Archive for the ‘Biography’ Category

Diary #321

selfie 8-13-16Last week was…intense.  Unfortunately, at the risk of being repetitive, I really can’t tell you about most of that due to issues of confidentiality.  What I can tell you is that I had a lovely dinner with the young escort I mentioned last week, and I think we’re going to be very good friends; I invited her to relax with me on Saturday night, which turned out very well because we both needed it.  And yes, gentlemen, we will see you as a duo if you like!  Speaking of duos, I’m looking forward to another one this coming Saturday with the lovely and brilliant Lorelei Rivers, whom I always enjoy working with.  And in just a few weeks, I’ll be in New York City; as of right now I’ll be available for bookings on Thursday, September 15th, Saturday the 17th and Sunday the 18th, but obviously that will change as my schedule fills up, so if you’d like to see me it’s best to book right away (and ask about my tour special).  Speaking of being booked up, I’ve recently tried a new method of advertising which I’m very pleased with so far; if it keeps being this productive, I will finally be able to complete some improvements to my ranch that have been in limbo for years.  And that, dear readers, will buy me a considerable amount of satisfaction.

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Diary #320

selfie 8-12-16An awful lot of stuff happened last week, but unfortunately I can’t tell you about most of it yet.  There was a conference call I can’t tell you about yet, and I was consulted about an unpleasantness I can’t tell you about yet, and there were some developments in a project I can’t tell you about yet, and of course I can’t tell you about anything that happened with clients (though there were several notable developments, most of them good).  Then there were some other things I could tell you about but would rather not, and a couple of others I might like to tell you about, but you wouldn’t understand or wouldn’t care.  So even though I was so busy last week I barely had time to breathe, there’s very little to report in this column.  I’m going to dinner tonight with a young sex worker who flatters me by listening to my war stories, and I’m getting yet another beauty treatment on Thursday.  Last week I did receive a very early birthday present from Jeremy Dunn, the book you see me holding here (which was the most recent addition to my Amazon wishlist), and on Sunday my book became available on Walmart’s website, which I’m hoping generates a lot of sales!  But I’m afraid that’s pretty much it for this time, except for announcing that I’m going to be in New York City from September 14th to 19th, so if you’d like to see me in that time you’ve got less than a month to let me know!

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Diary #319

Tristar handLast week was a busy one, but in a good way; very few of the things I was kept busy with were unpleasant.  I always enjoy visiting my beauty doctor, and I saw several regular clients whose company I always enjoy (plus several meals with friends).  And we made some progress on a major project for my ranch, the first one in a very long time.  But of all the things that brought me joy last week, one of them may surprise or amuse you:  I got my TriStar back.  Well, not back exactly, because this isn’t the same one I was forced to sell 20 years ago, but it’s the same model.  Some or most of you are probably scratching your heads or checking to make sure that you’re on the right blog; Maggie McNeill is delighted because she bought a used vacuum cleaner?  Huh?  Some of y’all are probably thinking something like, “No offense, Maggie, but you’re not exactly known for your housekeeping skills.”  And you would be right.  But this is different; this is one of those little victories that mean nothing to anyone but oneself.  Jack bought me a TriStar back in ’92 or ’93; they’re really expensive, but I’m very hard on vacuum cleaners because it makes me crazy to have to go over and over the same damned spot and yet have it NOT GET CLEAN.  I want a vacuum cleaner that would be at home in a cartoon, a vacuum that needs to be turned off if the drapes get caught in it because there’s no way to get them out otherwise.  In this picture, that heavy hose is being held to my hand by the power of suction alone, and the circular mark is still visible on my hand as I type this over 30 minutes later.  This is a sho-’nuff, no-messin’-around vacuum cleaner, y’all, and its air filtration is so good that the exhaust is cleaner than the air already in the room (suck that, Kirby).  But after my marriage broke up and the bills started to get overwhelming, I had to be sensible and sell it to cover them.  And as the years have gone by and I’ve been forced to clean filthy rugs with crappy Hoovers and Electroluxes and Dirt Devils, I’ve often missed my good old TriStar and vowed to get another one day.  Then last week I was in a vacuum cleaner repair shop helping a friend to get a refurbished one, and I said to the guy, “You wouldn’t happen to have a TriStar for sale, would you?”  He named a price higher than most of you probably paid for your new vacuums (but still less than a third of what my new TriStar cost over 20 years ago), and I said “Sold!” and peeled the bills off of the roll in my purse.  Then I took it home and vacuumed all of my rugs, which were visibly brighter after the treatment.  And though that’s great, and I’ll certainly vacuum much more often now, the really important thing for me is that after 20 years I managed to undo one minor example of the countless humiliations and defeats that life has saddled me with more than my share of.  And that gives me hope that maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to undo at least a few of the others.

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selfie 7-18-16Long-time readers know that I suffer from debilitating vertigo which practically amounts to a disability; I need to ride shotgun in a car if I’m not driving, thrill rides are out of the question and, until recently, air travel was a horrific nightmare reserved solely for situations in which A) I absolutely had to be somewhere, and B) there was no practical way I could get there by car.  Even buses and trains give me trouble, and since I had tried literally every prescription and non-prescription motion sickness medication on the market (and the bands, and the patch, and acupressure, and I’m a very poor hypnotic subject) I got around almost entirely by driving for a very long time.  But then last summer, when I had a sudden attack of vomiting at a friend’s house, she gave me an ondansetron tablet and I was amazed to discover that it suppressed the nausea almost immediately.  And this started me thinking: despite the claim in the literature that the medication has little effect on vomiting caused by motion sickness, I suspected that was by itself; what if I used two drugs in conjunction, diazepam to make me relaxed (preferably sleepy) and the ondansetron to control my weak stomach?  So I visited a doctor to get prescriptions for both and tried the combination on a trip to Los Angeles in May; it worked well enough on that smooth round-trip to make me brave enough to try again with a much longer and much more turbulent trip to New Orleans, which I passed with flying (no pun intended) colors.

What that means is that I’m air-mobile again, so if you want me to speak at some event or avail yourself of my professional services, that can be arranged.  For car travel, my rule of thumb is that I’m willing to drive for as long as the appointment; in other words, if you’re two hours from Seattle I’m willing to come and see you as long as you book at least a four-hour appointment (to balance two hours each way).  But if I have to fly, you’re going to need to spring for a plane ticket too because it ain’t exactly like I can just jump on a plane and come home as soon as we’re done.  That  means downtime that you aren’t paying for in a strange city, and a hotel, and…you get the picture.  So I think a plane ticket plus an appointment as least as long as the total time I have to spend on a damned plane (because despite the fact that I can dope away my sickness now, I still really despise flying) is only fair.  And if you really don’t want that long an appointment (or can’t get away from your wife for more than a few hours), a plane ticket and a hotel and a dinner date should do nicely, because I’ll be able to advertise it as a short tour and book other appointments while I’m there.  For speaking gigs, I’ll want a ticket, hotel & meals at least.  But if you can’t afford all that, fear not; I’ll be traveling about for one reason or another from time to time, and I’m going to announce every one of those trips both in my diary columns and on Twitter, so you’ll be able to book appointments with me in advance (I’m not overly fond of last-minute appointments even in Seattle, and I loathe them while traveling).  Of course, you could also come to Seattle, but I think that goes without saying.

money 7-8-16One more thing, and this is important:  I know a lot of my male readers are clients, and a lot of y’all have asked how y’all can support my work; in fact, I recently exhorted y’all to start doing more to support sex worker rights before you’re the one getting caught in a sting or prosecuted for writing reviews.  Well, here’s your chance.  It’s human nature to want to get something for your money, so I understand that you may not want to send me a few thousand bucks just because I’m gorgeous and brilliant.  However, now you can support sex worker rights out of your sex-buying budget by booking a session with me and flying me out to wherever you are.  Think about it, boys; you’ve seen my pics and my skills are practically legendary.  Now you, too, can fuck Maggie McNeill, and all you have to do is email me, set aside a little time and be generous.  Come on; you know you want to.  Splurge a little.  And I’ll be really, really grateful.

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Diary #318

selfie 7-27-16On the day my last diary column appeared, I went to dinner with Lorelei Rivers and a lovely and generous gentleman; he took us to one of my favorite restaurants in Seattle, Daniel’s Broiler.  The reason I like it so much is that, unlike many expensive restaurants (which, to riff on Boorstin’s observation about celebrities, are high-priced because their prices are high), Daniel’s strives to earn its reputation in all ways, including outstanding service.  And I have a new favorite cocktail, the beautiful, sweet & dangerous violet martini.  Anyhow, after he treated us to dinner we treated him to That Thing We Do, and a lovely time was had by all.  Alas, the rest of the week was not so uniformly pleasant; though I had a great time Thursday night, meeting new people and getting to socialize with ones I’ve known before, Wednesday was intensely stressful and Friday only slightly less so.  In fact, on Wednesday I decided to start my evening relaxation a bit early; here’s a selfie from the backyard.  I’m rather hoping this week will be a bit more homogeneous; I had a snuggle date on Sunday (the lady may identify herself if she likes) and dinner and a long chat last night with the amazing Allena Gabosch, who wrote this last week based on a conversation we had in New Orleans.  Today I’m going in for another beauty treatment, and that always makes me feel better as well, so here’s hoping the goodness continues all week!

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The problem with abusers is that they’re often extremely charming; after all, if they weren’t, who would stick around to be abused?  –  Maggie McNeill

Yesterday, Fault Lines on the Mimesis Law site (which you’ve often visited if you actually click on the links in my Links columns) published an interview with me as part of their “Cross” series.  I don’t often do email interviews any more because they take so much longer than telephone ones, but Scott Greenfield has been an online friend of mine for years and I’ll do things for my friends I won’t do for others.  I honestly think it was a really good interview, and he gave me leave to cut loose, be snarky and swear, so I thought I’d share it with y’all here, too.  Not the whole thing, mind you; I want you to see it as presented.  But here are a few excerpts from my replies; you’ll have to go there to see the questions and the rest:

…I was never exactly conventional, despite the efforts of parents and nuns; I was always a freethinker and never managed to absorb any negative attitudes about sex. I was fascinated by whores from the time I understood what the word meant, and as a young teen I counted several famous courtesans among my heroines. My very first D&D character at the age of 14 was a cleric who was a sacred prostitute, and I took money for sex for the first time just a little over two months after turning 18…

…while I probably made less money than the young girls while on the stage, I absolutely cleaned up in the VIP room. There’s not really a support network for new strippers; in fact, a lot of the girls are very competitive. But though I’ve never done pageants, I’m the type who would’ve often been named “Miss Congeniality” if I had; I make friends easily, and it didn’t take long before the more experienced ladies were showing me the ropes…

…Sex workers’ ads take advantage of the fact that paying for company isn’t illegal, only paying for sex.  Now, you and I both know that the line between those two isn’t remotely a bright, clear one such as the law pretends it is; lots of clients don’t want what most cops would call “sex”, and lots of sex doesn’t involve the body parts prudes code as “sexual.”  And by the letter of the law in most places, it isn’t “prostitution” unless there’s an explicit agreement to trade x sex act for y amount of money, which absolutely no whore in her right mind will ever do.  So in a sting the cops either lie and say that such an agreement was reached, or else rape the sex worker and use that as “evidence of prostitution”…

…I am continually amazed that over a century after the end of the Victorian Era, supposedly educated adults, especially people who call themselves “feminists”, actually believe (and expect others to believe) that all women are passive, childlike creatures with such a naïve, romanticized view of sex that our fluffy, pink little brains couldn’t possibly conceive of doing it for any reason other than loooooooooooooove or animalistic pleasure.  This is especially absurd given that these same “feminists” pretend that it’s better for women to be valued for our intelligence than for our beauty, while at the same time pretending that sexual motives deriving from the hindbrain (love & pleasure) are morally superior to those deriving from the frontal lobes (profit motive).  It’d be quite a fascinating case study in cognitive dissonance if it weren’t for the fact that these Froot Loop notions are used to justify sending armed thugs out to deceive, rape, brutalize, rob & cage people…

…[The Nordic model] stated that a minor boy is morally superior to a woman of any age. This is called “feminism”…

…If nobody actually complains about something, the cops shouldn’t be driving around looking for trouble. Firemen don’t rove around looking for fires, and paramedics don’t rove around looking for injuries, yet we don’t see huge numbers of buildings burning down & accident victims dying because nobody got there in time.  Let the cops stay in their fucking police stations until called out, and they’ll have a lot fewer opportunities to murder black men, execute dogs, rob bodegas and rape women…

…Prohibitionists only accuse me of dishonesty because I won’t support their ridiculous wanking fantasies of international cartels of magical ninja pimps with mind-control powers abducting screaming white girls from shopping malls and bus stops, transporting them around the country in dog crates, and serving them up to hundreds of salivating sex maniacs per week until their genitalia collapse and the diabolical monsters then dispose of them, presumably by flushing them down hotel toilets like unwanted goldfish…

Go read it, and enjoy.

Maggie black couch



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Diary #317

selfie 7-19-16I didn’t exactly have a lot of down-time after getting home from Desiree (read: none); I was up until four in the morning to get Saturday’s “In the News” column done, and I don’t think I actually got dressed on Saturday because I couldn’t get away from the computer until after dinner (and then not for long).  Tara Burns was briefly in town on her way back to Alaska from the conference, so we visited for a while on Sunday, then I saw a regular on Monday and on Tuesday I was zooming down to Portland for a very brief (one-night) tour.  Don’t worry, Portland guys; if you missed me this time there will be other opportunities (and I’m even willing to drive down there just to see YOU if you’re willing to book a large enough block of time).  But boy, are your streets confusing!  I actually passed my hotel and had to double back twice because the street sign was both small and hidden by a tree.  Still, I had dinner in a nice restaurant on the riverfront that evening (where I took this selfie), brunched with Thaddeus Russell (who spends part of his time there) on Wednesday morning, then visited the massive Powell’s Bookstore before returning to Seattle.  Between errands, emails, phone calls, writing, work and activist strategizing  I still haven’t actually stopped, but I’m ahead of my self-imposed quota, getting things accomplished and scheduled for several more beauty treatments in the next few weeks, so it’s all good.  And I might still be making the tour to Washington DC that I can’t remember whether I mentioned here, but I’ll keep you posted as soon as I can slow down enough to figure it out!

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