I'm not an artist, although I've played one—not on TV, in real life.
My first professional dungeon space was a ramshackle little place in the South Lake Union industrial area. It resembled a beat-up office trailer; the entire building leaned to the left, and everything rattled when I walked down the hall. But it was all mine, and the management company didn't seem to care what exactly I was doing in it. Indifferent landlords are a dominatrix's best friend—you don't want to have to explain that person tied to the St. Andrews Cross to a conscientious owner dropping in unexpectedly to check your furnace filter. I claimed to be an artist, which covers a multitude of weirdness, but I knew I was taking a calculated risk, and I vividly recall the day my luck ran out.
I was doing a session with my submissive Jae and a female client—I'll call her Anne—who was proving a challenge. I'd tried for several sessions to create the experience I felt Anne was seeking, but it just wasn't happening. I suspected it was partly because Anne wanted me to be more sexual with her, which I'd refused to do. It was frustrating, and I was determined to make this particular scene fly.
Jae and I tag-teamed Anne for a while, but we both knew it wasn't quite working. There's an energy you can feel when someone is really into a scene, and everything about Anne suggested that this was all very nice, but...
Above Anne's blindfolded head, Jae gave me a "Well, now what?" look, and I didn't have an answer. So I crossed a boundary. I decided to put my fist in Anne's pussy. Even as I poured lube on my fingers, I thought, I really shouldn't do this... But the devil on my other shoulder said, Go ahead, you know she wants you to. No one's going to know.
Anne's pussy closed down tight around my wrist. I reached forward and pulled her hair, hard, with my free hand, and she arched and shuddered and yowled like a cat. Jae and I grinned at each other. Bingo! I was pumping my fist and Anne was writhing and gasping and Jae was running a pinwheel over her damp breasts, and everything was great—until the doorbell rang.
Anne didn't seem to hear it over the music I had playing. But Jae and I did. We froze and stared at each other in horror. "What the fuck?" I mouthed. Then I made a hand signal that Jae correctly interpreted as "Go and deal with whoever that is without letting Anne know anything is happening!" I stayed where I was and kept my fist moving. No one should be ringing that doorbell, but I'd waited a long time to push Anne over the edge, and by god, I wasn't going to let my victory go easily. I just hope whoever it is can't hear Anne moaning.
After a few uneasy minutes, Jae slipped back into the room. Putting her mouth next to my ear, she whispered, "It's the new landlord. He says he just bought the building, and he wants to come in."
"Oh, perfect. Dammit." Then I looked at her. "Tell me you didn't open the door without putting some clothes on."
"No, I just squatted down and talked to him through the mail slot. I told him we were rehearsing a nude play and couldn't open the door right now."
"You told him what? Wait, never mind. Is he gone?"
"I think so, but I'm going to get dressed and go outside to make sure."
Jae did succeed in holding off the eager new owner that day, but I'd completely lost my focus with Anne, and the scene fizzled. Shortly thereafter, I found out he'd come into my place later, when I wasn't there, and shortly after I got notice that my lease would not be renewed. I wasn't too sorry—it was time for me to get a better space—but I did wish I could have seen the look on the landlord's face when he saw that the art I was creating wasn't quite what he might have had in mind.
FRIDAY 12/1
WOMEN-ONLY NIGHT AT THE WET SPOTSocialize, flirt, and do BDSM with the girls. All orientations welcome. Wet Spot, 1602 15th Ave W, building E, 270-9746, women-only@wetspot.org, 9 pm—3 am, $15, members only, female ID required.
SATURDAY 12/2
CASCADE HANDBALLERSTrim your fingernails, gentlemen. This fist-fucking club for gay men meets at a private location in Seattle. RSVP and info at rhsea@comcast.net, 6 pm, $10 before 8 pm/$15 after.
LUTEFISK AND MEATBALL DINNERA traditional Norwegian dinner (no girls allowed!), including boiled potatoes, coleslaw, lefse, ice cream, and the customary group ejaculation onto the host to show one's appreciation for a satisfying meal. Sons of Norway Hall, 23905 Bothell-Everett Highway, Bothell, 633-4133, noon—6 pm, $5—$17.50, male ID required.
SUNDAY 12/3
OWNING DESIREIn this class, instructor Teri Ciacchi explores how to identify and communicate your desires in a way that will inspire your partner. Wild at Heart, 1111 NW Leary Ave, www.wildatheartxxx.com or 782-5538, 5:30—7:30 pm, $20.
GENDER FUCKED: HOW TRANS PEOPLE GET OFFLearn sex-toy tips and advanced sexuality techniques for transsexual, transgender, genderqueer, intersexed, and gender-variant folks and their partners. Babeland, 707 E Pike St, 328-2914, 7:30 pm, $30.
ROPE BONDAGE CLASS: PARTIAL SUSPENSIONMax teaches rope bondage classes before the monthly Bondage Is the Point party. This class covers "almost" suspension, with the tied-up person staying on the floor but with a vertical line taking some of their weight. Wet Spot, 1602 15th Ave W, building E, 270-9746 or www.bondagelessons.com, 2:30 pm, $30—$35, nonmembers welcome at workshop, members only at party that follows.
MONDAY 12/4
THE WOMEN'S WELCOMING COMMITTEEA friendly discussion group for women of all orientations, the WWC meets monthly to answer questions and provide resources for women new to the Seattle BDSM/fetish community. Hot Dish, 2255 NE 65th St, www.wwcseattle.org, 7—9 pm, $3 suggested donation.
