I will now proceed to solve all of your problems.

Not only will I be hurtling towards the Left Coast on a jet later today for a week of merriment, frolicking and havoc wreaking in my second favorite city, but I will be scribbling madly most if not all of the while. If you're lucky, deserving and devoted, and if I get some mile high action in the small room, I may froth up a page or two of filth for you to jerk off to later, complete with lascivious acts and limitless suffering endured by a TBD sore-kneed slave of present or future fixation.

Also, I will be writing Dear Mistress letters, because one of the things I'll be doing in San Francisco is meeting with the editors of a website that will soon be assaulted weekly with a new column I'm writing for them. Yes, you smart little pieces of malleable humanity, the column will be called Dear Mistress, and somewhere in the combination of font-shaped pixels and white space, I will be solving all of your problems, or at the very least, distracting you from them for exactly the amount of time it takes for a problem to turn into the second cousin of a problem, and wander off to find a more attentive ass to be a pain in.

So, your task, should you choose to believe you have a choice in accepting it or not, which of course you don't, so let's just say instead that your task now is to write me letters. I want the letters to start "Dear Mistress," and I want them to contain some problem you have, or have had, or that a friend of yours has or has had, or that you intend to have in the near or far future. In return, as promised, I will solve all of your problems. Or at the very least, I will dress them up in drag and send them dancing.

I would like your problems to be BDSM-related, or dating related, or otherwise interpersonal issue-related, and I prefer content of a sexual nature, or content that I can spin into something of a salacious sort. In other words, anything. Ask me anything, and I may or may not tell you what you want to hear in response.

Dear Mistress is not going to be on my blog, but never fear, I will be sure you know where and when to look for my pearl necklaces of wisdom when the time comes.

Other things I may or may not be doing in San Francisco in the coming week include...

Sinking my teeth into a bloody steak at Frances.

Fluffing up poodleboy and pinkglossing his lips for a night out at the Kinky Salon's Dungeons and Drag Queens party.

Pouring a few candy-flavored cocktails down Juliette Stray's throat to see what she'll do next.

Sinking my teeth into yet another huge bloody piece of meat at the ridiculously inimitable House of Prime Rib.

Helping a lovely midwestern subject christen (or de-christen, if you're into etymology) his newly appointed dungeon away from home, namely by electrocuting his balls repeatedly with cruel mechanical device after cruel mechanical device.

Deciding whether to wear the high-heeled ankle-high Docs, the 40-hole knee-high Docs, or the thigh-high stiletto leather boots with tight leather pants or slightly looser packing-dick-accommodating leather pants.

Getting an outdoor barbecued burger (bloody of course—do you sense a trend?) and a beer at Zeitgeist.

Visiting the Pirate Store for all my pillaging wants and needs.

Soaking up the 60-degree fog while the rest of you drown in puddles of your own sweat.

Dragging poodleboy up and down the Castro on a leash until he proves he can prance properly.

In addition, I will perform many unmentionable feats of deviance. If you see me in San Francisco prior to the 18th, come say hello, and I just may whisper them in your ear. If you want to see me soon thereafter in NYC, contact me via email and the possibility will be entertained.

Yours cruelly,

Mistress Alex