever done. I use to complain when my DJs went over 3 minutes a song. There was a lovely toppy dyke hanging around and flirting with me. As I was going to start a striptease/lapdance for her, just after I took my shirt off, I got a message from Tambo that I was to put my collar on, stay on my knees, and face the hallway. Five minutes later, I unbuttoned my schoolgirl skirt and see Matisse and Monk turn the corner at the end of the hall. As they walked down the long hallway in a Matrix/Resevoir Dogs style with bags and such coolness, I hugged my teddy bear and thought, “Gee, does this mean I won?”

The combination of strength and gentleness in their mannerisms as tops was so precisely exquisite. They tied me up in beautiful royal purple hemp (MY beautiful royal hemp). “Are you crazy?” Monk says,“You met us ONLINE.” This only gives me a bit of a flutter before I realize that my love is thirty feet away and this is a safe, public space, and I do have the capacity to use my safewords. Matisse says something about chopsticks and I’m scared. The pictures I’ve seen with Matisse and her chopsticks run through my head. As they turn the dials of pain up and down ever so precisely, I start to realize how skilled these two are at reading my body language. I was on a natural high from the start, but they set me flying higher than I’ve ever been. I couldn’t stop laughing and smiling. My bound body, an altoid held in place with chopsticks, bells hanging from various places, Matisse and Monk making out inches in front of my face, great music, and my love in eyeshot - wink/wink means we’re both okay. There were no words for this.

Well, for every high, there is a fall. Yes, generally these things are brought down slowly. I, however, very suddenly felt dizzy and even though I didn’t actually think I would, I heard myself say, “I think I’m going to pass out.” My body-mind-mouth connection must have been working even though I was still somewhere else, because that’s the last thing I remember before being on the floor with my love holding my face in his hands and people around me in very supportive but not overbearing care. I know it’s scary from the outside - and I hesitate to say this because I don’t want to give anyone any unsafe ideas - but it actually added to everything. Coming to with excellent music and my love’s face was beautiful. They made sure I had enough water, assured me that everything was okay and let me enjoy my high. My teddy bear, who had been tied to the pole in ransom, was handed to me and I was relieved to know that I’d been a good girl and they didn’t have to torture Krys, the genderless teddy bear.

Serious sub-space had an interesting effect on me: I was so empowered. By the time we went back to the room and I had revelled in my marks and washed my makeup off, I felt so happily toppy and was lucky enough to have two beautiful people in my room to take it out on. Thank you Monk and Matisse for giving me such an amazing first night at Kinkfest!
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So, yes, you read that right: big bullies that we are, Roman and I made the poor girl faint after we'd been playing with her for about an hour. Of course, it wasn't really just what we were doing. The room was quite warm, and she'd been standing with her knees locked for too long. I kicked myself later for not noticing and correcting that, because it's a quick ticket to unconciousness if you're standing still for a while.

I'm glad she was able to warn me, although even if I hadn't caught her, the chest harness Roman had tied on her as part of the bondage would have prevented her from falling to the ground. Her lover came flying over when he saw her go limp, and Max and another friend, Tom, came as well, and helped us untie her from the rope and get her down to the floor quickly and safely. She was only out for a moment or two, and she's the first person I've ever seen come out of a faint with a smile on her face. It was definitely a more dramatic ending for the scene than we'd planned. But Krystal is a resilient girl, and while she may not consider herself a heavy masochist, she took a lot for us, and she's tougher than she thinks. (On the other hand, her teddy bear, who we tied up as well, is an honest-to-goodness pain slut. We put clothespins all over that bear and s/he didn't protest one bit.)

I'm pleased that Roman and Max and I got to spend some time with Krystal and her partner over the rest of the weekend. They're both really neat people - I'm pleased to have made a connection there, and I hope we keep in touch. Max and I are going to try to lure them up here to Seattle for the next Bondage Intensive class. So I must say, I'm quite satisfied with the outcome of "The Weakest Kink". Maybe we will do it again next year...

Edited to add: There's video clips over on Roman's blog...

Dispatches from the Front

So, it's Saturday afternoon, and I'm at Kinkfest, and I know what you’re all thinking. You're thinking, "Roman, Matisse – what happened with the Weakest Kink Contest!"

Well, I don’t have a lot of time to write, being as I am a leather conference where every minute is jammed with workshops and parties and hanging out with friends and so on. And Roman is off vending his cute little butt off, since everybody wants to buy his rope - I know he has no time.

But… a sneak preview. We did indeed choose a winner. And the winner was…(insert drumroll here)…Contestant Number 2, the lovely and talented Krystal! She fulfilled her final challenge most beautifully, and I’m glad she won. She’s a sweet, lovely girl. And Roman and I had a very, very good time being very, very mean to her.

Calliope was a worthy contestant and we’re glad she played. At her request, we won’t be discussing her final challenge and the situation surrounding that, but she’s a great person and we wish her well.

So, after we’re back from our weekend – and slightly recovered – Roman and I will be writing in some detail about the completely charming and nasty scene we did with Krystal, and we have some pictures and some video footage, too. (Not of the scene itself, no cameras allowed in Kinkfest dungeons.)

Meanwhile, I think a hot shower and a brief nap are the next indicated step for me - I have another dungeon party to attend tonight, and I’ll have to look and feel my best…

So it’s Friday, and Max and I are in Portland gearing up for a weekend of kinky debauchery at Kinkfest. And that includes the climax – so to speak – of The Weakest Kink contest.

Roman and I have had a lot of fun with the contest - everyone who participated was great. (Except perhaps that “Lola” person…) So whatever happens, I’m sure it’ll be a good time. And tonight, Roman and I have one final challenge to determine the winner, which – oh no! – I’m not going to reveal here. Sorry, can't ruin the surprise for the last two contestants. As you know, it’s down to Calliope vs. Krystal. We’ve come up with a really charming little game to play with them, so stay tuned for a full report on that later this weekend.

Meanwhile, I intend to shop, schmooze, flirt, play, and have some rowdy sex. Bye!

Edited to add: Oh, and of course - the new column and the Kink Calendar are up, so enjoy those...

Bizarre Bazaar

Ring ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, do you sell items?

You're probably thinking, "what kind of items?" But I know what he means – he means used panties. He might also mean used hose, or socks, or worn shoes. But they usually say that specifically if that's what they mean. So I'm guessing he means panties.

I have nothing against the idea of selling someone my worn underwear - in fact, I think it's sort of charming. The idea that something which has intimately touched me - or, by extension, any woman - automatically becomes a symbol of womanhood, almost a sacred object, worthy of sexual deification and worship...Well, I find that completely appropriate.

But there's a problem with the implementation: I don't wear panties. I mean, occasionally I do, if I'm wearing a short skirt. I have a dozen plain black g-strings for this purpose. But the rest of time, I'm going commando.

I used to wear underwear, but a number of years ago it just started to seem unnecessary. And then there's the fact that none of my lovers have a lingerie fetish. Max doesn't care anything about it – he especially dislikes bras, and would just as soon I didn't wear those, either, although I often do just because it's more comfortable than bouncing around. Roman doesn't get schwinged by lingerie either. Like Max, he has the, "Yeah, that's nice, now take it off so I can get to you" attitude.

Thus, the only time I wear sexy lingerie is with my favored clients who prefer that look to the fetish-wear, and who often buy me the things they'd like to see me in. There is something sort of extra-kinky about ruthlessly tormenting someone while wearing a lacy pink camisole and panties from Cosabella.

But I wouldn't want to break up that set, so instead, let's see if this guy happens to want a used black thong.

Me: Well – I suppose I could, yes. What were you looking for?
Caller: Um, panties. White cotton panties, with the full bottom. Or pantyhose, the kind of thicker, heavier kind. And, um, really worn ones, you know?

Oh, wow, I'm not dissing his fetish, but – no way. There's no way I'm going to wear big ole full-bottom panties or heavy, itchy support panty-hose long enough to qualify as "really worn". (Not for what I imagine he wants to pay for them.)

Me: You know, sweetheart, those just aren't things I wear in my normal life, and so I don't have anything like that lying around. And I don't really want to wear them, so… If you liked the finer, silkier stockings, or g-strings, I could maybe do that, but…
Caller: Yeah, but – it's the smell I really like, and those things don't hold the scent very well.
Me: I understand. Sorry.
Caller: Yeah, okay, bye.

A reasonable question, but not a fetish I can easily cater to…

Some Random Thoughts

It really makes me laugh when I go to a fetish website that bills itself as "real, hardcore fetish" and all the (sic) "femme doms" are a) wearing collars and leather wrist cuffs and b) holding their whips in such a way that if they were to actually swing the thing, they'd hit themselves in the face.

Heard from a submissive: "You know, there just aren't many greeting cards that are designed for a submissive to give to a dominant." Hallmark, there's a demographic calling you.

According the Wikipedia, I'm a BDSM authority. (See footnote number one.) How charming. So stop saying "dom-may", all of you.

I think The Encyclopedia of Sex is getting some very bogus entries. Abe Lincoln? Patrick Cook? Yeah, right.

Nice page about public etiquette for submissives.

I want some of this stuff…

I also want one of these. I saw a leather one over the weekend that looked (and smelled!) so nice, but I think this might be more practical for my purposes.

Recent good reads: Blink: The Power Of Thinking Without Thinking by Malcolm Gladwell. The author of "The Tipping Point" is back with a very interesting book about a brain function he calls, "our adaptive unconscious: a 24/7 mental valet that provides us with instant and sophisticated information to warn of danger, read a stranger, or react to a new idea. "
Essentially, it's about how people make snap decisions, and why some people are better at it than others. Since, in my professional life, I am often required to size up someone in an moment and make a yes/no decision about whether I want to deal with them, I found this fascinating. Not quite as essential as The Gift Of Fear to the Sex Worker's Reading List, but I burned right through it just the same.

Now I must quit stalling and go do what I ought to be doing…

The Family (Jewels) Album

One of my favorite boys likes to have photos taken when we play, and he always gives me such pretty pictures. Here's one - but before you go look, read the description he wrote of what you'll see. (Big image, if you're on dial-up. And very, very not work-safe.)

"I call it chopstick ball torture or cbt, not to be confused with CBT. I think it is an exquisite form of sexual torture. The chop sticks form and separate the balls to create a lot of pressure in the scrotum. They form a lever with the balls at the fulcrum. Slight movements of the chopsticks increases the pressure and pain in the scrotum. It is only recommended for an expert Dominatrix, such as you."

What a wonderful man, to let me do such terrible things to him.

Last night: Workshop was great, party was great…Thanks to everyone who came and contributed.

Note to my clients: I will be available tomorrow and Wednesday this week, and then I leave for Kinkfest. We’re traveling home on Monday, so I will be booking appointments for Tuesday through the week.

I've had a number of people from Portland call me and ask if I'm booking appointments there while I'm in town, and the answer is no. Sorry, but I'll be a very busy girl all weekend.

Roman posted the latest update in The Weakest Kink Contest, so check that out if you haven't already.

Amusing blogs for today: The Call Girl. Quite interesting...

And an Australian guy's rules for sex worker's clients, who are apparently called "punters" down under. While some of the structure is different because it's legal there, a lot of the suggestions seem to line up with mine. Tire-kickers, indeed.

Today I go to the gym, get a facial, take care of some boring business stuff, and then sit down and write a column. I'm not sure what I'm going to write about, but I'm considering something along the lines of: "How To Tell If Someone Is A Good Dominant". What do ya'll think about that?

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As per usual, I spent last night doing kinky things with Roman, so no long post right now.

Amusing poly incident of the day: When Roman and I got up this morning, Max, Maura and Jake were down in my garage, finishing some hemp rope. (Max likes Roman's rope, but he's enough of a rope-fetishist to like doing his own.) I personally thought it was not a big deal, but Roman seemed to think that qualified as at least a slight French Farce Moment.

Today, I have one of my favorite boys coming to see me, and then a loooong workout, and then tonight, I get to lounge around my house and watch Max tie up a very pretty girl. That'll be nice...

Meanwhile, the new column and the Kink Calendar are up, and I also found this interesting: Morgan's Time Line of Hooking. I do have a number of friends who are escorts, so I've kept tabs on what's going on in that world since I left it, and I've observed the same progression. Although not all of the customs she mentions are prevalent in the professional-dominance business - (trial dates? You must be joking!) - there is some overlap. There are "mistress review boards", for example, and it has become unusual, and slightly suspect, for mistresses to not show their face in web sites. Like the author, I'm not always sure all these developments are an entirely good thing. In some ways, yes, they're cool. In others - I don't know.

One more: I just saw this and had to add it to today's list: Anatomy of a bad response to a kinky online profile. See, I'm not the only snarky kinky chick in Seattle...

Be a Model of Restraint

I've got a big event this weekend – a photo shoot on Saturday with the incomparable glamour photographer Tommy Edwards. I've worked with Tommy a number of times before, and while I know some really talented photographers, no one has ever made me look as good as Tommy has. He's absolutely the best at what he does. It's my personal opinion that every woman – and hell, every man, too – should have really gorgeous pictures taken of them at least once. Even though I know that I actually don't roll out of bed looking just like that picture up there, it still just makes me feel good to look at them.

So I'm doing the usual pre-Tommy-shoot regime: the 7-day low-carb crash diet, to get off a pound or two of water-weight. And I bumped up the length and intensity of my cardio routine – oh, the muscle burn… But it's worth it for Tommy. I'll post some pictures when I get them.

Which brings me to something else… In the past, there have been some people who whined at me about that fact that although I don't see female clients, I have pictures of myself with female fetish models on my professional site. Personally, I think those folks are suffering from a surfeit of literal-mindedness – it's art, people, and the language of art is symbolic, not actual. Plus, it's just practical: there are tons of female fetish models. There are very few males.

But in the spirit of fairness, I'm going to make an offer. And if no one takes me up on it, I don't want to hear any more carping about my girl models. I would love to have a cute boy come and model with me this Saturday afternoon. Here are the requirements:

Be way cute, trim and nicely-muscled.
Be over 18, obviously.
Be willing to show your face. No masks or hoods or anything like that.
Be willing to appear as a submissive and be subjected to some bondage and light BDSM play. Nothing too-too heavy, it's a shoot, not a scene.
Be willing to sign away all rights to the photos.
Understand that this is not a real BDSM scene, and that it's not about your gratification, sexual or otherwise.
Understand that while you can certainly make limits and offer suggestions, you are really just a prop in this situation, so Tommy and I will generally expect you to do as you are asked without fussing.

What will you get in return? Pictures of yourself with me, by Tommy. And the opportunity to spend an afternoon in close proximity to me.

Now, I could get any number of female models to do this shoot with me under exactly those conditions, within the same time frame. I will be quite surprised if I can get a male candidate. But, hey, prove me wrong, I'd be pleased.

I will of course need to see pictures of you, and then meet you in person, before Saturday, and Tommy gets a vote on you, too. But if you think you've got what it takes, drop me a note. You'll get some beautiful art out of it.

UPDATE: Much to my pleasant surprise, I have two serious contenders for this gig, including one hot guy I already know, who I thought would not be able to show his face due to professional considerations. Yay! So, I have to get Tommy's approval on this, but we might soon be looking at some sexy male-submissive pictures.

(Author's note: I decided I'm just fine with the fact that this may discourage certain fetishists from calling me.)

Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Um, hi…I have a strange question. I mean, you might think it's strange.

I prepare to be asked about something I think is quite normal, as that's usually how this works.

Me: What is it you'd like to know?
Caller: I saw that picture, on the other site, of the girl with the dog collar on…Do you do dog-play?

See, very tame. This guy wants to pretend he's a dog and have me put a collar on him, make him bark and spank him with a rolled-up newspaper. Hopefully he won't hump my leg, though.

Me: Sure, I do doggie role-play.
Caller: Role-play?
Me: Yes – you want to do a scene where you pretend to be a dog, right?
Caller: No, um…That's not what I mean. I mean, do you have…um…Do you have a dog? A real dog?

Okay, I think I was wrong about him being tame. But, oh, I really hope this isn't what I think it is. Maybe I'm being too perverse and cynical. Maybe the SPCA is his favorite charity and he's soliciting donations. Maybe he belongs to PETA and he's just checking to make sure I don't signal-whip my pets. I'm clinging, desperately, to any shred of hope that he isn't thinking what I think he's thinking.

Me: Why are you asking me this?
Caller: Well, I'm from (DELETED) and there used to be this pro dom I saw here, Mistress X.

Snarky aside: I know exactly who he means, and if he spent much time with that lady, he's lucky if he's still got a functioning dick and a viable credit rating. Permanent PMS and a shopping addiction does not a skilled Mistress make. But I had no idea she...Oh, Jesus.

Caller: And, well, she had a dog. And she used to bring it into the sessions.

Oh, this is so gross. But I can't decide whether I should just hang up now, or stay on the phone and listen to icky gossip about this other Mistress.

Me: No, I don't have a dog.

And even if I did… We're skating very close to the top of my "Eeeeuuuwwww!" list of activities. But I'm trying to stay calm, because there's no point in getting emotional with this guy.

Caller: Could you borrow one?

Okay, fuck calm. Borrow one? Borrow one? "Excuse me, Friend X, but could I take your German Shepherd out for a walk? We might be gone for a couple of hours. You haven't had him neutered yet, have you? Great."
And then they wonder why the dog has this funny look on his face when I bring him home. I'd be the Michael Jackson of the canine world. I've heard of stud animals, but this is ridiculous.
Plus, don't you have to train a dog to... I mean, humping a human's leg is one thing, but surely a dog wouldn't just... Oh, this is too gross to even think about.

Me: You know what, that's disgusting. This conversation is over, don't call me again.
Caller: No, wait, it's not what you think.
Me: You're calling a dominatrix and asking her if she has a dog she can bring into the session and you're telling me it's not what I think?
Caller: But, but - it could be a female dog!

Click. I hang up.

I've been getting a little gentle fussing from some readers, lately, about my not writing as much. Have no fear, I'm not going away. But as this blog grows more popular, blogging here grows a little more challenging. There are a number of complicating factors behind the scenes, and one of those factors is the effect it's having on both my existing and my potential clientele.

This blog does attract some people to me, which was one of the reasons – although definitely not the only one - I started it. But lately I'm hearing remarks from both regular guys and potential clients that give me pause. They go along one of three lines…

From a potential client: "I can't do the kinds of things you talk about your clients doing on your blog. That's too extreme for me, so you probably don't want to see me, huh?"
Au contraire. The edgy scenes do make a compelling read. But what's true is that the gentler sessions far outnumber the more intense ones, and as long as I feel like I'm connecting with someone, I enjoy doing them. Still, the result is that now before I write, I have to weigh, "If I post about this, will I scare off guys I'd enjoy playing with?"

From a potential client: "I've been wanting to call you, but I was afraid I'd say something stupid and wind up on your blog, you know, as one of those callers."
I'm hearing this more often than I like. I even had one perfectly nice guy who, when my cell phone lost the connection, assumed I had hung up on him and sent me a sad email apologizing for not saying the right thing.
Guys, you have to be really aggressively stupid to be featured as one of those callers. Innocently inquiring about rates, hours and possible activities is perfectly appropriate, and I deal with lots of new folks who don't know quite what to say or what questions to ask. But this worries me slightly, because I definitely don't want nice, honest guys to be scared to call me.

From an existing client: "You wrote about his scene… How come you never write about our scenes? Do you like playing with him better? Do you want me to do what he does?" Yes, there's been a little jealousy/competitiveness among my A-Team boys. It's at a level that's both manageable and forgivable, but since most of my guys aren't that familiar with the concepts of polyamory, trying to explain to them how it is that I like both scenes equally is uphill work. The result: I'm less likely to write about scenes with clients, even though I have some really hot ones.

I am pleased by the fact that no one seems worried I'll "out" them. (Or at least, not that I've heard about.) I never, ever would, of course – but I can't expect them to know how very seriously I take my client's privacy.

Bottom line is: I'm having to try to adjust what I say here without losing the things about the blog that make it entertaining. That's tricky. But I'm working on it…

Okay, the link to the eagerly anticipated update to The Weakest Kink Contest is posted on Roman's site. Read and enjoy...

Now, for the contestants, the next challenge:

Clothespins. One of my favorite BDSM toys, as anyone who's ever played with me can attest to. Cheap, easily available, easy to carry, and so many places to put them! Get some, if you haven't already got them. Get big ones, get small ones, wooden ones, plastic ones, metal ones - whatever suits your fancy. And put them on yourself. As many as you possibly can – in as many places are you can. If you have someone to help you, great. If not, well, do your best. Take a picture of yourself so decorated. And then, also take a picture of your skin right after you've removed the clothespins. Can we see red marks? Oooohhh. Little indentations in your skin? Double-ooooohhh.
This is going to indicate a little something to us about your ability to handle some intense sensation, so send us the pictures to show us what you can do. Roman and I will be judging based on how many you've got on, where on your body you placed them, and whether we can see marks afterwards.

Okay, kids, Roman is off doing the pre-Kinkfest Death March of ropemaking at the shop – complete world domination doesn't happen by itself, you know - so we're a teensy bit behind on the Weakest Kink contest update. But we do have the submissions, and woo-hoo, do we have some opinions on them. Either later today or tomorrow, I swear.

Other than that, I don't have a whole lot to say at the moment…So I'll just wave hello to some of my friends. Like the sweet foot-kissing man I met this week, who's on his way back to his native country right now. Hope you find your way to Seattle again some time…

And I'm thinking of another dear friend who's on an extended visit to yet another romantic foreign country right now – I hope the food is as delicious, the art as lovely, and the women as beautiful as they are reputed to be…See you in May!

Speaking of old friends, I will be at the Wet Spot tonight to give a big hug to a great local guy, S, who's just returned from military duty overseas. It's been a long year for him and I'm so glad he got to come home - and in one piece, no less. This guy gave a lot of parties and reached out to a lot of new kinky people here in Seattle, and that makes him a good guy in my book. Okay, sure, sometimes he reached out with a very sharp object in his hand - but hey, it was meant as a sign of affection. He's a good-hearted guy. In a sort of a nasty, twisted sort of way, y'know. And I'll always remember fondly those times he let me do sadistic electrical things to him.
He'll only in town a short while before he heads off to join his sweetie, so come out tonight if you want to see him.

Oh, my god, did we get an amazing "Weakest Kink" entry from one of the contestants yesterday. Those other girls are really going to have to come up with something good to beat it...We'll post results tomorrow.
The new column and the Kink Calendar are up, so in the meantime, be amused by those. And no, none of those personal ads are direct quotes, from the Lustlab or anywhere else. I made them all up, based on conversations with friends and - unfortunately - some personal experience.
And now, I have a sweet man from a foriegn country coming over to spend some quality time kissing my feet, so if you'll excuse me...

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!