It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas..

And that’s always a weird time of year for me. I like Christmas, don’t get me wrong. But I think I’d like it a lot better if the whole “holiday season” was about a week long. Maybe two weeks. But six plus weeks of being beaten over the head with it? Bah humbug. By the time December 25^th actually rolls around, I’m over it.

Then there's the whole present thing. I like giving people I love presents. But in the past, I have sometimes had a hard time accepting them. I’ve gotten better at it, but still, I have to remind myself from time to time that people give gifts because it honestly gives them pleasure to do so, and I don’t have to put pressure on myself to instantly reciprocate in some way, just because I think I need to keep some invisible set of scales neatly balanced. I know if I give someone something, it’s just because I think they’d like it and I enjoy the act of giving it to them and seeing them be happy about it. But that’s been something I’ve had to learn to trust in others.

All that said, I do have some very sweet and generous boys who have asked me for a Christmas gift list. So, okay, here goes.

Books are always good. Here's some stuff off my Amazon list I'd like to read over the holidays:

Marriage, a History: From Obedience to Intimacy, or How Love Conquered Marriage by Stephanie Coontz

The Girl in the Glass : A Novel, by Jeffrey Ford

London 1849 : A Victorian Murder Story, by Michael Alpert

The Virgin's Lover, by Philippa Gregory

A Breath of Snow and Ashes, by Diana Gabaldon

The Kinky Girl's Guide to Dating, by Luna Grey

Polyamory: Roadmaps for the Clueless & Hopeful, by Anthony D. Ravenscroft

Something more personal? Well, I love this bracelet. (Of course this is nice, too, but it seems a bit excessive. I don't really move in a diamond-wearing crowd.)

I am also lusting after this jacket. This coat is pretty as well, although I've never worn such a long coat. But it looks warm, and I am a girl who's often wearing skimpy little outfits when it's cold outside. I'd have to have it in black, of course.

Boots. I love pretty boots. Love 'em. Size 8.5, if anyone's wondering.

Then there's kinky stuff. It's great when people bring me naughty things, because my rule is: you bring it to me, you're asking me to use it on you. Heh.
I do seriously want this sling. And while I have one fucking machine, this one looks uber-cool.
I could play some wickedly fun games with this little device, too.

Geek stuff? Gee, Santa, I want a laptop. Do the elves makes those? I also want one of these, although I'm still researching brands and models.

Of course, I'm not sure exactly how good of a girl I've been this year, but we'll see what the guy in the red suit does for me. Hey, even if he puts switches in my stocking, I'm sure I can think of something fun to do with them.

Yay, I've been saved from snow - real, sticky, snowed-in snow - once again. Whew. I'm sure that soon the Weather God is going to get tired of me telling him, "Snow tomorrow, and snow yesterday - but never snow today".
However, I feel like I dodged a frosty bullet, because baby, I've got things to do. Ain't got no time for no snow.
So while I go do them, read all about it.

Oh, and don't forget Cirque Du Noc on Saturday, and Max's bondage workshop on Sunday. Big fun.

Tonight, I’m going to an industry party. A sex industry party, that is. I don’t usually go to such things - they’re really geared more towards the escorts and sensual-touch ladies. I am considered a niche service, and a lot of the vanilla boys just don’t know what to make of me. (Some of them know what they’d like to make of me, though. I admit that it can be entertaining to tease them.)

No, I’m not telling you where it is, sorry. Those who know, know, and I haven't been empowered to give out information about it. Besides, it’s not that exciting to the naked eye (so to speak). It’s just a cocktail party-type thing where the professional ladies smile and flirt and pass business cards to interested parties. People make conversation about the weather and sports teams and the monorails crashing into each other, and oh by the way, sweetie, do you have a website? What are your hours? But if you were watching through a window, it wouldn’t look so different than lots of other social events.

The street workers usually don’t come to stuff like this. No, it’s mostly the middle-tier of sex workers - the largest group by far - that you’ll meet at these events. (What would upper-tier be? Porn star-escorts who get a thouand dollars or more for dates. That's a relatively small group.)

It’s a nice system in some ways. There’s no question that having met someone at a party like this makes booking an initial appointment with them much less fraught with tension. You’re less likely to get no-showed by a guy who’s met you already, and when he shows up, you already know something about who he is, in terms of personality and looks. It removes the whole blind-date anxiety - on both sides, I imagine.

I’ve been to a few of these things, and as I said, a lot of the boys don’t know quite what to say to me. Some of them email me after the fact and tell me they were afraid to come talk to me, as if I might pull out my riding crop and thrash them on the spot. But my entire purpose in going to firmly establish the fact that I actually don’t have snakes for hair, and I don’t turn men into stone with my glance, and some of the boys clearly enjoy getting to hang out with me a bit. Oddly, though, the guys who can chat with me in a perfectly relaxed and friendly manner usually aren’t the ones who wind up calling the next day to schedule with me. It’ll be the boy who stutters and shuffles and barely meets my eye that I’ll be hearing from. Which I suppose is sort of charming, when I think about it.

A brief note about scheduling with me this week: As of this moment, I have time available Wednesday starting at 4:30, Thursday starting at 3:00, and Friday starting at 4:30. Also, I will be seeing people this Saturday, which is rare, so if you’ve been waiting for a weekend availability, carpe diem.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly...

This is cruel, and even rather kink-negative, but even I have to admit it’s sorta funny.

This, on the other hand, is rather sweet, even though I wouldn’t say it’s a stunning likeness. Gee, how'd the artist know I had that outfit?

This is so sublimely ridiculous that it’s classic. I hope this page stays up forever. Notice the copyright date – this gentleman copyrighted his web page before the web even existed! Amazing!

This is so not my kind of fetish, but hey, if you get off on the idea of being scanned like a toaster at Target, mazel tov.

My parting remark: I'm posting this before I go to bed, and let me tell you, there just better not be any white shit on the ground when I get up.
I will be seriously annoyed.
I'm just sayin'.

I hate snow.

Okay, I know I said I wasn’t going to do phone-call entries anymore, but once in a while, I just have to….

Ring Ring!

Me: hello?
Caller: (in a hostile voice) Wow, you’re really hard to get a hold of, you know that?

Well, I can’t accuse the guy of stringing me along and getting my hopes up, can I? I hate him already. I let ten seconds tick off on the clock and then say, very slowly:

Me: That’s not how you begin a conversation with me. Who is this?

Caller: Uh, we haven’t met, because every time I call you I get your voicemail.

What a shame I broke up my winning streak by answering this time. Again I pause, lengthily, to indicate I don’t like this remark, either. I consider pointing out that he’s talking to me now, but it’s not going to do him any good, because if you’re rude to me in the first 3 seconds of our acquaintance, you’re unlikely to recover.

Me: What do you want?

Caller: I know you said you don’t do same-day appointments, but you know, I’m sort of a creature of whim. Booking in advance really doesn’t work for me because I’ll be out of the mood. What do you have available in the next couple of hours?

Oh, right, because I am here on this earth to accommodate your moods and whims, aren’t I? Jesus. Any suggestion that I should instantly change my rules and limits to acommodate someone else's whims is pretty much guaranteed to have the opposite effect. It's amazing that he thinks this kind of attitude is going to fly with me - I'm a dominatrix, for god's sake.

The irony here is that, if you’re one of my good regular boys, and you catch me on a day when someone has canceled or something, I actually will do a same-day. It’s rare for me not to be booked up, but if I know you, I don't mind you asking.

However, if you’re a stranger, and more noticeably, a rude twit who thinks I should jump when he snaps his fingers, I’d be happy to make an appointment for you on the first frosty day in Hell. I'm tempted to tell him so, but brevity is the best way to deal with people like this. You simply cannot engage with them, it’s pointless.

Me: Nothing.

Caller: Nothing? Come on, you can’t be totally busy, you’re talking to me on the phone right now, aren’t you?

Some people write my exit lines for me.

Me: Goodbye.

Click.

I had a lovely afternoon yesterday, spending time with old friends and new. I ate yummy food, a talented musician played her cello for us, and we talked about different ways of branding people. Delightful.

And as we all emerge from our L-Tryptophan haze... here is the new column and calendar.

Happy Bird Day, everyone…

What am I thankful for? I’m thankful that this damn holiday only comes once a year, because sex workers, this is the week from hell. If one wants to actually see clients, that is. The phone is always very quiet Thanksgiving week - most of my good regular guys are understandably busy with family. But those of us who are buying houses soon are sitting around drumming our fingers and staring at the phone, because we would like to conduct business as usual Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday.

And when the phone does ring, I let guys who I know, absolutely know, are dodgy and unreliable sweet talk me into booking time with them. I know they’re unreliable because they’ve made and then cancelled appointments before, or I know because I can just hear it in their voices. But having nothing else to do, I give them a chance….And then they call back and cancel. Grr.

No, I haven’t actually been stood up, thank god, and yes, I understand, things do happen, at least they’re letting me know, yeah yeah yeah. But I’ve had four cancellations this week. Normally I get about one or two cancellations a month. It’s frustrating. I don’t know why Thanksgiving is so much worse than any other holiday, even Christmas, for this kind of thing, but it is.

Oh well - it’s over now, and I even got to rant about it a little, which helps. And I’m thankful for the cool guys who have made and kept appointments with me. Enjoy your bird.

I was in bed last night, reading this: Extreme Encounters: How It Feels to Be Drowned in Quicksand, Shredded by Piranhas, Swept Up in a Tornado, and Dozens of Other Unpleasant Experiences.

It's an interesting book. But then I'm the girl who really liked Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, and The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook.

However, I did have very odd dreams.

So, since some of you seem to know it anyway – yesterday was my birthday. (And no, I’m not telling you how old I am. Nope. No way.) I didn’t not-say anything on purpose, I’m just so focused on everything else in my world right now that frankly, I hardly noticed. Max had some plans for us to do something special over the weekend, but they were scuttled by the fact that I had caught a touch of that cold that's been going around town. I feel fine today, but I was sort of blah and uninterested in going out for a fancy dinner, etc.

Roman has some bizarre bit of birthday performance-art in store for me, which, knowing him, probably involves lawn gnomes, some duct tape, and a gallon of Marshmallow Fluff. (To read about last year's birthday surprise, go here.) But based on both our schedules, we decided we'd wait until Friday to have that little party.

And I'm not upset about any of this, because in general, I’m not interested in making a really big deal about my birthday. My theory is that I get to be a diva on a regular basis, so it’s not like I have to save it all up for once a year and then demand that everyone fuss over me. I get fussed over a lot year-round. Lucky me.

It's also that I prefer to take my moments of happiness and celebration of life more spontaneously, rather than scheduling them. I’m like that about all the publicly-observed holidays as well. I don’t have a strong objection to them, they just seem sort of contrived.

(I don’t mind presents, you understand. Presents are always a nice thing. And I got some very lovely ones, so thank you, thank you, to the sweet people who gifted me so generously.)

I’m currently rather preoccupied with my real estate situation, which is coming along nicely, thank you. I'm not going to talk it about much now, because I’m superstitious about talking about anything until it’s a done deal. Can’t jinx it, you know. However, I have chosen a house, and everything is progressing as it should at this stage. I will reveal more about that as it become appropriate.

Max is cooking a traditional dinner for us and a few friends on Thursday. Of all the holidays, T-day is the one I’m the most what-ever about. Left to my own devices, I’d order pizza and go to the movies. But Max likes to cook, and it’s always nice to have people for dinner, so, as long as there’s no televised football involved, I’m fine with it. (Actually there is never, ever, televised football in our house anyway. It’s one of the reasons why Max is so right for me – he hates sports.)

So, yes, birthday - thank you, Mom, for not drowning me at birth, or any other time, even though I’m sure I deserved it. And yes, Thanksgiving, after which I can return to my regularly-scheduled crazy life that I am so fond of.

A relatively quiet weekend, which was nice. Max and I did go see the new Harry Potter movie. The theater was packed, luckily we got there early and snagged decent seats.

The movie itself? Eh, not bad. I enjoyed it well enough because I’ve read the books. But I think it’s the weakest HP movie so far.

(Here follows a critique of the movie. Yes, I’m a professional dominatrix. Yes, I’m a perverted sex freak. And yes, I like Harry Potter. Give me any shit about that and I’ll set your genitals on fire*.)

I think the movie suffered mainly because the source material was so long. Since the book is 700+ pages, the movie disposed of about the first quarter of it in the first seven minutes, completely eliminating certain characters and great swathes of action. And instead of the actual movie, I sort of felt like I was watching a ninety-minute trailer, because it was all quick cuts and selected scenes, with big jumps in the storyline. If I hadn’t read the book, I would have been very puzzled by certain parts. Perhaps the DVD will have some deleted scenes, but I doubt it’s got, oh, another hour or so, which is what it would take to really do the book justice. Even watching certain parts with Maggie Smith and Michael Gambon, I felt like they were almost rushing through their lines, as if someone was saying, “Hurry, hurry, we only have a few seconds for this scene!”

That said, I enjoyed visiting the characters again – although there wasn’t nearly enough Severus Snape in this film, and I missed him. When he was onscreen, though, Alan Rickman definitely didn’t rush any of his lines - God bless his nasty heart. Makes me want to go rent that stealth-kink classic Closetland once again. (If you ever wanted a how-to movie for mindfuck scenes, Closetland would be it.) With Alan Rickman, it's The Voice, you know, and The Stare. I've seen guys try and pull off The Voice and The Stare in real life, and they usually come across like silly posers, but with Alan, he makes you think he'd be that way over breakfast.

And Daniel Radcliffe is turning into nice eye candy, if you like young boys. Which I usually don’t, but one can make exceptions.

Ralph Fiennes as Voldemort? Um, not bad, I guess. Not particularly creepy, though. The fact that he had no nose was distracting to me, although I understood that they were trying to suggest a resemblance to his snake. His dress was definitely too billowy, though. At one point, it bore an unfortunate resemblance to a gown worn by Julie Andrew in a very different movie. “The cemetery is alive with the sound of music…!”

Overall, not the HP movie to start off with, especially if you haven’t read the books, but entertaining enough as such things go.

*And yes, I do know how to do that.

Bad Business Strategy, Example #267

No Tanning Beds Were at Salon, Police Say

NORTH MYRTLE BEACH, S.C. (Nov. 18) - Undercover officers noticed something conspicuously absent from a tanning salon - tanning beds. The only tanning bed on the property of VIP Tann Spa was found in a wooden box on the porch, officer Jerry Miller said Thursday.

Miller said the so-called tanning salon was actually a very different kind of business: Three employees and two customers were charged with prostitution and related charges after the undercover visit last month.

The undercover officer found makeshift beds and other evidence people were being paid for sex, Miller said.

Investigators took business receipts, credit card statements and cash before closing the salon. The County Council revoked the owner's business license.

People, I keep telling you - in sex work, it's those pesky little details that'll make you or break you. Like, if you're posing as a tanning salon, you should actually have the tanning bed unpacked from the box. That's always helpful.

And "makeshift" beds? I'm not sure I want to know what those might be. Seems like if you're going to be ballsy enough to leave your tanning bed in a box on the porch, you'd just say what the hell and have real beds. I mean, why be coy? God knows the "tanning-salon" dodge has got whiskers on it anyway.

Happy Friday, everyone...

This week's colum and calendar.

And an interesting piece in The Stranger about the FBI crackdown on SM porn.
Several people nudged me to write something about this topic, but I knew a feature writer would get more word count and thus do it more justice. Interesting slant, using the prisoner/torture issue to point out just how fucked up the Bush administration's obscenity stance really is.

Wow, I seem to be very, very busy this week. It's all good stuff, but lordy... And of course, I'm spending my off time thinking about things like furnaces and wall-to-wall carpet. Oooh, how kinky am I?

Miss K, my best friend and official decorating consultant, loves it. We spent our last dinner talking about replacing mantles and painting faux-finishes.

Still, I'll be pleased when all my housing stuff is settled and I get back to being focused on the more salacious aspects of my life. All this Better Dungeons and Gardens stuff is getting to me.

***

But Wait: One bit of amusing news I noticed today. All you guys who asked me about this, start polishing up your resumes - or something - because Heidi Fleiss is opening a male brothel.

The Real Estate Obsession Continues...

Some more houses I will (almost certainly) not be buying. But these I actually looked at, and I gave all of them serious consideration.

This one's large and pretty and it has a nice flow to the upstairs. But there's no garage or carport or anything, and while the basement is large and very nicely finished, it's very low-ceilinged.

This one's got great space and lovely vaulted ceilings - but it's in a development, in a cul-de-sac. Four other front doors looking right at yours. I don't like that, it doesn't feel private, and privacy is a very big issue to me.

This one is nice, and it's a great location for me. But the basement is too small - in fact, the house is a bit small overall. Color me skeptical about the quoted square footage.

Pretty, and in many ways a serious contender, but - not quite. It just felt sort of over-remodeled, if you know what I mean? Almost bland.

This is very funny – to me. But only because I know how silly it really is. It's a video-clip of a Heineken ad, so I would call it fairly work-safe, although it does feature - you guessed it - a dominatrix.

It’s not that no one in the kink community ever does scenes that look like this – at least, like the first few seconds of this. But tops coming off with that heavy “you don’t deserve to be in the same room with me” attitude is rarer than a vanilla person would think. Particularly here in Seattle, that kind of MO will draw about as much snickering as it will cowering.

There's also the unfortunate it’s-only-funny-because-it’s-true angle of the unprofessional pro domme taking a cell phone call in the middle of a session and ignoring her client. Needless to say, one should never do that, and I never would. But I do hear about other ladies answering their phones in the middle of a session all the time. Lordy.

However, I do think it’s cute that she’s cooing sweetly into the phone to her supposed lover. I’ve done that with Max and Roman. But not on my client’s time, of course...

Ah, a sweet date with Roman last night. We ate Ezell's and gave each other massages - before moving on to more...intense activities.
Now I'm off into my day. Enjoy the new column and calendar...

Several houses that I will not be buying. Way out of my price range. But ooh, they're pretty....

Nice light...

Pretty view - plus, you can check traffic!

Love the woodwork.

And hell, as long as we're in the no-possible-way department, check this one out, it's got it's own elevator. I know someone who'd like to do a suspension bondage scene in the shaft.

An article on kink in Psychology Today. It's a not a bad piece, I suppose, although someone really needs to tell the author - identified only as "PT Staff" - to stop saying "s AND m". That's soooooo dated. Just say "SM".

But overall, it's just a lot of cliches couched in comforting therapist-speak. I don't strongly object to that - there are certainly worse ways to have my community depicted. Can someone send this piece to Attorney General Alberto Gonzales, please?

But snippets like this make me giggle....

"A common female masochistic fantasy is submission based on having one's body displayed to others. One of Baumeister's favorite--perhaps apocryphal--stories is that of a woman whose husband threw her a birthday party, inviting lots of people. She was posed nude and spread-eagle on the hors d'oeuvre table. Every party-goer who reached for a cracker or the vegetable dip had to reach across her bare self."

First of all, they're confusing - or perhaps equating - "masochism" with "submission". That's wrong, they're two different things. Masochism is about the desire for intense physical sensation, and submission involves emotional/phychological states. What's being described here doesn't seem to involve any intense sensation, so I would not call this a "masochistic" scene.

Also note the soothing suggestion that this story couldn't have really happened. Oh, my goodness, a woman being nude and helpess in front of lots of people? Shocking! Shocking, I tell you! I'm thinking that "PT Staff" would probably have a stroke if they ever came to the Wet Spot. Or a party at my house, for that matter. Lots of people doing a lot more than just being naked. Why, just Sunday night, I put chopsticks on a woman's outer labia, poked them with a bamboo skewer, and smacked them with a small wooden spoon. This, after Roman had stuck her lovely tits full of needles. That's my idea of a "common female masochistic fantasy".

Amusing things I did this past weekend…

Well, in the more vanilla portion of my weekend, I looked at lots of houses. Some of them were cute, but small. I like old houses, but a lot of them have dinky little rooms.

I looked at one house that was pretty from the outside, and large, with tall ceilings. It had big rooms, but unfortunately those rooms looked like the Parisian rioters had come through them. Actually, it looked like Parisian rioters had come in, installed hideous fake wood paneling, rioted, and then left. I could have dealt with holes in the walls and shredded carpet. But fake paneling? Save me.

When Max and my kink-friendly agent and I go look at houses, we immediately go down into the basement and look up. Good ceiling height? Okay, let’s go see the rest of the house. Are we banging our heads? Screw it, we don’t care about the Pergo or the patio or the jetted tub, we’re outa here. I’m sure any normal house-buyer would think we were very, very strange.

Sunday I hung out with Roman at Max’s bondage class, and then a bunch of us went to dinner before coming back for the bondage party. I had a date to teach Griffin how to do a cutting on Liss; meaning, how to take a scalpel and do a light, decorative incision on her skin. Yeah, it’s kinda painful. But not as much as you might think.

It's tough to practice a skill like cutting before you get to the actual scene. I’m not a big proponent of having people rehearse on objects like, say, tomatoes. I just don’t see the point unless you’re trying to hone your purely artistic skills, as opposed to your technical ones. People’s skin and the skin of a tomato – I just don’t feel like they’re that similar. I don’t know, do medical people practice on fruits and vegetables? (Eddie, wanna field this one?)

So Griffin had not handled a scalpel before. And it was also to be Liss’s first cutting. A double-cherry situation, how charming. Now, I’ve seen Liss do some extreme stuff as a bottom, but still, cutting can be intense. So I took the basic precaution of having Liss lie down for the scene. That’s always best, because that way, if someone passes out, hey, they can’t fall down.

I know Griffin does needle-play, so I was pretty sure he’d be fine. But just in case, I asked him, “You don’t faint at the sight of blood, do you?”
He grinned. “Not other people's.”

Well, all righty then. So after having some “materials, safety and technique” discussion with him, I took the blade and did one stroke on the ever-intrepid Liss myself. Not big, maybe two inches long. It elicited a small breathy noise from Liss and a pleased “ooooo” sound from Griffin.

First things first. “Liss, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

She looked and sounded fine, too, so that was cool. I talked to Griffin a little more about what we were doing. When you cut, you don’t see anything for a few seconds, and then a thin red line suddenly appears. So cutting is most often a slow-paced, contemplative scene. (Yeah, yeah – some of us know a few people for whom it is something different. But let’s not frighten the other kids too much, all right?) You cut, you pause and wait and look at what you've got, and then you cut the next stroke.

Gauging how much pressure to put into the stroke is the key to safe cutting, and that’s a thing that’s hard to communicate verbally. Someone has to be sensitive enough to feel the skin responding to the blade as they go, and instantly make the tiny adjustment to go a little lighter, or a little more firmly. Lighter is always better, though. I always tell people: you can go back and recut, if it’s too light. If it’s too deep, though, that’s a problem less easily solved.

So I showed Griffin how to hold the scalpel – like a pencil – and said "Okay, here we go".

Watching someone open up skin for the first time is a kick. I vividly recall my first cutting, with a tall, green-eyed dyke standing behind me, coaching me like I was coaching Griffin. I remember being nervous, but tremendously excited. Griffin was just the same - later he remarked to me, “There’s all this excitement in your body, and you have to be careful not to let too much of it flow into your hand.”

The end result: he did a very good job – I think he’s got a knack for it. And Liss did very well, too. I’m not sure if she got a buzz off it or not, but she’ll have a pretty little design on her back to show for it. I do like teaching people new ways to express their kink.

Notes about my professional availability...

Well, the appointment with the mortgage broker went reasonably well. Based on that, I'm talking to an agent, letting him show me some houses, and thinking about all of my different options. But the end result of this is going to be me writing some mighty large checks. I've been preparing for that, financially, for a while. But things always cost a little more than you think they will, don't they?

What that means to you, dear beloved clients of mine, is that for the next two months or so, I’m going to be a little more professionally available than I usually am.

Here’s how that will look: I generally book appointments starting at two pm and ending at eight pm, and I don’t see people on the weekends. However, I’m going to relax those rules temporarily. As of today, I’ll book appointments as early as twelve noon, and if you’re someone I’ve met before, I’ll take appointments with an ending time of up to ten pm.

I’m also going to be so somewhat available on the weekends. I have social engagements booked for every Saturday night from now through Christmas, so Saturday night is right out. But Saturday afternoon, and Sunday afternoon or evening, will be possible.

As far as evening appointments go, notice what I said: if I’ve met you before. I absolutely will not make late appointments with new people, just because there’s a very high no-show rate for first-timers on late appointments. Don’t ask me why, there just is. People call on a whim, and then they flake out, and I don’t have time for that.

Or they don’t flake out, and you wish they had, because they’ve been drinking or otherwise impairing their judgment. Bad, bad, bad.

So I’m not ever going to put myself in a situation of dealing with someone I’m not comfortable with, even to buy myself a mansion. I’m just expanding my hours a trifle, and it’s probably only until I close on the house. So this is a limited-time opportunity.

(Unless I decide I want to remodel or something…)

You know, I’ve gone pretty much my whole adult life thinking of myself as a renegade. A societal outlaw. A cultural desperado, if you will.

But as of today, all that ends.

For today, I have an appointment with a mortgage broker.

Sigh.

So while I try to reassemble my personal identity to include this experience, go read the newest column and calendar.

Various silliness…

Cute men’s restroom art in New Zealand.

And more Kiwi-related information: The Blokes Guide To Taking A Leak. You boys worry way too much about this stuff, did you know that? Catching one glimpse of another guy's dick will not make you gay. If that was true, there would be way, way more lesbians in the world, because we all see other women naked at some point or other.

And speaking of naked women, apparently Scooter Libby has written a smutty book. (It doesn't sound like a very good smutty book, you understand. Young girls forced to have sex with bears? Ew. )
Those silly Republicans! Don't they know dirty books like that are all part of a Communist plot to take over the free world? Tsk, tsk.

Interesting thread about a often touchy topic: weight and body image. In this case, specifically about the bodies of people in the BDSM community.

It does seem like there are a lot of big people in the community. Why is that? Well, I don't know, and I usually refrain from speculation. It's one of those topics where I think you have to be a member of the group (meaning, a big person) to speak with authority about it, and I ain't, so I shut up.

I listen, though, and some of the things I hear said are:

-It's just a reflection of our culture in general.
-It's a way for big chicks to get dates/laid. (I heard this from a large female-bodied person.)
-It's because BDSM people value other things over traditional beauty.
-You don't have to be thin to get dates in the BDSM community, so people "let themselves go".

Now, if I believe any of these theories, it's probably the first one: lots of Americans are big, and the BDSM community is no exception. I can't believe any woman would do BDSM if they didn't really want to, just to get guys. And I'm so sorry, kinky people are not somehow "above" being attracted to traditional beauty. I don't buy the "let themselves go" theory, either. (Go where?)

But I'm curious to know what some of ya'll might think.

Foodie

I don't feel profound today. Let's talk about something basic, like my taste in food.

I am actually quite boring about food. I think all my sense of adventure and desire for variety got put into my sexuality, because the whole food thing is just not a big deal to me.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my favorite foods. But I’m just not one of those people who's all about trying new and unusual cuisines. And if I can't identify what exactly it is, or if anything about it seems wrong to me, forget it, I’m not going there. Roman and I were at a fancy dinner party not too long ago where we were served something that looked and smelled like nothing as much as wet cat food, and I absolutely balked. He covered for me, thank god.

One of the things I miss here in Seattle is: seafood joints. I mean little neighborhood joints. I used to hang out in this great little place in my hometown with wooden booths and peanut shells on the floor, where every Tuesday was all-you-can-eat boiled shrimp night, and dollar-fifty Bud longnecks. That’s a seafood joint. Here if you want seafood, you’re going somewhere with a white linen tablecloth. I have nothing against that, but sometimes it’s just not what you’re in the mood for.

And I’m still looking for really satisfying BBQ in this town. Yeah, yeah, I know, Pecos Pit, yeah yeah yeah. Been there. It’s okay, but not that great. Ditto Jones Barbeque. I mean, hey – I’m from Georgia. I know from BBQ. I am not easy to please around this.

Where do I go a lot? Oh, KingFish Café, Palermo’s, Hana, Coastal Kitchen, the Madrona Ale House...

I was at Cafe Septieme a lot for a while, but I'm sort of over it now. I still like the red walls, though.

Pomodoro, over on Eastlake Ave, is yummy if I’m in the mood for a sort of Spanish/Italian fusion experience.

JaK's Grill does good steaks, but it’s a bit off my usual path.

For a take-out-fried-chicken-fest: Ezells. Worth the heart attack it’s undoubtedly promoting.

Late-night diner-type food? Charlie’s, on Broadway. Much better service than Minnies, and 13 Coins is both too surreal and too overpriced. (I've actually been known to eat at Denny's in the wee small hours, too, but everyone I know howls in protest at the very notion.)

Breakfast? Glo’s. The B&O Cafe is a close second, and they do great after-theatre dessert, too.

If someone else is picking up the check: The Metropolitan Grill, The Oceanaire, or The Union Square Grill. I keep meaning to try El Gaucho, but I haven’t gotten around to it. Canlis is good, but not to die for. (Lovely view, though.) I like Ruth's Chris better.

Then there’s pizza, one of nature’s perfect foods. I have three favorite places in town, so it depends on what kind of pizza I’m in the mood for. Stellar’s has great sauce, Madame K’s does a terrific crust, and Bill’s Off Broadway loads tons of yummy, gooey cheese on their pies.

I regret the passing of Chang's Mongolian Grill on Broadway. I also miss La Louisiana on Cherry.

Guilty Pleasures: Red Lobster. Yeah, you tell yourself it’s for the fish, but the fact is, those little cheese muffins are like crack cocaine. Have a strawberry daiquiri and you’re really in low-brow-food heaven.
And The Melting Pot. Yes, it’s gimmicky, and it takes forever. But it tastes good.

I’m curious about The Frontier Room – I was there about a million years ago when it was a pretty seedy dive, but I hear the food is good now. I also want to try Alexandria's on 2nd. Anyone got a review?

***************************************
Roman and I went to see "Capote" last night. It was astounding. Absolutely amazing. I have never seen a man's inner conflicts, and his path to emotional suicide, so skillfully portrayed. If Phillip Seymour Hoffman doesn't get an Oscar nomination, there is no justice in this world.

And now, ah... a long, quiet weekend, with no big events, stretches blissfully out in front of me. Maybe I'll rearrange my bookshelves.
(I know, that's not what you think of me doing with my weekends. But I'm a girl who needs her down-time, too.)

Oh, and the new column and calendar, in case you're looking for ideas about what to do with your weekend.

Somewhere in the last ten years, shopping for clothes stopped being something I did for recreation and became...a chore. I don't know why, exactly. I've never been a serious label-whore - I tend to dress simply and casually most of the time. Thank god wearing all black never goes out of style in my crowd, because it makes getting dressed such a no-brainer.

But I do like to look nice, and it's relatively easy for me to buy clothes, since I am neither very large nor terribly small, but sort of in the middle. My mom, for example, is five feet tall and small-framed, and then there's Miss K, who's a six foot Amazon queen with a very hour-glass figure. I have seen how they both really have to hunt to find things that fit. Me, I can usually slide neatly into a size six, though not always. I think some women's clothing designers size their clothes by throwing darts at a chart on the wall, because I have purchased clothing in size four, size six, and even a size eight, all in one day, in one store. In my closet I have clothes that say they are "small", some that have been deemed "medium", and some that purport to be "large". All for the same body. Go figure.

Fetish-fashion designers are particularly evil about this: I have fetishwear with labels that say "XL". Extra large? Are you kidding me? What would medium be, Mary-Kate Olsen after a week-long crystal binge? If I ever catch up with Catherine Coatney, that bitch has a lot of explaining to do.

So you never know until you try it on, and taking one's clothes off and on, and off and on, gets old after a little while, doesn't it?

So I do shop online some, although that's always a crap-shoot. For example, here's a very cute pair of boots over at Vicky's Secret. (Not the dress. Hate the dress.) And only $88, that's cheap.
But you don't really know what you're getting. It may be time for a round at Nordstrom. Hey, I know, I need a fit-slave. I mean, a female submissive who has exactly the same measurements as me. I'd send her to do my shopping.

Penii

Oh, my god, do I love this site. No, not because it’s got lots of pictures of boy’s bits – but because it does address the ago-old male question: “How does my dick measure up to other guys?”

Max and Roman are both quite free of any penis-anxiety, which is great. But I’ve known guys who were sorta anxious about the issue, although most of them had no need to be. But if you’re a straight guy, I can see how you’d kinda wonder what other guy’s dicks looked like. There’s such a tremendous variation, and porn movies are really not a representative sample. (Especially gay porn, good lord, I think they grow those boys in nuclear laboratories somewhere. It can't be natural. I know you can do a lot with camera angles, but still.)

Now, I say most of the guys had no reason to be anxious, but that’s just my opinion, and I have to admit: I’m so not a size queen. But there are women who are. God knows I’ve fisted any number of women who seemed to enjoy it very much, and whenever I’ve done it in front of boys, it’s occurred to me that I’m probably giving at least one of them a serious inferiority complex.

(I double-fisted a woman once, and that was the one occasion where I got a flicker of understanding of why some men have a primitive fear of women’s pussies. I had both hands in there, probably about three inches past the wristbone, and she was thrashing and rolling around, and I realized that instead of my controlling her body, she was sort of controlling mine. I had to move in sync with her, or get my wrists seriously twisted. It was definitely a “wait a minute, who’s running this fuck?” moment.)

I have met one guy whose dick was so big that it was a problem for him. I was twenty years old, I was an escort, and he was this thin little white guy, wiry, but very small-framed. I showed up at his place, he was very sweet and pleasant, we chatted for a little while and then – we went to the bedroom and he took off his pants and he’s got this…monster thing between his legs.

I took one look and stepped back and said, “Oh, I so don’t think so.” As I said, I am not a size queen. It wasn’t a long, skinny one either. It had serious girth.

He sort of sighed and said, “Yeah, I get that from a lot of the girls. It’s really a hassle.”

I wound up hooking him up with another lady who I knew had great - shall we say- depth of personality. (And who had given birth to two children.) When he stripped down, her eyebrows went up. “Wow. That’s like, uh…wow.”

The two of us stood there studying him like military generals eyeing a hill that needed to be taken. “Can you do it?” I asked.

She squinted one eye and drummed her fingers on her chin, considering. “Hell, give me the lube, I’ll try.”

Even getting a condom on him required three hands, but we managed. Then she laid him down and positioned herself atop him. “Now,” she said firmly. “You don’t move, you hear me? Unless I say you can. You lie still.”

She began working her way down inch by inch. It was kind of like watching a boa constrictor swallowing prey, only in reverse.

And damned if she didn’t eventually swallow up a good four-fifths of him, which he seemed to think was pretty keen. Later she confided to me, “Now I know what it feels like to have a soda can in my pussy.”

It’s a shame he seemed to be a straight guy. He could have raked in money in gay porn.

As I plunge unto another insanely busy week, clients please take note: at this precise moment, I have time available for one appointment on Tuesday, one on Wednesday, and one Thursday. It's the same time every day, starting at about 5 and ending at 6 or 6:30. Unless I get a cancellation, everything else for this week is booked, I'm afraid.
I usually tell people that 48 hours is enough notice for me to work something out for you, but lately I've been inundated with people who want my attention. And how can I complain about such a charming problem?
These things go in cycles - I'm guessing that in a week or so I'll be slightly less booked up. So if you can only do shorter-notice scheduling, try me again around November 1st.

Educational note: A lot of people have asked me about how to learn to do cutting. Well, I got the info too late to put it in the Kink Calendar, but there will be a workshop on cutting at the Wet Spot, on October 25th from 7pm- 9pm. This is a fundraiser for the Wicked Wymyn leather conference, sponsored by Seattle Women of Leather.
(Matisse, what's cutting? It's a body-mod/BDSM technique. Finished product here, graphic action shot here. Don't try this at home, kids.)
One caveat: This may be a women-only event, I'm not sure. So if you're a boy, I'd find out before I showed up at the door. I hope it's co-ed, just because cutting is a skill that you really need to be taught in person, by an experienced practioner. But it is true that women - especially lesbians and bi women - do tend to do more bloodsports than men anyway. Go figure.

More info? Try calling/emailing the Wet Spot, or the sponsoring group, SWOL@groups.yahoo.com


Now a question for the New Yorkers: A charming, recently relocated reader writes:

"Do you have a suggestion of where to go to get into the scene in NYC? I've always been rather envious of the vibe the Wetspot seems to have, and am looking for something similar in New York. I'd be sort of new to the whole public BDSM idea anyway, but having a new life means it's probably time to try some new things, right?"

I do admire people who aren't afraid to take risks. However, I don't know of anything like the Wet Spot in NY. My intelligence suggests that it's mainly stand-and-model bars, swing-club-like establishments, and the private-party scene, which of course you have to know someone to get into. There's TES, of course. Other suggestions?

Better late than never: This week's column and kink calendar.

And if you've been kinky in Seattle long enough to remember C-Space, take note, in that calendar, of the fundraiser for the revival of C-Space. That event is being held Sunday evening at the Wet Spot. I'll be there...

What’s up with me? Well, I went here for dinner last night, and it was way yummy. The service was a little uneven, though. In some ways our server was really helpful and attentive, but there were these loooong pauses between courses. Dinner for three took three hours, and yes, it’s a nice restaurant so they don’t rush you, but really, it was a bit much. Great view from the windows, though.

This man is now on my list of "celebrities I'd like to give a lap-dance to", because he does a brilliant send-up of Bill O'Reilly. Totally brilliant.

Hey, creators of erotic art:

CALL FOR ENTRIES: SEATTLE EROTIC ART FESTIVAL 2006
To be held March 24-26, 2006 at Consolidated Works in Seattle

The Seattle Erotic Art Festival (SEAF) was founded in 2002 by Seattle's Sex Positive Community Center (SPCC) to promote freedom of sexuality, speech and creativity through the erotic expression of fine art. The Festival strives to exhibit work not easily found in mainstream galleries and museums.

We invite artists of all backgrounds, countries, ethnicities, cultures, genders, sexualities, and ages (18+) to submit up to four (4) works of art of any media. 3D artists and painters are particularly encouraged to apply; please note that photography is a highly competitive medium.

Enter online at http://www.seattleerotic.org between October 15- December 15, 2005.

Bizarre sex trivia about me: I once slept with a professional psychic to see if he could tell the difference between a real orgasm and a faked one.

I was cocktail waitressing at the nudist resort, you see, and he came and did a show there once a month. (As a side note, isn’t there something odd about a psychic appearing at a nudist camp? It’s just strange somehow.)

He was a nice-enough looking guy in a forty-something, Nathan-Lane kinda way. (A heterosexual Nathan Lane, I should say.) Meanwhile, I was nineteen years old, I had a tan all over my body, and I was cutting a swath through the available cuties of both genders that summer. I was deep in my sexual-experimentation phase. (Or as my friends and I refer to it: one’s slut phase. Almost everyone has one.)

I thought, What would it be like to sleep with a guy who’s psychic? (Or at least, who says he is.) So I worked my section through his little show, punched out, went and sat down next to him at the bar and said howdy.

Looking back, I’m sure my approach was about as subtle as a sledgehammer. I say that based on my experiences being hit on by nineteen year olds. The very young are often beautiful. But they are rarely terribly subtle.

However, he didn’t seem to mind. Men are often so forgiving about that, aren't they? So when the bar closed, we went back his place.

It wasn’t a terrible sexual experience, but remember what I said about wondering if a psychic could tell a real orgasm from a fake one?

Apparently not.

Conversation between me and a potential client*...

Him: I’m really into tickling.

Me: That’s fine.

Him: And my fantasy is that I’m all tied up and you tickle me without any mercy. I have no safeword.

Me: That’s fine, I can do a scene like that.

Him: But I’m really apprehensive about being tied up and not having a safeword.

Me: That’s understandable. You certainly don’t have to be tied up, if that’s too much. Or we can negotiate a safeword.

Him: But I really want to not have one.

Me: Well, okay, then we can play that way.

Him: But I’m really nervous about that.

(Repeat about three times.)

Him: I want to have one but not really have one. Do you know what I mean?

Gentlemen, I understand the conflict between fear and desire. But you cannot simultaneously give up and retain control. Either choice is fine, but wanting to not (really) have a safeword but really (not) have a safeword gets into a kind of Orwellian doublespeak that gives me a headache.

*Who in many ways seemed like a perfectly nice guy.

I’m way too slammed to answer individual emails and blog, so we’re going to combine that today. A very nice reader writes:

I have a question regarding this:




I just got it in the mail today... As a college student with a roommate, the money/space I have available to build a massive toy supply is limited, so the price was definitely right. But- the nib? jib? tip? thing is a hard rubbery plastic. And I was just wondering... is it safe to use? Testing it on my hand/arm/leg, it delivers quite a sting, but because it's made for horses, should I just not have gone there? Is there a pressing reason why people should buy special crops that are made specifically for sex/people?
Or have I discovered a high quality cheap alternative to leather crops? Because for what it is, it is very well made.

My dear, you have discovered what many kinksters who came before you have found – tack stores are great places to buy riding crops. This is a perfectly dandy toy to use on a human. It does indeed look delightfully stingy, so you will have to adjust the strength of the impact to suit your partner. (Or they to you, if you’re the intended recipient.)

But in general, pervertibles are a wonderful thing. Not only are they often cheaper than designed-to-be-sex-toys, you can maintain some level of plausible deniability. (Not with a crop, though.)

For impact play, try also: big flat wooden spoons, spatulas, yardsticks and rulers, and paint stirrers.

Oh, and on the tack store front, look for one of these: it’s called a dogging bat. Kinksters often call it a slapper. Great toy.

Check out the new column and kink calendar....

And notice, if you haven't already, that I'm teaching a Spanking Class at Babeland this Sunday evening. It'll be big fun, and yes, I will be taking volunteers from the audience.

My classes usually sell out, so call for advance tickets if you want a sure thing - 206. 328. 2914. Babeland is located here.

This and that…

I’ve gotten a few angsty emails about this issue: Blogger axes adult blogs. I’m not especially worried. I think what they’re going after are people who have pay porn sites and are throwing up dozens of faux-blogs to get more traffic and higher rankings with Google. These pseudo blogs have little or no real content, just lots of keywords and preview pix. Frankly, I think Blogger is perfectly within their rights to delete them. They’re advertising ploys, not real blogs. That’s not to say one cannot put a link from a blog to a professional site – I do that. But there’s such a thing as abusing the system. This, however, is a real blog with plenty of non-porn content. I don’t think Blogger would say I was violating their TOS as I read them.

I could be wrong, of course. So if this blog does ever vanish, go check MistressMatisse.com to get the skinny on where it went.

Anyone read this? I never got around to reading Tracey Qwan’s first book, but I’m yet more curious about this one, as it’s ostensibly fiction. It’s gotten some rather snarky reviews, but it’s hard to know how to judge that. As someone who often contemplates writing fiction based on my own life - and as someone with some things in common with Ms. Qwan - I'm interested to see how it does.

The rest of the world discovers RealDolls. Or keeps rediscovering them, or something. Haven't I read pretty much this exact same article somewhere before? But places like Salon keep going back, because stories about other people's sexual deviance is an easy way to both titillate readers and make them feel superior at the same time. And that's how you make Middle America happy, don'tcha know.
Summary version: some guys buy realistic looking sex dolls and pretend that they're real women. I mean, to the point of talking about "making love" to them. It just seems sort of sad to me, but hey, I'm guessing they wouldn't care for my idea of a good time, either. To each their own, I say.
But some people - women, as you could probably guess - get all het up over it. Yes, I'm sure some of the guys who buy (and have "relationships" with) RealDolls are flaming misogynistic assholes. But I'm not sanguine about their willingness to fix that, so isn't it better that they're out of the dating/reproduction pool? I mean, it's either that or they'll be calling sex workers, and frankly, we prefer guys who like chicks that move.

Weird email of the day

Are you the daughter of the Mistress who died???

That's it, no salutation, no signature, no other text. Bizarre. I think I know what late and much-lamented Mistress he means, but I have no earthly idea why he thinks I'm her daughter. She's been gone for, oh, about a year now, I believe. Obviously he hasn't done a search here about my parentage...

Strange.

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

A note to my close friends: that thing I was doing this weekend? Went really, really well. In a massively-tension-filled, exhausting sort of way. But, you know, good tension and exhaustion.

And of course the fact that it did go so well now means I'm going to be even busier than I was before, at least for the next few weeks. Crazy!

Happy Friday, people... I have a busy weekend ahead of me, so please enjoy the new column about my experiences at Folsom Street Fair. Play safe!

So You Want To Be A Pro Domme?
I got another email today wanting to know if I would hire the writer to work in my dungeon, and I decided to write an answer here. That way, every time I get someone asking me this - and it happens at least once a week, sometimes more often - I can just shoot back a link to this one page and be done with it.

Here's the bad news: No, you cannot be my apprentice. No, I will not teach you how to be a pro domme. Yes, I do enjoy teaching people BDSM techniques. But I prefer to do it in small bites, and at my leisure. Teaching someone, from the ground up, how to be a pro domme would be a very tall order. I don't have the time for that, and more importantly, I simply don't wish to. Let me explain why...

First, there are the legal issues. If you’re working for me and you injure someone, they can sue me. If you work for me and you do something illegal, I can get arrested. Now, I managed a “sensual touch” business some years ago, and so I know exactly how impossible it is to completely control the behavior of employees. “Don’t do so-and-so,” I would say, and no sooner did I turn around then, boom, they were doing it. Maddening. I’ve talked to several lawyers about this, all of whom agree with me that yep, if something happens that shouldn’t happen, I’m liable. There is nothing you can sign, no waivers, no releases, no nothing, that can change that. It’s a legal fact.

Then there’s the fact that I’d have to actually manage another person’s schedule. As it is now, I book my time as I please. I can agree to see someone an hour from now on a whim, or I can decide I’m taking a certain day off, and I have no one else to worry about. I like it that way. There have been brief periods where I agreed to let close friends rent out my space on an hourly basis, and even though I wasn’t processing their clients, the logistics of it always turned into an inconvenience for me. It was nice to help out a pal, but life is far simpler as a lone wolf.

Further, I have met a lot of sex workers whose personal discipline and sense of professionalism did not match up with mine. They do exist, of course– but they all seem to be doing quite well in their own businesses, thank you very much. It is not a coincidence that they never asked me to foster them. They didn’t need to. Managing the schedule of someone who was firmly dedicated to punctuality and preparedness would be challenge enough. Trying to corral a flake – and there are a lot of them in the industry - is a howling nightmare.

And the bottom line is – I’m perfectly happy with my arrangement as it is. I like working alone. I have lots of business, more than I need, so I don’t need another person to stimulate cash flow. I can’t think of a single reason why I’d change my professional life.

So, what should you do if you want to be a pro domme? I’ve written about that before, here.

In addition to this piece, the other thing I will say is this – even though we don’t have sex with our clients, professional domination is sex work, and sex work experience will be helpful to you if you start a business as a pro domme. I’ve been an escort, a dancer, and a sensual touch practitioner, and a lot of the things I learned about those businesses were very much applicable to being a pro domme. How/where to advertise, how to screen clients, how to manage scheduling, legal issues, dealing with other professionals, understanding your client’s emotional expectations, sensing when someone is the wrong client for you and dealing with that, and being in touch with your own emotional boundaries and creating ways of behavior that work for you. Sensual touch work, in particular, has a lot of very similar systems of client/practitioner interaction and energy, and can be both a good training for dealing with clients and a good way of generating the money needed to set up shop.

I’ve mentioned this to some ladies who came to me for advice, and once in a while I get a response that convinces me I need not bother giving them any more of my time and energy. “Eww!” they said. “That’s gross, I don’t want to touch some icky guy like that, that’s like being a whore.”

So far I’ve always been too polite to tell them to go fuck themselves, but it always crosses my mind. Blatant hypocrisy has that effect on me. And I wonder how exactly they think they’re going to be pro dommes if touching icky boys is so abhorrent to them, because we don’t do all our sessions a whip-length away from someone. BDSM is an intimate thing. If you can’t embrace the physicality of this, then the only CBT you should be doing is on a computer. And as for whores – well, when you sell your professional time, you have to please your customers if you want to be successful. That’s as true for us as it is for anyone else. If that makes someone a whore, then most everybody in the world is one.

So who is the ideal person to become a pro domme? I think it’s someone who has lots of personal BDSM experience, and also experience in the other branches of the sex industry. I admit that I’m biased on this, since that was my resume.

Second to that, I’d say lots of BDSM expertise is a strong point in your favor even if you've never done sex work. You’ve probably got the required kinky equipment and you know about the psychology. Your challenge will be in learning the business end of things and understanding the emotional challenges of your relationship with your clients.

Third choice would be someone with a sex industry background but no BDSM training. If you’re already in the industry, it’s possible to begin by advertising oneself as a light-fetish girl, doing things like hand-spankings, foot-fetish games and kinky roleplays. The chance of injuring someone with such things is negligible, so vast expertise in BDSM is not so crucial. You can gradually upgrade your advertised skill-set as you learn the techniques on your own time. Ethics would demand that you decline to do anything you’re untrained in.

There. I hope that’s informative for you, the would-be dominatrix. I do sincerely wish you the very best of luck in your journey. This career can be a most rewarding one, and I’m very happy with the choices I’ve made and where I’ve gotten in my life. I hope you come to feel that way, too.

Not kinky, but really intense: One of my favorite guys gave me these amazing - if somewhat spooky - images of Hurricane Katrina in LA. I grew up down in Florida, and one gets rather blase about hurricanes, but man, I never saw anything like these images. If I looked out the window and saw this, I'd probably think it was the end of the world. They look like CGI, but he assures me they are the real thing.

storm1

storm2

storm3

storm4

storm5

storm6

storm7

storm8

storm9

Bad Days For Sex Workers

Jesus, the nanny-state liberals are at it again. Seattle City Council passes a 4-foot law. Get your lap dances while you can, boys and girls, because in six months, they’re gone. Because, you know, the city council wants to protect women and promote decency and all. I expect to see a sharp rise in the number of escorts available in Seattle after it goes into effect.

And yes, Natalia, there is such a thing as too much publicity. What did you expect when you run your mouth like this, the city would give you a parade?

Wow, lots of fun at the bondage class and party last night. We had a great turnout for the class: about 40 people, which is a good number. Max and I had both Maura and Mrs. Wookie helping us set up, and they proved to be lovely demo models as well. (Not surprising to anyone who knows them.) Some old friends were there, and we met some fun new people as well.

We grabbed some dinner and then went back for the party, which was really jumping. Max had one maybe-we’ll-do-a-scene lined up, but when he walked in, another cute girl made herself available, and since Girl A was busy, Max didn’t let any grass grow under his feet. So I got a ringside seat for all kind of cool suspension scenes: Roman and his partners, the Wookie and Mrs Wookie, and Max and the first of his two play-partners, Miss Candy and James. Malixe showed up, and we sat on the couch and schmoozed with some new people, and watched the play. It was great.

After that, I got to teach a cute girl how to stick needles in her husband. That was big fun. I hadn’t brought a toy-bag with me, because I wasn’t expecting to play, so I didn’t have any needles. But Roman was sweet enough to give me some of his. (Yes, I know it’s supposed to be a bondage party. But we went off in a side room and no one minded.)

So Roman had been terribly, terribly mean to two lovely ladies, much to their delight and pleasure. Afterwards, I congratulated him on this, and was handing him back his needle case when he said, “So, wanna stick a few in me? I could use a little stress release.”
I smiled. “Can your wife drive you two home?”
“I already asked her. She wants to watch, if that’s cool.”
“Sounds great to me. Let’s do it.” So the three of us went back into the side room and I proceeded to do a little stress release on Roman, Matisse-style.

You see, I think people carry stress and tension in their muscles, and heavy physical play is one way of shaking all the stuff loose and letting it out. It’s like a purge, and I’m good at doing this with people, because I’m just not afraid of it. Some people have to struggle to access their tamped-down emotions this way, but Roman is a very physical, kinetic guy, and from the first scene we ever did, he’s been able to just go right there with me.

Which is good, because, ooooh, I really like doing it. I sat on top of him and punched his pects, and clawed him, and bit him, and he roared like a lion. It’s a great sound – loud, deep and throaty, with lots of growls and snarls. His whole body just vibrates with it, which is a nice thing when you’re straddling his torso.

And then I stuck some needles in his chest and (carefully) slapped those, hard. More roaring and snarling, and a lot of very creative cursing. At a certain point he started trying to grab me, so I had to kneel on his arms. I was using pretty much my entire weight to keep him pinned down, and even then I could still feel his all his muscles flexing and straining and his body shifting around between my legs as he growled up at me, wild-eyed.

Hot. Fucking hot. With a partner I trust, I really enjoy pushing someone to a point where they get all animal.

What’s interesting is that for two very well-equipped players, Roman and I rarely use toys or traditional dungeon furniture. We do use needles some, but it’s not unusual for us to play with just our hands. And teeth – we bite each other a lot. It's that animal thing again.

It was actually a pretty short scene – it was getting late, and we knew we didn’t have much time. Roman’s wife remarked later that it was like a “zero-to-sixty in 7 seconds” scene. I can’t do that kind of scene - short, intense, and physically demanding - with just anyone, and I wouldn’t want to. It’s a special dynamic, and I’m just glad I get to do it with Roman.

It's Friday and that's a good thing, because you know, I’m sort of tired. I think I’m still recovering from all the busyness of the past month. Roman and I had a sweetly low-key date together last night that actually didn't (gasp) include teeth marks, needles or novelty headwear. It did, however, include Stellar's pizza, something guranteed to put me in a happy mood no matter. Stellars is right up there with foot massages when it comes to sensual bliss. But Roman is a sweet treat all by himself.

So I think I’ll just relax on Saturday, and then have fun with Max at his bondage workshop and the Wet Spot party Sunday. Nice to get back into my usual rhythm of life.

Speaking of my usual rhythm, go read the new Stranger column….

There's good news and there's bad news...

Airports Step Up Efforts To Seize Porn

(Snipped)...Although security personnel at airports have reportedly been given a list to reference when deciding whether to seize content, the criteria in the list has not been made publicly available.

In just a two-week time span, however, inspectors for U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) at Logan International Airport have already confiscated a number of items, including digital pictures of women having sex with various animals, 100 copies of a scatalogically-themed DVD, and a number of bondage and fetish articles not normally targeted by authorities.

“Our main focus is on terrorism,” Ted Woo, spokesman for the CBP, said. “But this is something our agents are definitely on the lookout for.”... (Read the whole story here.)
Brought to you by the Bush Administration and the "Alberto Gonzales For Supreme Court" Fund... They're totally pandering to the religious right on this one. Jesus.

In other yeah-right news...

Faux New's Bill O'Reilly deplores The Folsom Street Fair. "These kinds of demonstrations, even though they raise money for charity, do harm to the gay community. When people around the country see this, they don't like it. And they start to stereotype homosexuals, and that hurts gay people everywhere." Yeah, cuz we all know how concerned Bill O'Reilly is that gay people not be discriminated against or anything. Uh-huh.

This is good news for me personally.... "Societies are worse off when they have 'God' on their side." Glad to hear it. That does explain why I've never murdered anyone, contemplated suicide, gotten pregnant as a teenager (or any other time) or had an abortion.

But just in case you thought I was the weirdest person in the state... I present to you: The Catman. Sort of takes the "furries" thing to a whole new level.

Teknikul Difficulties

I've been having various small computer-related difficulties lately, so I figured I'd put it all out there to ya'll, and some genius would have the answers for me.

Number One: Since I switched to Firefox, I can't get video clips to play. Or rather, sometimes they will, but more often, they won't. Not QT, and not WMP. I figure it's some script-permission thing? Anyone know how to tell FF it's okay to play vid clips?

Number Two: Since my comment system, BlogBack, is going away quite soon, I'm trying to export the comments as an XML file. Blogback is set up to do that, but I keep getting this error message when I try. "XML Parsing Error: not well-formed"
That seems unnecessarily nasty, but I have no idea what it actually means. I don't know jack about XML, so use small, simple words in any instructions you give me.

Number Three: This is a Blogger issue, and yes, I've looked in the Help section. Since I now have to use the Blogger comment system, I want it to look like the BlogBack one, where the comments appear in a pop-up window. However, even though I have supposedly enabled that function - it's not happening. Yes, I've cleared my cache file. Hell, I've rebooted. No dice.

Any suggestions?

Some Folsom pictures, and a funny story…

A very common sight at Folsom.

Fishing for something out a 3rd-story window.

Nice butt.

Twisted Monk temporary tattoos were seen in all the best places.

Women love them. Or maybe it's just the rope.

It's tough work, guys, but someone's gotta do it.

Whenever there was a cute girl in the air, I couldn't even get close to the booth.

Galahad being eyed by a man wearing his underwear around his ankle.

Really. See, there's his car key on his shoelace, too.

Max takes his turn rigging: Ladies first.

And boys later.

As the crowd looked on.

So, an amusing coincidence... Max and I arrived in the Seattle airport yesterday afternoon, collected our bags, and climbed onto the bus that serves the MasterPark (no pun intended) lot that we use. Sitting across from us were two nice-looking, thirtysomething guys. They were the kind of guys that, if you saw either of them alone, you wouldn’t immediately say “oh, he’s gay”. But somehow the two of them together – well, maybe it was the way they were sitting. Straight men, in my experience, just don’t sit quite that close to each other. It wasn’t that they were draped all over each other, not at all. And there wasn’t some big sexual energy or anything - in fact, if I had to make a guess, I’d say they were good friends but not lovers. At least, not seriously or currently.

But, truthfully, it wasn’t terribly hard to draw some conclusions about them, because one of them was wearing a t-shirt that read “Folsom Street Fair 2005”.

Now, I normally do not talk to strangers in public. I just don’t. I’m very reserved in that way. But Folsom is such a cultural touchstone. So I caught his eye and grinned at him, indicating his shirt. “Yeah, I was there, too.”

He smiled back. “You were?”

Max had been supervising the loading of our several bags, but that moment, he came and sat down next to me. “Yeah, we were there.” I said. “It was great, wasn’t it?”

So we sat and chatted about some things we’d seen, in that elliptical, coded way that queers and kinksters do when talking in a mixed public setting. There was a woman seated nearby who was obviously listening to our conversation, but she was just as obviously not understanding our references. Like this one:

“Did you see that the San Francisco Police Department had a recruiting booth there?”

“Yeah, we saw that. Too funny. I guess they thought, hey, all these guys like uniforms anyway…” (laughter)

The first year I went,” said Max, “I had a hard time telling which ones were the real cops and which ones were just…dressed. I figured out to look for the gun, that was the only way to tell for sure.”

We had a nice chat on the five minute drive, and bade each other goodbye when we arrived at the car lot, and I thought that was the end of a pleasant encounter. I watched the attendant heave our bags into the car, but when I turned around to look for Max, I saw him off in conversation with one of the two men.

God, he’s such a flirt, I thought, smiling. For a guy who says boys don’t make his lust-meter rise, Max does enjoy admiring and being admired by gay men. I’m so used to it that it didn’t cross my mind that it could be anything else.

Until Max got into the car and said, “So it turns out I used to work with that guy.”

“Wha-at?” Max is quite firm about keeping his professional life separate from him private life – that’s why you don’t see pictures of his face online anywhere. So I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about this.

“Yeah, a number of years ago I hired him for a contract gig. I didn’t recognize him – not until he reminded me - but he recognized me.” He laughed.

“Are you okay about this?”

“Sure, it’s no big deal. We’re sort of equally busted, if you know what I mean. It’s fine. I gave him my card and I got his, I might be able to use him again sometime.”

I always say: it’s a small town when you’re kinky…