Joe Coleman



Joe Coleman

Joe Coleman film screening!
Saturday, March 27th at 7pm
Seattle Art Museum

If you are in the Seattle area this Saturday, I highly recommend checking this out.




Vampire Sex and Other Strange Tales From the Sea



Vampire Sex and Other Strange Tales From the Sea

And you thought my stories were troubling . . .

"When a male finds a female, he bites into her side, never letting go. 'He drinks her blood, in return for giving her sperm,' Dr Norman said."

Read more . . . via Fark


Diaper Boy: Topping From The Bottom



[The last tub pic this week, I swear]


Diaper Boy: Topping From The Bottom


I was introduced to Diaper Boy while working at a dungeon. At the time, I was the new girl lurking the dark hallways and the other mistresses took full advantage of my naivete. I wanted to learn everything about being a mistress: the vernacular, the equipment, props, gear, and the techniques. I was eager to please and I often assisted the mistresses in their sessions for free just to learn the trade. I was not allowed to do any BDSM sessions for quite some time. I had to prove that I had earned my mistress wings.

But one day . . . Mistress Sativa sat me down and told me that I was ready for my first customer. I was so happy. I could barely contain my excitement. Mistress Sativa gave me the details about the customer and what he liked. She called him Diaper Boy and told me that he had been coming in for about eight years. She told me that his fantasies have changed over the years and that his interests included equestrianism, boot worship, rubber, latex and that he was presently into infantilism, that is, with a twist. My brow raised.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Well, first of all you will need to buy thigh high PVC boots," she explained. "He will not see anyone who doesn't own a pair. You will also have to wear a PVC outfit. He likes how it sounds."

I must have looked concerned because the mistress added, "Don't worry, his shows are really easy. You just walk in and he'll be on all fours. He usually wears a black hood with just some PVC bottoms. I usually let him lick my boots for a little bit, then I collar him, put him on a leash and walk him down the hall back and forth a couple of times before returning to the dungeon. When we get back, I take a diaper out of his diaper bag. He takes off his bottoms and lays down. Now, you have to be careful not to touch his cock . . . that's illegal. Be careful about moving the diaper over his cock, too. He really pushes the legal boundaries. He'll probably try to get you to sprinkle powder. Don't go for it. You can get in trouble for that. After he has a diaper, he'll want you to put his rubber pants on next. They're adult-sized . . . I think he buys them off the Internet. They snap all the way down on each side so it may take some time getting them on. Just try not to touch him too much. You can offer him a bottle, although he doesn't seem to be into that as much anymore. Once his diaper is on, you can spank him a little with the riding crop. Make sure he has the diaper on first and don't hit him too hard 'cause he doesn't really like pain. He just likes the sound it makes. And during the show, he likes it if you play with your outfit a little. He likes the sound of the PVC. Now the show cost $90.00 for 30 minutes so try to fit in as much as possible. He might try to squeeze another diaper change, but only do it if you have time."

My head started swimming as I thought about all the things he liked and what he wanted to fit into the 30 minutes. He seemed a little complicated. I mean, I wasn't familiar with someone having so many different fetishes at the same time and trying to touch on all of them during one show seemed challenging.

"No problem," I said, smiling.

I could sense the mistress was trying not to bust out laughing. I felt a bit set up. I knew I didn't have the boots, but I figured I would go ahead and invest in a pair as I was certain I would be doing this work for a while and that the money I would be making would more than cover the investment.

"So if you want to do it, I'll set up the appointment. He usually comes in Thursday nights, is that O.K. with you?"

"Sure," I said.

It was Friday and I figured that would give me plenty of time to buy the boots, a new hot outfit, and to practice my routine. The weekend came and I stopped by Metro to pick up a pair of tall shiny black boots. I perused the racks looking for something sexy to wear. The choices were overwhelming. I settled on an extra short skirt and matching top. I hurried home to try on my new outfit, which I modeled around the apartment for my boyfriend.

I spent the following days at the dungeon looking over all the implements and going over the show in my mind's eye. Wednesday night rolled around. It was dead and we were watching movies in the living room off the dressing room. The phone rang, which we have to answer. I was working with Mistress Sativa and she quickly answered the phone. She always answers the phone first even though the rules say that each girl gets a turn. I could really give a fuck, though. I always thought it was creepy talking about myself in third person, which is what we do so the guys think we're a clerk and not the mistress/model. This is suppose to prevent callers from harassing us.

"Good evening," she said in a sticky sweet voice. "Oh, sure she's here. Just a minute." She put a hand over the receiver and whispered, "It's Diaper Boy. He wants to talk to you about tomorrow." Oh fuck, I thought to myself. What does he want to know?

I took the phone from her hand. "Hi, this is Kate."

"Hi Mistress Kate, this is Pejman. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow night."

"Yeah, me too."

"I was wondering what size you are?"

"Size? Ah . . . small, I guess."

"Small . . . O.K. I was just asking because I was going to bring you a pair of rubber pants."

[Note: In this instance, rubber pants are diaper covers.]

"Rubber pants?"

"Yeah, I get a pair for all the girls."

"Oh, really."

"Yeah, they're really cool. They come in clear, black, blue, and hot pink. What color do you want?"

"Ah . . . hmmm . . . how about blue?"

"Cool, that's the same color as mine. We can match."

"Well, Pejman, it has been a pleasure meeting you, but a customer just came in and I have to go. I look forward to our show tomorrow night."

"Yeah, me too. They told you what I like?"

"Yeah, they told me all about it."

"Cool. Can't wait. I'll be there at 9:00."

"See you then."

"Goodbye, Mistress Kate."

I hang up the phone. What the fuck? No one told me about the rubber pants. What kind of mistress wears those? So I asked Mistress Sativa: "What's up with the rubber pants? Did he buy you a pair?"

"Hell no. I mean . . . he tried, but I refused to wear them. I don't really do shows for him anymore, but Mistress De Sade does and I think he bought her a pair."

At this point, there was no doubt that I was being set up. Mistress Sativa was loving every minute of it like some agro senior picking on some gullible freshman. However, I was still going through with the show, thinking it would be an interesting experience, to say the least.

So Thursday evening finally came around and I started getting ready since I knew what time he was coming in. On went the black panties, black bra, black PVC skirt and top, black fishnet stockings, and black thigh high boots. I put on my black wig--chin length with short blunt bangs. I made my face up real good--dark brows, black liner, and bright red lips. When I was satisfied with my appearance, I grabbed the house CD (Mezzanine, Massive Attack) and made my way down the dark corridor to the dungeon. I flipped on the light and checked to make sure everything was clean and in order. I put the CD in the player and left the room. I went back and sat in the living room and watched Donnie Darko, waiting for Diaper Boy's arrival.

It was about ten minutes before nine when Diaper Boy arrived. It had been totally dead and the sound of the beep beep of the front door took me by surprise. I was working with Mistress Sativa again and it was her turn to go out and greet the customer. She squinted at the monitor, trying to make out the figure.

"I think that might be Diaper Boy. I'll go see."

She walked out of the room and a couple seconds later I saw her on the monitor. I got real close and tried to hear what they were saying. I couldn't really make anything out, but the way they were interacting, it seemed like they knew each other. He looked like a normal guy--average height and weight and he was dressed in business casual like he had just gotten off of work. He was carrying a duffle bag in one hand. He sat down in a chair and Mistress Sativa left the room.

"He's here," said Mistress Sativa as she walked back into the room. "He's all yours."

I suddenly felt like I was getting a touch of stage fright. This was all new to me and I worried that I would end up making a fool out of myself. But then again, he was the one wearing the diaper, right? So I got up to greet him.

"Good luck," said Mistress Sativa, smiling.

"Thanks."

I walked out to the lobby. Diaper Boy stood up.

"Hi Mistress Kate, I'm Pejman."

"Hi, nice to meet you."

I went behind the desk to get the paperwork and the money part taken care of.

"Follow me," I said, opening the door to the corridor.

We walked in silence down the long dark hallway. I opened the door to the dungeon and told him I would be right back.

"Wait, I have something for you," he said, going through his bag. He took out a diaper bag and handed it to me. "This is for you," he said, smiling.

"Thanks."

I took the bag and closed the door so he could get ready. While I was waiting I looked through the diaper bag. There were adult-sized diapers, powder, rubber pants, and a bottle. My . . . how interesting.

A couple minutes later I knocked on the door.

"Yes, Mistress Kate. I'm ready."

I opened the door to find Diaper Boy on all fours atop a towel in the middle of the room. He was wearing nothing but a pair of black PVC booty shorts and a PVC hood, behind which his eyes peered eerily up at me.

"Good evening, Mistress Kate," he said, lowering his eyes.

His voice sounded different now. Much softer, almost weak. He definitely was in his submissive role now.

I walked over to the CD player and pushed play. The song "Angel" filled the dungeon air.

"Good evening. Were you a good boy today?" I asked, picking up a thick leather collar and a leash.

"I was good, Mistress Kate."

"I'm glad to hear that. Maybe I'll be nice to you today."

I bent over and put the collar around his neck and clasped the leash on the silver hoop.

"Since you were such a good boy today, I'm going to take you for a walk."

"Thank you, Mistress Kate."

I grabbed the riding crop and out the door we went for a nice stroll down the long dark corridor. Diaper Boy walked on his hands and knees, while I led him on the leash. I walked in front of him as I was the mistress, but I sensed he wanted to be spanked as he was naughty and tried to walk ahead. Of course he received a couple whips from the crop, but I remembered what Mistress Sativa told me about him not wanting to be hit too hard so I made sure he would just feel a nice sting. After a couple trips back and forth down the corridor, we went back to the dungeon. Since I felt he was mostly well behaved in the corridor, I rewarded him by allowing him to lick my boots a little. I'm not sure why it didn't occur to me earlier, but the sight of his tongue lovingly worshipping my boots, made me realize that I was going to have to clean these somehow. My mind wandered a little and I started thinking about antibacterial gel and wipes and if these would do the trick. His saliva gave my new shiny boots a dull glaze. He then went to work on my heel, taking it deep into his throat, like he was sucking the most magnificent cock. I was repulsed thinking he didn't know where these boots had been. For all he knew, I could have been walking up and down First Avenue in these babies, prancing through puke, piss, and dog shit for that matter. Fortunately for his health, however, they had never hit the pavement. After he had licked both boots up and down and sucked the heals clean, I told him that was enough.

"Yes, Mistress Kate. Thank you."

I took the collar and leash off of Diaper Boy and told him to walk back to his towel on his hands and knees. He did exactly what I asked. He sat there waiting like a golden retriever waits for his master to throw a ball. My mind raced a little and I tried to remember what came next. Before I could say anything, Diaper Boy pointed to the diaper bag.

"You want to wear a diaper now?" I asked.

He nodded. It was obvious by his response that he was now in baby mode and couldn't talk.

I walked over to his diaper bag and took out one adult-sized diaper while Diaper Boy pulled his PVC bottoms off. He laid down on his back totally nude (except for his hood) and eagerly waited for me. I unfolded the giant diaper and paused, wondering how I was going to put this thing on without touching him.

"Lift your hips," I demanded.

Diaper Boy lifted his hips off the ground and I slid the diaper underneath. He lowered his bottom down onto the diaper. I stared down at his placid adult-sized penis, thinking how strange and wonderful my job was. I pulled out the sticky tabs and secured each side of the diaper, trying my best to avoid the thick curly black hair covering his thighs and hips . . . and everywhere for that matter.

"He pointed again at the diaper bag and kinda made a grunting sound."

"You want to wear your rubber pants?"

He nodded.

I took out the huge shiny blue, jewel tone rubber pants out of the diaper bag.

"Lift your hips up again, sweetie."

I was in mother mode now--not mistress. I wasn't sure how this whole thing worked as I was learning, but at this point I just thought, fuck it.

He lifted his hips and I slid the rubber pants under. He came down, and I started snapping . . . and snapping. When I was all done he crawled over to his duffle bag and took out a plastic bag and tossed it over to me. I opened it up and found another pair of shiny blue rubber pants . . . except smaller.

"For me?"

He nodded, smiling.

"You want me to wear these?"

He crawled back to his duffle bag and took something else out. He crawled over to me and laid out $60.00 and then sat back down on his towel. At this point it appeared that the scene was now changing and he wanted me to be his playmate. I looked at the $60.00 and I looked at the rubber pants. I took off my skirt and put the rubber pants on over my underwear and kneeled down in front of him.

He bobbed up and down with excitement, clapping his hands.

He then settled down and started rubbing himself through his rubber pants. He looked at me and began moaning . . . not like an adult male, but like an adult male trying to sound like a baby moaning, which was quite disturbing, to say the least. Needless to say, I went along with his fantasy and started rubbing myself through my rubber pants and rubbing my PVC top as he liked the sound. I could tell he was getting really excited because the whites of his eyes suddenly got really big, which stood out against the stark black color of his hood, which he was still wearing even though he was a baby now. Hmmmm . . . dunno? The fifth song "Exchange" now played in the background and I sensed that he knew his time was running out. One hand now disappeared beneath the rubber pants and I'm sure the diaper, too. His arm jerked wildly as his badly simulated baby moan began to crescendo. His body relaxed and all was silent. The Diaper Boy had come . . . in his diaper.

The timer went off, signaling the end of the show. I stood up and turned it off. I took the rubber pants off and handed them to him.

"No, those are for you . . . for next time," he said, smiling.

"Oh, thanks," I said, smiling back.

I put my skirt back on, picked up the $60.00, and headed towards the door.

"I'll be right back with a hot cloth," I said, walking out the door.

I went to the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth out of the closet, and ran it under the hot water. I went back to the dungeon and tossed him the cloth.

"I'll let you get ready. I'll be back in a couple of minutes to walk you out."

"Thanks," he said. His voice and demeanor returning to normal.

A couple minutes later I knocked on the door.

"Come in," he said.

I opened the door to find Diaper Boy fully dressed with duffle bag in hand.

"I put the rubber pants in the diaper bag for you," he said, pointing to the floor.

"Oh, thanks."

We engaged in some small talk as we walked together down the corridor and into the lobby .

"Thanks for the show. You did a good job."

"Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Maybe next time you could wear a diaper, too?"

I didn't respond . . . just smiled.

"Have a good evening, Pejman."

"You too, Mistress Kate."


Dr. Menlo



Dr. Menlo

I was able to sneak a quik pic of my paramour, Dr. M., the other nite while we were in the U-District, waiting for the Metro. He doesn't know I'm posting this, so we'll see how long this post sticks. Not only is he one of the most beautiful human beings that I have ever had the honor to know, he is definitely one of the most talented.

Manifesto in Hypertext
By Dr. Menlo

Everything is easy in retrospect. It's easier at least--what was wrong, what was right. No, wait, this always changes per age . . . hm, here is the truth: history both cycles and evolves. Hope springs eternal, baby.

Anyway--there has been one universal struggle going on--the power of man and his mind and his own, individual superb abilities to manage himself and his own affairs . . . against the tyranny of those who wish to control others solely for the purpose of furthering their own material advantage. This is the fight, traditionally, of the underdog vs. the giant. Of Robin Hood vs. the crooked rich. Of Socrates spreading the world and paying with his death. Of David vs. Goliath. As the women vs. the men who would suffer (suffrage?) them, as the blacks who were whipped and chained vs. their white American masters, as the powderkeg of the massive young getting together to just say no to 58,000 American kids killed for no good reason, not to mention all the Vietnamese and their neighborhood, too . . . and now, there is the greatest battle of all: the people of the world vs. the corporations and tyrannies who control it. It's about globalism all right--about the globalism of the world by the people who live in it, rather than those who would exploit it.

This is the present state of the eternal revolution that has been going on since human society began. Not everyone immediately gets this. But they will. Be there first: Get there now.

It will not look like any revolution that has come before, as much as they tell you that. This is the newest--and it will be the greatest--nonviolent truly global revolution there ever was. (The people, anyway, would like for it to be nonviolent. The American/global police state has other ideas.)

So long as I presently know, the internet was first used to organize revolution in East Timor. Without the internet, the success in Seattle--nay, the birthplace nascent of this modern badass movement--would not have been so meta.

This learning curve will only improve. Support the open access movement: buy a friend a computer. More will happen in this direction. This energy is pure. It will win out, no matter how many heads they bash against the sidewalk, no matter how many people they beat up and jail, no matter how many lies the corporate media keeps turning over and over in their tacky glitterboxes to the world--this is the way our society will evolve: fighting for human rights, liberty and justice for the people and the ecosystems they live in all over the world, and goddamn well nigh beyond. Or die trying. Zapata: "I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees." So would Patrick fucking Henry. And Thomas Jefferson, too?

But it doesn't have to be like that. More likely, the revolution will take place behind that screen you're presently looking at--and here's to ya kid--sitting out there in the lone and reading your computer: the future of the universe is in your hands. And let me ask you this: what takes more intelligence, really--making a living offa fucking things up or producing a legacy out of creating something new that will leave your cerebral-powered birthmark on the ass of this mind-boggling metaverse we all now presently share? Time magazine--as much as it sucks--gave it's man of the century award to Albert Einstein, not Ronald Reagan.

Be a genius, not a stomper of ants.

And log on to saving the world today.

[This manifesto was originally published in Andrei Codrescu's Exquisite Corpse, as well as Jason Lubyk's New World Disorder Magazine.]

japattack.com

japattack

(via)

Two Dollar Poem



Two Dollar Poem

There was a lovely young man that I met the other day on Broadway. He had dark curly hair, light eyes, and braces. He was standing next to an old guitar, holding some papers and called out to me as I approached.

"Hi, my name's Noah. I'm a singer/songwriter from Boston and . . ."

I stop.

"Oh, thank you so much for stopping. I really appreciate it. I've written some poems and I was wondering if you'd like to buy one?"

"Sure, how much?"

"Whatever you'd like to give."

I walk down this street every night after work and during that daily trip I must get hit up for money at least five times. Normally, I'll smile and politely demur, while on the inside, I am alternately saddened and irritated about having to make my way through what amounts to a gauntlet every day. Of course I am compassionate toward the homeless, but the kids on this particular street are largely young and punky and in almost no way evocative of sympathy--at least the kind of sympathy that would entail me stopping and giving then and there.

But this kid, he looked fresh to the streets; he was healthy, enthusastic, and seemed sincerely sweet. He was different. I wanted to help.

I looked through my purse and realized I only had a couple of dollars and I think, what an insult.

"Is two dollars O.K.?"

"Sure!" he says, beaming.

I hand him the two dollars and he hands me the poem.

"Thank you so much," he says, stuffing the money into his pocket.

"Good luck," I say and I walk around the corner out of view.

I read the poem as I walk home. It is a single photocopied piece of paper with text only on one side, surrounded by doodles. The central poem goes like this:

"Have A Mind And Do Not Be Blind! Give Me Clothes Give Me Shelter, Had A Chance Should Have Felt Her. Now I'm Lonely Now I'm Cold, I Can't Believe The Lies You've Told. Step From Darkness-In To Light, You Don't Love Me You Have That Right. En-Amored Heart There's Pain To Follow When I Awake Alone Tomorrow."

He's no Bukowski, but the kid has heart.

Who Links Here

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