Welcome To Grandma's House
June 2018
Hello, it’s me again. This month, I have two topics for you.
In May, I told a story about a pitcher of welcome. We’re still pouring it out, and I’m hoping we’ll keep it going for the foreseeable future. But welcome is two-sided. Not everyone understands that, and not everyone meets us halfway.
There is no such business as ‘Fantasy Makers’. That name belongs to the individual ladies who found us, recognized what we were trying to do, and joined us. Although some had the wrong ideas, expectations and attitudes and didn’t stay long (sometimes by our invitation), quite a few stayed on for years, and I hear fond reminiscences of them from many of you.
You, the folks who ask us to fulfill personal needs that you might feel awkward about expressing elsewhere, are the other half of the equation. Back in 1996 we published a calendar with pictures of some Fantasy Makers, each with a comment about the way she felt about making fantasy. I’d like to share my favorite quote with you:
“We’re really Fantasy Matchers here. My fantasy and yours, combined. Every session is personal, precious, and at some level, dangerous. We face the dangers together, and come away strong. That’s hot – and a lot of fun.”
I can’t think of a better way to express what a Fantasy Maker is. We charge you for our time, but what we give is something money can’t buy. It comes out of the depths of who we are, and reaches for a harmonizing note in you.
If you’ve already found the welcome I spoke about last month, and made friends here, you understand this. We look forward to seeing you the way you look forward to coming here. Please ignore the next couple of paragraphs. Some people need a wake-up call.
We’ve always tried to make sure the ladies here respected our values, but we’ve sometimes been much too patient where our visitors are concerned. That has to be corrected, so that good ladies aren’t driven away. We shouldn’t have to try to ignore questions like “What do you have on Wednesday,” as though some guy was shopping for the Blue Plate Special. We shouldn’t have to deal with blown-off appointments, entitled attitudes, and people who are outraged if we don’t spend endless hours in elaborate email courtship. I could fill a book with all the games we fend off on the phone, on the internet, and in person. When the boor with bad breath and worse manners talks about how unattractive some of us are to him, we shouldn’t have to smile sweetly and resist mentioning that the feeling is mutual.
Gentlemen, when you visit the Playhouse, you’re not shopping for cabbages at Safeway. You’re shopping for connection, understanding and companionship from a live person – a stranger who you want to enact your most closely-guarded intimate rituals with you. If you get offended by being treated like a walking wallet, understand that we get offended by guys who are rude, dismissive, contemptuous, or flat-out abusive of us as people. So let’s make a deal: if what you want to be is a customer, using your money to rent an inflatable Barbie, please have the kindness to go to a porn shop and buy a doll, so the rest of us can enjoy each other. End of rant.
Last year, we worked on the house. This year seems to be dedicated to attracting some exciting and interesting ladies to join us. I hope you’ve been meeting some of our new arrivals and keeping up with some of the FM graduates who visit. We encourage the ladies to make announcements on Tumblr, complete with pictures, and that helps a lot – you can get ‘sneak previews’ and introductions between web updates. But that brings up some new difficulties with keeping you in the loop.
Unless you’ve been on a camping trip in Antarctica and couldn’t find an internet hot spot, you know that our enlightened national leadership has passed a really dumb law. Advertising media now can be held criminally liable if anything they accept for publication turns out to be connected to something illegal. That’s kind of like prosecuting Caltrans for hit-and-run accidents and shootings on the freeway, but they think it makes sense.
From what I hear, everybody hates it. Police hate it because the traffickers and predators drop out of sight and it’s harder to catch them. Their victims hate it because they’re more exposed to violence and abuse, and have less chance of getting away. Media hate it because it’s a no-win situation for them – throw everybody out, or risk criminal prosecution. Providers hate it, because it’s harder to link up with people who need them. And you, who need what we have to offer, hate it because honest and honorable providers are harder to find.. But none of our fearless leaders is brave enough to stand up and say they’ve made a mistake, so we’re likely to be stuck with it for a while.
What can we do to stay connected? We’re doing our part, looking at online sites that are consistent with our values and have the courage to continue in business; you’ll see some new ads here and there. We still have FMChatter as an announcement group, and Tumblr, and discussions (never advertising!) in our FetLife group. We dropped out of Facebook for privacy reasons, but we just signed up for a new social media platform called Switter that’s very exciting – we’re putting a link on our home page.
What can you do to help? Talk about us! You may not be ‘out’ enough to review us openly, but if you have a ‘handle’ that’s discreet and safe, mention our name once in a while. We understand about discretion; most of us, even the students, have mainstream careers too. But we’ve made a lot of new friends through casual mentions in forums and on social sites. People who don’t know who to talk to or where to turn, when they hear the name Fantasy Makers, ask Uncle Google if we really exist. For some people, that opens a magic door.
Remember, the craziness that’s going on in this country is very likely to be self-limiting. Other countries are responding by pulling back from us and expressing their dismay; sooner or later, the moderate majority of Americans will take their country back from the extremists, and we can begin a healing process. We’ll have to fix the damage to our relationships and reputation, but I think we’ll succeed in making America America again.
In the meantime, let’s keep our hopes up and our energy flowing. There’s always fun to be had when we’re looking for it. I hope to see you soon, and I’ll bend your ear again next month.
May 2018
Well, I missed the update, thinking about what I wanted to say. There are so many stories...where to start? Well, there's an old saying about that: begin at the beginning, and keep taking the next step. So for this month, here's a story for you that I've remembered for a long, long time.
Once, on a stormy night, a traveler knocked at a farmhouse door.
The farmer and his wife welcomed the stranger. They shared what they had: food, warmth, conversation, a safe dry place to sleep.
In the morning, they found a large pile of firewood stacked on their porch. And their broken gate was fixed, good as new.
"You were kind to me," the stranger explained.
"I must go now," the traveler continued, "but I have one more gift for you."
The traveler took hold of an old, battered pitcher and mumbled a word. The pitcher filled to the brim with fresh, sweet milk!
And the traveler said, "You were kind to a stranger. Here is a kindness for you. This pitcher will always be full, for your whole lives, no matter how much you pour from it."
And once those words were spoken, the traveler walked out of the gate, and down the road, and disappeared. The farmer was delighted. He sent word of this miracle to his family, his friends, his neighbors. "Bring your pitchers bring your buckets, we have milk for everyone!"
And they came, by ones and by dozens, and there was milk for all.
But the farmer's wife was afraid. "The traveler said we would have milk for our whole lives," she said. "But that doesn't mean we can give it away to all these people who have done nothing to deserve it. Sooner or later, it will run out, and we will have nothing. Let's hide the pitcher in the springhouse and tell everybody it finally went dry." As weeks and months went by, she urged her husband over and over to save what they had for themselves and their family. Finally, sadly, he gave in. He sent word to everyone that the pitcher had gone dry, and his wife hid it in the springhouse.
Every morning before dawn, his wife looked around carefully, then tiptoed out to the springhouse to fetch the day's supply of milk, carefully locking the door behind her.Days went by. The farmer was sad, and his wife was afraid and suspicious of everyone.
Then, one morning, when the farmer's wife went to the springhouse to pour out the day's ration of milk, It was sour and curdled!
"No matter". We can make cheese," she said to her husband.
But the cheese she made was bitter and dry. The pitcher remained full, but the sour milk smelled awful. People who stopped to visit wrinkled their noses and went away. The farmer and his wife were alone. Now, both of them were sad.
One morning, the wife said to her husband, "I was wrong. The milk can be sweet only if we share. Let's pour out our mistake and ask the neighbors to help us make our gift whole again."
The word went out. The neighbors came from far around, and once again the pitcher brimmed with fresh, sweet milk. They thanked the farmer and his wife for sharing their magic gift. There were always hands to help and comfort, ears to listen, smiles for all. The farmer and his wife were happy again, and so they lived their lives.
*****************
I first heard this story when I was a girl. Along the way, I realized that the milk in the pitcher was something we call welcome. I remembered the story every time someone made me feel safe and at home. I started thinking about how I could have a pitcher of my own.
In 1990, the Playhouse became my magic pitcher. I received, from someone I had been kind to, a house to fill up with welcome, and I started sharing it, especially with people who were different and "didn't fit in". I told the people who joined us that they should be like dandelions: sturdy plants with tough, persistent roots, healing leaves and bright joyful flower-faces. I asked of them only that they carry the message of welcome.
Dandelions always have hope. Every flower, as it fades, puts forth a crown of fluffy parachutes, each bearing a seed. They fly away, as that traveler did. But wherever they find welcome, they flourish, and the gift is passed on.
My pitcher is passing into the hands of a new generation, that appears to understand and appreciate the magic in it. If you visit us, or if you become one of us, remember that the magic can only exist when it's shared. Then the milk will always be there for you, and it will be fresh and sweet.
April 2018
Hello again. If you’re one of the people who emailed me saying I disappeared from the site, I apologize – my link was hiding in the NEWS column. I didn’t stop to think about the people who get distracted by all the pretty Fantasy Makers, and don’t always read the news.This spring, I’m sort of like a butterfly squeezing out of a cocoon. As much of a pleasure as it’s been riding herd on the circus, trying to keep everybody happy and everything in good repair, my to-do list made time spin by in a blur, faster and faster. Have you ever been running full-speed on a treadmill when the power fails? It’s all you can do not to jet through the nearest wall. Then you sit down (if you haven’t knocked yourself senseless) and try to reorient. What’s going on? Why isn’t my phone ringing 20 times an hour? Where am I, and where am I going? Am I in a handbasket?
To make matters even more entertaining, it seems like everyone in my family is going through some kind of transformation, and I have to adjust to changing roles. Being a squirrel, that makes me cautious – we tree rats like to know where the branch is and where the cat is hiding. So if it seems like I keep promising things that haven’t happened yet, don’t stress – evolving or not, I’m still here.
The thing that looms largest on the horizon is how we Fantasy Makers are going to stay connected to the people who need us. The media that are open to erotic expression are under attack. Part of the reason for this is that it’s impossible to provide a forum that serves only well-intentioned people. The same publications and sites that connect people like you to people like us are used by exploiters, bullies and thieves as well. Advertising is a tool, and goodness or badness applies only to the things the tool is used for.
Right now, a lot of bath water is being thrown out, babies and all. This situation will rebalance, because ecologies always do, but right now you are very important in determining how long that will take, and what the new media will be like. If you value what we and others like us bring into your life, your words are needed. If you have the courage to say that we have social value that reaches beyond momentary gratification, and you can say it politely and inclusively, you can make a difference.
This month I’m starting to give Grandma’s House a little spring cleaning: retiring some stories that have been up for quite a while, replacing them with my commentary on art, kink, life and the world. That process will continue, with something new every month. That doesn’t mean all the memorabilia will go away – and some of the new stuff will come from the distant past.
In March, I raised the question of how to keep up with all of you who want me to stay connected. Almost all the responses I received tell me you want it to be individual, one at a time. That, at my age, isn’t practical. Two of you suggested that it be paid time, like a session. Money is a necessary tool, but when it’s used up, it can be replaced. The hours and minutes of a life are the only things we have that can’t, so I’d better use mine wisely.
When a person gets to my age, they start thinking about how to make the most effective use of the time they have left. I’m no longer a sexy fortysomething with half of my life in front of me. In the time I’ve known you, you’ve been teaching me things, whether you recognize it or not. If I let what I’ve learned leak away and spend my time on feelgood (mine and yours), I’ve let you down.
People have a misleading idea of what humility means. They think they have to disavow and dismiss their own value to avoid being a jerk. That makes them act like that “Black Box” toy that was a fad in the 1960s. You turn on the switch, and it starts making noises. Some of the boxes even vibrated or rocked. This happened for a minute, then a door in the box opened, slowly, a hand came out – and turned off the switch. People are taught to believe it’s egotistical to respect their own uniqueness.
The truth is, humility is the art of recognizing that you’re unique, but everybody else is too. It’s recognizing that “the least of us” (to quote a teacher whose name is regularly taken in vain by a religion created by strangers and attributed to him) has things to teach, and no one is too wise to learn or too big to fail.
My job is what it’s always been: lay out what I know on the workbench, so that it can be picked up by whoever needs it.
I may decide to fulfill my desire to create a traditional salon: a monthly meeting for people in the fetish community who are contributing something: art, music, writing, teaching, counseling, thinking, to share and discuss their ideas and projects. It will be invitational – if you wish to be included, email me. If enough people do that, we’ll figure out places and times. I may find a way, or someone may give me a workable suggestion, to spend some social time with people who enjoy my company, but I have to be sparing with one-on-one coffee dates so I don’t expire with a two-year social backlog...as Pepe le Pew said, it is possible to be too attractive...grin
If you’d like to comment on my projects or anything I say, please email me. If you want to help me evolve, this is a good time to touch base.
More in May!
March 2018
Adventures in the Labyrinth of Taboo
By nature, I’m a squirrel – always curious. I want to know what and where and who and how, and especially why. I like to think about things. That’s how kink turned into a big part of my life. I was playing with the stuff in my head, trying to sort out communication and relationships. Like every novice, I made mistakes, got hurt, recovered, learned lessons, but whether it came out well or not, I never let go of my curiosity. Nietzsche said if it doesn’t kill you it makes you stronger. Well, I’m still here.
For us curious hominid apes, the forbidden is irresistible, and sex is a big taboo. “Private” things (aka secrets), or even stories about them, are exciting and dangerous. Talking about (or even thinking about) certain subjects is forbidden. If you ask why, some people get mad and call you names like “freak” or “pervert” or “mentally ill” and want to punish you. Other people try to get you to do things you’re not sure you want to do. It’s scary.
People say “intimacy” when they mean “sex”. That’s a mistake: intimacy is trust that allows the sharing of secrets, sexual or otherwise.
When you can’t look for answers, it’s easy to start thinking we’re “the only one” who has these “bad thoughts”. Our secrets get infected with guilt, shame, and fear: what would happen if anybody ever found out? It would be awful. Some of us never recover.
In the sixties, BackDrop Club was a safe place to talk about territory and power – domination and submission – in sexual terms. We found out we had a lot of company, and found safety in that knowledge. We opened up to people we met there, because they were looking for the same things. We played around with erotic power.
Opening up ‘loaded” questions is like eating spaghetti – every strand is tangled with a dozen more. What do our fantasies mean? What do they say about us as people? Are they harmless pastimes? Do they affect who we are in “real life”?
A lot of the secret shame, guilt and fear that keeps us isolated is stuff we got from other people and didn’t dare question. Sometimes those ugly gifts were well-meant, but poison is poison. We can’t be ok until we neutralize it, and we can’t start looking for an antidote until we recognize it.
The Fantasy Makers create theater from secrets, and use it as a magic key to intimacy. We turn questions about secret things into adult versions of childhood games like Capture the Flag, Hide-and-Seek, Cops and Robbers, and more. We make games out of real-life things like school, family, friends, the Doctor’s office, and stuff we’ve seen in movies. Some games are silly and some more serious, but playing lets us feel safe to communicate. We reveal and exchange secrets about ourselves, other people, and life. It’s real – more real than a book, a class, or some “authority” that might judge us. We recognize that power and trust are strong stuff. We teach each other, up front and personal, to approach each other’s secrets considerately and carefully.
The Playhouse is like a theme park: it’s where we can take out our passions, curiosities and dark secrets and play with them. Our rules and safeguards are traffic signals designed to keep the games physically and emotionally safe for everyone.
We’ve made a difference in a lot of lives. More than three hundred Fantasy Makers have met almost ten thousand strangers here. Relationships have been made, unmade, and remade. People have created (or changed) careers, life partners or social movements. I’ve had the privilege of being part of it, providing space, tools, rides, ideas, encouragement and structure for the creative storm that goes on around here.
Everyone has a purpose in life. Mine is to help people make friends, first with themselves, then with each other. I’ve done some of that, and made a lot of friends here for myself. Maybe you’re already one of them, and if not, maybe you will be.
I’ve lived a lot of stories in more than 70 years, and while I’m still around, I want to write them. That takes time; so does tending friendships. I’m working on a way to do both, while being a wife, mother and social shit-disturber. I could use some suggestions from you right now. I’m thinking about a blog, and about writing in my Goodie Gallery (like this one), or on FetLife. As I just wrote in Chatter, I’m thinking about how much fun the Spectator Salons and Charlie Glickman’s Sex Educator Salons at Good Vibes used to be in the 90s. How would you feel about restarting something like that, either after session hours at the Playhouse, or somewhere else, like maybe starting a munch?
Lots and lots of ideas, and only so much time in a life. If you have some ideas of your own, would you drop me a line and let me know? I promise, I'll listen!
Look here for stories and other goodies that I especially like, contributions from past Fantasy Makers, even some goodies by (or about) me!
You're wrong. I DO have a CLUE. Mrs. Peacock dunnit, with the Candlestick, in the Photographer's Studio. So there!
Photo Credit: glenwrightphotography.com
We just had a visit from Cosmic Photog, our Grand Prize winner. He brought us some other images he's taken of us...impressive! But the real surprise was some shots he took of me...at Folsom 2006! He's already won a Grand Prize, and I think the statute of limitations for contest entries is shorter than seven years, but at least I want to share these luscious images with you...enjoy!
Here's another goodie from down Memory Lane. Master Robin sent me these shots he took somewhere back in the late '70s, I think... Hey, I useta' be a babe, huh?
Folsom 2009 -- what fun! This year, I was caught, well, not exactly "red-handed"... impersonating the world's sexiest head of broccoli. Warm up the cheese sauce, here's the evidence!
First, thanks to Blood Elf Mohawk. How did you get these yummy shots: -- bilocation???
Finally, thanks to the Traveler, who caught me hamming it up with a total stranger whose costume idea blew me away! And thanks to the cat in the Hat -- love your eyes!
A HOLIDAY GIFT FOR MY FRIENDS!
I just received a gift from a long-lost friend. Paul Johnson, photographer extraordinaire of strippers, models, and adult actresses way back into the 60s, presented me with some naughty photos he took of me back when I was a babe...and was kind enough to let me share them with you! Without further introduction...
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