For those who you liked the "that's not my dog" expression, here's some more of my personal lexicon of slang, specifically phrases to do with break-ups…

“It’s in the room…” a phrase coined by Miss K and I when I was getting divorced some years back. It refers to the idea that once your relationship begins to seriously falter, the possibility that you two might break up becomes like this unacknowledged third entity that lives in the house with you. Like a ghost that hovers over you while you lie in bed with your backs to each other, or blows a cold breeze around you as you eat a tense dinner, but which you both pretend you don’t see or feel. If someone says, “Do you think Chris and Pat are going to break up?” And I reply, “Yeah, I think it’s in the room,” then I mean, “Unless some fast and dramatic steps are taken, the relationship is going to end.”

“Propping up the corpse…” This is the next phase, which happens after the, “it’s in the room” stage. The relationship is now past saving, and the ghost in the house has turned into a smelly rotting mess that no one really believes will ever live again, but which the couple is not quite prepared to bury. Propping up the corpse refers specifically to the too-little, too-late efforts someone might make to save what's already dead. “Chris and Pat are going to therapy, but after everything that’s happened, they’re just propping up the corpse.”

(Yes, I know that corpses usually then become ghosts, and not vice versa. These are just expressions, people.)

What made me think of these expressions is a letter I got from a reader asking for my advice…

“My girlfriend and I decided to open our relationship, a decision into which we put a lot of thought and effort....There seemed to be no real downside to it, especially given the fact that I knew my own mind pretty well, and even though I'd never been in an open relationship, I was sure that our understanding of how it would work would be OK for me. She actually HAD been, previously, and thus I was sure no problems would arise from her quarter.”

When she found a prospective 'secondary' boyfriend, I was sort of happy for her. He seemed a bit bent on the idea of making her 'his' from what she told me of him, but she didn't see that in him, so I was OK with it. She wanted to go visit him for the weekend, all the way across the state....Prior to this, she'd said "I'll feel bad if you don't get laid while I'm there. You should fuck [my friend]!" Over the course of the weekend, speaking to her on the phone (twice!), I said that I was going to attempt that, to which her response was, "Have fun!"

At this point, I have no doubt that you can forsee something horrible occurring.

Indeed, I had sex with her friend, simply for lack of anything better to do… Nothing emotional, just something to do while we were waiting to watch a movie that was taking a long time downloading....

Upon arriving home, she got upset about this. She's completely alienated her former friend, and by her own admission subconsciously/accidentally sabotaged our relationship, potentially fatally. She says that she wants to get past it, but now she's unilaterally changed the rules that we established to govern the 'openness' of our relationship to suit her new desire to interact with this fellow whenever possible - to the complete detriment of our own currently faltering one....

I'm at a loss for what to do. We have plenty of polyamorous friends, and I've suggested that she speak to ANY of them for advice on the current dilemma, rather than talking to him about it. She acknowledges that it's a good idea, then completely fails to do it....

...She's acknowledged that her current feelings are due to infatuation, but that she's also willing to entertain thoughts of ending our relationship if she feels that she's being forced to choose. I told her in reply to that that she needs to learn to control her emotions - that infatuation is like a drug, and if it becomes that unhealthy, she needs to cut it off and maybe try again when she can handle it. She nodded, but I really think the point went in one ear and out the other….”

My answer: it’s in the room with you two, and I hate to say it, but I think you are very close to propping up the corpse.

You both made some rookie errors here - she’s dating someone not supportive of her existing relationship, and changing the rules to get her New Person Fix.

And you slept with someone because you had nothing better to do? Good lord. I would not repeat that explanation if I were you, because it does not reflect well on you as a gentleman. Nor does it make you sound very thoughtful or examined about what exactly you're doing here. “I have a slow internet connection, so let’s fuck," does not equal polyamory, in my book.

But none of this would be unrecoverable if you both wanted to fix it. However, one person cannot save a relationship, and it sounds like she’s about halfway out the door. My guess is she just wants you to say, “Pick him or me”, to which she’ll promptly say, “Okay, him.” It’s an exit strategy I have seen before.

So if she remains unwilling to do any work to salvage this, then you can either feed her the parting line she obviously wants, or you can just leave yourself. I suppose she might come after you if you leave first, although I wouldn’t count on it.

That downside you two didn’t foresee? This would be it. Lots of monogamous relationships end in breakups, too, so it isn’t like polyamory was necessarily the cause. In this case it looks more like the method. It reminds me of the grim phrase “suicide by cop”. I wonder what would the phrase be in this case… (relationship) “murder by poly” ?

Here's a photo of me from karaoke Saturday night, looking slightly sweaty and bedraggled and singing about how my champagne brings all the boys to the yard. Or something. Note the dollar bill that Monk stuffed into my jeans.
I just regret that I didn't notice that they had AC/DC's tender, sensitive ballad "Big Balls", because I definitely would have done that one instead.
























On more serious topics - lord, I bet I got a dozen emails pointing me to the Eliot Spitzer story. Very interesting. I have just written a column about some aspects of the situation, so I can't say too much about it. But yeah, I imagine this is being rather stressful for him. Sources say he'll resign, but personally, I hope he doesn't.

If I sound like I have some sympathy for him - well, I do. He got hoist on his own law-and-order petard here, and he definitely should have to cop to that. (No pun intended.)

And on a purely practical note: really, Mr. Spitzer, what were you thinking crossing state lines in a matter like this, when you know that means the Feds can get involved? If you'd kept it within NY borders, you'd have had a chance of hushing it up.

So yeah, he did something dumb, and he's a bit of a hypocrite on the issue. Hey, he's a politician. Hypocrisy comes with the territory. I admit, I don't know everything there is to know about his career up until now, but at this point, I am not prepared to burn him down.

Sex is a matter that makes fools and hypocrites of a lot of us. The only way stuff like this will ever stop being an issue is if people refuse to back down from it. You damn their eyes and stay, Eliot. But keep your petard in your pants for a while.

Wow, that karaoke party? That was a bit surreal. A whole bunch of us were stuffed into this not-very-large room, it was very warm, and as the evening went on, and - at least on my end of the couch - more champagne was consumed, we were all laughing and singing with increasing enthusiasm and volume. Some of us were moved to get up and dance a bit, so with the noise and the heat and the music, it was rather like being in a twenty-by-twenty foot nightclub. Highly amusing.

(Did I sing? Well, you could call it that. Am I going say anything else about that? Hell, no. I think we all agreed that karaoke rooms were like Vegas - what happens there, stays there.)

So I'm recovering from that new cultural experience. Meanwhile, listen to a new podcast. Monk and I talk a little bit about the upcoming leather conference, Kinkfest, and then read a letter from a polyamorous reader who asks about poly rules. (The referenced column is here.)

***

Also, a note to my clients: This Wednesday is completely free for me. If you've been trying to get time with me, shoot me an email before someone else snags it.

I have not felt like much like writing this week. So I’m glad many of ya’ll liked the column, and were kind enough to send me notes saying so. Those are always nice emails to get.

***

A friend of mine who is in grad school is doing a paper about issues for older female-to-male transexual/transgender people. She is “…looking for input from 57+ yr old FTMs on the issues they face specific to the tranny experience as relates to aging, especially psychosocially.”

If you’re an older FTM who’d be willing to answer some questions for her, drop me a note and I’ll forward it to her. This is a queer woman who has had long-term FTM partners, so she’s hip to all the basic issues. You won’t have to answer any uninformed questions or teach her FTM 101. It would be a big help to her.

***

I feel I should warn you all… I am going to a birthday party for a pal Saturday night. It’s a karaoke party. Yes, really – they rented a private room. And I might, just might, actually contemplate singing. If I have enough champagne. (Yes, it’s being a fairly champagne-heavy week around here. I feel I deserve it.)

But you see, I absolutely do not sing unless I have champagne. And ideally, everyone who hears me should have a lot of champagne too, because I sing really badly. I know everyone says that, but I’m serious – when I sing, dogs howl.

Still, if my listeners are rendered sufficiently uncritical by alcohol, I can sort of fake my way through novelty-type songs. As long they don’t require any sustained notes. Meanwhile, Monk is trying to convince me I should sing something by Journey. Oh yeah, because tone-deaf moi could so hit those notes. Right. I’m thinking Lou Reed’s “Take A Walk On The Wild Side” because Lou is basically talking to music in that number.

But if your dog starts howling for no apparent reason Saturday night – whoops, sorry about that. Just wait about three minutes, it’ll stop. And maybe you should have some champagne.

Perhaps They Have The Right Idea

I've come to the conclusion that some people really know what would be best for them, and for society as a whole. Like this gentleman, who writes:

I read your peace on castration.. how does one get it done with you??/ thanks for you information.. clancy

I think I could be completely at peace with Clancy here being castrated. That way he wouldn't breed.

But it sounds messy. Perhaps Clancy should speak to someone who raises livestock...

Wow, this was a busy weekend.

Not half as busy for me as for some people, but busy enough! Miss K and I did attend the women's party Friday night, and lord, was that place packed. A very successful event, I'm pleased it did so well.

Saturday was the SEAF gala and while I opted out, I'm told that was also fabulous.

The other super-cool people in town for the festivities were New York photographer Michele Serchuk and her partner Delano. How to describe Delano in a sentence? Let's see, he's a man who both ties and is tied, he shoots photographs and he is photographed, and he's hot. He also has a sense of humor and a style of patter that is not unlike Monk's. So when Monk told me they they were going to utilize the playroom at The Big House to shoot some rope-video on Sunday afternoon, I make plans to stay home and watch. Especially when Monk said he would volunteer his wrists as a rope-model. Hot boy-on-boy action! Okay, not really, but still.

So check Monk's blog for the official video, although I suspect the out-takes will be the best part, they had me and the crew cracking up laughing half the time. Here's one still I snapped.

Now, there's another, but in this one, even though Delano is a expert rigger, he seems to have gotten a little confused about the proper pathway for the rope. Huh, how'd that happen? Surely an innocent slip of the hemp. Surely. (Yeah, right. Watch for the video.)

You say deviant like it's a bad thing. Study shows that spanking kids makes them more likely to grow up to be kinky.

You've probably seen a link to this story already, it's being widely made fun of by perves. I would just like to note: I was not spanked as a child. My mother was (and still is) a progressive, New-Age, hippie-type. She was in total charge of our childhood discipline, and she certainly didn't believe in anything as retro as spanking. Neither did she allow us to eat processed sugar - which may have cut down on her need to discipline us - or watch TV, or have war toys, like toy guns, et cetera. Because they encouraged aggression.

This, even though my father was actually an officer in the military until I was six. And he collected guns - real ones. He taught my brother and I how to shoot when I was a kid. And didn't my hippie mom have a fit when she came home from her pottery class and found all three of us in the back yard, blasting away at a target on a tree? I was eleven. I'm thinking if she could spanked my dad for that incident, she would have. (I am often amazed they stayed married as long as they did, really - until I was 17.)

So yes, on the one hand, I have New-Age mom, who gave me time-outs when I was bad, or - when I was older - talked to me about disappointed she was in me. On the other, my ex-military dad, for whom guns are a way of showing affection. Right before I moved from Georgia to Seattle, I went to visit my dad out at his place on the beach. We sat on his porch with the ocean breeze on our faces, and got rather drunk together, and then he squinted at me thoughtfully and said, "So you're really driving all the way across country? You should take this." And after some rummaging through cupboards, he gave me a handgun. It was clearly not new, but he showed me that it was in excellent working order.

"This one, you see - this one is not registered to me. Or anyone, really. So, you know, you could just throw it in a lake or something if you had to."

I had to laugh. I love my dad. He certainly seemed rather conservative when I was a kid. (He worked for IBM, for god's sake.) But he has let some stories slip out over the last few years that show me where my outlaw streak comes from. I suspect it's only the tip of the iceberg, and that my dad is actually far more of a outlaw than I will ever know about. I wonder if thinks the same thing about me?

"So, you're telling me I could shoot someone with this and ditch it and it can't be traced to you? That could be handy. Where'd you get it?"

"Took it off some fella we threw out of the bar one night. Back in Florida." (My dad owned a nightclub when I was a little girl, and I'm told the patrons often got rather boisterous.) "It's been sitting in a drawer all this time, you may as well have it."

"I'm really hoping to avoid having to shoot anyone along the way, Daddy, but thank you."

"Well, yeah. I mean, no. I mean, I'm just telling you. Here's, here's a box of ammunition."

So you can say I have a very equally balanced set of parents, neither of whom spanked me. And yet, here I am, a flaming pervert. And quite happy about it, as a matter of fact. So raise your kids how you think is right. Some of them are going to be kinky anyway.

Remarks On Different Topics

READ: I meant to post a link to this writer, Savannah Lee, earlier in the week, and I forgot, because I am thinking about too many things at once. She wrote some good stuff about the “Marry Him” article, and she’s a good writer on any subject, so check her out.

***

KINK: A pal – who is not nearly as sweet and innocent as she looks – wrote me and asked me for help assembling her own Pink Box For Pink Bits. (And no, this has nothing to do with breast cancer.) I told her that in addition to the items mentioned previously, there was a new one: electric toothbrushes. A wonderfully evil man brought some over for Jae and I to play with recently, and when I pressed it on Jae's clit, she just about came off the table. Delightful. I liked alternating the bristle side with the smooth side, and the tip, and so forth. Great fun. 4 out of 5 dominatrixes say you should brush after every orgasm!

***

SHOPPING: If you’re one of my good boys, and you’re going to be in one of the following cities soon, you should talk to me: Ala Moana, HI. Bal Harbour, FL. Beverly Hills, CA. Chicago, IL. Costa Mesa, CA. Las Vegas, NV. New York, NY. Palm Beach, FL. Waikiki, HI.

Why those cities? Because those are the cities that have Chanel Boutiques, and I have decided that I really need one of the Chanel Ultra rings. (Yes, I could call them and order it by phone, but it’s hard to pay cash over the phone. I like cash.)

Speaking of shopping, I really want these shoes. In gold, not pink. Are they not gorgeous? I think gold is my new black.

***

EVENTS: Note to sexy women in the greater Seattle area: The Bang For The Buck party is this Friday night. Miss K wants to go, so we're going to go together. (Although I am not looking, I am just socializing. But if you’re a butch looking for a femme top, I’ll introduce you to Miss K.) It should be a rockin’ party, so I’ll see you there…

Question From A Reader

This may seem like an off question, but would ever consider waterboarding a client? With consent, of course!

You have been very clear on your stance on breath play for obvious reasons; It isn't predictable enough to be safe. In the news we read that waterboarding gives the sensation of drowning with non of the side effects (like visible scars). Politics and the constitution aside - is President Bush the break-through Dom of breath play?

My first instinctive response was: No. And I’m mildly disturbed that someone would even ask.

But perhaps this deserves a longer, more thoughtful answer…. So let me tell you a story. I remember, many years ago, getting into an argument with a co-worker at a strip club. She was a tall girl, and noted for her bad temper and willingness to get physical.

Now, I do not fight. My brother and I scuffled now and then as kids, but other than that, I have no experience of non-consensual hand-to-hand combat. And I myself do not have a hair-trigger temper, of the type that results in unplanned confrontations. Historically, I will walk away from stuff like that. So when Roxy balled up her fists and started cursing at me about stealing her customer, normally I would have just left the dressing room.

However, this was during a period of time when I was bottoming a lot, and doing some pretty physically heavy scenes. And I can recall clearly staring at Roxy, with her eyes all narrowed and her jaw thrust out, looking as mean as she could, and thinking, You skinny bitch, you don’t scare me. What are you gonna do, hit me? Hah. I have been hit by much bigger and stronger women than you lately. Fuck you.

I relayed that last sentiment out loud to Roxy, several times. She raised her fists higher and took a step towards me. Some other person in my head took control of my mouth and said, “Oh, come on, bitch, start something. I’ll punch you right in those silicone tits, pop them like water balloons.”

Part of me thought Jesus, I can’t believe I said that. But I didn’t feel afraid, even though I could feel my heart hammering.

We stood there, fists cocked, and stared at each other for a long moment. Naturally all the other women in the room had fallen silent and were watching us intently.

I have no idea what Roxy saw on my face, but whatever it was, she didn’t like it. She spit out another string of profanity, turned on her platform heel and left the room. And I locked myself in a bathroom stall and put my head between my knees for a little while. I really don’t like angry people.

So the moral of the story is yeah, I do think BDSM can be a way to explore things that would otherwise be hurtful or frightening and thus make them less scary. And the experience of coming through those situations okay can give you a different perspective on real-life scenarios. I can see how someone might find something worthwhile in that.

However, there’s a difference between fistfights and government-sponsored torture. To me, even if waterboarding were safe - which I doubt that it is, who knows how many people have died while undergoing this? - it would be like doing Nazi play. It would be bringing something negative and all-too-real into my dungeon. I don’t want to do that. I don’t even want that hint of negative energy there. That sounds like I’m all spiritual, and I’m actually not, very. But I believe our emotions have power, and I find the idea of doing waterboarding as part of a BDSM scene deeply distasteful. The only break-throughs President Bush has made is in bad leadership of the country. The whole subject is something to be both sad and angry about, not eroticized.

Okay, enough with love and marriage for a few days. Let’s talk about something kinky.

For example, I had another girl join me for a date with Musical Man today, and can I just tell you how truly charming it was to see how excited she got putting sounds into his cock? She’s been happily anticipating this date for days, and she was wiggling and clapping her hands with glee as the moment drew near. Then when she was doing it, this look of profound fascination spread over her face. It was lovely. Musical Man liked it just as much. I was the one who finally had to say, “Okay, kids, I think we should stop now. Yes, I know, you want to keep going, but you’re both totally endorphin-high, so I think my judgment should prevail. You’ve already used a sound big enough to club baby seals with, let’s save something for next time.”

This girl and I have a date with a different man for an entirely different scene later this week. I think my scenes are the most psychologically intense when I’m alone with someone. But for variety, it’s always fun to have friends come over and play. And four hands can certainly do more than two. Co-topping can be challenging, however, so I do not invite just anyone to join me in my play. My boys are very important to me, and I want to create a good experience for them. I have to feel like my girlfriend and my client are going to be in tune, and that their various desires and limits are in accord.

But I am flattered to say that none of the ladies that I have invited have ever declined. One of them paid me a sweet compliment once, saying, “Oh, I totally trust you, Matisse. If you say it’s going to be cool, then I know it’s going to be cool. You wouldn’t let anything happen that wasn’t okay.”

Well. That’s exactly how I want people to feel in my dungeon. Like it's going to be intense, but everything will be all right in the end. I’m glad it’s what I’m creating.

The follow-up to the "Marry Him" post...

So I spent some time trying to edit down all the letters I got into something approaching a reasonable-length blog post...and then, I gave up. Ya'll had a lot to say and I simply could not do it justice. The letters, all eleven thousand and some-odd words of them, can be read here. (Note: I edited out names and anything that might be an identifying detail.)

Many of you agreed with me, although some of you raised some “Yes, but…” points. There were a couple of main themes to these. One was: marriage is about more than sexual passion. Dear readers, I may not be legally married to my partner, but we’ve been partners for almost eight years now, so I’m definitely hip to the fact that long-term domestic partnership is not one unending orgy. Sorry if that dulls your image of me as a sexual outlaw. We have the same trivial mundane shit to deal with, and the same sorts of difficulties and challenges. But my point is that you should start out being in love. You have to have that foundation, because that deep and intense connection is like the lube that gets the two of you through the tight spots in life together.

Another theme: love doesn’t always come in the packages one expects. Oh, lord, am I in agreement with that. Read here, and here, for my previous articles about how Max was not at all what I was expecting, and how I didn't really even believe in being "in love". For starters, he was the wrong gender. (Monk had it easier when I fell for him, since I was much more open to the idea of being all starry-eyed about a guy.) I guess I was taking it for granted that smart people did not sort for life partners based on anything like height or hair color, or even really superficial traits like being allergic to dogs. But if that wasn’t clear, then let me say so: love is what’s important, not the package is comes wrapped in.

Also cited was the desire the author had for children, which I lack. Well, yes, that changes things. But the author already has a child, so it’s not like that’s the cause of her desire for marriage. What she seems to want is more income and assistance with caring for her child.

The fact that since sex is apparently not important, the author could live with another woman was discussed, although I don't think that would satisfy her.

It was mentioned that arranged marriages are still done in other cultures. Yes, they are. I don’t think that recommends them, but that’s neither here nor there, since that’s not what Ms. Gottlieb is talking about. She’s talking about acting as if she’s marrying for love, but without really being in love.

Life doesn’t always turn out like you thought. I find that trying to force it to match your expectations usually doesn’t work so well. I think one of the keys to happiness in life is learning to see the path the universe is laying out for you. And I think part of everyone's path is learning to love deeply and fully. I know that's a scary idea, since love makes us vulnerable. But I don't think that lesson is optional.

Wow. I'm not the only girl with an opinion about the "Marry Him" article. I have gotten over fifty emails, amounting to about ten thousand words, on the subject of marriage and "settling". I'm going to have to boil this down a bit, but look for a follow-up post either over the weekend or on Monday.

I wonder if Ms. Gottlieb would debate me? Probably not, huh? Too bad. There are actually several people who write about sex, relationships, and sex work with whom I'd like to have - shall we say - a spirited discussion. I doubt that I ever will. But it's occasionally amusing to think about what I'd say.

So, here’s the new column. This post won’t make much sense until you read both the article that inspired the column and then the column itself, so go do that and then come back.

Done? Yeah. Is that unbelievable or what? I read it ten days ago and I was so incensed by it that I spent several days ranting about it to anyone who would listen. It's been killing me not to say anything about it sooner.

I’m going to exercise a lot of self-discipline here and not talk about my impressions of the author as a person. I can’t say I think I’d like her, based on what she said in this piece. But I am aware that there’s no way you can really know what a person is like based on just an article. People who just read a few pieces I’ve written don’t really know me, they only know the carefully-crafted slice I present to them. Plus I’m guessing she wouldn’t instantly take to me, either. I doubt it’ll be an issue in either of our lives.

And I try not to be nasty about other writer’s talent, or their lack thereof, because I know how it feels to have people knock my writing. But – this particular piece is not well-written. It’s like a first draft, way too long and repetitive. Frankly, it reads like a blog post – something where she just sat down at the keyboard, rambled about some feelings she was having, and hit Send. That’s okay for blogging, but for a magazine like The Atlantic? Um, no. Did she not have an editor for this piece?

I'm not saying you can't find anyone who'd agree with her. But for someone who admits she's making a sure-to-be-unpopular statement, her points are not well-argued. There’s just so much wrong with the reasoning and rationales of this nationally-published article that I’m just… blown away. I could pull quote after quote from the piece that display the author’s poor judgment and lack of personal insight, but I think it unfortunately speaks for itself.

The worst idea was publishing this piece to begin with. I cannot state too strongly my opinion that Ms. Gottlieb will be lucky if any man is ever willing to even go to dinner with her ever again, so thoroughly has she sown the ground with salt here. Trust me on this – the male of the species does not respond well to seeing themselves roasted in print. The hurt feelings of my dear and favored boys is the reason I have mainly stopped doing the Silly Phone Calls posts. Even though they knew that they were not the actual people I was teasing, there was an ever-increasing chorus of “Hey, I though you liked me!”

I do, I said. It’s not you I’m making fun of. You don’t say those witless things to me. It’s that dumb guy over there.

Didn’t help. And that’s guys having a BDSM relationship. Ms. Gottlieb wants some guy to marry her and help support her child after she refers to them collectively as "damaged goods"? Never. Gonna. Happen.

But whatever. If the author wishes to handicap herself in a race she’s already declared almost impossible to win, well, that’s not my dog. What really pisses me off is the lack of responsibility here. There's a difference between saying, "Here's my personal experience," and "Young women, listen to me and heed my words! Here's what you should do!" If you’re going to publish a call to action like this, you better be pretty damn sure what you’re advising people to do is right for everyone, all the time. Somewhere, a woman is going to read this, and based at least in part on the advice of Ms. Gottlieb, she’s going to marry a guy she’s not in love with. And that’s going to be a bad choice on her part. Now the fault will mostly be hers, because that’s how grown-up life works, but Ms. Gottlieb will actually have some fraction of blame for that in my eyes.

It’s like breath-control play. It is my strong opinion that cutting off someone’s oxygen is a bad idea. Do I know people who have done breath-control play and not died? (Yet.) Yes, I do. Does that stop me from telling people they should refrain from this kink? Nope, because if I said “Oh, breath-control play can be okay sometimes,” and someone read that, and did it, and died – I’d feel I had some moral responsibility for their death. If I can keep anyone from having a tragic accident, I’d be really happy.

So I will say it again: don’t marry someone you’re not in love with. It will cut off the air to some vital part of your soul, and it will wither and die.

***

Note: I’ve had some interesting conversations about this piece with friends, so if you have opinions on this piece (or my thoughts on it) that you’d like me to publish, send them to me in an email in the next 48 hours or so. I’ll compile them in a follow-up blog piece.

Hey, look! I forgot I had one more podcast in the chute that I hadn't posted yet. So here we go - Monk and I talk about spanking...
I am enjoying doing the podcasts, and Monk and I are angling to get some more studio time to record some more, so if you have questions that require lengthy philosophical answers, fire them off. I get a lot of help-me emails for someone who is not, strictly speaking, an advice columnist. My policy is that I don't write private replies that take me more than two minutes total. But if it's something other people would find interesting, or something Monk and I feel we could make good jokes about, we'll read your email and discuss it on the podcast. Fire up the keyboards!

I love your writing and I wanted to ask your opinion about a poly situation where my boyfriends know about each other but have never met. How okay is it to talk about the other guy? "The weirdest thing happened to my other boyfriend at his work..." "My other boyfriend cooks this awesome dish..." Is it like with regular friends, where it's no problem to share stories, or is it really gauche like talking too much about your ex?

I'm guessing that "my other boyfriend said this hilarious thing during sex" is right out. Sadly.

It’s a very good question. I’ve never had a situation where my lovers had not met. But there’s knowing something is happening, and then there’s the “no information is TMI” stance, and there’s a lot of range in between those two points.

Obviously the first thing to do is ask them. And don’t just ask, “What do you not want to hear about?” Frame the questions clearly. “Do you want to hear about what movie we saw? Do you want to hear about what’s happening at his work? Do you want to hear about where he think our relationship is going?” There’s apt to be a certain level there. “Yes, tell me about movies, restaurants and books he thinks are good, but I don’t want to hear what brand of underwear he thinks are best.”

But even once they’ve expressed an opinion, I think it’s always best to think about things before you say them. Context is important. You don’t want your lovers to feel compared, because there’s a possibility they’ll feel like they’re coming out on the short end. So if you’re eating a meal lover A has cooked and you’re going on and on about this great thing Lover B cooked…. That might not be the best thing.

Also consider frequency. A story about the other person sprinkled in with other conversation? Okay. Every single conversation comes back to this cute thing they did? Annoying.

Some of this is going to depend on how poly-sophisticated these guys are. A more experienced partner will probably be fine with it. Someone who’s newer to poly will have to grit their teeth a bit.

I think it’s important to not feel like you have to tiptoe around subjects, and pretend you’re not really having two partners, when in fact, you are! But some tact and some delicacy as you all three find your comfort zones is essential.

My Blue Heaven

My blue obsession continues, and of course certain very sweet men in my life are totally catering to my desires for sparkly blue things. Have I mentioned lately how lucky I am?

So consider this dress. Ignore the hair. The hair is truly scary. And what is that weird little feather-shrug thing she’s got on? It looks like something molted on her. I have worn some unfortunate outfits in my life, I admit. But celebrities are supposed to have handlers who don’t let them show up at photo opps looking like this. I suppose the shrug could have been a moment’s disastrous whim, but that hair did not just happen by accident, someone did that on purpose. This woman’s name is Natasha Bedingfield, and she is apparently a Christian pop singer. Ms. Bedingfield could certainly have used some divine intervention with her hair and accessories.

But let us put all that aside and look at that dress she’s wearing, because unless I am very much mistaken, that is an Herve Leger dress. Herve Leger being another fashion obsession of mine. (An obsession that has also been lavishly indulged. But you know with obsessions, you never get enough.)

So it's an Herve Leger, and it’s not exactly blue, but it’s blue-ish, and it’s completely fabulous. So I think Ms. Bedingfield, in acknowledgment of her fashion sins, should give it to me. You definitely would not catch me blaspheming it with bad hair and hideous feather things.

In most conventional ways, I’m not really the romantic type. For example, if I’m going to watch a movie, I’d usually rather watch people pretend to shoot at each other than watch them pretend to fall in love with each other.

I do not understand why an adult woman would want a stuffed animal. (It’s fine if you do. I’m just sort of baffled by them, that’s all.)

I do not save roses from meaningful floral offerings. Flowers are pretty and all, but when they’re dead, I throw them away.

Someone once gave me a sonnet he’d written about me, and I thought it was sweet, but I still didn’t sleep with him.

So call me a pragmatic sort of girl. It’s relationships that matter to me. How I feel when I’m around someone, and how they treat me. I have often said to guys, “If you show a woman that you think she’s beautiful and special, that is more intoxicating to her than any champagne ever poured into a glass.”

I have some very sweet people who are close to me, guys who treat me like a beautiful princess, and I am very blessed by that. You know who you are. Thank you for all the lovely things you do for me. And Happy Valentines Day to you.

What I’m Doing In The Last Five Minutes Before You Arrive – Or, An Illustration Of Why You Should Not Be Early.*

• Put on chosen dress. Realize that the bra I’m wearing is not the right one for this neckline. Take off dress and dig through overflowing lingerie bureau for correct black bra – examining at least four other incorrect ones before doing so, and dumping approximately half of the Nordstrom intimates department onto floor in process.

• Turn heat up to eighty and note to myself that if the gas company gave out frequent-flyer miles, I’d have enough accumulated for a ticket to the moon. In first-class.

• Make last check of playroom. Leather cuffs? Check. Spandex hood? Check. Spencer paddle? Check. Big black rubber electrical butt plug? Dig through drawers in vain. Remember that it’s in the storage room, in the cabinet given over to the “you buy it, I’ll store it for you” toys. Go to storage room, which is twenty degrees colder than the rest of the house because heating vents are shut to save money. Shiver and look through bags of single-player-only equipment until I find the one marked with proper nickname. Place toy where it should be. Go stand over the heating vent in the playroom until goose bumps subside.

• Cue iPod playlist to “Spanking Music”.

• Examine my legs and wonder if thigh-high stockings - mined from the depths of aforementioned overflowing lingerie bureau - are actually the same shade of black. Wonder if he’ll even notice.

• Put on lipstick. Notice that it makes me appear as though I’ve been dead for three days. Realize it’s actually eye shadow and curse cosmetics manufacturers for being so clever in their packaging. Wipe off and replace with bona fide lipstick.

• Become aware that I have to pee. Pause and consider whether I should just wait and pee on him. Wrestle with my sense of proper dramatic timing versus urinary expediency.

Ding-dong!

• Answer door…

*With a tip of the hat to certain ladies, who inspire me with their private wit.

A pal of mine was talking recently about an upcoming women-only sex party. She’s excited about it, as are a number of my friends. It sounds like a great event, and I wish it much success. Am I going to go? Probably not.

You see, my extensive sexual travels have not left me soured on sex in private. If anything, the confidence I derive from my experiences enhances my private sex life.

But I have had plenty of “public” sex – by which I mean, sex in front of lots of other people, at private gatherings held specifically for that purpose - and frankly, I’m now really bored by it.

It’s probably mostly from my work as a stripper. If people are going to watch me be sexual, then I’m going to stop focusing on the sex I’m having and start performing. Which I’m perfectly comfortable doing, you understand. Hey, get me a sound system, a disco ball and a fog machine, and I’ll put on a hell of a show. But if no one is going to stuff money into my g-string, then why would I stop just enjoying the sex in order to perform for them?

I’m aware that some folks find it arousing to be watched, and that’s fine for them. I certainly have no objection to other people fucking in sex-appropriate spaces - it can be quite pretty to watch. And there was a time when I found the idea titillating enough to experiment with myself. I went to some swing clubs, when I was just barely old enough to legally get in them, and then I went to a lot of women-only sex parties (we called them “raves” back then) in the early nineties. I never had any bad experiences… But you know, I never had any amazingly good ones, either.

No, I take that back. I had some fun times – when I went off in a corner and had sex with people I was already having sex with anyway!

So these days I prefer my sex in private. There is, however, one reason I might go to this event, and that’s my friend Miss K. You remember Miss K, don’t you? No, I don't mean Miss K likes sex in public, either. She probably feels more or less the same way I do about it.

She is, however, recently single. And I am totally making it a goal to get her out of her all-grad-school-all-the-time rut and out to some social events – especially events where she could, possibly, maybe, just happen to meet a cute, sober, sane, single, kinky butch boi that she might like. I’m not trying to fix her up, or anything. I’m just saying, you know, make room for the universe to send you good things.

We’ll see if I can convince her to come to this party. Thus, if you see me there, I’m not shopping. But have you met my friend Miss K?

There are certain questions I get asked a lot, and while I’ve addressed many of them before, I keep getting asked, so I will make some remarks about them once again. Here's one from the FAQ...

Can big girls make money in the sex industry?

Well, define big.

This is a delicate issue. There’s a lot of controversy raging about body size these days – it seems like more than ever before. So let me say now that I’m not passing judgment on anyone’s genetic fate or chosen behavior around that. Let us simply speak of the market as I know it. And recognize that I have never been above a size ten, so I can’t speak from first-hand experience, only observation.

Stripping is probably the most unforgiving area of sex work when it comes to bigger girls. In most of the clubs where I danced, a lot of the girls were a size six or smaller, and anyone over a ten was really at a disadvantage. In smaller towns with fewer strippers, or at lower-end clubs, you can bump that up a little. But still, stripping is not the best gig for a curvy girl, because it’s a very visual job, and the current beauty ideal is thin. If you lived in Renaissance Italy, you’d be the pin-up girl, and those skinny chicks would be out of luck, but that’s not the way it is just now.

I think porn – by which I mean any visual depiction of you, be it web-cam stuff, photos, videos, whatever – is sort of middle ground. There are specific big-girl markets, but not as many as for skinnier girls. And porn thrives on extremes, so if you’re a slightly-curvy but not really-large woman, you might find that you’re too slim for the plus-size porn sites and too chunky for the other ones. I encountered this situation a lot when I was photographing girls for porn mags. I think you’d be wise to consider porn a potentially profitable hobby, but don’t quit your day job unless you really get a sweet ongoing gig.

However, bigger girls can do very well as escorts, sensual touch practitioners, and pro dommes. In that world, I would say that anyone smaller than a size eight is considered petite. Average/normal is anything from eight to about fourteen. Fourteen to eighteen or so is considered a bigger girl, but not in a bad way.

Above size eighteen, you’re really getting into a niche market of men who have a specific big-girl fetish, and I think your options will be limited. That’s not to say you have none, but it’s not a branch of the industry I have much information about.

Understand that this is just one person's opinion. Being skinny is not a sure-fire guarantee of success in the industry, and being bigger does not mean you’ll fail. At any size, a lot has to do with all the other aspects of your looks, and equally important, your personality, your attitude, and your business skills.

A note to Belle De Jour: Congrats on the fiction-writing deal. It's the type of thing I'd like to do myself someday. Also, I seem to have lost your address. Drop me a note? I have another matter I'd like your take on. MistressMatisse AT aol.com.

Oh my lord, has this been an insanely busy week. Wow. Good, but busy.

While I recover... Read the newest column about polyamorous people and Valentines Day.

So, I was the the Bondage Is The Point party Sunday night at the Wet Spot, and while in conversation with a groups of pals, I remarked, just in passing, that I owned a fuckzall.

"A what?"

"A fuckzall. A reciprocating, variable speed power saw - often referred to as a sawzall - but instead of a blade, there's a dildo on it. You see them a lot on the bondage-porn sites, they're fun."

Much was the amusement and incredulity. (What, doesn't everyone have one?) So I promised to upload a photo.

Lo and behold...


Bigger image, if you're a size queen.

It's fun, but boy, it's a teeth-rattler. For both people! And did I feel a bit like Bruce Campbell when I fired that bad boy up for the first time. "This is my boom-stick!" Yeah, that's about right.

There's only thing you have to know about the fuckzall: back spatter. Even at the slower speed, the action of this thing is such that the operator is going to get sprayed with - well, with whatever is wet. Lube, bodily fluids, whatever. So you need to be okay with that. Or you need to build a nicely kinky scene around a top in a haz-mat suit.

A note about scheduling.... This is the busiest February I can remember! Usually it's a dead month. But as soon as I remarked last week that I had time available, the phone started ringing and ringing... As of right now, I am booked through the 13th. I have had to regretfully say no to a number of boys I really like, but there are just so many hours in the day. Keep trying, please, my calender looks more open after the 13th.

But I love that you all love me so much...whee!

Can I just say how immensely grateful I am that I don’t have to process my relationships very much? You know, the “honey, where is our relationship going?” kind of talks. I know chicks are supposed to be the ones who initiate those, but truthfully, I am usually happy to have, oh, about five minutes of that kind of conversation, and after that, I’m pretty much done with it.

I’m not saying processing one’s relationship is bad. There are stages of relationships where there are legitimate questions to be resolved. I’m just glad when I'm done with that phase.

Now and then in my life as Matisse, I have occasion to touch base with someone about our relationship. Ideally, it looks something like this…

“You’re really awesome, you know that? I love being with you, and I hope we keep doing this.”

“I think you’re great, too, sweetheart. And yeah, this is a very good thing, we should keep doing this.”

That is the perfect little check-in. I like that. And if we really need a course-correction, that’s fine, just let me know - succinctly. I'll do the same.

What I really don’t want to do is get into a big heavy conversation about where the relationship is going, and yeah, once in a great while I meet someone who tries to go there. Interestingly, they’ll usually do it really fast, like the first or second time I meet them. I think maybe they’re trying to impress me as being a really sensitive guy or something? But I’m so not into it. One of the things I like about my career now is that I get to have these fun interactions with interesting people…and then they go back to their lives. It’s one of the reasons you’ll rarely see me pick up a stranger at a play-party. I like variety, but I get all my need for that met in my very own dungeon – and as a bonus, I don’t have to talk about my feeeeeeelings… Because my feelings about erotic-BDSM relationships usually run the gamut of:

A) Mmmm, I like doing this, this is fucking hot.

B) Oooh, that feels good, do that some more. (This often involves my feet, which are a primary erogenous zone on my body.)

Not really much to process there. It’s all hind-brain stuff, very basic. So when someone tries to engage me in a meaningful dialogue about how I feel about it, I tend to furrow my brow at him quizzically and say, “…Fine.”

(Note that this is different than talking about what types of activities/scenes we have done or might do. That’s a delightful type of conversation.)

So if you are moved to ask me where our relationship is going, know that my favorite answer is, “How about to the dungeon?”

Matisse's Blue Period

Shopping rant: why is it so hard to find blue lingerie? It's either black, white, beige, red or pink. Those are fine, but I've got lots of that. I want blue, people. And not pale blue or baby blue, yuck. And not turquoise, I loathe that color. Navy is a bit boring. No, it should be deep, rich sapphire blue.

Speaking of blue, I love this. Roberto Cavalli Blue Silk Minidress. And this is less drop-dead sexy, but a bit more versatile: Elie Tahari Twist Dress. Blue seems to be a theme in my retail lusts lately. Maybe I miss blue sky. Or maybe I've decided I need color in my life, and that blue is the color of choice. I tend to be obsessive about whatever catches my attention. Thus, until further notice, everything will all about the blue!

Hard to believe it’s been a year since I went down to San Francisco and posed for the renowned photographer Craig Morey. But it has been, and I’m thinking it’s about time I did another serious shoot. The trouble is I can’t decide what to do.

I could certainly go back to Craig again, I liked him and his work is great, and now that we know each other, we might do even better work together.

Tommy Edwards is right here in Seattle. He does lovely, lovely work, he’s a consummate professional, and he’s easily the best photographer I have ever worked with in terms of communicating what he wants you to do. That’s an important consideration for a model.

But…everybody in town has Tommy’s photos. (By “everybody”, I mean all the up-scale sex-workers.) It’s a little too much of a good thing, you know.

I know there are lots of local people, who aren’t necessarily as famous as Craig or even as Tommy, who can produce good images. I’ve seen some cool art by those folks. This isn’t about snubbing them. But doing this type of photo shoot is a big investment of time, money, and effort. Frankly, I want a photographer who is the professional equivalent of me: trained, equipped, experienced, a full-time professional who will guarantee to deliver the goods. They need to have the studio, have the set, have the system, and have a CD to me in a week or less, boom.

You see, I know exactly what I need, and I also know it’s probably not the most interesting thing to shoot. Photographers like to play and be creative, and I do not need creative. No artsy black-and-white. No high-contrast, back-lit, out-of-focus images. No funky crops, no extreme angles, no close-ups featuring six square inches of my left thigh, no masks or figure-obscuring outfits.

And I don’t need photos of me wearing a corset and a sneer, brandishing a crop. Can you say cliché? I have a hard drive full of those, and they are stale and boring, and they don’t reflect anything about what I’m really like.

What I need is color, with soft even lighting, a lot of full-length shots, with a setting that doesn’t pull focus or confuse the viewer. I want warm, sexy, glamorous images – portraits, really, with a sense of personality and a touch of humor.

So I’m clicking around, wondering who to go see. It’s tough to find someone who’s the perfect fit. I thought about Ken Marcus, but he seems to have retired from commercial glamour and is only shooting for his bondage website.

There’s this man: Ken Banks. He seems to have a good resume and do good work. I like that he seems to use a lot of natural light, but I’m afraid he might not be edgy enough.

There’s this outfit down in LA. But wow, they are very…LA. Still, it might be worth talking to them.

So I’m shopping. Have a suggestion? Drop me a note.

Okay, this is how not-techie I am. I took pictures on the camera on my phone today, and I have no idea how to get them to my computer. Any suggestions? It’s a Verizon LG5300. (I suppose I could read the stupid manual, couldn’t I? Arg.)

I need to buy an inexpensive little digital camera and just leave it at the dungeon all the time. This is twice now that I’ve really wanted a camera - and mine was at home. (Yes, you were the other time, Musical Man.) Feats of cock and ball torment always make me want to take a photo, and I do hate have having my artistic urges thwarted. And I’m in a shopping mood anyway, recession be damned. I’ll singlehandedly prop up the economy. Isn't that nice of me?

So speaking of politics, it looks like McCain for the Republicans, doesn’t it? I’m almost sorry. He seems like the most reasonable of them all. (Except for being pro-life, bah.) Mitt Rommey? That guy is an empty suit with nice hair. He’s an android. I think they wind him up every morning with a giant key in his back. Huckabee is a Baptist minister, and that’s pretty much all one needs to say about that. I didn't hate Rudy Giuliani, based on what very little I knew about him. You have to like a man who’ll do drag. And at least he has a history of being pro-choice. But I’m told he’s an utter fascist – and that was the opinion of someone who'd lived in South Africa and knows something about fascists.

So I’m almost sorry because I will, of course, be voting Democrat, and I sort of hate to see an even somewhat-reasonable guy on the Republican ticket. The way this administration has slashed and burned the country, it’s hard to imagine the Republicans winning the presidency, but it’s not like the Democrats couldn’t screw this up. No one tops Democrats for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

And I’m pretty on the fence with Clinton versus Obama. They both have their strengths and weaknesses. There’s nothing exactly wrong with Hillary Clinton in my eyes, I just…don’t think I’d like her, if I met her. (I liked her husband, though. Mrrow!) Still, I don’t have to like someone for them to be a good president, so if she gets the nomination, I’m fine with that.

I like Obama, I think he has great vision and passion, but I worry about his inexperience. Hillary knows her way around the track. I think he’d make a great vice-president for her – she’d keep him realistic, he’d keep her idealistic – and he’d be better positioned for the presidency down the road. But that’ll never happen. I kind of like John Edwards, actually, so I hope whoever gets the nomination taps him for VP.

Of course, if the Democrats nominated a brain-eating zombie, I’d put on a full-face motorcycle helmet and cast my vote for a rotting corpse, come November. Anyone but that monkey boy and the Death Merchant we have in there now. I am a pretty moderate Democrat, but as long as the Republicans are bed with the religious right, they will never get my vote for anything. I dislike nanny-state liberalism, but if that’s what it takes to get a secular government, I’ll take it.

No Sex Please, We're British

From a story in the Daily Mail:
Carrie Jones hasn't had sex with her husband Hal, a City banker, for the past four years. Nor does she want to. Sex is something she can no longer summon the effort to endure - with the man she married, at least.

Sex workers love women like this. We should. Their husbands comprise a large chunk of our clientèle. Her man Hal will probably be joining the club soon, if he hasn’t already. If she thinks her husband is going to go, oh, ten years without sex? Well, he might be an unusual guy, but I strongly doubt it. If she’s lucky, he’ll just see escorts and stay married to her until their kids are grown up, which is what she says she wants.

But is it really? Actions speak louder than words sometimes, and this woman has published a book saying she’s planning to never have sex with her husband again. And put her photo with it. That’s not exactly a subtle hint. Jesus, lady, way to embarrass and emasculate your helpmate there. As far as I’m concerned, she might as well write “Divorce Me” on her forehead. Kids or no kids, if a partner of mine did that, I’d be out the door. She thinks it's better for children to be raised in a stable loving environment? Yes, I’d agree with that. However, if you’re publishing a fucking book about how much you don’t love your children’s father, and how you planned to cheat on him, I really don’t think anyone is going to mistake you for Ward and June Cleaver. And your kids are nine and eleven – if you think you’re going to fool them into thinking Mommy and Daddy really love each other, you’re dreaming. They’re old enough to be onto you, even if they can’t articulate it. All you’re doing now is setting them up for a lifetime of therapy and messed-up relationships as they unconsciously replay this situation with their own partners.

I think this is an extreme case, but I think the basic premise is pretty common. The majority of the guys I have met through sex work told me the same story. “My wife is a wonderful woman and I love her, but we haven’t had sex in a long time. She doesn’t want it, but I have needs." Since I'm polyamorous, I can totally relate to the idea of having different people in your life that fulfill you in different ways. But I think expecting your partner to go without sex is selfish and dumb. And publishing an unflattering book about your intimate life with him, without even telling him about it first, is astoundingly cruel.

As I said, having her husband go to a sex worker is the best outcome Mrs. Jones could hope for. You see, sex workers don’t break up marriages. Most clients of sex workers could absolutely find non-professional girlfriends on the side, if they wanted them. They avoid that because they know that women in relationships like that make emotional demands. (And justifiably so.) But sex workers don’t do that. So if Mrs. Jones wants to stay married, she should be diverting some cash from the monthly budget into an "entertainment fund" for him. Because if kind, sweet Hal falls in love with a woman who wants him to leave his wife, Mrs. Jones could be freed up to pursue her old boyfriends a lot sooner than she planned.

In the spirit of last week's column, another one from the "Inexplicable Emails" file.

i lo you for the ideal look with sexy and class
I propose you to give me a chance to be the duo to make v i p week end and one new pills to sell in all over the world
Do I have chance to make contract relation avec femme ayant look for give the boy like me shows for have cerebral orgasme with no tuch. tell me what to do for try to serve and love you with no lies but full trust

Yes, that's the way it was formatted in the email, too, all over to the right. I have no idea why. The email came from a net.il address, so maybe this is the hip thing in Italy, I don't know.

So, as brief as it is, there's a lot of messages in this email. The first line is straightforward enough. Grazie infinite, caro.

In the second sentence, though, he's lost me. Does he want to be my slave, or my client? Or does he want to enroll me in an affiliate program for counterfeit Viagra, or does he want to be a male pro dom and come co-top with me? (The "duo" reference. )

Third sentence: What? The word contract - okay, I know what that means. Shows? Yeah, okay, but what's with this French in the middle? And cerebral orgasms? Sounds like another definition of a stroke to me.

With the last line - all right, we're back on familiar territory here. But wow, this letter reads like it was written by two different people. I wonder if Italian boy has a split personality - one who wants to bottom, and one who's a budding sexual entrepreneur.

EDIT: An alert reader has pointed out that the email actually came from Israel, not Italy, and remarked "... which also explains the right-bound formatting quite nicely." Duh, of course! Thanks for clueing me in!

Fans of the silly communications will enjoy this week’s column…

Want to shop? Monk is eBaying off TM memorabilia and some of his now-too-big personal wardrobe. I saw him in this coat, and in this one, and they’re hot. Get them before they're gone.

A reader who misses the comments feature has begun a message board for ya’ll to talk about whatever gems of wisdom have lately fallen from my lips. (Fallen from my keyboard? Doesn’t have quite same ring, does it?)

If you want to communicate with me, email is the way to do that. But if you want to talk to each other, here you go. It’s very sweet of Van to have set this up and offer his time to moderate it, so I hope ya’ll enjoy it.

Hello mistress,

i want to send you my diploma from the university. and you wipe your ass with my diploma. I want you use my diploma like toilet paper. can you do that?

Goodness, someone doesn’t think highly of their old alma mater, do they?

Would I do it? Well, I’m mildly concerned that the gold foil seal that one often sees on college diplomas might be scratchy, but that seems like a manageable risk.

I myself do not have a college degree. My relationship with academia has always been uneven, to put it mildly. I went to a private (Catholic) high school, and the good things about that was that students got a lot of attention, but the downside is that the classes were rigorous. (Plus there was that stupid religion thing they were always nattering on about.) I always did well enough in English and humanities-type classes, but math and science? Forget it. I barely scraped through. I was a pretty well-behaved teenager, but school simply bored me, and I didn’t take it seriously.

I wasn’t much good at being a kid, if that makes any sense. I always had a feeling, when I was small, that I was someone who would prefer life as a grown-up, and that I was just marking time until I got taller. I meet kids now who give me that impression, like they’re twenty-seven-year olds trapped in a fifth-grader’s body. I always try to talk to them very seriously about adult-seeming topics, and not do stupid things like rumple their hair and ask them what they want to be for Halloween.

I was right. I had a pretty Leave-It-To-Beaver childhood, and I’m grateful for that, but I never, ever wish I was a kid again. And I don’t ever want to go back to college, either, although I suppose I may have to, someday. I’ve been to - oh, let me think – four different colleges. Yeah, four. And no, I don’t have a degree.

The first one I went to right out of high school, like one is supposed to. It was an expensive women's college, and I spent much more time partying with the boys from the neighboring co-ed school than I did studying. You can skate by with a really low GPA when your Daddy is paying big bucks for tuition, but there is a limit, and after 3 years the college and I agreed that I should leave. I felt sort of bad for wasting my father’s money like that, and once I dropped out, I never took any money from my parents ever again, for school or any other purpose. I was twenty.

Over the next couple of years, I enrolled in two different state colleges, paid the tuition with money I made as a sex worker, took classes for a quarter or three, and then dropped out again. I just – didn’t want to be there. I would look at the people around me and think, “I don’t want what they want. And I don’t want to keep pretending that what I’m doing here is meaningful to me, because it’s not, and it’s actually pissing me off.”

Then a few years ago, I enrolled at Antioch here in Seattle, in the BA completion program. That was certainly different from a state college, and it was…interesting. I think the people at Antioch are very committed to what they’re doing. But wow, the hippie/New-Age/let-me-give-you-a-hug thing really got on my nerves. Sometimes I couldn’t tell if I was in a class or a group therapy meeting. As you may well imagine, instructors who invited me to share personal information in a college classroom got either a pack of lies or some responses they really had not bargained for. In such circumstances, I usually give vague answers to too-personal questions. But some instructors and classmates persisted in asking, so I told them who I was and what I did, and I think a lot of them wished I hadn’t. I had one teacher who was so disturbed by my various outlaw identities that she could hardly even talk to me for last few weeks of the quarter. And once again, I thought, “Why am I here dealing with this? What am I going to do with this really expensive piece of paper?” And I didn’t have an answer. So I left.

I like to learn things. But sitting in college classes has, for me, been much like a visit to the dentist: expensive, time-consuming, and extremely uncomfortable. I would do it, if there was a job I wanted that required one, but so far, there isn't. So I am a self-educated person, and I like it that way. I am pleased to see the growing respectability of online-learning. I’m guessing that by the time I’m ready to try that college thing again, I will at least be able to do it alone.

Wow, this is unusual: I have nothing booked for Wednesday. I suspect some of ya’ll are a bit depressed about the latest financial news. Hey, I’m not even going to open my brokerage statement this month. However, if you come see me, I’ll pretend you’re a subprime mortgage lender and do bad, bad things to you….

***

I am publishing this either in spite of, or because, it’s slightly embarrassing. It’s part of my struggle to accept my identity as a musically un-hip person.

Thus, here are the Top Eleven Most Played Songs in my desk-top iTunes:

11. Sugarless, Caviar

10. Come Out And Play, The Offspring

9. Going Back To Cali, LL Cool J

8. Somebody Told Me, The Killers

7. Black Snake Voodoo Hiss, by Chemlab

6. Dream Police, Cheap Trick

5. Gold Digger, Kayne West

4. I Want You So Hard, Eagles Of Death Metal

3. Rock And Roll Nigger, Patti Smith

2. U + Ur Hand, Pink

1. Twilight Zone, Golden Earring

Interestingly, the Most Played list on the iPod proper is totally different. I guess I like different music for sitting at my desk than I do moving around in the world.

So speaking of iPod, I’m shopping for iPod related stuff…. Does anyone have this? (Bose Sound Dock.) Drop me a note if you do and you have an opinion about it.

I also need a cradle or a wire or something that will let me play my 3^rd Generation iPod Nano in the car. I have a wireless sled, but it’s for my older, narrower Nano. And frankly, it was always a little problematic. The connection would wiggle loose, and the sound would cut out. But the choices on the Apple website are limited and unencouraging. Is there really not a good wire-based system? I guess I’d take another wireless sled, if that’s a better bet. Email me suggestions...

A patient man am I, down to my fingertips,
the sort who never could, ever would,
let an insulting remark escape his lips,
A very gentle man...
~ I'm An Ordinary Man, My Fair Lady Soundtrack

That’s right, me and Rex Harrison, we are the gentlest and most patient of creatures. Mostly.

However, there are certain things about my own beloved kinky culture that annoy me. One of them is the phrase, “Total Power Exchange”, commonly shortened to “TPE”.

What does that mean? Well, “power exchange” is another of way of referring to a dominant/submissive interaction, either a scene or a whole relationship. It’s not a term I’ve ever taken to, although I have no problem with it.

But TPE? Well, I looked around for the origin of the exact phrase “Total Power Exchange” and here’s (an edited-down version of) what I found.

Total Power Exchange, or TPE for short, is a derivative of the concept of power exchange in a D/s relationship. The term refers to a relationship where the dominant has complete authority and influence over the submissive's life, making the majority of decisions….

The phrase Total Power Exchange was coined by Steven S. Davis in the newsgroup alt.sex.bondage during his debates with Jon Jacobs in the mid 1990's.

In 1997, Davis gave this definition:"A TPE (Total Power Exchange) relationship, sometimes described as an absolute lifestyle D/s relationship. That such relationships can actually be neither "total" or "absolute" is agreed; these are ideal states to be worked towards but which will not be achieved….TPE a relationship in which no impediment to the exercise of the owner's power is accepted…Such things as safewords, contracts, negotiated limits, and anything else which recognizes / acknowledges / formalizes limits on the owner's power are inimical to TPE."

Full thread here, if you want it.

My general understanding of a TPE relationship, gathered from people who say they practice this, is that it’s a relationship in which the submissive has no right of refusal to anything the dominant commands. Anything. At all. Anytime. Ever.

Now, let’s be clear. I am very much in favor of dominant/submissive relationships. But this TPE business? I don’t like it.

I think TPE is positioned on the idea that the submissive having any limits whatsoever is bad, and something to be overcome. I don’t agree with that idea. I have seen people who claim to practice it compare it to a parent/child relationship. They mean that in a positive way, but the logic is flawed. The role of a parent is to grow this little person into a big one and eventually send them out into the world. TPE seems like the precise opposite, in that the goal is to shrink a grown-up functional person down into someone who feels that they no power. TPE people usually insinuate - if they don't just say outright - that they feel TPE is superior to other expressions of d/s. I think putting forth the idea that the best and highest example of consensual, affection-based slavery is one that most closely mirrors real, non-consensual slavery is a mistake.

(Yes, I’m aware that TPE people always say that the slave should never be told to do anything really wrong, like killing their children or suchlike. I believe them. That still doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.)

Interestingly, I can’t ever recall talking to someone in real life who used that exact expression, TPE, to describe their own relationship. I am sure that people do, but there can’t be that many of them, or I would have encountered them. Thus, my impression of TPE is that it’s mainly a concept that you run into online. And that’s not something that’s going to increase my respect for the phrase.

On one level, it’s just words. Part of me thinks: If it makes you happy to create important-sounding acronyms for your kink, then fine, enjoy yourself. It’s not going to affect my life.

But especially in a shadow world like kink, language can shape the culture. It’s important that we examine them and provide appropriate community feedback to concepts. And as a writer, I think words are important in themselves. In this context, the word “total” is an intensifier, like the words “really”, “truly”, or “very”. Any writing teacher will tell you that overuse of intensifiers waters down your message. It's like saying "extreme", or "hardcore". Advertising-speak has invaded the kink language. I expect to see TOTAL POWER EXCHANGE on a can of energy drink any day now. It bothers me.

And psychologically, it conveys a whiff of desperation. When I read “I’m into TOTAL power exchange”, what I see is someone jockeying for credibility and status that at some level, he’s not sure he deserves. It’s a one-up statement. It's a way of saying "my special brand of dominance and submission is better than everyone else’s.” If you have to say that, to yourself or anyone else, then you have issues.

Everything BDSM people do, we construct in our heads. Once you get past the safe/sane/consensual part, there is no rulebook anywhere on how to do this, and no one gets to decide what kink means to the people doing it. Having limits in a relationship – in any relationship – is normal and healthy. This “Total Power Exchange” concept is silly and a bit pretentious at best, and I think it has the potential to be a negative force in a relationship. You have a dominant/submissive relationship? That’s dandy. The exact parameters of that are up to the two of you. Shape them however you want. But when random people start setting out rules for that, like they were carved on stone tablets, then you lose me. “In a TPE relationship, the slave must always wear purple shirts on Wednesday. The slave can never ever wear green shirts on Wednesday. Otherwise it’s not a true TPE.” Right. Whatever. If I wanted someone else setting out rules for how my intimate relationships must look, I’d could have stayed in the vanilla world, married some nice boy, voted Republican, and gone to church every Sunday.

Oh, I really hate it when this happens. I got an email today from someone who says she’s a sixteen-year-old girl. She says she really loves my blog, it’s taught her a lot about sex work and about her sexuality as a kinky person. She said the two words I really didn't want to hear: role model.

Sweet Jesus Christ. Emails like this greatly disturb me. I’ve written before in The Stranger about how profoundly uncomfortable I am with this, but allow me to expand on those thoughts here, just for the record.

My writing is not suitable for anyone under eighteen, period. I haven’t bothered with a lot of disclaimers and yes-I’m-an-adult-click-through windows on this blog, because I know damn good and well that is not going to stop anyone. Emails like this tempt me to do so, however, because at least I’d be able to point to them and say, “Hey, kiddo, you don’t belong here.”

The reason why under-eighteen people do not belong here is that many discussions of even the most private, vanilla, and monogamous adult sexuality assume a certain level of maturity and sophistication on the part of the participants. No matter how bright and smart and mature-for-their-age a teenager is, they don’t have that.

Now, you can argue that celebrating one’s eighteenth birthday does not automatically confer those qualities upon someone, and you’d be right. However, that is the mark at which our culture deems someone adult, and I think it’s appropriate to make a separation. When it comes to discussions of sexuality, under-eighteen people belong in environments designed for them, like Scarleteen.com.

What I do here is tell amusing stories about some very sophisticated expressions of sexuality. I’m not teaching lessons in a purposeful way - I write to entertain people. I think that perhaps because of my connection with The Stranger, people equate me with Dan Savage. No. Dan is a professional advice-giver. I am a professional dominatrix. Sure, I tell people my take on stuff. But grown-ups proceed through life at their own risk. We don’t let under-eighteen people do that, because they can’t be expected to understand all the ramifications of their behavior. I love my life, but there are risks and downsides that go along with my sexual choices that you simply cannot fully grasp when you’re so young. I’ve made my peace with them, but it’s not right for you to make those kinds of decisions now.

I’m aware that I’m well-known in certain circles, but celebrity does not equal role model. I don’t even think of myself as a role model for other adults, for god’s sake, and I am really, really not an appropriate one for a teenager. Legally, it’s a very bad idea for me to even write back to a minor to tell them I can’t give them advice. I definitely can not have any type of conversation about sex with any minor, ever.

(Parents, I know you can’t watch your kids every second, but hey! Your child is sending emails about her sexuality to strangers. You can't think that's a good idea. Maybe you should talk to them about that, if you haven’t.)

If you’re under eighteen, I wish you would not read me, but I am sure that won't stop you. So let's make a deal - if you like my writing, and you’d like to do something for me, here's what I want. I’d like you to look upon this blog as a description of a foreign land. Some distant place you might visit or even live some day. But not today, so please, don’t write me and ask me for directions.

An article on MSNBC.com about Seattle's own Wet Spot, recently renamed the Center for Sex Positive Culture. I can't say I'm completely ecstatic about the whole piece. Mr. Alexander seems a bit too eager to underline how he's just observing, you know, he doesn't really do this kind of thing himself. He says:

"BDSM is a lot of work, which may be why I’ve never taken to it. I’m more the “feed me grapes and bring me wine” sort of hedonist."

Doesn't exactly make the author sound like a ball of fire in bed, does it? If "work" equals some planning, some shopping, and some physical effort, then vanilla sex can be a lot of work, too. But many people seem to feel that it's worth it.

Still, perhaps I am too picky. For a conservative mainstream news outlet, it's not a terrible piece. I have certainly seen us portrayed far less flatteringly. I will have to get the book and see who else he met that I know.

I will remark, though, that terms like "sexploration" are tired. They are over. They are so 1990. If you want to write about sex, I beg you, do not just slap an s in front of any word beginning with ex and think it's all edgy and hip. It is not.

(A tip of the hat to Chris and Miss D for reminding me of this article.)

Notes from a weekend
What did I do over the weekend? Well, I went to a pal’s birthday party, where I gave a cute boy an impromptu lesson in “How to Give A Lap Dance”. He proved an apt pupil, but his “customer” was very rambunctious – she kept grabbing him, and everybody knows you don’t touch the dancer! (Unless you tip very heavily. And the manager’s not looking.)

Afterwards, two other way-hot boys, who had apparently been paying attention to my lesson, gave me lap dances. Mrrrow! It was quite special.

Later on, I got to use my stun gun on the sensitive bits of a certain boy. (Photo). I love doing that. It wasn't really my scene, I was just the opening act. (You know it's going to be a good night when a stun gun to the nads is the warm-up. Heh.) People watching us were kidding him a bit about flinching, but let me just say, in my best Samuel L. Jackson voice: “Hey, anyone who lets me use a stun-gun on their cock and balls is a bad-ass mothafucka in my book. You best not tease the man unless you want to drop your pants and show us you can do better.”

(Which one man did. At least, that's what I think he was saying. It was a little hard to hear him inside that leather hood. But his friends said he was, and the muffled noises did seem to be indicating consent. And I haven’t heard from his lawyer, so I figure it’s all good.)

I missed my darling Monk, but he’s apparently doing quite well in Boston, in both the retail and the personal sense. I look forward to the stories.

Auto Updates
What else did I do over the weekend besides zap people with stun guns? I looked at cars. BMW and Audi, specifically. Car-buying is weird in that it’s very technical, and yet also very personal. I have gotten a lot of nice emails from knowledgeable people with good advice on what to buy, and that's cool. But it's sort of like dating - no matter how suitable someone is, if you're not attracted, you're just not attracted.

I drove a BMW 328xi and an Audi A4. They were both quite nice. The BMW was a shade more responsive, but it was an all-wheel drive model, and I couldn’t get over how heavy it felt. Like a tank. I haven’t checked the weight of the various cars, but I would bet the BMW weighs the most.

The Audi felt similar to my Saab – not as powerful, but lighter and more effortless to drive, if that makes any sense. However, the one I test drove had one of those little multimedia screens in the dash, and I would have to have one without that. They’re just annoying. This is a car, not my living room.

I came away liking both the BMW and the Audi in general, although I didn’t fall in love with either of the particular ones I drove. I am also going to go look at some Mercedes C-class. At some level I feel a little crazy even looking at Mercedes, because, you know, they’re Mercedes. I just don’t think of myself as the kind of girl who drives a Mercedes. (Plus, I have heard that they are not terribly reliable and a huge amount of trouble to maintain.) But they’re very pretty cars, and the prices on the baby ones aren’t out of reach, so I’ll go look. I've fallen in love with less likely candidates.

A Note To My Lovely Readers
Can I just tell you all how much I like you? I do. You rock, dear readers of mine. I love that you send me nice emails telling me how much you liked something I wrote. I love that you pass along bits of information you think would be useful to me. I love that when I tell you how someone is messing with me, you all take up for me. That’s really sweet and wonderful. You’re awesome. Thank you.