No one walks in LA, but anyone can shoot a handgun

I leave Los Angeles tonight. I had an absolutely amazing time. The service here is phenomenal! People consistently went way out of their way to assist me. I had two of the best dates I've had in six months. Reconnected with an old friend whose love of LA & Santa Monica was infectious. Perhaps I didn't promote my visit heavily enough, but I barely saw any clients; so fear not NYC, I'm not leaving yet. I caught the new Neil Gaiman & Dave McKean flick, Mirrormask. As to be expected, it was beautiful and enjoyable. But the absolute highlight of my trip was shooting pistols last night at the LA Gun Club! Though I've shot rifles in NYC, the laws are much stricter and you can not just stroll into a shooting range and say, "hey pass me that beretta." Out here, you can!!! Just not alone. Some kind of suicide prevention thing. So I hit LA's craigslist with the following ad:

Want to go shoot guns and/or see the Weegee exhibit at the Getty?

And you thought that was just a catchy title. Nope, I'm serious. I live in NY and am just here on vacation for one more day. NYC gun laws seem to be MUCH stricter. I've never shot a handgun and have always wanted to. I called a gun club here in LA, but people aren't allowed to go alone. Wanna go shoot guns?

I also am interested in checking out the Weegee exhibit at the Getty.

I don't think there is much opportunity for conversation at shooting ranges, but the following outlines a bit about me and whom I typically seek.

I would like to meet someone interesting, intelligent and articulate. I am, of course, all of the above. I like violent asian films (think Takashi Miike), am relatively apolitical, have a twisted sense of humor, am an unrepentant smoker, believe deeply in the merits of caffeine, am dangerously impulsive, find spelling/grammatical errors on shop signs both irksome and occasionally amusing. Oh yeah, the shallow stuff. I'm pretty, sexy, tall with dark red hair, hazel eyes, long muscular legs and a voluptuous figure.

I like smart men without pretension. Please have a solid grasp of the English language, lived adventurously enough to have a few tales to tell and know how to laugh. Tall wiry guys typically turn my head but a fully functioning brain and a twisted sense of humor are required to hold my interest. Kindly reply with your photo and something about you that might pique my interest.

So...are you ready? I'm headed out to see a flick now, will check my email around 6:30/7, the range is open until 11!

I received about twenty-five responses by the time I returned from the movie. Some were downright scary. The guy built like a linebacker in a black suit, black shades and "enforcer" written all over him, sent a one line reply, "I love guns." The teenaged gangbanger complete with bandana tied around his head, said, "Yo! bitches wit guns are hot!!!!"

The guy I actually went out with really fit no stereotype. Intensely intelligent, hardcore geek cred, MacGyver claimed skills that I didn't have the opportunity to test, an absolutely sincere smile and enough in common with me to talk until six am.

We shot off about a hundred rounds each, using a Beretta 92FS and a Kimber Eclipse Custom II. I was so excited when we arrived that I actually jumped up and down like a little girl. However, as the guy behind the counter talked to us about which guns to choose, I was suddenly sobered by how absolutely dangerous guns are. So it was with a healthy respect for the weapons we were about to use that I put on the eye and ear protection they provided. But by the time we were actually in the lane, I was totally psyched and excited again. It was SOOOOO much fun.

So...I'm off for my last LA shopping trip (the amount of money I've spent this week is obscene).

Still alive and kicking, now in LA!

So...I'm in Los Angeles. I've had the greatest time from the moment I arrived. Spent the weekend in Beverly Hills at The Four Seasons for a family wedding and am now partying like a rockstar in West Hollywood. Had my first famous client, don't bother asking, I WILL NEVER TELL.

This week in fetish

Sunday night I unintentionally ended up at Byte. I live on the same block. Month after month I'm headed home and suddenly there's fetish on my block. I always find it slightly disconcerting. It is also amusing how some people don't even recognize me out of gear. But this time, I was locked out of my apt and after hanging around outside for awhile waiting for someone to come in or out of my building, I finally just went in for a drink. Many of the usual suspects were there. I chatted briefly with Harlequinn, Domina M and Cyber. I spent more time with Ardenne. She was carrying the most magnificent crop. I finally met Troy Orleans, she actually recognized me while I was having a smoke and introduced herself. In some ways it is bizarre to be at a fetish event in a t-shirt, denim skirt & cowboy boots. On the other hand, I'm a domme regardless of what I'm wearing.

On Monday I sessioned with the victim I'll be using for tomorrow's demo at Rapture. He was great fun to play with, but we actually got along so well and were chatting so much that I had to tell him to shut up because our conversation was distracting me from our play.

Tonight I dropped a hundred bucks in less than ten minutes buying stockings over at The Sock Man. I got old fashioned cuban heels, fishnets, thigh highs and traditional black stockings galore. As I don't have any stocking fetishists booked for this week, it was a kinda frivolous purchase, but honestly I just couldn't resist.

Teslamania

So...thanks for the responses regarding my demo, I think I've settled on a victim. I just came across this and think I may need to attend. Afterall, the violet wand is a tesla coil. Who is this woman claiming to be NYC's tesla queen? That's ME damn it!!!

The LAST TESLAMANIA EVER!!!!!! “Bitchin” “Totally radical, braugh” “Heavy stuff, man” “This is the ultimate” "Gecko tends to perform loads of weird science, typically with one or both of the Tesla coils in house with cybertronic themes, breaking down the barriers between, science, sex and nature." audience responses

The mistress of the Tesla Coil and co-director of Collective:Unconscious, Gecko Saccomanno, is moving away, so this will be her very last show ever. For 5 years she has been WOWing you with all things Tesla in the longest running tribute to the forgotten genius and inventor Nikola Tesla....TESLAMANIA!!!

See the largest Tesla Coil on Manhattan-Electric bolts with a 6 foot span. Watch electric bolts shoot from lobster claws + out of flowers, as neon tubes glow from across the room!! Smell the fresh scent of ozone!!!

Come join her, plus Tesla master Jamie Mereness + the Most Special of Special
guests the Galorious Missy Galore for one last BLAST!!!!!!


Friday September 16th 7.30 pm
Collective Unconscious
279 Church
http://www.weird.org
http://www.chickscook.org

reservations 212 254 5277

Free Heavy Medical Training Session..you want it?

I saw the opening midnight showing of Corpse Bride and without admitting to resurrecting my adolescent gothiness, I adored it!!! But moving onto something a touch more hardcore. I will be hosting a medical training session involving sounds, catheters, piercings and an enema. Unfortunately I do not yet have a test subject (victim?). I am well experienced in the forementioned procedures, thus I will be showing several newer dommes my techniques as well as allowing them to try them under my supervision. Is invasive heavy medical and exhibition your thing? Email me immediately and an incredible multi-domme session is yours at no charge.

Oysters and Electric Blue Latex on the roof

The funk of my last post only lasted a day, sorry to have left the blogosphere under the impression that I was still stuck in an introspective slump. Actually life has been quite grand. One of the ways that might best be illustrated is that I've had oysters four times in the last seven days. I highly recommend all of the following restaurants: Blue Ribbon, Jack's Luxury Oyster Bar, Marlow & Sons and Balthazar.

I did a photoshoot on the Arena roof with Ingela. Not only is she incredibly hot, as evidenced below, she's just as good on the other side of the lens. Most amusing though is that at the moment this shot was taken, in her breathy, ever-so sexy Swedish-accented voice, she is saying to me, "Close your eyes. Open your mouth. You are in ecstasy! Show me ecstasy!"
ps...The Trainer receives full credit for the state of my legs in this photo, see going to the gym pays off!

I've finally done a bit of updating to my professional site AND I'll be guest Mistressing at The Den of Iniquity in Los Angeles October 10th-13th. Aren't you excited? I am!!!

nothing sexy just a bit of self head shrinking, feel free to check back in a day or two for something more interesting.

I've had several sessions recently that probably warrant posts, but I'm just not in a sexy story mood tonight. I fear I might be getting depressed again. It could just be a premenstrual thing or a caffeine & sugar high & low thing, but in the last two days my moods have swung so high and then relatively low. It is nowhere near debilitating (because I've been there and remember how that felt). It is just sad and somewhat empty. It may also be in reaction to the fact that I've recently done some very adult /take care of myself things and lest I allow myself to actually move forward, a few self-sabotaging moves are now in order, of course. But overthinker that I am, I'm aware of all of the above. Which leaves me on the deck of the beach house, friday night, one am, labor day weekend chainsmoking and trying to sort it all out.

In about two weeks it will be a full year since I left Craig. About a month ago, it was four years since my mother died. I still haven't gotten her gravestone erected. Obvious psychological block compounded by guilt. I turned 30 about four months ago. There are so many dumb little things that we make our personal landmarks in time. Lola (my french bulldog godchild) may be pregnant and one of the puppies may be marked for me. So in about two months I may have a french bulldog puppy. As if I were ready for that kind of responsibility!

More Summery Thoughts: Peeing in the Pool

I was obsessively checking my logs this morning (yes I know from whence you've surfed or searched to me) and found this chick. I so looooove her latest entry, entitled: Do You Pee In The Pool?

Have you wanted to, but never did because you were told that there's a blue, purple, or red dye that will colour the water if you do? I don't know if you've heard it, but I was told that line as a kid. I always believed it, too.

I probably wouldn't have done it myself, but I used to look around in the pool as a kid passed by to see if a coloured streak followed the kid while swimming. That way, I'd know if they peed in the pool, and I'd know to avoid that area while swimming.

She maintains that she never put it to the test. I, however was not the same type of child. I was about 5 or 6 and my mother and Aunt June were playing cards (most likely canasta or may I, why don't I have weekly card games?) in her glassed in back deck. So they had a basic view of me, but had I started drowning, it would have taken some time to get to me. Before I got in the pool, Aunt June told me that peeing was not permitted in her pool. She said I better not, because if I did, a big black circle would form in the water right around me and she would know. I solemnly nodded my head and then bounced off into the backyard to get in the pool. Approximately twenty minutes later I burst into the room where they were playing cards and shrieked, "You lied Aunt June! You lied! There wasn't any black ring!" Luckily, rather than being angry at me, they laughed and asked why I had peed in the pool and I readily admitted that I wanted to see the black ring. THAT was the type of child I was.

Summer...

Those of you who actually know me (or have been trying to book an appointment with me), know that I've spent the bulk of this summer in the Hamptons. No, I'm not out here to party, I'm a nanny, remember? I've had an amazing summer! Do you realize I'm getting paid to build sandcastles and go swimming? My bosses have given me relatively free reign on a house on the beach with a heated pool. Ummm, yeah, it does rock. Sometimes the kids stay over with me, but most nights I'm alone. Which means skinny dipping, smoking and reading. There's no real appropriate segue here. I guess I was just thinking about summer and work after reading this article. I have yet to meet Troy Orleans, but I've consistently heard great things about her. I understand the heat being problematic, but where the hell is she renting space that the air conditioning isn't cranked to the max? I spent an hour and a half encased in leather on Friday for an interrogation/torture scene and um, well, I was fine. Whatever, maybe that's just me. Things were slow earlier in the summer, and maybe it is partially that I'm only in the city and available a few days a week, but business is booming lately. Or maybe it is this amazing snapshot of my legs:

When your landlord's lawyer is submissive, another only me anecdote

So many stories to tell. The first actually happened several months ago. I knew it was blogworthy but I never got around to it. Being the fiscally irresponsible adult (?!?!) that I am, I often end up in court with my landlord. We arrange a stipulation agreement and everything is fine in the end. Except when I miss stip payments and come home to find a marshall's notice of pending eviction. Oops. Back to court I go. This time a touch nervous, as I have really pushed things a bit farther than might be acceptable and the judge could actually elect to allow my landlord to throw me out. Such was the situation about two months ago. I arrived for court in a denim miniskirt (my summer uniform), a black v-necked shirt and cowboy boots. I meet with my landlord's lawyer in the hallway of the court building. He's cordial, friendly even. He begins filling out paperwork but is interrupted by some other lawyers for a round of gossip. In a teasing tone, certainly not as though I were barking an order, I told him to get back to work. It seems that triggered a response. Negotiations began. In no uncertain terms I spell out the terms that I want, knowing full well that my landlord will never agree, but hoping for a point to begin bargaining from. He agreed to everything I requested. Put it through the court without calling my landlord for approval!!! As we finished up, he asked what I did for a living. I was evasive, I said that I have a few different freelance jobs. He replied, "I'm submissive to my wife. Are you a Domme?" I was so shocked, I just told him the truth. He said, "I KNEW IT!" I asked how and he referred back to me telling him to get back to work. I suspect he may have recognized me or maybe his submissive sixth sense was just responding to me.

Five Days Naked in the Desert

Yes, it is true. I went on another naturist vacation. This time it was to a resort in Palm Springs, CA called Desert Shadows. It was, as I expected, magnificent; I met some wonderful people and had a great relaxing time. With one exception. I had an accident while I was there. Before you all freak out, I will preface this story by saying that I have suffered no permanent damage or disfigurement, though I surely could have. Most of you know that I am a smoker. I am rather committed to my camel lights. So it is perfectly understandable that when I went to the pool that first day, I brought a towel, my smokes, a lighter and the book I was reading (Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson ). Having never been to Cali before, I had no concept of just how damn hot it gets there. I left my stuff on a table beside a lounge chair and got in the pool. Less than an hour later there was loud shotgunish sound and we discovered that my lighter had exploded from the heat. OK. no worries. Lesson learned, DO NOT leave a lighter exposed to direct sunlight when temperatures are above 100 degrees. You think this story's over, but it's ready to begin. I adopt the habit of covering my lighter with a towel or my book. Two days later, I pull a lighter from my purse and place a cigarette between my lips. As I flicked it on, it exploded in my face. There was a ball of fire directly in front of me. I stepped back, waved my hands back and forth and ran into my room to splash water on my face. I lost several curls, singed my eyebrows and lashes, but the real pain was inside my nose. The heat and fire had gone up my nostrils. No nose hair here! I iced it for an hour and then obtained some Ayr with Aloe gel which relieved the dryness and pain. It wasn't until a day or so later when scabs began to form along the edges of my nostrils and septum that I realized how badly I had been burned. Needless to say I used matches for the remainder of the trip. I repeat, I'm fine now. It was scary when it happened but I'm over it and I'm just grateful that the damage was minimal and that I recovered so quickly.

Obviously that had nothing to do with the fact that I was naked. But then other than the fact that I'm lacking tan lines, a naked vacation is the same as a clothed one. As my friend who organizes these trips is fond of saying, anything you can do clothed you can do naked. Nudity juxtaposed with atypical activity highlights included a celebrity homes bus tour (when someone emails it to me, I'll post a pic of myself and a friend in front of Elvis Presley's honeymoon home) and a naked dance/karaoke party. I had a great time at the party. I don't think I've ever danced nude before. And while I typically not only hate karaoke, but the people who actually do karaoke, I guess I was caught up in the spirit of things and was roped into participating in a group rendition of The B-52's Love Shack. No, I can't really believe I did it either.

Back from the desert, en route to the beach

Sleep deprived and caffeinated to the gills, I really shouldn't be awake right now. However, the gentleman beside me on the Jitney is wearing an outfit that deserves to be immortalized. Brown leather loafers, HOT PINK (or shall I say fuschia) socks, canary yellow slacks with a purple Ralph Lauren polo shirt, complete with a green embroidered polo player. Were he a 22 year-old hipster, I'd laugh at how hard he was trying. But this guy is in his 60's. Shouldn't he know better by now?