Saturday, February 12, 2005

Roman has put up the page showing all the contestants, so that means it's time for: This Week's Challenge to The Weakest Kink Contestants!

This week, we want to see how creative and imaginative you can be about BDSM. So here's the challenge. Take five dollars, no more than that, and go buy the most interesting pervertible you can find. Take a picture of it and send it to use along with a description of how it would be used in BDSM play. Ideally, it should be something you can imagine being used on you.

Some of you may be thinking, "What the hell is a pervertible?" So glad you asked. The term "pervertible", coined by leather activist David Stein, is used to describe objects intended for some non-sexual use, especially everyday household objects, that can nonetheless be appropriated for BDSM play. I wrote a column about this once.

However, the pervertibles I mention there, while fun, are rather obvious. Roman and I would like to see something…different. But don't go thinking you can go buy any old thing and claim it's a BDSM toy. If Roman and I aren’t convinced of it's pervertability, we will have to see some pictures of it in action. And if you wind up winning – well, expect to have your pervertible used on you, by us. So be sincere in your toy shopping, and may the nastiest mind win!

Friday, February 11, 2005

Well, after a fun date with Roman last night, we're getting ready to post the first round of "The Weakest Kink" contest info. So look for that quite soon.

Meanwhile, the new column and the Kink Calendar are up, so check those out…Fans of my weirdo-callers entries will enjoy the column particularly.

And here's something I enjoyed reading...It's presented as some advice for writers, but I think parts of it are actually applicable to many life-situations. Certainly I intend to steal some of it for my future "advice to aspiring pro dommes" rants.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

This is a photo from the very first porn shoot I ever sold. It was shot in 2001, and I sold it to a magazine called - you're gonna love this - "Naughty Neighbors". It was an "amateur" magazine, as you may have inferred, presenting the models as "real, girl-next-door" types. The illusion of potential acessibility is powerful for some men, it seems. Odd, when you consider that even Playboy Bunnies have to live next door to someone.
It wasn't the best set technically - note the shadow from the studio strobe. But I had a beautiful and very enthusiastic model, the lovely Rose Algren, and she made it work. This is just a sort of mood-establishing shot I took at the beginning, which of course the magazine didn't use because what the fuck do they care about establishing mood? They used the ones with the shower going and the wet t-shirt - and then with the shower going and no clothes at all. And naturally Rose looks scrumptious in all of them. But she looks so happy in this shot, with her little band of dildos. And somehow, they look sort of happy, too. (I suppose that's to be expected, given what she does with them.)
I'm on a picture posting jag lately, aren't I? I'm working on another writing project, you see, and can't spend as much time here as I would otherwise...But never fear, I won't desert you entirely.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Missing Persons Bureau - or Employment Agency?

Phone message left a few days ago…


Hi, Mistress Matisse, this is Bob The Artist. We've never met, but I gave a ride to a young woman last week and she said she was a licensed dominatrix. I wanted you to give her a message for me. Her name was Vanessa, she was in her mid-twenties, with a ring in her lower lip. I can't find a listing for her - she said she had kind of a limited practice - but since she said she was licensed I thought you'd know who she was. I wanted to track her down because I have had some intriguing ideas about some mutually benficial business opportunities that I wanted to share with her. So would you have her call me, please. I go by 'Bob The Artist' and my number is XXX-XXX.

You can just imagine how I'm responding to this one so far. This guy apparently thinks I'm some kind of fucking den mother to every little wandering goth chick who says she's a dominatrix. Oh, excuse me - licensed dominatrix, whatever the hell that means. I myself have got a business license, which I would bet money "Vanessa" doesn't – but there is no license-granting body specifically for dominatrixes. Not even if they have "a limited practice". If I thought such a thing would keep out the riff-raff, I'd vote for it, but I doubt it would even put a dent in the hitchhiking-Mistress population.
But wait, it gets better.

So, if you could just tell her I wanted to talk to her, that'd be great. But let me also tell you about myself – I'm Bob The Artist, I'm a very intense guy in my forties, well-built, good size, not into pain, but with fantasies of domination. So if you ever need a well-built, middle aged guy, intelligent, full head of hair, Scottish background, clean and STD free, for your sessions, we should talk about that. I'm fixed, too – don't know if that matters, heh heh. As an artist, I'm very intense. So if you need a drone or a stud, or anything like that, for your sessions, just call me, I'm Bob The Artist. Okay, thanks, and thanks for passing that message on to Vanessa.

He definitely wants me to know he's intense, doesn't he? And the Scottish thing – what is it with people telling me their ancestry lately?
And, of course, now I know exactly what the "mutually beneficial business opportunities" Bob The Artist wants to share with Vanessa are. The thing about these pitches that never ceases to amaze me is how guys like Bob The Artist always think they're making me a unique offer. Because, yeah, a girl like me just doesn't get men offering themselves to her for sexual services every day.
Oh – wait. Actually, I do! Actually, not only do I have people offering up their bodies to me for every imaginable use – and a few even I can't quite visualize - there are people who would pay me money to fuck someone else as part of a scene with me. (Not that I arrange such things, you understand.) And while he doesn't explicitly say so, I have a very strong suspicion that Bob The Artist would want me to pay him for his stud services. I could be wrong – but I bet I'm not. Historically, anytime a strange guy calls me up and starts talking to me about "business opportunities", what he always wants is A) to have sex, B) to get paid for it, and C) for me to make that happen.
Bob The Artist does get points for one thing – he didn't specify that he would expect to be fucking women only. Usually with calls like this, the guy will make sure to state that he's into pretty much anything – but no other men, of course! He's straight! So either Bob The Artist isn't straight - or it just didn't occur to him.
So, sorry Bob The Artist, but I don't have a license to pimp out well-built middle aged guys, even they are very intense. Guess you'll just have to drive around again until you find Mistress Vanessa.

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Another video snippet, in which Roman and I muse about just what we might do to our "The Weakest Kink" contest winner.
By the way, if you're wondering what I'm talking about with the "chopsticks" reference, I will refer you to the top image on the page of genital torment pictures I put up back in October. If you're new here since then: this is a graphics-heavy page, the images are fairly intense, and it is oh so very not work-appropriate.

Monday, February 07, 2005

By Request
Some of ya'll said, "Why don't you post a picture where you're facing the camera?" Okay - here's one. Self-portrait, early 2003.

Photographers info: I shot this on a Nikon Coolpix 950. I've done a lot of different shots involving this set of pocket doors, they're great. For this one, I put two cheap tungsten spots on the other side of the door, and taped white tissue paper all along the opening to diffuse the light. Then I shot through the glass panels of a French door. I intensified the grain slightly in Photoshop. It's one of the "Filtered Nudes" series.

Sunday, February 06, 2005

The Mistress's Saturday Night

Last night Max and I dropped by the SNM Underworld party for a little while. I didn't think I was really in the mood for a party – we came over right after working out at at the gym, and I was feeling rather low-energy. But Max, who is actually much more of a social butterfly than I am, insisted.

It turned out to be quite crowded – good news for Sam, the owner. The new shop looks great – from what one could see of it, given that it was stuffed with people. A lot of Goth kids in wild outfits, some kinksters I'm sort of slightly acquainted with, and a handful of what I think of as "my crowd" – Allena, Malixe, Lydia McLane, and few other folks.

I was hanging out by the food table stuffing grapes into my mouth – we hadn't gone to dinner yet – and being amused by the fact that I was one of the most non-fetishy looking people there, if you went purely on clothing. Many of the other guests had really pulled out the wardrobe stops – there was a lot of PVC, leather, rubber, corsets, you name it.

Now, I do own a fair amount of fetish gear like that - but you know, most of the time, it seems like a lot of bother to wear it. I dress up a bit for my clients because they deserve that, and I can enjoy getting all decked out for big-deal fetish occasions. But while Sam is great, and I wish her continued success, there's no way I was going to put on a rubber dress and thigh-high boots to come to the store opening party. Nine times out of ten if you see me at a local fetish event, I'll be wearing some skimpy, stretchy little cotton tank top, leather or PVC pants that are cut like jeans and are thus comfortable, and a pair of New Rock boots. Sexy, but comfy.

Last night I hadn't even bothered with that. I was wearing what I almost always wear when I need something slightly nicer than jeans: black slacks – from The Limited, no less - a plain black long-sleeved T-shirt, and boots. There was a time in my life – long ago and far away – when just wearing all black was a "statement", and people regarded nervously someone who was dressed so. That day is over. Soccer moms wear all black now. But I just haven't quite admitted that to myself, because I am so not a fashionista.

I noticed that almost all of my friends were also dressed down. Max was wearing jeans and a cotton shirt. (Though it was black.) Allena was wearing jeans and one of Monk's tank tops. And I'm pretty sure I remember Malixe wearing basic black jeans and shirt. So I was smiling to myself over the fact that three of the people who I knew to be quite advanced and ferocious BDSM players were really not dressing the part. Four, if you count me. (Lydia was the exception. She was dressed up in a very fetching little fetishy outfit, and she is a disturbingly creative sadist. Lydia has a way of laughing that makes even me a little uneasy.)

But I've observed this phenomenon more than once at Seattle fetish events over the years. I wouldn't exactly say that the newer/less truly kinky the person is, the more dressed up they are – that's not quite right, although sometimes it would be an easy conclusion to jump to.

But I do think that once you get to a certain place in BDSM, you realize that fetish clothes really don't matter so much. You no longer need to bolster up your sense of yourself as a kinkster, or to prove something to other people. If you just like them – and lots of good people do, including me occasionally - that's fine. But they become non-essential.

In spite of the fact that Max wasn't dressed up, he apparently got a bit toppy with one woman. A female acquaintance approached him, bringing with her a second woman, who promptly informed him that she was there to grovel to him. Max has no philosophical objections to strangers groveling to him, but as he said to me later, he likes to know why.

After some more conversation it became clear that she was groveling with the hopes of getting into the sold-out Bondage Intensive class he's teaching next weekend. (She wasn't actually down on the floor, in case you're wondering. This was apparently to be sort of a verbal groveling.)

Max kindly but firmly said no dice, the class is full and that's it. They had a discussion about some private lessons, which she seemed interested in. Max finished by saying, with a smile, "And by the way, I like the wrist cuffs you're wearing, and I'd be happy to take a rain check on the groveling."

Looking slightly startled, the woman allowed as how she was really more of a dominant than a submissive.

Max replied, "Well, if you're dominant, you should make eye contact with me when you have a conversation with me." Because she wasn't. Looking down and away while you talk to someone isn't exactly the best way to come across as all domly and shit. (Never mind the whole issue of groveling and wearing wrist cuffs.)

He was telling me this story over dinner afterwards, and I asked, "So? Did she make eye contact with you after that?"
"Yeah, she kinda did that slightly wide-eyed, I'm-not-looking-away thing."

Oh, that's not quite right either, although I'm not really sure what the truly domly thing to do what have been there. And Max has a way of putting one in a position where no matter which way you go, he's gotcha. Either way, her fetishy outfit didn't seem to be doing her much good.