Hot Or Not?

I am very bad about listening to voicemail on the 329- number. I let it stack up for days. But eventually I get to it….

BEEP: Uh, so like, if I was in Seattle I’d come see you. You’re really hot. But I’m in California. Do you know any mistresses in California? Who are like, really hot? Could you call me and tell me about them? Like, how to find them, and what they’d do to me? And if they’re hot? Hotness is really important to me. END OF MESSAGE

You have got to be kidding. What am I, Google? No, I will not call you and tell you how to find all the many, many pro dommes located in the very large state of California. That is not my job.

I wonder how this man found me. Occasionally, even now, I get calls from people in all kinds of distant places who somehow got my number, and who say they don’t have internet, and thus cannot find BDSM resources online, and want me to do it for them. I feel sorry for people who are limited in this way, but I really can’t spend tons of time searching for local phone numbers for folks like this. They just need to brave the public library and get online.

So it's unlikely enough when someone wants me to find them a phone number for a munch coordinator in Deer Creek, Minnesota, or Bartow, Florida, or Gardiner, Maine. But this guy wants me to find him a pro domme? Oh, please.

If he’s not in Seattle, then I assume he’s not looking at my ad in a paper copy of The Stranger or The Weekly. Thus, he must be able to get online. So the question is: why is he asking me to do his searching for him? Answer: he just wants me to call him back and talk dirty about pro dommes to him. There are girls who do that professionally, and it’s pretty cheap these days, too. I would not be one of them.

So you’ll have to find the hotness by yourself, buddy.

A Calidora review, for those of you who are interested in such things....

My experience: not terrible, but not perfect, either. Here's why...

Before you get services, you have to do an "complexion analysis" session where they take close-up photos of your skin, show them to you, and then basically sales-pitch you on buying packages of services. I am a very educated skin-care-services consumer, so I was quite prepared to be clear about what I wanted from them and what I didn't. And it wasn't a super-hard sell or anything, they didn't push me when I said, "No, I'll just try the one regular facial today."

I was at the University Village location, and it's a very pretty space. The staff were all very friendly and pleasant.

The facial itself was fine, mainly a pretty standard spa facial. My only problem was that I told the girl giving it to me, "Don't do anything that's going to made me red." (One's skin is often a bit flushed and red for a few hours after a regular facial, that's normal. But I didn't want to do anything that would make me more red than that.)

But then she suggested a treatment with lactic acid. Now, I have not ever had any kind of acid peels. But I know they usually make you red.

So I said, "Is it going to make me red afterwards?"

"No, it's very mild," she replied.

"All right, I'll try it."

Well, guess what? Yeah. I was red. Not like people-staring-at-me-in-the-street sort of thing. But I looked like I had a mild sunburn for about 2 days. Makeup took care of some of it, and it didn't ruin my world or anything, but still - I asked, she said no. I understand that people respond differently, but I think she should have given me a better answer. She either didn't know it could happen, which isn't great, or she just wanted to sell the treatment, which also isn't great.

My skin looks fine now - in fact, it looks nice. So it wasn't a bad treatment. Just bad communication.

I love and adore the people at my dermatologist's office, but that's a M-F, 9-5 situation, and scheduling stuff is often challenging. I tried Calidora mainly because they're open evenings and weekends. I'm not saying I'd never go back, but I don't think I'd trust them to do anything new and different. And based on this imperfect communication about what could happen, I would definitely not advise getting anything serious, like injectables, there. Go there strictly for simple maintenance.

Hey, Dear Readers, especially you fashion people - I am looking for this top.



The designer is Bailey 44. It was at Nordstrom but now, alas, it is gone. If you happen to spy it for sale anywhere, drop me a note, please....

So I got handled by a lot of strange women yesterday. And I spent a lot of money for the privilege, too.

Let me back up a bit. I have had hardly anyone booked to see me this week. Usually when it’s slow I try to shake the tree a little, entice some more people into my clutches. But this week I just decided to say the heck with it and let it be slow. I have been taking care of a lot of little personal chores, and I decided to book a bunch of time-consuming girlie-maintenance stuff. I have a facial today at the Calidora Spa in U Village, for example. I like the facials I get at my dermatologist's office, but you have to book so far in advance there, and of course they have no evenings or weekends, so I thought I’d go see if Calidora was any good. Wish me luck that they don't do something terrible to my face.

But yesterday I got a manicure and pedicure at this little salon near The Big House, called Hoa. I’ve been getting my nails done there for a few months now, and they’re very nice.

They were particularly nice yesterday. I am a heavy tipper, especially with spa-type service stuff. If you’ve ever hustled for tips as a major chunk of your income, then you know how really happy it makes you when someone is generous, so I am. I think word has gotten around about that at Hoa. They always massage your legs up to the knee when they give you the pedicure, and they usually massage your arms up the elbow. But I got what seemed like an extra-long foot and leg massage, and the girl doing my hands was rubbing up my arms, to my shoulders, and then my neck. It was extremely blissful.

I said as much to the girl massaging my shoulders. Many of the ladies there do not seem to speak a whole lot of English, although it’s sometimes a little hard to tell. But she understood my smile and my sigh, and she smiled back at me and rubbed more firmly. Seeing us, the girl doing my feet smiled too. I mentally added another five dollars to both their tips.

So I’m sitting there is this big black massage-chair with the rollers going up and down my back, with one girl massaging my feet and legs and another lady massaging my arms and shoulders, thinking, “This is like sex.” And then I thought, “Actually, this is like being the client of a sex worker. And I am totally fine with that.”

An hour later I emerged from Hoa, fingers and toes gleaming, and went to Nordstrom to just quickly return a bra I’d bought online that didn’t fit. Or so I thought.

I gave the bra and receipt to the salesgirl. She said, “Did you want to get something else?”

I replied, “Well, I’m looking for a bra with a really smooth line for under tight knits. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Have you been fitted here before?”

I admitted I had not.

Well, that would never do. Ignoring my unfinished protests, the salesgirl conducted me to the dressing rooms, led me into a little cubicle and closed the door, brandishing her tape measure. “Let’s just have you take off your shirt.”

Meekly I obeyed. She turned me around and lassoed me with the tape. “First we’ll just get your rib cage measurement.” I could feel her breath on my hair.

“Okay,” she said briskly. “I’ll be right back with the Measuring Bra.” I wondered if the Measuring Bra was like The Sorting Hat. Was it going to sing a song about my boobs?

She returned with a beige lacy bra that looked like something my grandmother would have worn, with big high cups. I must have looked dubious, because she said, “Oh, it’s just the Measuring Bra. We’ll find you some different ones. But let’s just take you out of that bra and put you in this one.”

I thought, I just laid eyes on this girl ten minutes ago and she’s telling me to take off my clothes. And I’m doing it. Is this how people feel when they come see me?

I took off my bra. The salesgirl - or Mistress Underwire, as I was beginning to think of her - eyed my breasts and held out the Measuring Bra to me. I have never had anyone hold out a bra for me to slide my arms into, it was sort of strange. I had to step up fairly close to her to get all the way in. Hi there. Nice perfume. Then she turned me around and hooked me up in back.

“Now I want you to just bend over at the waist.”

Okay…. I’d heard about this, actually, bra fitters telling you to bend over. So I did. It was a small room, not much bigger than a closet, and my ass bumped into her hips slightly. In the mirror, I had a glimpse of her standing up close behind me, adjusting the straps, as I leaned forward. I have a mirror hung next to my spanking bench in my dungeon, and I see myself in that position with people a lot – only I’m the one standing up straight. But not, until now, had I ever seen anyone posed like that in a Nordie’s dressing room.

She had me stand up and turn around. The Goddess Of Uplift studied my breasts thoughtfully, tugged at the sides of the bra slightly, and then said, “Let me just…” And stuck her hand into the cup and repositioned my boob. Then she put her fingers under the cups of the bra and shook my breast gently. And then she did the same with the other one.

Now, I wasn’t upset by this, you understand. I was quite clear it was all in the line of duty. But – you have to admit it’s a bit funny. Maybe it’s just me, but I couldn’t help thinking, Um, yeah, you’re playing with my breasts, there. Just sayin’.

I think it would have been different if I’d come in expecting that. But since I didn’t, I was a bit bemused by having a strange woman dressing me up in lingerie and arranging my boobs - which she referred to as "breast tissue" - to her satisfaction.

Of course, I'd been wearing the wrong size bra. I think you always are when you go to a bra fitter. I thought of myself as hovering between a big B cup and a small C. But according this lady - no, that was wrong, I should wear a D. Which is hard for me to fathom, but okay, bring them on, I'll try them.

So the Demi-Cup Domina went away and came back with an armful of bras, and matching panties for everything, plus some yummy blue lace lingerie, since I’d mentioned that to her. And she tugged and shook and got me properly strapped into everything. She was a positive whirl of Nordstrom-ly helpfulness, in a sort of just-do-as-I-say-and-no-one-gets-hurt sort of way.

I’m kidding, really. She was fine and she found me a lot of stuff I needed. Obviously one doesn’t tip salespeople, but I hope she gets a nice commission off me.

She’d probably make a really good dominatrix, though, if she ever wanted to go that way.

Feel like shopping? I have some eBay auctions up, and I’ll be adding some shoes and boots to them later today…. Check it out.

Bad Example

So, a few weeks ago I was shopping at QFC on Broadway and I had a curious experience…

I had been working out at the Gold’s upstairs, and while I do shower and change afterwards, it was my opinion that I still looked a bit... like I’d just been to the gym. But no matter, right? I’m just picking up a few things at the store.

I was standing in the produce department, studying the cut pineapple and wondering whether I’d rather have Muscat grapes, when I became aware of someone standing close behind me, rather closer than I like strangers to stand. I didn’t turn around, you understand - my perception was based only on sound, and the vibration of another human being that one can feel on one’s body. I presumed it was someone who was, like myself, wanting some fruit, so without looking back, I shifted slightly to one side to allow them access to the display.

The presence shifted with me. O-kay…

A voice behind me spoke. “Would you like to go out with me?”

Now, like everyone else, I have gotten used to fact that people now have all manner of conversations on their phones in public places, and now that half of them have earpieces, you can sometimes hardly tell that they’re actually on a phone unless you look closely. It’s occasionally confusing, trying to tell the Bluetooth users from the crazy people muttering to themselves, but one tries. So for a moment I assumed that I was overhearing someone’s phone conversation. Then I looked around.

There was a man standing close behind me, staring at me with an intense, unsmiling expression. He was…sort of average looking. I mean, he was neither very tall nor very short, neither fat nor thin, and neither notably handsome nor strikingly ugly. He was maybe in his thirties, although he might have been a haggard twenty-something or a young forty. He was dressed in what I think of as standard Capitol Hill drag: loose-fitting pants, baggy t-shirt, and a hoody, accessorized with earphones trailing from his ears, down his neck and snaking away to an unseen device in some pocket.

(As an aside, I dislike it with people with earphones actually in their ears talk to me. If you have the damn things in your ears, I assume that sound is coming out of them and that you can’t hear me. I think you should take them out when you interact with people.)

He was a little scruffy-looking, and my mind danced momentarily with the idea that this was a street person employing some flirtatious brand of panhandling. There was something about the fixed stare…. But at second glance – no, probably not. Just a trifle unkept, probably on purpose.

Okay, did this guy seriously just walk up to my back and ask me if I wanted to go out? No way.

And then I thought: Oh, wait – I get it! This guy is a reader, he’s recognized me, and he’s kidding me. This was mere days after I’d posted about the What Not To Say affair, so I could see why he’d think it would be funny to tease me. And I go to this grocery store all the time, people have done the “hey-aren’t-you?” thing to me there before. (Which is fine.)

So I raised an eyebrow at him and smiled slightly, saying nothing and waiting for him to break into a smile and acknowledge the joke.

He didn’t. He just stared at me. No smile.

After a few seconds, my assurance that he was joking faltered. I think I said something like, “You’re kidding me, right?”

He replied, “You’re very beautiful.”

Ah. Okay. This is for real. I took a step back. “No. No thank you.” And then I walked away and hid in another part of the store for a little while until I could go back and get my fruit. And mused on exactly what this man had done wrong, and what he had done right.

He did, at least, have the grace to not follow me when I walked away. And while a guy giving me a fixed-unsmiling-stare always makes me think less of brooding indie-rock types and more of serial killers, I wasn’t scared by him. (Although I was mildly annoyed about feeling compelled to linger in the frozen foods, when that wasn’t what I was shopping for.) So that part was not terrible.

And I have to admit, it always catches me wrong-footed when I think I look not-my-best and some guy hits on me. I suppose when I’m all dressed up, I expect to attract a bit more attention. But if I’m just running errands in jeans and t-shirt, I walk around absorbed in my own thoughts, assuming I’m invisible. However, I am assured that I am not. Huh.

But still and all - that was one of the most doomed-to-failure-pickup attempts I have ever been subject to. I mean, I have said before that asking to be granted erotic access to a woman’s body before she’s decided that she’s attracted to you is poor strategy. Let me just expand on that idea and say that you should make a woman aware of your existence as a unique human being before you actually ask her out. Is that really such a radical idea?

I was telling Monk this story and he shook his head. “You’re in the produce department and the guy couldn’t come up with an opening line? Oh man, that’s too easy. Hey, do these tomatoes look ripe to you? Or Wow, weren’t the bananas thirty cents cheaper last week? That’s how you start out.”

Yeah, I mean - say something. Clue me in to what's going on, before you start asking pointed questions. Not that I’d have accepted a date with this man no matter how smoothly he’d engaged me over the strawberries. But I would have at least smiled and declined a bit more sweetly.

Weekend Fashion Blogging

In the wake of some bad customer service, Intermix has offered me a very hefty discount on my next purchase. So what can I do but buy something? (I've had several good experiences with them, so I feel confident it was an isolated incident.)

What do you think? This, in the bright blue? Or is it too turquoise-y?

I like this shade of blue better. But I have other dresses in this cut, and I'm wanting something one-shouldered for summer. Decisions, decisions... And yes, I'm still on the blue thing. I'm liking bright rich yellow and deep emerald green these days, too, though.

What I also really like is this top and pants from Versace. Unfortunately Neiman's customer service is always excellent, so I can't really justify the price. Love the sleek techno look of it, though.

***

Also: I got a really, really nice gift yesterday. I'm not saying what it is, because the giver and I agreed I wouldn't, it's too unique. But wow, it's awesome. Thank you!

Want an an example of a professional challenge I faced recently? Okay, here’s a story for you….

Let me start by saying I don’t do things like this except with people I’ve known for many years, who have repeatedly and convincingly told me that that it would be okay. No, not even just okay – that they would love it if I created a little surprise like this for them. Really, really love it, with no qualms whatsoever. I have had guys beg me for things like this and then freak out when I made it happen, so I rarely do it any more. But this was a special circumstance.

So having established that, on with the story….

A dear man, a friend of some years standing with me, did me a favor recently. We’ll leave out the exact details, but suffice it to say that there was something I needed that would have cost me plenty, and he got it done for me. Lovely man.

Thus I was inspired to do something sweet for him, to show my appreciation. But what? I wondered. Then I recalled that this man, who I will call Bob, had expressed curiosity about pretty transsexual escorts. She-males, as they are sometimes called. I am happy to facilitate fantasies. The problem? I didn’t know any TS sex workers personally.

Sure, I could have just picked an ad out of the back of The Stranger. But you see, I am picky about who I let come to my house, and even more so about who I introduce to my friends. People become my clients partly because I have an excellent reputation. I am not about to sully that by creating a bad experience for them. And having been around the sex industry some years, I have witnessed some vivid examples of just how bad things can be. Not any encounters I ever set up, you understand, but working for other people.

So my fear was me finding a TS escort, arranging for her to come and play with me and my guy, and something goes wrong.

Like she doesn’t show up.

Or she shows up, and she is nothing like her pictures. To mean: she’s ugly as hell.

Or she shows up drunk/stoned off her ass.

Worst case: an ugly chick, with bowed legs and a five-o’clock shadow, shows up, drunk, in a car with three guys who she calls her “security”. And then she proceeds to make a huge screaming scene out in the street when I refuse to let the four of them into the house. (Because I would refuse.)

Those are just a handful of the bad possibilities, and the reason they come so quickly to mind is that I saw all of them happen when I worked for out-call escort services. I always felt bad for the guy whose house it was, but relieved that I could just get out of there quickly before the situation escalated into a Cops episode. It’s tricky enough screening clients, I don’t want to have to sweat screening other sex workers as well. Thus, I do not generally have other ladies I don’t know come play with me and my friends.

But still – it seemed as if a girl like myself should be able to use her resources and find someone nice. Thus, I asked around, I talked to people, I checked references, I studied photos, I emailed. And in the end, I settled on the girl I thought would be best and crossed my fingers. Don’t you boys think I don’t know how you feel when you’re arranging to meet a new lady. It’s nerve-wracking.

As the day approached, I talked to Jae. “I want you to be there. I’m going to be busy playing with him, I want you to let her in, show her the bathroom so she can change, bring her down when she’s ready, and just generally stick close to her. I don’t want a stranger wandering around my house unaccompanied, that makes me uncomfortable. And if anything happens that shouldn't be happening, you contain it and then come get me, fast.”

Jae replied, “Oh, hell yes I’ll be there, I want to see this, it’s going to be hot.”

“That is certainly my fondest hope.”

The appointed day came. Bob knew I had something special in mind, although he didn’t know exactly what. I had him nicely tied to my bondage chair when I heard the doorbell ring.

Okay, she's here. That's good. I hope.

Footsteps, and a murmur of voice - Jae's and another one, female. No sounds of trouble.

Minutes ticked by. The suspense was killing me. I'd told Jae to bring her down when she was ready. Had something gone wrong after all?

I secured the blindfold more snugly over Bob's eyes and said, "I think I'll go see if our guest has everything she needs. Don't go away." A muffled snort of laughter from Bob, who was quite aware he wasn't going anywhere.

I walked upstairs to find Jae sitting on my couch, in an attitude of complete attention, next to... a pretty woman. Young, taller than me, slender, with smooth skin and big doe-like eyes. Oh yes indeed, I thought, this might work out just fine.

Now I knew why Jae hadn't brought her downstairs. Blue-eyed little Jae has a weakness for dark-haired, exotic-looking women. I am well-acquainted with the expression she gets when she's flirting. She was wearing it now. I shot her a glance that clearly said, "This girl is not here for you, missy. You are neglecting your duties." Interpreting it correctly, Jae jumped to her feet. "Oh, hi, Ma'am. Are you ready for us?"

Nice try, Jae, I thought, as I introduced myself to the girl, who I will call Lisa. As Lisa stood up to greet me, I could see why Jae had been chatting her up - she was wearing only a pretty bra, panties and high heels, and she really was quite lovely.

And extremely feminine-looking: she was exquisitely coiffed and made-up, as shaved and waxed and polished as could be, all as flawlessly as a china doll. I wonder where she got that lingerie? I thought, feeling suddenly conscious that I was overdue for a manicure, and that the damp weather was making my hair frizz a bit. She's actually not the first tranny girl I've met who had amazing maquillage skills. As Jae put it later, “I'm a bio-girl, how is it that a chick with a dick can make me feel so butch, and a little scruffy?”

I put thoughts of nail polish aside and talked to Lisa. She was soft-spoken and perhaps a bit shy, but she seemed sweet and pleasant. I could see why she might feel a bit shy. True, she was a professional escort, but this was not your average client situation. I explained to her a little more about Bob, the types of things he and I did together, and what I wanted her to do. She nodded and agreed.

We went downstairs and I presented Bob to her. He was just as fascinated by her as I was. So, to my intense relief and pleasure, the three of us had a very nice time together. I wouldn’t say Lisa is the naturally-dominant type, although hey, with some time and coaching, who knows? She did watch me put needles in Bob’s nipples with cautious curiosity. And she really was quite lovely and sweet, and a charming addition to the scene in other ways.

As she left later, she said, “Call me anytime…” Who knows, perhaps our paths will cross again.

I know, I know - I haven’t done a real update in days, just these little placeholders. I'm working on a story about a recent new experience: having a male-to-female transsexual escort come and join me for a session. It was very interesting.

But while I felt fine for part of the day today, jet lag has now seriously caught up with me, and I think I should go to bed very very early.

So, here’s a video clip of me torturing Monk in the most heinous way possible. (Ten seconds, has sound, work safe.)

Kinky stories soon...

I'm heading home to Seattle today, after what has been a very nice little family get-together. I really love the beach. But I miss my life, so I'll be happy to get back...


So one more silly Disneyworld photo. We could not persuade the Disney people to put Mistress Matisse and Twisted Monk on these, but they grudgingly consented to do this for us...



Now I'm packing my bag and getting on a westbound plane. Bye!

Want to see something kinky?

Monk and I in bondage together... Disney-style.

Family Vacation

This is not going to be my wittiest update ever…. I’m just warning you. I’m a little over-stimulated, by the sun and Mickey Mouse.

So my updates have been meager because my darling mother does not really understand the concept of wireless internet. I think she thinks it’s like broadcast television, something that’s just there and that she need not think about. So the condo she rented – which is very large and very nice and right smack dab on New Smyrna Beach – does not have any internet connection whatsoever. Gah.

When I mentioned this lamentable state of affairs to my dearest mamma, she told me she was perfectly okay with me going down to this café half a mile away to check my email once a day. It won’t take more than, what, twenty minutes, right sweetie? Lordy. My mother really does not get it. But she’s sweet and I love her – and thus, you all will largely have to go without me until I get back to civilization on Monday night.

Short version: the flights were fine, my family is fine, the weather is great, and Monk is being an angel. We swam in the ocean Thursday and got only slightly sunburned, and today we went to Disneyworld, which was rockin’. Monk had never been to any theme park of any kind, can you believe it? We had a great time. But now we're a little wiped out. Disney does that to you.

So, pictures to follow over the weekend, thanks to Blogger’s post-date posting feature. Meanwhile, I’m back to the beach. Bye!

I am in last-minute running-around-like-a-crazy-girl mode, before I fly out Wednesday morning to go here…



I am looking forward to the beach, given how insane the weather has been here lately. (Snow? Hail? What the heck, people?)

Thus, I don’t have anything particularly profound to say today. Want some random trivia? Okay…

Friday night I spent the evening doing a role-playing game with some pals. No, not sexual role-playing, I mean RPGs. Yes, I am that nerdy, and I make no apologies. It's fun, it's a bit like writing interactive fiction. Only without that pesky writing part, so I guess it's more like plot-brainstorming. Which, as every writer knows, is the fun part.

At the beginning, game-master Grimwish was explaining the different characters, and he said, “And one of the characters is a bloodthirsty Amazon warrior." And then he looked right at me.

I said, “Okay, I’ll play that.”

And Grimwish said, “Oh good, I was hoping you would.” Um, thank you, I think? (I admit I got right into the role.)

***

Shopping: I bought a pink stun gun on eBay. It’s so cute! 100,00 volts.

***

But that had nothing to do with Jae’s gifting of a stun gun to our hostess at a social gathering on Sunday. That was none of my doing and any repercussions should be directed at Jae. But I am highly amused at the combination of raging pervert and thoughtful debutante in Jae’s idea of a hostess gift.

***

My super-best friend Miss K is having an important anniversary today. I believe they call it her birthday, in the group to which she belongs. Happy Five Years, Miss K – I’m very proud of you, and I love you.

Whoops. I got distracted last night with other things and forgot to put up a post for this morning. But here it is - the new column...
And Happy Friday!

I'm a busy girl today...

A note about scheduling. I'm out of town soon - I leave April 23rd and return April 28th. I am booked this week, and I have a little bit of time Mon the 21st and Tues the 22nd. If I know you and you'd like to see me one of those days, best contact me ASAP.

I will be available once again the 29th.

(I'm going to Florida to visit family and no, I will not be available for professional sessions while I'm there, sorry.)

***

Also, I so need a print of this cartoon. I cut it out of the New Yorker when it was published and had it on my refrigerator for years. But it got old and fell apart. I'm thrilled to have found it again, thanks to an alert reader, and I'm definitely going to have to order a desk print of this. It's... my life, in one frame. Love it.

A friend reminds me that I haven’t done a reading list in a while. He’s right. Here are some of the books on my bedside table…

*Lord John and the Hand of Devils by Diana Gabaldon. This is a short story collection, and I’m not usually a huge fan of short stories. I prefer more time to get to know characters. But I like the Outlander series, and I enjoyed all the Lord John books. The author has a touch I envy with writing historical fiction, giving just enough period color and language, without overdoing it. It's a knack.
I was also quite amused to see that one of these stories was solicited from her by none other than prolific editor Maxim Jakubowski. Mr. Jakubowski is also the editor of The Mammoth Book of Sex Diaries, in which a large chunk of this blog was published. Which means that as professional writers, there is only one degree of separation between me and Ms.Gabaldon. That just seems sort of crazy, somehow.

*The Snake, the Crocodile & the Dog (Amelia Peabody Mysteries), by Elizabeth Peters. As I’ve mentioned before, when I am sick, I want comfort reading. So when I had the flu a few weeks ago, I started working my way through all my Elizabeth Peters books once again. I have loaned so many out over the years (read as: given away, because they never came home) that I have some holes in my collection. Thus, I had to make a run through Powell’s when I was in Portland and fill in the gaps. No one does fast, fun, silly mysteries like Ms. Peters. I want to be Amelia Peabody when I grow up. (Although some people might tell you that I already am the Amelia Peabody of the kink world. And that’s okay with me.)

*Charlatan: America's Most Dangerous Huckster, the Man Who Pursued Him, and the Age of Flimflam, by Pope Brock. This book must be read to be believed. In the words of Publishers Weekly: “John Brinkley…got his start touring as a medicine man hawking miracle tonics and became famous for transplanting goat testicles into impotent men. Brinkley built his own radio station in 1923, hustling his pseudoscience over the airwaves and giving an outlet to astrologers and country music. His nemesis was Dr. Morris Fishbein, who took aim at Brinkley in JAMA, lay publications and pamphlets distributed by the thousands. Even after the Kansas State Medical Board yanked his medical license in 1930, Brinkley ran twice for governor of Kansas and almost won.”
Yeah. This guy took goat testicles and implanted them into men’s scrotums, claiming it would give them erections and make them fertile. Because everyone knows goats are horny, right? It’s exactly as bad as it sounds. Not so much medical regulation back then. (And on a side note: love the author’s name: Pope. That’s cool.)

What I think I'll buy next: Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions, by Dan Ariely. Behavioral economics is the new sexy science, isn’t it? There’s a lot of stuff published lately about why we do what we do, but this one looks like it talks about individual motivations as well as group forces and dynamics. Both in my personal as well as my professional life, observing and predicting patterns of people’s behavior is a strong interest of mine. I’ll let you know if it’s good.

The whole “Naughty Meme” thing amuses me, because it’s a look into what other people think is shocking. But I always screw up the curve for everyone, and frankly, some of these questions baffle me.

Have You Ever....

Taken a picture naked? Yes. I’ve also had pictures take OF me while I was naked, which I suspect is what the intent of this poorly-structured question was.

Made money illegally? Who, me? I don't know what you're talking about.

Had a one night stand? Is this really still considered shocking?

Been in a fist fight? Um, hard to say. A little slapping and shoving in the strip-club dressing room, but I’m not sure it rose to the level of “fist-fight”.

Slept with your best friend? Yes. I’ve had sex with her, too.

Had sex in a public place? Yes.

Ditched work to have sex? Yes. Even when having sex (with other people) WAS my work.

Slept with a member of the same sex? You have got to be kidding me.

Seen someone die? Is this really in the same category with a same-sex encounter? No.

Ran from the police? Define run. Back in the day, I was at some illegal raves that got shut down, and I departed through a door other than the one the police were using. I did not dally. Call it what you will.

Woke up somewhere and not remember how you got there? Well, I was always able to make reasonable surmises, but there have been a few occasions when the exact sequence of events was fuzzy.

Worn your partners unmentionables? I quote Hannah on this one: “unmentionables? Who says that these days?” I’ve worn panties belonging to my girlfriends, but boy underwear would make a line under my jeans.

Fallen asleep at work? No.

Used toys in the bedroom? I think some of these questions are tame enough to make me fall asleep. Who wrote this meme, my grandmother?

Ran a red light? Yes. No one died, though.

Been fired? Yes. But only from straight jobs. Never from a sex work job.

Been in a car accident? Yes, but why is this question here?

Pole danced or done a striptease? Only about ten thousand times.

Loved someone you shouldn't? It is better to have loved and lost… My problem is that they usually refuse to get lost, so: yeah.

Sang karaoke? Only once. With much champagne. I think that’ll last me my whole life, too.

Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? I told myself I wouldn’t meme.

Laughed so hard you peed your pants? Probably, although it wasn’t traumatic enough to stick in my mind.

Caught someone having sex? Yes, although I wasn’t exactly shocked.

Kissed a perfect stranger? No, we’d known each other intimately for at least two minutes.

Shaved your partner? Yes. And other people as well.

Given your private parts a nickname? No, this seems silly to me.

Ever gone in public without underwear? Like, every day.

Had sex on a roof top? Yes. (Hi, Jett…)

Played chicken? I assume this means in motor vehicles. No, what a dumb thing to do.

Mooned/flashed someone? Yes.

Do you sleep naked? Yes.

Blacked out from drinking? Blacked out is too dramatic a term. But I’ve made a sudden decision to go to sleep.

Felt like killing someone? Like the author of this meme? Yes.

Had sex more than 5 times in one day? Well, it’s sometimes hard to say where one episode of sex starts and the next one begins. I have had sex with more than five people in one day, though, so: yes.

Been with someone because they were in a band? Nah, I’m not a groupie.

Taken 10 shots of liquor in a day? I’m not dead, which given my low alcohol tolerance I think I would be, so the answer to that is no.

Shot a gun? People, I’m from Georgia.

Gone outside naked? Yes, even aside from the time when I worked at a nudist resort.

I need to find the “Memes for Serious Perverts” page.

Letter From A Reader: Nazi Play

I'm sure I'm not the first person to ask you how you feel about this, but hopefully if enough ask you'll do a column/blog post about it. How do you feel about Max Mosley's Nazi "orgy"? Where is the line? Are there some things that are just morally unacceptable? Like, say, getting turned on by concentration camps? Here is a Slate piece on it (which digresses into talking about BDSM in general) and the original article (ultra-sensationalized but apparently true). I know you're a very busy woman and I certainly don't need a reply, but I'm sure lots of people would love a column or post on it.
http://www.slate.com/id/2188752/
http://www.newsoftheworld.co.uk/3003_nazi_orgy.shtml

Actually you are the first person to ask me about it. I have been vaguely aware of seeing something about “Nazi orgy” in the paper, but you know, I often choose not to clutter up my head with stories like that. So I have not been paying attention to this one, and it’s not been a topic of conversation among me and my friends.

And even if I’d read the story, I doubt I’d have chosen to write something because to me, this is not news. It's just gossip, right up there with the latest Britney Spears trainwreck. I don't care about this guy's sex life, and I don't know why anyone would care beyond a moment's "oh, wow, I bet he’s feeling pretty embarrassed right now.” I am not too high-minded to be interested in some types of gossip. But being a sexual outlaw myself, I have a fair amount of sympathy for anyone whose sexuality is a subject of leering "Oh-that's-terrible! Tell-us-more!" kind of scrutiny.

But since you ask: Many people have politically incorrect fantasies. I bet you, Dear Reader, have some erotic turn-ons lurking your fantasy life that you would not care to see published to the world. Most people do. I certainly do. (And no, I’m not telling you what they are.)

You can tell your sex drive “Oh, hey, this sexual turn is morally unacceptable!” And you can choose not to act on it. You may even succeed in repressing it and not thinking of it consciously – very much. Sometimes that works. But a lot of times, the more you try to repress a turn-on, the more intense it gets. I'm not minimizing how bad the Holocaust was. But this? Is not the Holocaust. It's some guy getting his kink on and being unwise (or unlucky) enough to let it be videoed.

So where's the line? When it's non-consensual. To include: under-age people, and anyone who is either temporarily or permanently not capable of giving informed consent. That's not okay. Otherwise, do as you will. I may or may not want to watch, but that's my responsibility.

Our sexual fantasies go where it's forbidden because it's forbidden. I’m guessing all the baggage this guy got loaded down with as a kid makes this whole thing even more taboo and thus sexier than it would be to the average person.

So the only difference between this guy and lots of other people is that he has the money and the nerve to indulge himself. Do I personally think Nazis are cool? No. I find this particular scenario distasteful. But do I think there's any harm in dressing up in Nazi uniforms and pretending you’re in a prison camp? Not really. I don't find it sexy, but I don't find furries or adult babies sexy, either. However, liking Nazi uniforms, or diapers, or people in "furry" costumes doesn't necessarily make you a fascist, or a pedophile, or into bestiality. It’s a game, not reality.

And this guy is actually not responsible for the actions of his older relatives, so all that business about his father and Unity Mitford is beside the point. So, basically, if he wants to do Nazi role play with a bunch of sex workers, it’s no one’s business but his and theirs. And his wife’s, if she wants it to be. If he wants to draw dramatic inspiration from real life events, maybe he’ll ask her for a punishment scene.

I meant to write an account of a strange man who hit on me, strangely, in the grocery store the other day.

But it’s a quarter of two in the morning as I type this, and I think I should go to bed instead. It’s Monk’s fault…

But for your entertainment: A highly interesting index of prices for sex workers in major American cities. Looks like Seattle is slightly below the national average. $234 dollars seems a bit low, but of course, it is an average. I know ladies who charge much more – certainly I do myself – but Craig’s List is full of women charging considerably less. Amusing to see that my old hometown, Tampa, is right up there. And it looks like Toledo is the place to go if you’re looking for a real deal.

I have not had time to explore the whole site, but I think there’s also a page where you can answer a bunch of questions and figure out, hypothetically, how much money you would get paid. But I’m dubious about how accurate such a figure would be, because what a survey can’t measure is good marketing and good customer service. Without those, no matter how young and pretty you are, you’re very limited. And with them, a woman who isn’t a perfect ten still can do very well indeed.

Wow, I was bitchy in that last post, wasn't I?

But never mind, I am feeling back to my usual kind and generous self. Which is good, since I was in QFC yesterday and a man approached me in such a text-book bad way that had I been feeling bitchy, I probably would have snapped his head off. But I did not. I'll tell you that story later.

Right now I am obsessed with a dress that a clever reader turned me on to...

Here's the original link. Here's another shot of it. Is that not fabulous?

It seems that the designer's name is Iceberg, and the only place I can find that designer is Sak's, but - Sak's does not have this dress. And I may die if I don't have this dress. So excuse me while I go look for it.

I was in a cranky mood for the early part of the day yesterday. A session with Jae and one of our favorite guys improved my outlook considerably, but if you didn’t call me yesterday, you’re a lucky man, because I was feeling bitchy.

Not everyone was lucky.

I was sitting in traffic when my public line rang. I never answer that phone anymore, as I’m sure of you have noticed. Sorry, I just let it go to voicemail and deal with it when I’m in the mood. Which I admit often takes a couple of days. Sometimes I don't get it for longer than that, and then the message is two weeks old, and it seems silly to answer it. Yes, I am that busy.

But there I was, crawling along in traffic, bored and bitchy, so I looked at the phone, and I recognized the number as someone who had called me multiple times over the last 48 hours. Now, calling and calling and calling, when I haven’t called you back, is most often a bad idea. Two, maybe three time is the max. True, occasionally the phone misbehaves and eats the messages, or the message gets scrambled and is unintelligible. But in general, multiple calls = weirdo.

(I know there are guys who can't leave a callback number. I suggest you get a private email account and go that route instead. It just makes us ladies less nervous than seeing the same number popping up on the caller id.

And if I know you, and I haven’t called you back, then it’s not you, I’m just insanely busy. Email would be better for that, too. I’m really shifting over to email, it’s just much easier to track everything, and I can read and answer to a hundred emails faster than I can even listen to - let alone respond to - thirty-plus voicemails a day.

So I looked at the phone and thought, He’s probably a whack-job. But then I answered the call. I don’t know why. Perhaps I was looking for someone to be bitchy to.

I got my wish.

Me: hello?

Caller: Did you get my message?

Oh, were you calling Mistress Marvolo The Mind Reader? Or did you think you were on a video-phone? I pause lengthily and then say:

Me: (in an acidly-sweet drawl that could eat through steel) Well, I don’t know if I did, since I don’t know who I’m talking to, now do I? Who is this?

Caller: Joe.

I wait for him to add some other identifying information. He doesn’t. He just says:

Caller: I left you a message.

In a manner that implies he’s the only person in the world who could have left me a message, ever, and thus, nothing more need be said about that. However, even over the phone, I can tell that he is just quivering with the need to say something. I have no idea what it’s going to be, but I know this: it’s going to be odd. He just has that sort of whacko cadence to his voice.

So I open up the door for him, since he’s clearly not going to stop calling me until he asks me for whatever it is.

Me: What is it you want, Joe?

Caller: Will you take a swim with me?

For a moment I think he has said, “Take a swing at me”, which would be a sort of gauche way of asking for a scene, but which would be comprehensible coming from someone who didn’t have any BDSM vocabulary.

But no, he said swim. Which, I have to say, is the first time I’ve been asked for that. Points to Joe for originality. Some kind of bathing suit fetish? I have met lyrca/spandex fetishists who liked swimsuits before, although none of them felt the need to actually get into a body of water. Or maybe “take a swim” is some obscure slang that I don’t know about, for something kinky/sexual. Golden showers? I don’t know.

But when it comes down to “Do I want to be in a room with Joe”, I know the answer, and the answer is…

Me: No. Goodbye.

I hang up, and program him into the phone. SWIMGUY. Sorry, Joe, it’s not wet enough around here for that.

Various Things

In regards to the “You look puffy” guy: An alert pal of mine reminded me of the really stupid theory of male courtship which posits that insulting a beautiful woman will intrigue her. I have heard this idea before, it’s a mainstay of those asinine “How To Get Women To Want To Fuck You In Two Minutes Or Less” -type authors. The idea is something like: women get complimented all the time by guys who are hitting on them, and that makes them disrespectful bitches. If you insult a woman, then she’ll respect you and think you’re a real stud.

Riiiiiiight. Just so we’re clear, guys – this doesn’t work. Now that I think about it, I have had guys try this game on me, in rather subtler ways. My response was not to try and prove myself to them. My response was “Wow, you’re a manipulative weirdo and I’m going to get away from you as fast as I can.” Much like my female pal did.

Note that according to this website, you're only supposed to do this to women who are extremely beautiful. So my friend can at least be comforted by the fact that the guy in question thinks she's so gorgeous that she needs to be taken down a peg. I'm sure that'll thrill her.

So gentlemen, don’t do this. Unless of course you’re sorting for women with really terrible self-esteem who think they deserve to be put down right from the get-go. And hey, if that’s the kind of person you want, then I suppose it’s good of you to make that clear right away. Saves the sane women a lot of time. And it makes the guys who don't do this kind of idiot game look even better.

***

I meant to do this earlier… but a belated Congratulations to the super-cool Lamalani on becoming the newest Washington State Ms. Leather. I’ve known Lamalani for years, she’s a great gal, and she's going to do a great job. And plus she’s also extremely hot, which we like. Go Lama!

***

And on a sad note… If you are a fan of Dan Savage: His mother died recently. He’s pretty sad about that, as you would imagine. He’s got a column up about it, with suggestions for anyone who wants to make donations, etc. I know you’ll join me in saying that our sympathy is with him in this difficult time.

And kiss the people you love today.

A picture from a private Kinkfest after-party, with Hannah and three other pals of mine. Note how Hannah is displaying her truly respectful and submissive nature for the camera. (Larger version.)


As befits her scrappy demeanor here, Hannah put up one hell of a fight, and wore out my pervy pals pretty good.

Like the sign in her mouth that says "Use Me"? That was Max's contribution. Hannah has a certain interest in - one might even say a fetish for - laminating things. It just pleases something in her to encase paper in hot plastic. So Max instructed her to go to Kinko's in the afternoon and make that sign and bring it to the party, and she did.

That looked like consent to all of us, so Max actually tied her up to a prominent spot at the party with that sign in her mouth. She didn't spit it out. A couple of people took advantage of the privilege.

Then my three friends got serious with her, tying her up, hitting her with nasty paddles, rolling her around on the carpet, and dodging her kicks and fingernails. I think the sign turned into something of a safeword - as long as she held onto it, these three knew it was a signal that the game was still on. Finally she did spit it out and say, "I'm done!" Which was good, because I think if she'd kept going much longer, they would have had to bring in a fresh team. You have to love a bottom who gives you a good workout.

Speaking Of Women

The new column.... Knowing the tendency for there to be vociferous outcry on this subject, as seen here and here, I am expecting some blowback. I will note that I wrote that column during my recent bout with the flu, when I had a fever hovering around one hundred degrees, and thus it's a bit blunter than usual. However, the basic sentiment is accurate. Enjoy. (Or be outraged, as you prefer.)

By Women, For Women

Event note: This Friday is the Women-Only party at the Wet Spot, and after having had my pals forever telling me about how much fun they are, I’m going this Friday with Miss K. Kinky Seattle women, please come out and join us...

(Also: It's not a women's event, but I'll probably be at the Bondage Is The Point party on Sunday as well.)

***

I was rather surprised, but pleased, to get a note from this blogger, Serpentlibertine, saying she and another woman, KittenInfinite, had done a podcast about one of my columns, 18 Things Sex Workers Should Know. In the course of the podcast, they talk about how this piece (published here in The Stranger) has been widely circulated and talked about. Really? Huh, who knew? I had no idea. I mean, seriously, I just write this stuff, and then it goes off into the world and has a life of its own, and half the time I don’t even know about it until much later. But I’m flattered to know that other sex workers like the piece.

And the podcast itself is quite good - funny and accurate. These ladies are very clearly the real deal in terms of being veteran sex workers. They’re part of SWOP, which is a sex work activism group in Chicago. It sounds cool, and I wish there was more sex work activism here in Seattle. But no, I’m not going to organize it, I did my turn with that in the 1990’s with Blackstockings, thank you. Anyone out there remember the Blackstockings 'zine? I used to write for that as Marcella Grant. But we never really got much momentum, because there were only 4-6 of us who would actually do the work of organizing, and we all eventually got burnt out. So shouldn’t some of you idealistic young things make something happen? I’d come, if you did.

***

I am well, by the way. The Martian Death Flu has been routed. Thank you for your many sweet emails wishing me good health!

What Not To Say

In spite of sometimes-considerable provocation, I try not to talk too much here about the recent, real-life bad behaviors of people I encounter. At least not so that they could identify themselves - it just seems too unkind. I have a lot of power in this forum, and I try to use it only for good.

However, there are exceptions to that rule. So while this is not my story, it's from a reliable source, and it's so breathtakingly bad that I had to say something.

Not long ago, a woman I know moved to a new town - not Seattle - and she went to a munch where she knew no one. A man there introduced himself and was very friendly to her, as men will be. In fact, one might reasonably say he was hitting on her.

Nothing wrong with that, exactly. He just didn’t do it very well, you understand. Apparently he was a bit too forward with the social touching, for example. I have met this man myself, and I have my own observations of his social skills, and what she said lined up with my impression of him. But my friend is a laid-back girl, and so she just shrugged it off.

Okay, fast-forward: the munch is over, she’s leaving, and he’s walking her to her car. And with no obvious pretext whatsoever, he turns to her and says, “So where are you on your cycle?”

She looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Are you close to your period? You just look kinda puffy, like you’re retaining water.”

My pal told me this, and my jaw dropped open in disbelief. “No, he did not say that to you. He did not.”

She closed her eyes and laughed a little, ruefully. “Yes, yes he did.”

Sweet Jesus Christ. I was dumbstruck with astonishment by this tale. I cannot believe that any man past the age of toilet-training would be so stupid as to actually say this a woman. I mean any man, to any woman, at any time, ever. Neither Max nor Monk would dream of ever saying something like this to me, even though there have been times when I was retaining so much water that I should have had a freaking salmon ladder built over my abdomen. If you have a female partner, yeah, sometimes you can tell when her body looks a little different. But only a flipping idiot would remark on the matter to his or her beloved. The correct response, if your girlfriend says, “Do I look puffy?” is “No, sweetheart, not at all.” If really pressed, you might squint thoughtfully at her and say, “Well, maybe your boobs look a little bigger. Otherwise, nah, you look great.”

That’s how you handle it with a woman you’re intimate with, and it doesn’t seem like you’d have to be real clever to figure that out. So I am astounded at the thickheadedness of a man who thinks it’s cool to tell a woman he just met, whom he is hitting on, that she looks puffy. I mean, what are you thinking? How could anyone imagine that such a remark would endear you to a girl? Saying that kind of thing to women is a really good way to grow cobwebs across your cock.

It's barely possible that this man thinks he's such a True Dominate Master that he can say things like this and women will find it acceptable. He'd be wrong, of course, but it's the only even-slightly-comprehensible explanation I can think of. (I suppose he could be a menstruation fetishist, but he didn't say so, and that still wouldn't make the remark any less horrifying. )

Ready for some extra-bonus-wrongness points? This man is himself a rather large fellow. Nothing wrong with that, but if you’re going to go around telling women you just met they look puffy, you invite their examination of your figure, and if it speaks of a lot of high-sodium snacks, it makes a girl think, Well at least my puffiness will go away in a couple of days, buddy.

Super-extra-bonus-wrongness points: when they got to her car, he tried to kiss her. I am so not making this up. I am not. I could not have made this up if I tried. It’s so wrong. (She dodged it, thankfully.)

No, she didn’t tell him he was a prat, she’s too polite, and plus the whole thing caught her off guard. But you can bet she’ll be avoiding him in the future.

Now, I don’t know that this fellow reads this blog. I hope he doesn't. But in case he does: yes, I’m talking about you. I am sure you’re mortified by this. However, note that I did not name or describe you, or mention the city, and I could have. Unless you tell them, no one but you, the woman involved, and me know that it’s you. Your best response would be to keep quiet and learn something from this. I don’t think you’re evil, but I think you’ve done some socially inappropriate things, and yes, sometimes you’re gonna get called on that. It’s a growing-up process. You seem active in your pursuit of the ladies, so here’s my advice: Your hands should be kept more to yourself until such time as a woman makes it clear she wants you to touch her. And your unflattering and too-intimate remarks on a woman’s appearance should remain unsaid forever.

Hello Dear Readers…

So I decided to just write off last week, blog-wise. But let me catch you up. I did, in fact, go to Portland for Kinkfest. It was very iffy right up until the last moment. Even driving down Friday, I thought, I hope this will not prove to be a serious mistake. It was snowing, for God's sake, and I was too weak to drive, so Max was driving. I lay on the backseat and tried really hard to just not look at the road or think about the other cars or anything, because Max is a much more bold and daring driver than I am, and it makes me nervous. So the omens were not favorable. But I wasn't willing to be left at home, either.

And going turned out to be the right thing. I was pretty weak, and I'm still a little low-energy, but I've gotten steadily better all weekend, and all my pals been even more sweet and attentive to me than usual. Everyone was fetching me chairs, and getting me water, and just generally waiting on me all weekend long. I love my friends.

I did not play, I definitely did not have the strength for that. Which did not keep my pals Miss H, and Miss S, and Mr. SF, from all taunting and goading me. (Their time will come, heh. I am not going to forget a single thing any of ya'll said, and I look forward to reminding you of your remarks when I have you in more compromising positions.)

The conference itself was great as usual, although one of the presenters I was really looking forward to wound up not coming - because he got the flu. Kind of hard to hold it against him under the circumstances, but I was bummed, because he was going to do a "Sounds and Catheters" workshop and I'm always interested in hearing what other teachers have to say about that.

So in the daytime, I mainly just sat in the social area and schmoozed, and in the evening I sat in the dungeon and watched scenes and schmoozed. That's about all I was up for. But I wore my white Herve Leger dress and my new D&G shoes to the dungeon Saturday night, so I looked pretty even if I couldn't do much. I did buy a few new toys, and I did facilitate several of my friends getting to play with other of my friends, and that's always nice. I wished Monk was there, and Jae too, but otherwise it was a nice social weekend.

I also heard a story from a female pal which I will entitle, "The Single Worst Thing I Have Ever Heard Of A Man Saying To A Woman He Was Attempting To Flirt With." It's... Well, it’s just astonishingly, jaw-droppingly wrong.

But I'll tell you that tomorrow. See you in Seattle!

All right, I am forced to admit it - I am have been struck down by the Martian Death Flu that stalked so many of my friends this past winter. I was pleased that I had escaped it, and then - boom.
Thus I have not been blogging. Hell, I haven't been sitting up right very much.
This came on late Saturday, and I expect to be fine by Monday. The question of what I'm doing this weekend is hanging precariously in the balance, however, since I am booked to leave for Portland today, and that seems...iffy. I'll keep you posted, now that I can be out of bed for more than five minutes at a time.
Bah. Stupid flu.

Oh, my Dear Readers, I've neglected you shamefully, haven't I? Here's a podcast of Monk and I talking about what's going on in our professional lives lately...

More soon!

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

It sort of baffles me when people read things I didn’t write…

Like this blogger, who has somehow gotten the facts turned backwards.

"I have read on Mistress Matisse’s blog that she has a couple of “servants,” submissives who do her housework for her."

No, I do not have “slaves” who do my housework for me. I wrote a whole column about how I don't have household slaves, because while it's certainly fun if you want to create D/s relationships, it is not at all time-efficient in terms of actually getting housework done.

And this reader, who has a perfectly legitimate question, which I am completely unable to answer.

I remember you had a column a few months ago where you mentioned a friend who was very knowledgeable about BDSM during pregnancy. I recently found out I'm pregnant, but I haven't found a lot of reliable looking/trustworthy sites that discuss what's safe and what isn't during pregnancy. Does the friend you mentioned in that article have a blog? Do you have any recommendations for any other sites that you know are reputable? I'm sorry to bother you but you're one of the people I trust on this sort of topic.

Well, first: congratulations! And second: no, you're not bothering me, but I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I do not have any pals who are experts on BDSM during pregnancy, and I can't find any place I said that I did. Send me a link, anyone, if you see where I did, and I'll eat my words.

I know three kinky women who are now or were recently pregnant, and if they are inclined, I can get a quote from them about what they did and didn't do, but I think you’re gonna need to talk to your own doctor about this.

But here’s some things I really and truly did say: a new site, PinkNighties.com, who did an interview with me – check them out!

A letter from a reader...

I have been curious for some time regarding the femmes. Where are the feminine girls/ladies/women in Seattle? Granted, I don't get out as much as I would like to but I do travel all over from Everett to Federal Way and I have yet to find the femmes. I can see why a guy would be bewildered in a most playful, erotic and open minded city as Seattle. I have been here for over 11 years and have not seen the femme ladies of Seattle.

There are lots of women here who seem to be more butch than the guys. There's nothing wrong with being butch, assertive, smart and making dollar to dollar - I have got no problem with any of that - however, a guy like me would really appreciate some stilettos and a nice walk that I can't stop staring at. I mean, some hip motion that begs me to crash my car - that's what I'm talking about!

My lesbian roomate goes on and on about how there are no lesbian femmes here either - in the most "out" city next to San Francisco. She may as well go back to Kansas! Where are the femmes? Both of us are competing for the same type of women here. Please help!
Is there a club or a secret hideout where the femmes are (both straight and gay would be great)? Is there a secret society online that I don't know about?

I’m rather baffled by this letter. Dear Reader Of Mine, I think you are confusing your terms. The words butch and femme, in this context, refer to the sexual/gender identity/presentation of non-heterosexual women. Got that? Queer women.

When a heterosexual woman wears high heels and makeup, etc, I do not call that being femme. That’s called being feminine. It does not get a special word because it’s often considered to be “normal” for straight women. I am not personally endorsing that view, and it is certainly not the only way of expressing the concept of femininity.

As you have noticed, many straight women do not do this, or at least not all the time. It's a hell of a lot of work and expense, for one thing. And it may astonish you to know this, but a lot of women don't want to be stared at by random guys driving down the street. I myself have had times when I fervently wished such a person would crash his car.

So there are any number of reason why women don't look/dress in super-feminine ways all the time. However, that doesn’t make them butch. A butch is a queer woman who self-identifies as such and who does generally adopt some ways of dressing and acting that people would call masculine. But being a butch has nothing to do with income, intelligence or assertiveness. For that matter, neither does being femme, or feminine.

It is noteworthy that many not-heterosexual women do not classify themselves as either butch OR femme. They are simply… not-heterosexual women. And there’s a broad range of butch and femme looks and manners.

(One rarely hears straight women refer to themselves as butch. However, I have heard queer-aware straight women use the label femme. I think that's a tiny bit rude. If you're a straight woman who wears girly clothes and looks/acts in ways that generally line up with societal norms, you don't need a special word to describe your presentation and emphasize that you're doing it on purpose. Femme lesbians do, because many people still assume that lesbian = butch. So let the queer girly-girls have that word, okay?)

However, Dear Reader Of Mine, none of this pertains to your dating options, because you’re a guy, and thus I really don't think you and your roommate are competing for the same women. (Yes, a queer woman of any flavor can choose to fuck a man. But I think it’s better for a man to assume that a woman who calls herself lesbian/gay/queer/whatever is unavailable, as far as he is concerned. If she wants to make an exception for him, she can let him know that.)

What I’m hearing is that you think Seattle women don’t dress up much. You’re right, they don’t. This is a town where people go to the opera and swanky restaurants in clothes they bought at REI or Costco. It’s just the way it is. You want dressed-up women? Go to Chicago. The women there knocked me out with how stylish they were.

And if there was a secret hangout of the femmes/feminine women – besides, say, Sephora, or the Nordstrom shoe department - I couldn’t tell you about it, could I? If I did, they’d have to kill me.

A few final remarks...I'm amused, in a rather cynical way, how much more outraged people who aren't sex workers have been over the Eliot Spitzer issue than those of us who are. I'm hearing a lot about the hypocrisy!

Yeah, that's true. But that's the way the game is played, you know? I don't expect any different from a politician and an officer of the court.

I simply hope that giving that NYT interview nets the girl involved, "Kristen", the recording contract she's so clearly after.

I was masochistic enough to read the threads about this on a few feminist blogs, and good lord, I had to close the window and go do some deep breathing. Such a maddening combination of prostitutes are dirty whores whose lives should be made as unpleasant as possible AND/OR prostitutes are deluded victims who need to be protected from themselves whether they like it or not. The truly talented people are the ones who can hold both positions at the same time, switching deftly from one to the other as necessary. And don't bother trying to tell them there's another option, because look, they have statistics to back this up!

Oh, statistics? Oh well, all right then, those of us who actually are sex workers will sit down and shut up and let ya'll decide what we deserve, thank you ma'am. I do not even participate in such threads. I have learned through infuriating experience that this is not a discussion based in reason, it's based on ideology, and you will never argue an ideologue out of their position.

However, a pal sent me this little round-up of all the logical fallacies being bandied about. It was quite refreshing. (You'll have to click through a Salon ad, but it's worth it.)

EDIT: I see that the author of the article I linked to has linked back to me, how nice. Thank you, Glenn Greenwald.

I respect that he also linked to another piece with a different point of view than mine, that's what he should do. However, I am highly skeptical of this “Ruth Henderson” person. A lot of what she says about the behaviors of clients rings true enough, although it's nothing that hasn't been said before. But this part makes me shake my head.

And then one day, usually between the ages of 25 and 28, once they’d developed that knowing, experienced look that clients instinctively disliked, they found that themselves in a classic bind: they were addicted to high living but could no longer pay for it; they had no marketable skills...

She's saying that at 28, a woman is too old to be marketable as a sex worker anymore. And that's about the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Who the hell was she booking for, Barely Legal Lolitas? I myself am definitely over 28. And I am doing just fine, as are all the sex workers I know - and that's a lot - most of whom are also over 28. What an absurd thing to put forth...

Schedule, Travel, and Bikinis…

Some notes about where I will be, and when, and why. (And some musings about the fashion requirements thereof….)

I’ve got some travel coming up, and I also just have some blocks of time already booked up. So if you’re wanting to see me in the next six weeks or so, here’s my schedule.

(Note: this was current when I hit “Publish”, but obviously I’ll get more booked as time goes by. Carpe diem.)

Monday March 17^th: One appointment open, between 2-4 pm .

Tuesday March 18^th: Time available.

Wednesday March 19^th: Time available.

Thursday March 20^th : Already booked

Friday March 21^st: One appointment open, between 4-6 pm .

Monday March 24^th and Tuesday March 25^th : Already booked

Wednesday March 26^th: One appointment open, later afternoon.

Thursday March 27^th – Monday March 31^st: Out of town for Kinkfest.

I’m back and available as of Tuesday April 1^st.

After Kinkfest, I’m in town and have plenty of time available until April 23^rd. I’ll be out of town from April 23^rd to the 28^th.

I’m going on a family vacation in Florida. Yes, really! And Monk is going with me, though, so that will be fun. (Wait until my mother gets a load of his tattoo, that’s going to be an interesting conversation.)

Mainly we’re just going to relax on the beach, but it turns out that Monk has never been to a theme park! Which just boggles my mind, since I’ve been to lots. So I think we’ll do a day at Disneyworld, just because it’s a cultural experience everyone should have.

I find it rather amusing that I have tons of stuff to wear for the upcoming BDSM conference, but I have nothing to wear in Florida! This is going to stun you – not - but there actually isn’t a ton of hot-weather clothing available in Seattle right now. I need some shorts and some beach sandals, and another pair of sunglasses, all of which are do-able here. But I also need a couple of bathing suits, and that’s going to be tricky. You see, my mother will be slightly-but-noticeably disapproving if I am sashaying around in a tiny thong bikini. I try to be sensitive to her views, however there is no way I’m buying one of those one-piece skirted jobs. That’s just too conservative for me. I’m going to try to split the difference and get a two-piece with a not-too-much-cleavage top and the boy-shorts type bottom. I might be able to get away with this one, it's sharp-looking, and it is a one-piece, so... Wish me luck, ladies, we all know how exasperating shopping for a bathing suit is, it’s even worse than buying blue jeans.

While I am on the subject of this trip, let me just insert two thank-you’s here. One is to Monk’s wife Tambo, who is the coolest thing in the world for being so completely fine with Monk going out of town with me. And the other shout-out is to the guy who scored me a pair of first-class airline tickets to Orlando. Flying coach down to Florida would be a level of hell that I do not wish to endure. You rock, my friend.

Bye!