Some Of Your Questions

Everyone has days where they feel like a "mental health" day but have responsibilities and can't take the day off. Do you cancel appointments in that case? Or can you (pardon the pun) whip yourself into the mood?

It's extremely rare for me to cancel appointments. You see, one of the things you learn over time in this business is exactly how much energy you've got to give your clients. For example, I know precisely how many hours of client time I can book for myself each week. I know that if I try to do more than that, I won't really want to be there, and those clients won't get as much as my energy as I feel they should. Therefore, I only book so many appointments per week, and so I never get to that wrung-out place. And I don't book people on weekends, so I know I have that time to rest and relax. It's important to pace yourself. If you plan ahead, you are far less likely to get to a place where you need to cancel appointments.

Occasionally, life does interfere with one's well-laid plans. At the height of the drama around my divorce a few years ago, I cancelled a few people because I was so very, very stressed-out. But in general, I don't think that "oh, I just don't feel like it" is an acceptable reason to cancel appointments. Unless there is a serious emergency, I honor my commitments. I admit, there have been some days when I really didn't feel so red-hot. But I take pride in what I do, so – I get my game on, and I do it. And I usually find that I feel extra-good about myself when I can make some magic happen for someone even if I'm not feeling much like a rock star. I actually have a whole little rant about how I feel about sex-work professionalism here.

What is the incidence of clients desiring electo-play, in your experience?
Well, I haven't made up any statistics on the matter, but off the top of my head, I'd guess about half. I usually introduce them to it, although once in a while I meet someone who's done it with someone else. It's a great way to play with people who cannot have any marks left on their body.

What do you think about sex workers who use Craig's List?
Ah, Craig's List - a democratic forum indeed, and some people may sneer at it for just that reason. It is rather like the wild, wild west on the "Erotic Services" board - definitely a caveat emptor situation.
But I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with it. It's a boon to the part-time ladies who don't necessarily want to put up a website or pay for an Eros ad. And while the escort-review message boards that allow ladies to post are great in some ways, they usually want the women who post there to conform to their standards in terms of what information she gives out, how she conducts business, ect. And if you post there, you should expect to be reviewed there. I know some honest and trustworthy ladies who steer clear of those boards because they aren't comfortable with that. Naturally, if you own the site, then you get to make the rules, and I don't think honest guys should be ripped off or treated badly. But I also think that women should work how they wish to work, and some of the guys (although certainly not all of them) can be very quick to nit-pick at women who don't do things exactly as said guys think they should. Since I'm more about doing things exactly the way I think I should, that's not a model that works for me.

What kind of movies do you like to watch? Suspense thrillers, or reasonably intelligent comedy. (Or, really good silly comedy, like "Monty Python and the Holy Grail", or "A Night at the Opera".) Max and I watched "Be Cool" last night and I was disappointed in that. I liked "Get Shorty", but this was a lame sequel. Odd in a movie that had so many talented actors.
I also like movies set in certain historical periods – it's a source of annoyance to me that I still haven't seen "Vanity Fair". I like the classics: "Some Like It Hot", "The Thin Man", "Rear Window", and "My Fair Lady".
Overall, I like tight plots and quick, witty dialogue. And don't go killing off my favorite characters.

Happy Friday, everyone... a quick post, because I only have a minute before Roman and I need to check out of the motel we're in. We're in Eugene, of all places. What are we doing in a small college town in central Oregan? Two words: bachelorette party.
It was completely wild. I think we ratcheted up the general kink quotient of this town several percentage points last night.
So more about that - and hopefully pictures as well - later. For now, go read my column and see how to make some kink happen in your own life.

Just a brief note, because I'm getting ready for a road trip. Roman and I are off to do something special. I can't say anything about it now - it's Top Secret. But I'll tell you about it tomorrow. For now, I've got music, a diet Mountain Dew, and a bag full of Rainier cherries. It'll soon be time for us to hit the road, vroom...

To my boys: I won't be back in town til late afternoon Friday, so no appointments today or tomorrow, sorry. Next week, I'm here in Seattle til Wednesday the 20th, and then I'm out of town at Thunder In The Mountains from Thursday the 21st to Monday the 25th. Because of all this traveling, I am considering taking Saturday or Sunday appointments this weekend only. So call me or email me if you're interested in that.

Oh, by the way: Does anyone know what language this is?

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An observant reader noticed my comment in yesterday's post and asked: "You say you don't usually have sex with your submissives. But you have sex with Roman, don't you? What makes him an exception?"

Good lord, let me make something clear right now. Roman is not my submissive. Roman is so very, very, not my submissive. Roman is not anyone's submissive. And that's because Roman is not submissive. At all.

And – if it even needs to be said – I'm not his submissive either.

He's my lover, which is an entirely different thing. And we do really kinky things with each other, because, well, we're just perverted that way. It gets us off. So I like sticking needles in him, and punching him in the chest and on the back with my fists, and biting him really hard, cutting him with a scalpel – you know, the sweet, loving kinds of things all lovers like doing to each other, right?

And he likes me doing that to him. It gets him an endorphin high, for one thing. And just last week, he had this big knot of muscle tension in his back from work and various other stress factors, and after I punched it for a while with my sharp little knuckles, why – it was gone. It's kinda like high-impact massage. The biting probably helped, too.

If you're new to kink, you may not yet understand that what someone does with their body, and where someone goes with their head, may be two very different things. But check out this little diagram I made.

See, two different scales. Dominance/submission is about the purely emotional/psychological aspect of BDSM. Sadism/masochism is about what you do with your body – the physical stuff. Every kinkster is at their own special place on these two lines. You might be at the far end of both scales – very dominant and very sadistic. (Did someone mention Max's name?) Or very submissive and very masochistic. But you can be any place at all on these scales, to include being say, very sadistic and very submissive, or very masochistic and also very dominant. Such a combination makes it more challenging to find appropriate kink partners, but not by any means impossible. And it's not at all uncommon to be not emotionally/psychologically submissive at all, but to enjoy some intense physical sensation. (What vanilla people would call pain.) Or maybe you don't like any intense sensation, but you do like to submit. Wherever you are, it's okay. And of course, where someone finds themself on this scale will often evolve over time.

So, is Roman a bit of an erotic masochist? Um, yeah. (Not that I know anything about that myself, oh nooooo.) But my god, you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who's less submissive. This is the man who, as I was unsheathing needles to pierce him with, was laughing and taunting me. Like this…

"Oh, is that all you got? I thought you were going to do something seriously mean."
"Jesus, you are so asking for it," I replied.
"I mean – I thought you were some kinda nasty sadist. You're an Avon Lady, you know that. You're like – a Hummel Figurine collector. You're duckies and bunnies. You're –." He broke off and howled as I put the needle through his skin.
"Duckies and bunnies, am I?"
He gasped for air and took a few quick breaths. "You - are - little - pink - bunnies. With big pink bows on. Ow! Shit! That fucking hurt."
"Good. Look, I've got bigger needles. See this one? This is an 18 gauge. Looks like a railroad spike, doesn't it?"
"God, you are an evil bitch. Never change."
"I won't." I kissed him.

Essentially, Roman and I are both dominants, but we're dominants who like to play with sadism/masochism in the context of our sexual relationship. The brief moments of dominance/submission we sometimes have are playful, and they usually shift back and forth between us from one minute to the next. We do have dates where one of us is the official top for the evening, but a lot of the time, whoever has an idea will simply say, "Hey! Why don't I attach these clothespins to your naughty bits and then we'll have sex?" And the other person will say, "Sounds great!" It's pretty far from traditional, high-protocol BDSM, but why should we get hung up on rules at this stage of the game?

Some other day, when I'm feeling ambitious, I'll attempt to explain my relationship with Max... Now that's complicated.

Bio

Max and I are going down the Bay Area in September to present at the Folsom Fringe Festival. We haven't been to this particular conference before, but they asked us to come down, so we decided to give it a try.

Folsom Fringe is a relatively new con, being put on to coincide with the annual Folsom Street Fair. I've been to FSF before, of course. It's kinda like going to Jerusalem - every leather person should go at least once. FSF has been called "the grandaddy of all leather events", and that's true, as long as you understand that ol' granpappy will be wearing a studded leather jockstrap and not much else. And oh, there will be four hundred thousand people at grandad's house on the day of the party.

Yeah, I said four hundred thousand. It's really overwhelming. The streets are mobbed with people - mainly gay men, but other leather people too - cruising, shopping the vendor's booths, flirting, snapping pictures. I've been twice, and at the time I enjoyed prancing around downtown San Francisco with my shirt off - because this is very much a done thing at FSF - but that was a number of years ago, and I haven't had a strong desire to go back.

For one thing, I actually get sort of edgy in heavy crowds. And plus, the non-kinky tourists are becoming more of a presence every year. If you're dressed up fetishy, or doing anything at all interesting, random strangers will snap pictures of you like crazy and then do who-knows-what with them. I've run across refrigerator magnets at tourist stands at the Fisherman's Wharf with photos of my friends being spanked. I'm sure there are videos and DVDs with the kink equivalent of "Girls Gone Wild" out there somewhere. No thanks – if you're going to exploit my image I want to be paid for it. Last time I was running around topless at FSF I had a Super Soaker that I aimed at anyone who pointed a camera at me without asking permission. That scared most of 'em off, but I'm told the looky-loos are so prevalent now that it's impossible to deter them. So I will not be dressing up, or stripping down, this year. At least Roman will have a booth, so if the crowd gets to be too much, I'll have a sanctuary to escape into.

Max told me I needed to send the Folsom Fringe folks a bio and a picture, since I'm co-presenting. Going through my "bio" folder, I found this. J and I wrote and submitted these as our presenters bios for the Living In Leather conference in 1996, as a humorous protest against a wave of unbelievably pompous, overblown, and self-aggrandizing bios. Some people got the humor part, some people didn't... This isn't the one I'm sending to the Fringe folks. But J's part is very sweet, isn't it?

Mistress Matisse invented SM and everything about it. In her younger days, she did 4 to7 at the California Women's Penitentiary for lewd and lascivious behavior in conjunction with an assault with a deadly weapon. With the help of Thorazine, she has been acquitted of all felony charges since then. (Just don't get your hands too near her mouth…)

Her book, How I Invented SM And Everything About It, is forthcoming from Domlier-Than-Thou Press. But in spite of her massive international fame, to the SM community, she is simply and fondly known as Mistress Matisse - The Illuminated Imperial Goddess of All, Empress of All She Surveys, I'm-King-Of-The-World!, Domina of Dominas, Queen of the Nile, Princess Most High, Hostess with the Mostess, Defender of the Faith, Belle of the Ball, Genuflect-When-You-Speak-Her-Name, Czarina of all the Russias, Sultan of Swing, Miss Congeniality, Void Where Prohibited, Some Restrictions May Apply…

j belongs heart, soul and body to Mistress Matisse. She would like to add that her Mistress has, out of modesty, failed to mention that she is also...Genie of the lamp, lily of the valley, creature of the night, eye of the storm, and the heart of the matter. She once broke the backbone of society, and tipped over the pillar of the community. She is the leader of the band, inventor of the wheel, the salt of the earth, the life of the party, the rest of the story, the ghost of Christmas past, the singer of the song, the Fuck of the Century, the hair of the dog that bit you, the Secret Square, a lighthouse to others, the jewel on the crown, and the moral of the story. She has snatched the pebble and walked the ricepaper- has the keys to j's heart and its immediate surroundings. Most recently she is noted for hanging the moon and lighting the stars.

Hate those London bombers. Hate 'em. If you're one of my Brit readers, please pipe up and let us know you're okay. I wish Belle would post so we knew she was all right.

However, in spite of fresh evidence (as if we needed it) of truly evil people in the world, I'm still a happy girl. For one thing, I got to be very, very nasty indeed to Roman last night. He's got some really charming bruises and bite marks and needles marks on his chest and back, and my knuckles are a little sore from pounding on him. We had a great time.

Meanwhile, go read my newest column. And don't forget about that porn contest we're having, I want to see some of your nasty fun.

This Is A Test...

I saw this on Ketzl's LiveJournal and decided to steal it. I don't know Ketzl personally, but I know who she is, if that makes sense. Kink is a small town sometimes.

It's a humiliation purity test, and apparently I'm pretty damn impure. Ketzl says, "Some questions are phrased from the point of view of the dominant, others from the submissive. Give yourself one point for each no answer if you were at either end of the event. Also, the event must have occurred within the context of a romantic, sexual or sadomasochistic relationship; you may have had an evil drill instructor but that does Not Count."

So the questions are hers, the answers in red are mine.

Humiliation Purity Test
Have you ever made someone do the following, or been made to do the following:

1. Engaged in fornophilia (turned someone into an ottoman, coffee table, bookshelf, lamp, etc)
Oh, yes. Have you met my friend Jeff Gord?

2. After orgasm, making sub eat his/her own cum (It's good for you, you know.) Yes.

3. Always address you as Sir, Ma'am, Lord Vader, etc. Yes.

4. Been made to wear a buttplug under your clothing? Yes.

5. In public? Yes.

6. Engaged in Age Play (any kind of age play)? Yes.

7. How about Infantilism? (Let's say up to 2 years, so we're really including Toddlerism here.) No, not my kink.

8. Helpless Old Person Play? (Ewww.) Ew is right, no.

9. Made someone wear a diaper? Yes.

10. Had a baby pacifier tied around your neck in public? In-teresting. But no.

11. Enforced bathroom control? (Guns don't kill people, bathrooms do.) Yes.

12. Bathroom use in front of others. If you did this of your own volition it doesn't count, peemeister. Do you have no shame? Yes.

13. Become a human ashtray? (Soon to be banned in New York.) Yes, even though I don't really smoke.

14. Been made to beg for cigarettes, drinks, a higher spot for your show on TiVO's recording priority list, etc. Yes.

15. Worn a blindfold? (Hey we had to throw an easy one in.) Of course!

16. Indulged in boot worship at odd moments. Yes.

17. Had a cavity check in private? Yes.

18. Cavity check in public? ("Waiter, check please-- ooh I didn't know it was THAT kind of restaurant".) Define "public". But I think yes.

19. Been caged? Of course.

20. Been caged and then ignored for at least 20 minutes? Yes.

21. Been forced to carry a doll or toy around? Define "forced". She didn't protest...

22. Forced someone to suck their thumb? No.

23. Crawl on all 4s? Dur - of course!

24. Had someone cum or urinate into your food? No, although it's a nice idea.

25. ...and then eaten it? (see #2) Nasty, nasty people!

26. Been the target of curse words? (Whore, Slut, Worthless-- all in good fun though.) Too easy.

27. Made to curtsey in public? (And not at a Renn Faire, wench.) Yes. Jae was a debutante and we used to make her show us her curtsey.

28. Do a dance/strip tease? A number of times.

29. In public? Yes.

30. While naked? What's the point otherwise?

31. Had someone else pick out your food? (The waiter doesn't count.) Yes.

32. Dictate your clothing? Is this dominant? I do this for Max all the time. Although we call it "suggesting".

33. Had someone pee in your bathwater? No - does peeing on someone while you're in the shower together count?

34. Eat from a pet dish? Yes.

35. Eat from the floor when others were sitting at the table? Yes.

36. Eat without utensils when the food required them? (Pizza does not count.) Yes.

37. Made someone assume embarrassing positions? Too easy.

38. Gave someone an enema? Yes.

39. Enforced eye contact restrictions? Yes.

40. Been fed from someone's hand? Yes.

41. ...in a restaurant? (aww how romantic) Yes.

42. Indulged in foot worship? Oh, just like ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME!

43. Forced to exercise? (Your physical trainer's verbal humiliation doesn't count) Yes.

44. Forced nudity? Yes.

45. Been made to masturbate in odd places? (Currently accepting write-in suggestions for what counts as odd.) Yes.

50. Were up for bid in a slave auction? Yes.

51. Forced to sell lemonade in the street? (No one's getting 100% on THIS test, smarty.) Well, no.

52. Forced to wear an embarassing sign ("SLUT", "SLAVEBITCH", "I VOTED FOR BUSH", etc)Yes.

53. Forced to be a slave (if you're in graduate school, your advisor DOES count. On your knees student!) Once again, define "forced". But I think so.

54. Forced to wear a leash? Yes.

55. Given a golden shower? (You know what I'm talking about.) See answer for number 42.

56. Been made to wear handcuffs in public? Yes.

57. Been handcuffed to a shopping cart while shopping? Isn't that against the fire code?

58. Been part of a harem? Can two people be a harem? I'm not sure about this one.

59. Made to wear a hood? Yes.

60. Used as a human garbage can? Yes.

61. Been tied up? Yes.

62. So you couldn't move? Yes.

63. Back to bathroom use again. Have you ordered someone to leave the bathroom door open while they use it? Yes.

64. Left a note for someone with embarrassing instructions? Yes.

65. Been whored out? Not 100% sure how to call this one, but I think yes.

66. I mean really, for money? I think the phrase is "Busman's Holiday".

67. Been made to deliver Maid services? Yes.

68. Forced someone to wear your dirty underwear? Yes.

69. On their head? Yes.

70. Made someone wear nipple clamps in public? Yes.

71. Under a see thru top? Yes.

72. Been subject to orgasm control? Yes.

73. How about orgasm denial? Yes.

74. Been made to role play an animal? (Act like a dog, cat, etc. Woof!) Yes.

75. Ordered to pose for naughty pictures? Yes.

76. How about naughty videos? Yes.

77. Been scolded? Yes.

78. Spit on? Yes.

79. Slapped in the face? Yes.

80. Sent shopping with an embarassing note you had to hand to the clerk? ("We're out of milk. He's kind of slow, please point him to the dairy section".) No, not quite my style. Cute idea though.

81. Made to serve others (supervised) Yes.

82. Made to serve others (unsupervised) Yes.

83. Served as a human urinal? Yes.

83. Served as a human toilet? (EWWWW not safe.) No thanks.

84. Had your head shaved? (Obviously more traumatic for women.) Yes. I even have pictures...

85. Made to shave your body hair? Yes.

86. How about your pubic hair? Yes.

87. Been given a temporary slave tattoo, or other temporary humiliating body art? Yes.

88. Been given a permanent slave tattoo, or other permanent humiliating body art? Define "permanent". Cutting scars fade over time.

89. Spanked someone in public? Yes.

90. Been under speech restriction? ("Don't say a word to my parents about my grade in biochem" doesn't count.) Yes.

91. Spelled "Slave" or other choice phrase on someone with suntan lotion & made them get tan? I squandered an opportunity when I was living down South, didn't I? No.

92. Made someone stand in the corner? Yes.

93. Been cuckolded? I think this is a yes.

94. Cum on someone's face? Yes.

95. Made them wear it til it dried? (Oil of Olay's secret ingredient!) Yes.

96. Been forced to wear slutty clothes? Yes.

97. Made to piss yourself? I think yes, although they were naked at the time. Does that count?

98. Made to vote for someone you disapproved of? Now that's sadistic. No.

99. Forced to take a purity test? Yes.

100. Forced to take a purity test over and over, updating your score until you got 100%? Will this be the newest kink trend?

Text of a not-uncommon type of email for me...

Mistress M.,

First of all, let me say your blog is a beacon of light on an otherwise dreary afternoon. I'm sure what I'm about to ask you is a fairly commonplace scenario, so let me apologize ahead of time for boring you. My fiancee and I...(edited for privacy)...live in Seattle, and I haven't figured out how to advance my social network... I've ventured out a bit, but what I find here is mostly either people who are overly intrigued with non-sanitary piercing/knife play, or else swing clubs filled with older suburban types who are engaged in the most unnerving displays of rote debauchery imaginable. Here's my question...how would we meet you or somene like you? I'm not sure you have a dopelganger here in Seattle, but maybe if I knew how you were finding interesting people here, I could do a better job of finding such people myself.

Hmmn. I'm pleased, of course, that this gentleman likes my blog - that's always nice to hear. And I salute him for wanting to add kink to his life and the life of his partner.

But I think he's got some mistaken assumptions about me. You see, I myself enjoy non-sanitary piercing and knife play. In fact, a great many things I like could concievably be labelled "non-sanitary". They're often slippery, sticky, or wet. I can think of enjoyable kinky things that you could call "sanitary", but I wouldn't want to rule out my more messy pleasures.

Rote debauchery? Eh, not so much. No, I prefer my debauchery to be sort of spontaneous, or even anarchic. Much more fun that way, I find. But I don't think that being over 30, or living in the suburbs, should bar you from enjoying whatever kind of sex you like, even if lookers-on don't find it esthetically pleasing.

The clever among you have inferred from this that I don't approve of being overtly snobbish about other people's pleasures. Naturally one does not partake of anything one doesn't care for. God knows, there are lots of sexual things I have no interested in doing. But except in really extreme cases, I prefer the "My Kink Is Okay/Your Kink is Okay" way of looking at things. Writing me and dissing people like this doesn't impress me.

So the author is mistaken in assuming I share his tastes. And he's also mistaken in thinking that there are some secret places in Seattle frequented exclusively by those whose taste he would approve of. That's simply not true. There are no secret fetish clubs in Seattle. (Or if there are, they are so very secret that I don't know about them - an unlikely notion.)

It's relatively easy to access the local kinky world - I publish a list of sexy events every week in The Stranger, and it's only a small portion of what's available. I'm betting the author has been to the Wet Spot, and that it's one of the places he's ruled out as not being his style. He's allowed to do that, of course. But if he's looking for people like me - well, I go there on a regular basis, and so do most of my interesting friends. My guess is he went once, didn't like what he saw, so he left and never went back. That's the most common mistake I see people making in their attempts to get a kinky social life. I think they're expecting a party at the Spot to look like a scene from an Andrew Blake movie. No, not everyone you see will be young and beautiful and doing the kinds of kinky things you'd like to do yourself. But my advice to people is to let go of that and think about making friends. I know lots of people who do stuff in their scenes that I personally don't wish to do. That doesn't mean we can't be pals, and it definitely doesn't mean that they have nothing to contribute to my continuing evolution as a kinky person. And you see, once you start making kinky friends, then - tah-da! - then you're on your way to creating your own social network, based on mutual interests and personal style.

That's how this is done. Yes, it takes time, and it takes some effort. Good things usually do. I'm always a bit surprised that people who are obviously smart and educated need me to tell them that one finds interesting kinky people by a) not snap-judging them based simply on appearance or taste in kink and b) by simple perseverance and patience. I sincerely hope that's a beacon of light for someone.

Here's an ABC News story out of Australia about "types of sex workers."
Huh, color me skeptical. The trouble with these kinds of studies is that the numbers are based on women who've been arrested or, in this case, women who have STDs. It's not really a representative sample, so the study is invariably flawed.

It's certainly interesting to hear that professional dominance is "unique to wealthy countries". Presuming one accepts that as true, it raises the question: Is that because men in poorer countries don't feel the need for kink? Or is it just that the women there find it better to be generalists than to specialize in one area?

It may have to do with the legal structures of different countries. One reason why a Mistress in the US might stick to domination exclusively is because it's more-or-less legal in many (although not all) areas. If one lived in a poorer nation, where laws against prostitution were not in place, or were not enforced, one might offer a range of services in order to maximize one's client base.

And in a different but related study: get out your rulers, it's the average sizes of men's penises...

Are There Any Questions?

I'm thinking of writing a "reader's questions" column soon, so if you have a question you've been wanting to ask me, drop me a note, or leave me a comment...

A rare Sunday post…

Lately, I'm feeling a yen to do something different with my body. No, not like that! I mean something athletic. I've been working out in the gym for years and it's getting a bit boring - I'd like to work my body in a different way. (No, this is not because Gym Guy is bothering me - I actually haven't seen him since our conversation.)

The last time I felt this way, I started taking trapeze and aerial rope lessons from a woman who performs in Circus Contraption. It was something I'd always wanted to try, and it was great fun, although the trapeze bar bruised the backs of my knees like crazy. I was actually considering installing a (low) trapeze in my studio for a while. But after a while, I realized that I didn't really want to take it to a performance level, so I let it drop.

Now I'm thinking about martial arts, so I'm looking for some opinions about styles and classes in Seattle. I've never studied any martial arts, but I've always thought about it and I feel like it might be time to explore this more. I'm hoping to get Max to do it with me, too, although I think he's more attracted to the spiritual/mental discipline aspect of martial arts, and I don't care so much about that. I'm looking for physical development - not aerobic stuff per se, because I can run for that. But strength and coordination, plus some fighting techniques.

I doubt I'd want to compete formally, so that's not something I'd be looking for.

I've heard good things about Aikido and Tae-Kwon-Do. Someone suggested Krav Maga classes for self-defense, although I understand that’s not a real martial art. I know that Karate is considered a good fighting technique and that Judo is an intense body workout. Still, there are seemingly endless lists of sub-forms and lesser-known disciplines, and I'm open to those, too.

I do know some folks who do various forms of MA, so I'll be talking to them, too. (Yeah, I mean you, Dog_Walker.) But if any of ya'll have suggestions about local schools and teachers, I'd be interested in hearing about them.

Photos, Continued...
Wow, I'm loving all the feedback about the pix, thank you. (And yes, Malixe, we do need to shoot. It's been too long.) Since my comment system locks at 50 comments, I'm starting another post so that comments can continue. Have at it.

Happy holiday weekend, everyone. Through my open window, I'm already hearing the scattered pops and bangs that means people are experimenting with fireworks. I'm not a big 4th-of-July fan, but last year Max and I spent an enjoyable evening at a friend's apartment overlooking Lake Union, and we'll be there watching fireworks again this year. Cross your fingers the deck doesn't fall off the building as a dozen or so of us squeeze onto a structure probably designed to hold four people.

What else? Go read my column, of course. I'll be listening for a few wails of despair from disappointed guys.

And an opinion poll: I did a shoot with Tommy Edwards last week, and I'm starting to sort through what images I should use on my site. So tell me which of these photos you like best.
Number One
Number Two
Number Three
Number Four

I Love Porn

So if you read many adult blogs, you've probably heard of the new 2257 rules by now. If you haven't, you should, because it's going to affect the lives of a lot of Americans. I'm talking about the proposed new Federal record-keeping and labeling regulations, 18 U.S.C. §2257.

Short version is: I'm totally against child porn, as any decent person is, but none of these regulations are going to do shit to stop it. It's just the Bush administration's way of trying to suppress free speech. I feel reasonably sure that it'll be overturned in court, or at least heavily watered down, because it will have a very chilling effect on free speech, and there's a great deal of case law about this sort of thing. But it's going to be a huge pain in the ass until that happens.

There's a ton of links to info about the new regulations and how it's going to affect what you see – and believe me, it's definitely going to affect what you, as a supposedly free adult, can see. Here's a link that explains it in simple terms. What more info? Go here, or here, or here. And then go contribute some money to the Free Speech Coalition, who are fighting for your right to look at porn.

What else should you do to combat this wave of sex-negative sentiment? Why, you should make some porn of your own! The Stranger is having an amateur erotic video contest, and you should enter. Read all about it here. They want all kinds of stuff - serious, silly, weird, straight, queer, kinky, soft, hard, whatever. If you think it's sexy, make a tape and send it in.

I myself am judging this lovely event - and am I looking forward to that? Oh yes, I am! - so I can't enter it. But don't you like the idea of me watching you do the nasty? I wanna see some good hometown smut, Seattle, so get those cameras rolling, pronto!

So, remember the Gym Guy? He did, finally, make the approach. It was last week. I was alone, walking out the door after a workout, when I saw him walking quickly on a course to intercept me before I got to the elevators. Okay, here we go, I thought. But I still didn't make eye contact or slow down. No sense giving him any false hope.

Now, since he works at the gym, of course he knows my real name. He called it out after me - several times - so I stopped. Courtship Tip Number One: Trotting after a woman you don't really know calling out her name in a public place = bad manners.

"Yes?" I said coolly.

"Uh, yeah, I kinda wanted to talk to you. Um, you know - about your ad."

Okay, let's be clear – I don't think Gym Guy is a bad person. But this is very, very bad form. Do not chase me down at my gym, or the supermarket, or my dry cleaners, and ask me about my ad. If you know I have an ad, then just call the bloody number in said ad. That is proper procedure.

I raised one eyebrow. "My ad?"

"Yeah, uh, you know." Gym Guy is very muscular. He's not exactly eloquent, though. I was short on time, so I cut to the chase.

"My ad as Mistress Matisse."

He nods. "Yeah." And then he just sort of stares at me.

Christ, this is just like one of my phone calls. "Okay – first of all, what's your name?" Courtship Tip Number Two: Introducing yourself to a woman you're hitting on is also considered basic good manners.

He tells me his name, and I hold out my hand and say, "Nice to meet you." We shake hands. I believe in forcing people to observe the social niceties, it's part of living in a (soi-disant) civilized society.

"Okay, what do you want to know?" I say in (I hope) a patient voice.

"Oh, uh, I don't know, like – what's it all about?"

There's no way I'm going to give an SM 101 lecture to this guy while we're standing in the public corridor. So I give the phone rap:

ImakeappointmentsMondaythroughFridayfromaroundnoontoaroundeightpm, It'stwohundredandfiftydollarsforaonehoursession, andI'mgeneallybookedabouttwodaysinadvance.

Gym Guy looks confused.

"Have you seen a professional dominant before?"

"No, uh, I wasn't really thinking about that so much, you know, just, you know, general stuff."

This is one of the least well-organized attempts to hit on me that I've ever experienced. General stuff? What the hell does that mean? He wants to talk about John Vines?

"Well, if you're looking for basic information about the Seattle BDSM community, I have some links on my website, the URL's in my ad."

He shakes his head. "No, I'm computer-illiterate."

Thank god for small mercies. At least I know he isn't reading this.

"I was just thinking, you know, that you'd be cool to hang out with."

Okay, so in spite of the fact that he began the conversation by asking me about my ad, he's actually looking for a social encounter, not a professional one. Wow, zero points for this whole attempt, my friend, you pretty much screwed up from the get-go.

And what's this hang out with stuff? Friends hang out - but I'm quite certain Gym Guy didn't chase me down the hall because he's looking for a platonic friendship with me. Courtship Tip Number Three: If you're asking someone out on a date, have the courage of your convictions and say so. Don't pussyfoot around with vague terms like hang out. I have been know to hang out with my mom. Saying hang out when you mean go on a date is candy-assed. Use your words, people.

When I related the "you'd be cool to hang out with" line to Max, he laughed and said, "You shoulda said 'You're right!'"

Of course, I didn't. What I did was give Gym Guy a small, closed-lip smile and Polite Brush-Off Number Eleven. "Well, that's very sweet of you, but I'm actually quite busy. It was nice meeting you. Goodbye." And walked away.

Not that I think that's the end of it. Roman's opinion is that he'll try at least twice more. "Guys are dumb, it takes us a couple of thwacks before we stop hitting our heads on walls."

Interesting: he didn't mention the column at all, just the ad. Has Gym Guy not actually noticed that I write the column? But if he hasn't, is he then not aware that I'm poly? I am paraphrasing the conversation, but he also made no mention whatsoever of Max, although he's seen me with him more often than not. Odd.

Let me head off some of the well-intentioned comments: I do not think that Gym Guy is in any way dangerous. He was hitting on me. That's what guys do. Granted, it was a wildly clumsy hit and I'm indulging in some eye-rolling, oh-what-you-could-have-said about it. But I have no sense that he presents any threat to me or he's going to act seriously inappropriate about my refusal. And I predict that I'll actually be less tense around him now that that I know I wasn't incorrect in my assessment of his behavior.

Call For Victims - Er, I Mean, Play Partners...

So, Roman and I are going to Thunder In The Mountains in July, and we're thinking that we might like to gang up on some sweetly masochistic person and be very mean to them. No, we're not going to do another contest, sorry. The Weakest Kink contest was big fun, and we did get to meet the charming and lovely Krystal, but we're opting for a simpler route this time: if you're going to be at Thunder, and you'd like to bottom to us, you're welcome to drop us a note, or just come talk to us at Thunder.
What you should know: I can't speak for Roman, but I myself am seeking someone who can take a good hard flogging/singletailing. I don't get to do that too often and it's fun to do in a public dungeon. You will be marked up.
I'd like to do bloodsports as well - needles or cutting - if you're into that, although it's not a requirement.
Your gender is immaterial to me, although Roman also has a vote and he generally likes girls.
No sex - although I would happily do genitorture, if asked.
I'm unlikely to commit firmly to a date via email - I'd prefer to meet people in person before saying yea or nay - but you can get a head start by introducing yourself to me electronically before the con begins.
I'm sure Roman will be posting his own grocery list, so check for that in the next few days...

Now it's time to get back on the road to Seattle, as our little mountain idyll has come to an end...

Hello from the mountains. The weather here is cool and wet and rainy and we haven't set foot out of the cabin since we arrived, unless you count sitting in the hot tub. But then we didn't plan on getting out much. (Although I just know Roman really wants to go see the albino alligator and the two-headed turtle at that small-town reptile farm we passed...)

Roman has already cooked me way too much yummy food, and I can't even go running because of the rain. Oh darn.

We can hear the rushing of the river from our bedroom. There's a peaceful sense of apart-ness here which we're really enjoying.

In short, we're having a perfectly lovely time.

Fixed! Thank you, brilliant helpful person, She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named!

test

It's linky goodness…

This week's column and Kink Calendar.

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

Note to self: buy yellow bandanna for Sean Nelson.

What am I thinking about current events….?

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

I think I want this book.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

(Okay, maybe a lot.)

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

Sex-Positive? I Don't Think So.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Various

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

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

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

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

In other news...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gossipy

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biblio-Odyssey

I swear, I treat books like other people treat drugs. One is just a gateway to the next. For example, late last night I finished reading this one: The Napoleon of Crime: The Life and Times of Adam Worth, Master Thief, by Ben Macintyre. "The model for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Professor Moriarty, Adam Worth (1844-1902) was one of the greatest thieves of the Victorian era. Macintyre's entertaining biography traces how the American-born German Jew became the "godfather" of his era."

It's very interesting, and part of it discusses Worth's relationship with the Pinkerton brothers. Lying in bed, I thought: huh, I sort of know who the Pinkertons were, but I don't know much about them. I wonder if there are any books about them.

Of course, it's 2am and I should really turn off the light and go to sleep. But that's the dangerous thing about shopping online. The stores never close. So I get out of bed - good thing Max is a heavy sleeper - and get online, and I quickly turned up this:

The Eye That Never Sleeps: A History of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, by Frank Morn.
Apparently the term "private eye" was coined in response to the Pinkerton's logo, an unblinking eye. Looks good to me, so credit card number and away we go.
But of course, I couldn't stop there. Amazon (damn them!) has those pesky links to other books on related topics, so when I saw this one, I had to click on it:

The Encyclopedia of Police Science, by William G. Bailey. 143 entries covering police duties and techniques, persons and organizations, police issues, crimes, etc. Definitions plus ample historical and conceptual background.

Mmmm, sort of interesting, but not quite my thing. But what's this?

Escapade, by Walter Satterthwait. Set in the 1920s, Satterthwait's novel mixes spiritualism with a locked-room murder mystery in a tale featuring Harry Houdini and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and hero Phil Beaumont, a Pinkerton Operative.

A novel about fictional Pinkerton detectives? And spiritualism, too - another pet topic of mine. Hey, it's only a few bucks, why not.

Other related titles?

The War Between the Spies: A History of Espionage During the American Civil War, by Alan Axelrod.
According the publisher's blurb, the Pinkertons spied for the Yankees. Wow, I didn't know that. Still, I'm not a Civil War buff. Growing up in states where they were still flying that damn rebel flag over goverment buildings kinda ruined any romance about The War of Northern Aggression for me. Still, the history of spying does interest me. (Plus it's 2am and my resistance is down.) Open the page in a new window and put it aside as a maybe.
What else do we have?

Silent Warfare: Understanding the World of Intelligence, by Abram N. Shulsky, Gary J. Schmitt. "The author assesses the three means by which raw intelligence data are gathered--from human sources, by technical means and open-source collection--and describes missions, methods of analysis and practical applications of the 'product'."

Mmmnnn, looks a bit dry and academic - not quite my thing. (Although I wonder if MountainPilot would like it?) Although if it was five bucks or less, I'd probably say 'what the heck' and buy it. But it's not, so on to the next temptation.

The Man Who Would Be King: The First American in Afghanistan, by Ben Macintyre.
While many know Sean Connery as "The Man Who Would Be King," few know 19th-century maverick Josiah Harlan, whose adventures probably inspired John Huston's version of Kipling's tale.

Oooo, now we're talking. 19th century? That's a 'yes, please'. What else ya got, baby?

A Pirate of Exquisite Mind: Explorer, Naturalist, and Buccaneer: The Life of William Dampier
by Diana Preston, Michael Preston.
Seventeenth-century pirate genius William Dampier sailed around the world three times when crossing the Pacific was a major feat, was the first explorer to visit all five continents, and reached Australia eighty years before Captain Cook.

Griffin might like this. And I think I do, too, so into the basket with you, Captain Dampier. But who's this with you, Cap'n?

Skeletons on the Zahara: A True Story of Survival, by Dean King.
Dean King refreshes the popular nineteenth-century narrative once read and admired by Henry David Thoreau, James Fenimore Cooper, and Abraham Lincoln. A page-turning blend of science, history, and classic adventure.

Oh, yeah, add that to the stack. And then get away from the damn computer before you buy anything else, Matisse!

It's a good thing that a book addiction is usually cheaper than a drug addiction – or at least, having one doesn't impact my ability to generate income. I'd hate to have to go around knocking elderly people in the head to get money for my book fix.

You Say It's Your Birthday...

Ring ring!

Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, is this Mistress Matisse?
Me: Yes it is.
Caller: I have a question: do you give birthday discounts?

Jesus, what am I, Denny's?

Me: Do I know you? Have you seen me before?
Caller: No...
Me: Ah. Well, no, I do not give birthday discounts. I do give birthday spankings, though.
Caller: Oh, well - I was just wondering. Because I'd really like to see you, but...

Okay, I think he's going to turn out to be a serious twit, but still, the Marketing Department is going to gather a little information here, because you never know.

Me: How much of a discount were you thinking about?
Caller: Oh, I don't know, half off?

Bbbbbbbzzzzzzzz! That, my friends, was the asshole-alert buzzer going off. Half off? This yabbo, who I've never clapped eyes on in my life, thinks I'm going see him for half my usual fee because (he says) it's his birthday? I wonder if he works for half his usual salary on his boss's birthday?

And I bet you a lollipop he wouldn't want to show me his ID, either.

Me: No, I think that's an unreasonable request. Ten percent would be the absolute most I'd be willing to grant to a new person.
Caller: So that would be fifty dollars off?

I'd love to be a server who waited on this guy.

Me: No, that would be twenty-five dollars.
Caller: Oh, I don't think I can swing that. Can you do any better for me?

Christ, now he thinks he's at a car lot.

Me: No, but I could do a great deal worse for you.
Caller: What?
Me: I can't help you. Sorry. Better luck elsewhere. Goodbye.
Click.

Gee, I forgot to wish him a happy birthday...

What's happening in my world: well, Max went up to Bellingham to teach a rope bondage class last night, and he decided to take Maura along and stay overnight. And I had a very nice date with Roman, which involved: a pizza from Stellar's, a lot of stories about the LA trip, several condoms, and playing the new Nine Inch Nails album quite loudly. It's got a really good beat, if you know what I mean. We were both feeling pretty relaxed at the end of the evening.

So, no long post today. But here are some entertaining links...

An extremely amusing little video about the joys and travails of poly.

A sweet boy blogs about his scene with Max at Shibaricon.

I'm a word fetishist, and it bugs me when people - especially writers - use them incorrectly, even if it's slang. So I can appreciate this post by Trixtah.

I know it's a gag site. (As well as a clever marketing ploy, note the link that says "click here if you want to buy sex toys.") And yes, it is kinda funny. In a really icky sort of way.

The Stare

I think of myself as being a pretty sophisticated person when it comes to, shall we say, the sexual dynamics of the human male. But sometimes you boys puzzle me.

Okay, here's what happening. I work out at the gym three times a week. (At least.) And there's a guy who works there, who I see about every time I go in, and I'm confused by the signals I'm getting from him. It's not what he says - he always does the "Hey, how are you? Have a good workout?" thing that all the employees do. That's perfectly fine.

But lately I've noticed: he stares at me. I mean, he really stares at me.

That's not completely inexplicable, although God knows I definitely don't look my best when I work out. If anyone knows a way I can run for five miles and look all fresh and pretty at the end of it, let me know. I have not discovered the trick of this. But hey, the guy works at a gym, maybe he's learned to eroticize red-faced girls who are streaming with sweat.

Now usually when I work out, Max is with me. Interestingly, although Max and I are very clearly a couple, this does not seem to faze Gym Guy at all. Granted, he does not stare as much when I'm walking by holding Max's hand. But neither has he ever displayed the "hey, she's cute – but, oh, she's taken" attitude.

So, several weeks go by, I see him staring at me whenever I'm there, and I just shrug it off, although it makes me ever-so-mildly uncomfortable. It's not that I feel threatened, not at all. It's just that when I'm working out, I don't want to think about what I look like. But when I see some guy looking at me that way, I am suddenly reminded that my hair is slick with sweat and I probably have mascara smudges under my eyes. It's distracting. One the reasons I love my gym is that many, many of the men who work out there are gay, and honey, those gym queens could care less about me. They are quite focused on a) themselves and b) other cute men. I prefer it that way.

Then one day last week, Max – who is a reluctant jock at best - plays hooky. So I was working out alone, and there was Gym Guy – staring.

And frankly, it was starting to get to me. Or rather, the fact that he just stared and did nothing else. It was confusing. Some days I'd tell myself, Matisse, you're making too much of it. Look at him, he's a dark-skinned guy, he may come from a culture with a longer social-looking time than here, and you're totally misinterpreting him.

I'd mentioned the matter to Max, who, after some observation, said "Yeah, I see what you mean. Do you think he knows you're Mistress Matisse?"

I shrugged. "It's possible." One the female employees had recognized me a few months ago and done the "hey-aren't-you…?" routine. She could have told other people, so who knows, maybe Gym Guy was just staring at me because I'm a dominatrix who writes about kinky things in the paper. I told myself there were all kinds of other ways to interpret The Stare.

But then I'd make eye contact with him and think: No. I am not misinterpreting this.

Which doesn't make him an evil guy, of course. In fact, I'm sure Gym Guy is perfectly nice, and he's not at all bad-looking. But I'm not interested. I feel like I've tried to waft off the "I'm not interested" vibe to him. However, some guys just don't pick up on cues, so you have to let them make the approach, and then politely turn them down.

So that day I thought to myself, Okay, let's just nip this in the bud. After I worked out, I showered and dried my hair and fixed my face, and generally returned myself to a reasonably presentable state. And then I went out into the lobby area and plunked myself down on one of the couches near the front desk. And I waited.

Look, here I am, all alone, no boyfriend, sitting here alone on the couch flipping through a magazine. Come hit on me so I can say no thank you, okay?

Ten minutes or so tick by. But did Gym Guy come over and talk to me? No. He did not.

Okay, clearly I had been misinterpreting him. Fine. I'll get over myself.

Back in the gym a few days later, and there he is. Staring. Later that evening, I was in the adjacent grocery store and I saw him there, and he saw me, and I swear to god, if he'd been a dog, he would have been pointing.

I'm completely perplexed, because if I was displaying the kind of behavior he's displaying, I'd be making a move on someone. All this heightened awareness with no follow-through confuses me. And it's getting on my nerves, because it's like waiting for the other shoe to drop. That sounds really bitchy – "oh, woe is me, I have to wait for this guy to hit on me so I can shoot him down". I don't mean it in a nasty way – but I spend six hours or so a week at the gym, and I just want to work out without having to deal with the energy. But at this point, I'm not sure what I can do except continue to ignore The Stare.

Wow, Micheal Jackson got off scot-free. I'm surprised.

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TGIF

Those of you who enjoy the "phone calls" posts will probably enjoy this week's column...

I had no idea what a sex-positive country Germany was...

Okay, 'fess up: who watched "Hit Me Baby One More Time" last night on NBC? I never watch TV but I read about this show and thought "Oh my GOD, Roman and I so have to watch that!" Because we are total 80's music whores, oh yes we are. We know all the bands, we know all the lyrics, there vast swathes of our brains devoted to Foreigner, LoverBoy, The Bangles, Duran Duran, Falco, et cetera. (Rock me Amadeus!)

It was big fun. Haddaway (What is love? Baby don't hurt me...) looked and sounded great, and Roman and I realized it's now impossible not to do that sideways thing with one's head whenever one hears that song. Such is the power of the Roxbury guys.

And wow, I hadn't realized that Martha Davis from The Motels was performing here in town at Teatro Zinzani.

I thought Tommy Tutone should have won. But - as Roman predicted - he was upset by that total white-boy dweeb, Vanilla Ice! Roman and I were stunned to learn that Tommy Tutone lives in Portland and is now a computer programmer. And then to have him be beaten by Vanilla Ice? Oh, the horror of it all. We were devastated.

Next week they have Cameo. (Word up, it's the code word...) We can't wait.

Stuff...

Another piece about the famous Seattle unfriendliness. But no matter how much I read/hear about this, it just doesn't resonate with me. I've never had trouble making friends here, and I think Seattle has tons of sexual energy, if you know where to look. Maybe it just means that my "speed" for becoming friendly with people matches up with everyone else's here, even though I'm a transplant from the South. Other Seattle people, do you agree with this article?

Jeff's Rant About (Some) Pro Dommes. I can relate. There are certainly some ex-tremely annoying members of my profession, although of course I can't name names.

I see that my friend Jennifer, Vancouver BC kink activist extraordinaire, has a blog.

I saw Roman Tuesday night and he reminded me that today is a one-year anniversary for us. Not our first date, which is later this month, but of my blog post where I mentioned that I thought I kinda liked him. I didn't think he read my blog, and so I was caught off guard when he emailed me in the wake of the post and, in a way that both sort of shy and direct at the same time, asked I was talking about him.
I wasn't quite prepared to tip my hand so plainly, but what was I gonna do, lie? So I said yes, it was him. And several weeks later, on June 25th, we had out first date.
We'll be observing that anniversary by going off to a remote little riverfront cabin in the mountains for two days later this month. It should be lovely – quiet, privacy, and a cute boy who's going to cook for me. Bliss.

Several Things I Rather Wish People Would Not Do

Lately, a number of people have told me that they consider me something of a celebrity in certain circles - kinky circles, that is. Now, I think "celebrity" is a bit of an overstatement -"popularity" is the word I'd use. It's a bit like being the head cheerleader at BDSM High. God knows I was a total geek in high school, so it's amusing to be having that experience at this point in my life. I'm sure I appreciate it more now than I would have then.

But whatever you wish to call the Seattle kink community's heightened awareness of me, it's a circumstance that's usually pleasant and flattering. Sometimes I do get hate mail, although frankly it's always been entertaining rather than upsetting. And recently I got some hate mail sent to me at The Stranger, through the US mail! Wow! You know you're really arrived when you get hate mail through the postal service. Somebody invested 37 cents in that. I feel so validated.

But as nice as it is to be known, so to speak, it's occasionally a bit awkward too. You see, I myself am conscious of the fact that, in the words of Valentine Michael Smith, "I am only an egg." However, I realize that it is human nature to seek role models, and I'm honored that some folks I meet see me as such. I do try to live up to the expectations of my community, but there are some things people could do to make it easier for me. And since I understand that there is no way anyone could simply know my preferences without being told, I'd like to explain them. So here we go…

I'm fine with being addressed as "Mistress Matisse" because that is my professional name. But I strongly prefer that social acquaintances not address me simply as "Mistress" in a non-scene context. The people who do this are almost always non-BDSM people, and they seem like they're being all titillated by calling me Mistress. (Hey Mistress, can I buy you a drink? Oooh, didja hear? I called her Mistress! Oooo! Oooo!)

No, don't do that. That title is for people who are actually playing with me, or negotiating to do so. If that doesn't describe your situation, simply call me Matisse. (If that's the name you know me by.) The best way I can explain it is to say that calling me "Mistress Matisse", or simply "Matisse", doesn't imply that we have an intimate relationship. Calling me "Mistress" does.

Please don't tell me how I'm the only "real" dominant woman in Seattle. I'm not flattered, because it's not true, and I wouldn't want it to be true anyway. There are a number of other pro dommes in Seattle, and just because they have not chosen to structure their careers the way I have does not render them any less "real" than I am. There are also plenty of highly competent, non-professional dominant women around, and if they hear you telling me that, your chances of getting any play with them will instantly vanish. And justifiably so.

Please don't ask me if you can be my apprentice, because I'm not hiring. And please, oh please, don't ask me "how to get started" as a pro dom. There is not a short answer to that question, and I'm afraid you'll have to wait for my book to come out to get the long one. I am always happy to give someone my opinion on a very specific "should-I-do-A-or-B?" type of question - I'm just trying to avoid doing lengthy career counseling sessions with strangers at play parties.

Okay, I got that all off my chest, I feel better.

Photo Blogging

We're back to my one of my favorite subjects: beautiful women.

Max, on The Dresser.
The lovely Max - we usually refer to her as "Girl Max" in conversation, so as to differentiate her from my Max, who is just as attractive, but considerably more furry.

Jane and The Boot
Awhile back, there was a period of time in which, if Jane and Max and a camera were in the same room, Jane always seemed to wind up in some very compromised position having to do with rope. Poor Jane, she hated it. Really.

Shower Nude
One of my very earliest self-portraits, from around the end of 1999.

Nude in the Doorway
Another treatment of the theme.

RedLight
I don't know why I like this odd photo of Miss Rose Algren, but for some reason, I just do. It's something about her expression.

RopeGag
Max is so mean. Of course, I was too busy taking pictures to stop him.

LongHaired Nude
I think I've sold more of this image than any other self-portrait. I'm not sure why, unless it's because it's clearly a nude and yet nothing is really showing, so to speak. A discreet nude.

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