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chequing
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| I'm a dominant male with a wide variety of interests, a superior intellect and a high level of passionate involvement in the world around me. I'm an artist, a writer and a charmer. If you think I'm lying, try me.
I'm interested in:
Anyone bold, confident, dynamic & interesting. People with passions & interests like mine (or not like mine at all); people whose souls crave sharing & interaction, who make statements, propose, debate, defend positions & respond in kind. If you’re positive, kind, outgoing, generous, compassionate, warm, exciting, intelligent, sacred or profane, I want to meet you. If you’re open minded, wear your emotions on your skin like tattoos your particularly proud of, I want to meet you. If your agendas are open rather than hidden like cheap cards up a grifter’s sleeves, I want to meet you. If you are perfectly imperfect and precisely yourself, I want to meet you.
If you’re a laugher, a dancer, a lover, a singer, a crier, a brilliant-burner, a late night writer, a merry drinker, a chanter, a mythologizer, a compulsive artist, and a racer-through –life, I want to meet you.
Pique my interest, kick-start my soul, enlighten me, engage me, shock me, teach me something new!
I want to meet slashing outlaw tarts, progressive revolutionaries, composers, submissives, dominants, slaves and collar sluts, masters of men & women, sharp witted & velvet tongued independents, monks, renaissance men and women, wunderkind, writers, soldiers of fortune, gypsy prophets, pirates, artists, poets, oracles, futurists, yogis, chimeras, bandits, radicals, anarchist, angels and devils, gothic dreamers, saints & sinners.
You know who you are.
My interests are:
People who are passionate about themselves, the world around them and their personal interests.
Art - contemporary and low-brow.
Good literature - reading it and writing it and that includes poetry.
Women - bright, beautiful and submissive.
Tattoos - women with tattoos...the best of both worlds.
Sports - hate to watch but love to play (you can see me on a soccer pitch, on the river or in a gym and if the gym has a climbing wall, I'll be half way up it).
Friends - I don't think you can have too many friends, but nothing beats stand up friends who can hold up their end of a conversation, enjoy breaking bread with you and are there when you need them, those friends are golden.
Politics and current events - I like to be engaged, even if it pisses me off and I have an decidedly liberal bias. I take sides with the powerless against the powerful when consent has not been expressed.
Culture - culture is life-stew, mixed up and cross-referenced;
Travel - I love to travel even if it's only across the State line.
Music - seriously, I'm always singing. I can remember tunes and lyrics from 20 years ago.
Spirituality -Wanna talk about Joseph Campbell (cool), wanna talk about Jesus (not so much).
Sex - I love sex, good sex with a submissive woman, so officially D/s is an obession.
Good Burbon, great food and interesting people to share it with.
I'm interested in being interested - teach me something new. My mind is always open.
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Try something different.
Surrender.
__________Rumi
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Bet you wish you weren't so eager to present me with that cane now. I thought you said you couldn't dance.
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Last night...I whipped your back with the flogger, alternating soft throws with harder lashings. When I turned the flogger over and used the leather of the wrist strap on your back it suddenly blossomed with stripes where the flogger falls had struck you earlier. It was like a rainbow suddenly appearing, except all red welts. Beautiful. |
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"Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it" - Goeth
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Who is Tristan?
Tristan
means "sorrow," an appropriate name for a tragic hero. In Irish legend
he was the soul-mated lover of Isolde, a warrior poet, his
destiny was tragic but despite being fully aware of his doom, he fought
for his principles and for his love. I think of him as a man of noble
and undiminished character. Someone who never resigns, never surrenders
despite the tremendous odds against him. He is a man of unusual
strength and courage, indomitable spirit, undiminished hope, singular
determination, visceral charisma, unflagging optimism; a charming,
dangerous spiritually engaged champion. He is someone who stands for
those without power; who has no authority beyond the
natural authority of his will. He is tragic, but his pride remains
unvanquished by tragedy. He is quiet but bold. He is truthful and
honorable. He is physically capable; strong, lean and fearless. He is
twinkling laughter, a child's heart within a man's body. He is a hawk
with a raging fire inside his soul, a man who stirs passions.
Who is TristansThorn?
He
is the dark sexual side of the man above. He is more attractive and
dangerous than Tristan in a directly challenging and dominant way. He
is a bit sharper, more textured, less pliant, less merciful, and more
sadistic than Tristan. He has been slightly jaded, slightly embittered
by life's constant combat. He is more demanding, stronger willed and
more disciplined than Tristan. His passions are darker, his pleasures more
sensual, direct and transcendent. They are the same man, not analogous
to the faces of a coin, more like water in a river bed or blood through
a vein. They do not exist separately, they co-exist in symbiosis.
In
the end there are not many things worth wanting - for the serious man,
the samurai. But there are some. In the end, if the serious man is
still bound to illusion, he selects the worthiest illusion and takes a
stand.
____ Robert Stone "Dog Soldiers"
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The Falcon & The Falconer
Our eyes are locked, two wills in combat,
Two hearts beating, synchronous,
Two wild hearts,
Too wild to surrender.
You straddle the chair,
Your elbows pinned behind you.
My booted foot nudges your wet cunt.
Your nipples harden,
If there is any begging in you,
You are begging my boot
To touch you harder.
My smile is not a smile of triumph.
The knots that bind you are not a symbol
Of everlasting love.
The red welts that mark
The landscape of your skin do not reveal
The secret wellspring of our purpose.
What I do, I do so my hand will have known
What it’s like to touch the core of a star;
It burns.
In this we are one.
You are the falcon
And I am the falconer.
_Tristansthorn
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I concentrated, partly to drown out the sounds of the wind, the rain, and the evergreens blowing against the windows, not to speak of my thoughts about what was coming in behind me and started when I felt his hands unhooking my wrists.
"You can use your hands to part your ass some more," he said.
I grabbed the cheeks of my ass and felt a rush of coldness as he pushed some cream all the way up. "Open," he repeated very softly and began, slowly, slowly to push in a big rubber dildo, the size, I guessed, of his erect cock. He pushed so slowly and so relentlessly and seemed to be tracing such a tortuous, meandering path, that even though I wanted to resist, I couldn't quite find the moment, or the muscular center, for actually doing so. Instead, some part of me was discovering, as he kept breathing the word, that there was a way to be utterly, terrifyingly "open."
He got it all the way in. Perhaps I'd screamed; I was moaning and trembling terribly. I felt coldness again against my ass. There were three little chains attached to the base of the dildo. One went up the crack of my ass toward the base of my spine, while the other two went between my legs, outlining my cunt. All three hung from a little black leather belt that he buckled in the back. I recognize the technology - courtesy of Pauline Reage - but the emotions I was feeling were brand-new. It was as though I needed his hands, his voice, his desire. As though, open as I was, I had lost a kind of authority, both against the world and my own gleeful, brute body. I felt as though I would fall into a frightening, devilish space beyond ego and consciousness if I couldn't please and obey him exactly.
He unhooked me and helped me to stand up. And kissed me in a questioning sort of way. Oddly, I found myself kissing him back in a questioning sort of way too. This was confusing to both of us. His question, I think now, was "What do you feel?" and mine was "What do you want?" but in a deeper way than I'd ever asked before. It was perhaps, more like "Oh, what do you want? I'll die if I can't do what you want." He stepped back and took a moment to consider.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"No, Jonathan, it doesn't hurt exactly," I said, searching for words, "but it's different from any feeling I've ever had."
"Well, he said, "let's see what it's all about." He sat down and proceeded to command me to do this and that, all the puppy tricks - walk, stand, sit, squat, beg, crawl, play with myself, fetch things with my mouth. Everything I did seemed oddly amplified. He made me take off all his clothes, and then - the dildo didn't interfere at all - he fucked me for a long, long time on the rug. Afterward, he told me to stand up. He lay under a plaid blanket, up to his elbows, facing me. "Tell me about having this dildo stuffed way up your ass," he said.
I looked down at him. I felt weak, and my pelvis felt bruised and wobbly. I was cold, too, my thighs shivery and slick with sweat and come. I found words, although I was blushing and trembling, and could only speak very slowly. "It makes me feel like a very bad girl, Johnathan," I said hesitantly and very softly.
He spoke very softly too. "But you've been a very good girl tonight, you know. Isn't it odd? Well, don't wear yourself out trying to figure it out." Then he stood up, found his pants on the chair where I'd put them, and pulled off the belt. "Kneel on the armchair and I'll beat you," he said gently, "an then you can turn around and I'll beat you a little on the tits, just until they are pink. Then I'll unplug you and you can sleep here tonight. There's a little bedroom for you upstairs, down the hall from mine. It's too dangerous for you to drive back across the bridge in this storm."
__From Molly Weatherfield's "Carrie's Story"
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At the gym tonight, watching the step class, it was evident that there really is no way for a man to twirl and step and piroutte around the aerobics room and look the least bit masculine. I'm sticking to my body pump class.
In the locker room, heading to the sauna, I saw something I've never seen before, a man standing in front of the bathroom countertop blow drying his tiny penis. Wtf, over? |
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Rent: By Jane Cooper
If you want my apartment, sleep in it
but let's have a clear understanding:
the books are still free agents.
If the rocking chair's arms surround you
they can also let you go,
they can shape the air like a body.
I don't want your rent, I want
a radiance of attention
like the candle's flame when we eat,
I mean a kind of awe
attending the spaces between us---
Not a roof but a field of stars.
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Rain, rain go away, someone's coming to buy my house today.
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Predictions of snow. The cherry blossoms are already on the trees. This is just not right. I'm ready for the sun. |
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It has long been evident that my dominance is expressed as much by taking care of what is entrusted to me as it is by all the skills I can bring to bear on her body; as much by leading her mind and soul as by the punishment and delight of her senses.
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"Though he realized he might be subject to a painful beating, he sensed that the master was amused, pleased and touched by rebellion as often as not- if it were in the proper form and done well, courageously. A shapeless, coarse revolt (such as kicking down the stable door) would occasion the whip. But not even then would the master always use it, because he prized a spirited animal and he knew of and was grateful for the mysterious intelligence of this white horse, an intelligence that even he could not ignore, except at his peril and to his sadness."
From Chapter One of Mark Helprin's "Winter's Tale" |
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I don't even consider it a risk. I can only live this way; without remorse, filled with hunger, unvanquished, with dignity, open, unashamed, unconventional. I demand a life filled with substance and quality with my feet firmly rooted to earth, my head in a cosmos of supernovas expanding at light speed and with my spirit mystically dressed in a net of jewels. I require life to burn like a Montana forest fire - total conflagration. I want a submissive partner in my life who inspires that passion, who lights up and glows with it too; a muse.
Will you glow under the whip? Will the rope wound tightly around you set you free? Will the collar around your neck announce your choice and enhance your fierce pride? Are you strong enough to free your carnal appetites and offer them to me like a gift, to struggle and relax into the shape that best fits you against my chest while I shift into the vessel that holds you most tenderly? What I want cannot be reasonably described in words. I want you to want it just as much. Burn with me. This world was made to be scorched.
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| Age: 52 |
| WinstonSalem,
North Carolina |
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