Ring Ring!

Me: Hello?

Caller: Sacred Temple Mistress? I am your worshiper. I am Jarilo.

You know, if aliens ever land on earth, I just hope they telephone me when they arrive, because I'm so accustomed to weird phone calls that no matter how bizarre they are, they won't even faze me. And frankly, I'd be more likely to book a session with a space alien than Jarilo here. I'm a dominatrix, not a pagan priestess. But I'll dance a few steps with him until I see an easy exit line.

Me: This is Mistress Matisse, yes. Did you have a question about an appointment?

Caller: There is no Goddess but Goddess and you are my Goddess.

Me: Okay, well, that's nice. Did you, uh, want to tell your Goddess anything else?

Caller: It is the death of the old year, my Goddess. I must be sacrificed so I can be reborn.

Ah. I see the theme here. A lot of the pagan religions have a ritual death/rebirth myth. You didn't think the Christians invented all this stuff, did you? Hell no. They recycled all the old stories and put new trimmings on them. Part of me knows there's no way I'm going to see this guy, but the performer in me thinks, just for an instant, about where I could borrow a big stone knife and a long white robe. Do I know anyone who's got a field with a big rock in it?

Then I shake myself back to reality. There's a line between playing out a fantasy scene and participating in someone else's insanity. Plus, this type of crazy person generally doesn't have any money.

Me: Sorry, sweetheart, but I really don't want to sacrifice you.

Caller: Not sacrifice me?

Me: No. I don't want to sacrifice you. Maybe you should just go donate blood or something? I'm sure that'll make the crops grow just fine.

Jarilo mutters something and we hang up. A few minutes later the phone rings again.

Me: Hello?

Caller: Uh, yeah, do you do... [whispers]

Me: I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. Do I do what?

Caller: [coughs uneasily] Farts. I'm sorry if I offend you, but—do you do fart scenes?

Ah, eproctophilia—the eroticization of human farting. This is one of those fetishes that's apparently big online—despite the obvious difficulties in photographing a fart—but I don't get many requests for it. It's often viewed as related to scat fetishism, and I don't care for shit-play. But at least sticking your face up next to someone's ass while they fart has the advantage of being medically safe.

Still, I don't think this is a scene I'm interested in. For one thing, I must admit I've got a girlie-girl hang-up about it. I mean, yes, I have all the normal bodily functions. But the idea of farting on someone's face? No. It just doesn't square with my dainty femme self-image.

But I do have some compassion for the guy. It's got to be tough to be saddled with a fetish like farting. Even among kinksters, fart fetishists don't get much respect, and to vanilla people, this guy's turn-on is a Terrance and Phillip punch line.

Me: It's okay that you asked me, but I don't think so, sorry.

Caller: But—I mean, it's harmless. That's all I want. You couldn't...?

Me: I know it's harmless, but—how can I put this—it's not something I can just do on command, you know? It sort of happens if it happens. I wouldn't know how to schedule a session for something like that.

Caller: Um, well, you could eat certain foods and then see if that makes you...

I pause and consider that I'm talking to a man who has just seriously suggested that I test-drive gassy foods and then do some flatulence planning. What, am I supposed to keep a journal or something? Anyway, I'd have to charge him extra, because I obviously couldn't book another session that day. And I don't even like cauliflower or cabbage.

Me: No, this isn't for me, sorry. Bye.

We hang up. Some days, my job does run from the sacred to the profane.


Kink Calendar

FRIDAY 12/15


Erotic dance, spoken word, and other entertainments in an intimate art-studio setting. Little Red Studio, 1506 Franklin Ave E, 328-4758, www.littleredstudioseattle.com, 9 pm, $30, RSVP required.


A BDSM play party for gay, bi, and straight boys. Wet Spot, 1602 15th Ave W, building E, men-only@wetspot.org or 270-9746, 10 pm—3 am, $15, male ID and membership required.


The Olympians are a gay men's nudist social club that meets at a private Seattle location. Tim (the membership coordinator) says: "Be aware—these are not 'clothing optional' events, they are nude events." www.theolympians.net, olynewsletter@aol.com for location, 8—11:30 pm, $5.


It's that time of year again—motorcycle ice racing in slutty, slutty Everett (municipal motto: First in Anal Distention!™). Phil "Outlaw Quads" Pitter says: "Be aware—when we say 'no fat chicks,' we mean no fat chicks!" Everett Events Center, 2000 Hewitt Ave, 866-332-8499, 7:30 pm, $11—$51.



Led by noted percussionists Russell H. and Erika G., this discussion/demonstration of basic flogging techniques is open to all genders, orientations, and experience levels. Everyone pairs off and takes turns being the practice dummy, so bring a heavy jacket and a flogger if you have one, although some loaners are available. Wet Spot, 1602 15th Ave W, building E, info at flirtsinc@metalcat.com or 650-5234, 2—6 pm, $35, membership not required.


Love Lounge is an "adult social club" that holds events for bi women and male/female couples—no single men, please. Lovelounge@lovelounge.net, 9:30 pm, no cover, membership required, 21+ w/ID.

SUNDAY 12/17


A clothing-optional "swim and be social" event at an indoor pool. The Longhouse in Redmond, pool@wetspot.org or 270-9746, noon—4 pm, $10, RSVP and Wet Spot membership required, members may bring adult guests.

Burning Hearts Burlesque has moved their show to a new location and a new night. The Last Supper Club, 124 S Washington St, 898-9067, dinner service 8-10:30 pm, show 9—11:30 pm, $10 (admission price includes de