bpt1947 on Collarspace


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	I am an experienced, intelligent, dominant man with a great sense of humor who is not interested in drama or games, just fun. Believe me? Hmmmm no? Okay-anybody can make those claims. Soooo the issue is, how do I distinguish myself from the rest of the pack? How do I back up these claims and pique your interest? Well, um er ah. I work without spell check? Not enough? I'll lead and go first. Among my many other attributes I am-someone CREATIVE!. That also would be me. A Renoir of the alt scene. A Dali of BDSM. Can you tell I'm a bit silly? But claiming all of this is not enough. I have a blog out on the internet. I go by the name Barrister1 and the host site called blogspot. Do a search. Find me-hey c'mon I'm worth a 15 sec search on goggle. Read about me-read my stuff-betcha some of it will make you wet. All kidding aside-I'm serious about the blogspot site and i am interested in someone educated and intelligent. A woman like yourself. Searching, intelligent and not looking to be the next emaciated model of the day. I am fun and know my way around a woman's body and a gear bag. I am safe-sane-sober and a lotta fun. Also intense and focused as hell when it comes to my partner. Write back! I am a serious BDSM practioner and have been around leather activities all of my adult life. All scenes are tailored to your interests and your needs. I have extensive gear and exclude only scat, branding and harm as my hard limits. I am an edge player for the experienced and a sensei for the novice. I am safe sane and sober and engage only in negotiated consensual activities. In part I subscribe to SSC but also subscribe to RACK (Risk Aware Consensual Kink). What is your orientation? Sex is not required-but much appreciated-and only of the safe variety. I am in search of a mature woman. Bear in mind that age is not a measure of maturity nor is education. Sorry but I find a need to communicate about the world, events and current affairs a large and necessary ingredient to a meaningful relationship.I believe there is more to a relationship than BDSM. I am eclectic-enjoy outdoor activities, fine dining, movies and conversation. I seek someone to capture both in body and in mind. I maintain a blog site-do a goggle search for Barrister1 and you'll find my blog. I feel there is some interesting reading there and welcome comments. I maintain a residence in central CT but also have a home in the Waitsfield area of Mad River Glen and spend 40% of my time in VT. Ideally I would like to find a partner in either central CT, VT or the NEK. I'll be docking my sailboat in Newport VT in the summer and my ideal partner should appreciate time spent on the water. I guess you could say a galley slave-no rowing required-would be a good match.

4/8/2008 6:37:01 PM

100 Things About Me

1. I still am a Libertarian-bet that came as a surprise?
2. I miss being in love.
3. I don't yell and I hate being ignored.
4. I tire easily of listening to others complain about their life and other people. I am non judgmental.
5. I’ve improved with age.
6. I have few regrets and seldom vocalize them.
7. I am totally literal in my thinking.
8. I have never lied to protect myself.
9. I am often conflicted about issues but never after I've made a decision.
10. I crave physical contact.
11. I’ve lied to protect someone.
12. I’ve also learned valuable lessons in honesty.
13. No matter how much you read, talk to me, communicate with me, you will never understand me..
14. If I were a criminal lawyer, I'd be for the defense.
15. I remember my first kiss like it was only yesterday.
16. I don't own an American car.
17. I am opposed to the death penalty without exception.
18. My favorite sadistic tool is my right hand.
19. The mind is a close second.
20. No one has written a story that featured me.
21. I enjoy slow and easy just as much as fast and hard. The difference is when and why.
22. Dark blue is my favorite color.
23. The only thing I've ever broken is my nose.
24. I was never abused as a child.
25. I made a choice to become the way I am today.
26. Experience has not tempered my dominant style only refined it.
27. I recommend sex in a cemetary.
28. My touch comes on like a hammer but ends in a caress.
29. I am capable of utter and heartless cruelty - even towards myself.
30. I want a woman, not a girl. I am a man, and I want the playing field level when we start.
31. I avoid people who take certain medications.
32. I believe that all pain can be managed - physical, mental, emotional - if the will is there, the determination is there, and the strength to battle your own demons is there.
33. Anal sex drives me to distraction.
34. Jealousy has never driven me over the edge. I don’t allow for it.
35. I refuse to wear leather pants, chaps or hats.
36. I hate commitment. I have made a few and rued the day.
37. I can be playful.
38. I love and hate my job.
39. I believe in honor.
40. I have never been to the symphony.
41. I believe some of the best sex can be had without any ‘extras.’
42. I enjoy reading other 100’s lists for purely informational reasons. I like the quick and easy snap shot, as opposed to hours of archives.
43. I started this blog for reasons unknown to me.
44. I believe you can never go home again.
45. My favorite food is pizza - no sauce with garlic and fresh shucked clams. I am a pizza snob.
46. I have grown to love fresh fruit.
47. I hate tomatoes but love marinara sauce.
48. Thai food - real Thai food - is another vice.
49. I envy women for their ability to have orgasms.
50. At one time in my life, I thought I wanted a slave. Until I had one and became utterly disgusted with her dependence upon me.
51. I cry every time I watch "To Kill A Mockingbird."
52. I learned in college that Herman Hesse and Ayn Rand are not compatible.
53. I can be emotionally manipulated by music if I can be calm enough to listen to it.
54. I own a convertible. I drive it with the top down when it snows
55. I enjoy fishing.
56. I prefer to do the cooking.
57. While I don’t like water skiing, I do love to snow ski.
58. While rope bondage is beautiful, I don’t like it for art, I like it for being able to creatively reduce someone to carry-on luggage. There is a difference.
59. I check my email every day.
60. Tell me the truth, even if it will hurt me. I’ll respect you more for it.
61. Why something happens is just as important as the event itself.
62. A gentle rain is exquisite.
63. When I fuck, there are times I am submissive.
64. I never throw my old glasses away.
65. I find that first impressions can be quite accurate, but are subject to change.
66. I enjoy progress.
67. I am a dog person.
68. I wonder if the first girl I took her virginity from ever thinks of me?
69. I want to sleep with Joan Baez.
70. I hate to lose but do so with humor.
71. I hate cell phones and use mine only out of need-never to just talk.
72. I call a spade a spade.
73. My humor doesn’t always come through when I write, and I refuse to make one of these….
74. I polish my shoes.
75. I know how to do my own laundry.
76. I enjoyed high school.
77. I was raised dominant. My mother was dominant and we didn’t get along well.
78. I hate religion.
79. Call me B.
80. I admire strength - personal strength.
81. Dark hair will draw my attention every time.
82. Smell is an important draw for me. I often want to bury myself in sex because it smells so fucking good.
83. I’m straight but not narrow. I like all the kinky shit, but I am not attracted to men.
84. My favorite places on a woman are her neck, her breasts, her perineum and that place on the inside of her legs where her sex meets her thigh. Dear God, It’s Heaven.
85. There are things that I cannot forgive.
86. I had a great friend who passed away too young. I miss him.
87. I’ve seen death enough times to last me for ever.
88. Everyone I ever learned anything meaningful from is dead so I cling to every second of my life and try not to waste a single drop with fear or doubt.
89. Fear does however, sometimes keep you from being stupid.
90. I’ve been stupid enough times to know that.
91. I may not speak, but I do listen.
92. My best writing is done when I am passionate; Anger sustains me when creativity fails.
93. I am manipulative. To my own ends, sometimes, and to the ends for which you want to achieve success, I’ll motivate you.
94. I do my shopping online.
95. I still feel like Atlas, supporting the world from the outside.
96. Excuses, excuses…I don’t want to hear them.
97. I’m addicted to play lists. I often will record the same song over and over by a different artists.
98. Long hair, short hair - I just want to be able to bury my face in it.
99. I love to dance.
100. Kiss me. I’ll make it all go away.

2/17/2007 10:54:43 AM

At first glance, we knew we’d changed. She had some wrinkles and I was graying. Her hair was shorter-red; mine thinning. She was a state provided widower, while I was ending a mid life crisis. Life had made her tough as nails while I, somehow, had maintained my sensitivity. As we embraced, our bodies provided confirmation, we’d grown fleshy. Though we had changed-the intentions hadn’t.
I removed my glasses. My tongue slipped into her mouth. She met it with hers-thrusting-darting-playing tag. I was stunned and enflamed to find her kiss was still the same and that old familiarity was still capable of producing the heat of attraction. I didn’t know if old loves or old lusts died harder.
I reached for her breast, cupped it, caressed it. It was a softer, fleshier thing, no longer pert and perky, time having done its work well. What her breast lacked in lift had been replaced with substance but lacked the pendulous appearance of a National Geographic photo shoot.
I moved to her back, shoulders and down to the small of her back. I wondered if that lovely spot still existed. It did but had lost little definition. Good. That evened things up. I buried myself in dedicated kissing, losing myself in arousal, striving to be free of the burden of aging.
I pinched her nipple lightly with two fingers. “You can still go bra less.” I said pulling away from her kiss. “At the beach you used to drive me nuts when your nipples got hard. You know, the way your nipples would show through.”
She giggled: “Womanly badges.”
I started nibbling on her ear. “And still arresting!”
I prayed that with age came wisdom once our clothes were off.
A jolt between my legs told me to stop worrying and start enjoying. A jolt like that had started it all, years ago in younger days. I was in the front seat with her, our friends in the back seat, cruising, she driving, and, as we turned a corner, I leaned into her. I put my hand on her knee, as if to balance myself. An electric touch, it had forced me to a decision, lose the girlfriend and make myself available to her.
The touch was still electric enough to make me available yet again.
We shed our tops and our torsos pressed the flesh. Her warmth and the now exposed skin were familiarity, renewed. We rubbed our bodies together-petting body slams-and my hands strayed to her breasts. Fingers tugged at both nipples while my mouth travailed downward for follow up. I recalled, rightly so, that my mouth upon her nipples would flare the fuel between both our legs.
She went for the belt buckle, then the zipper, to free me. My cock firm and ready, and her hand grasping and eager, raced to meet each other. She remembered the spire I was, the girth that had satisfied, and as she caressed the length, I realized I’d forgotten the actual feel of her-soft with a volcanic inner core. I moaned, she still sucking. I swayed backwards onto the bed, wanting her to explore more of me, me wanting to reclaim what I’d once known so well.
Letting go of each other, I helped her shimmy from her Dolce and Gabbana, surprised to find her pantiless and shaved.
“No bush,” I smiled, bringing my fingers to her mons, touching, exploring, examining the crevices as if I had never seen them before.
“You remember the time I mixed Summer Blonde with sea water and tried to bleach your hair, don’t you?”
“Yeah ,” I said. “But I thought you were being weird and I thought it was a sacrifice on my part. Of course years later , I realized I was the weird one.”
“No, no you weren’t. I was the weird one. Still am.”
“So you claim.”
“Ah, your old habit of self effacement!” The volcanic core in another form.
Aware of her subtle attitude, I smiled gently, focused on her pussy, examining her. I placed a finger on her clit , imperceptible movements making her groan.
“I understand how to work this better,” I told her, gazing into her eyes briefly, returning to her clit. My finger again began to circle it, rubbing, the build up slow, never any direct contact, working her arousal. But I was also intent on exploring her nuances and folds and I spread her with my other hand. There I found a surprise.
“Whoa!”
“Labia rings…”
“I see.”
“Go ahead, touch them. You can even tug on them.”
I was tentative in my approach, in that initial touch, so like a new lover with a virgin, showing her the ropes of her pleasure.
She demonstrated, tugging, rotating the rings, then directing my fingers back into place. I laughed, softly but sensitively.
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to do that stuff. Make love to me the old way and I’ll be more than satisfied.”
I smiled and went down on her. My tongue knowing more now than then, so much so that it forced me to stop comparing the past and present.
I concentrated on her clit, swirling, pressing, lips gently nipping now and then for added effect. Fingers wandering, playing with the rings then finding their way into her. Wet, hot, she accepting them greedily. I remembered how sometimes I would eat her to such arousal that I feared her screams would bring others as rescuers. How she cater to my craving, accepting three fingers to the knuckles. How we had been too inexperienced to know we were toying with fisting.
Now, imagining the possibility of completing that play, her every little twitch became a warning to her orgasm, the thought of taking her, imagining all of that, while my tongue and fingers played with her, she came.
A new eagerness exploded with that orgasm. “Let me suck you,” she begged.
I pulled away from her. Shedding my pants completely. “No,” she said as I hovered over her. “My way. I need the control!”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Say yes.”
“Yes!”
I sank my length into her. “I want you,” I said by way of explanation. I started moving and said: “You’re wetter than I remember.”
“Things change,” she managed to gasp before caving to my fullness.
“Good, you feel incredible. Just right.”
I took a nipple, making it go the motions.
“And you taste delicious, you know that?”
She kissed me to prove it.
I knew how to mix just so, deep strokes, long and succulent; drawing the head to the edges of the labia, teasing, shallow; swift ones to test her, wear her down. She neared. She knew I knew she was close. I plunged into her, bottoming out.
“Grab my ass,” she begged me. “Please.”
I did and she cried out, bucking at the feel of my fingers grabbing her cheeks, digging into her flesh. I lowered my head, taking her nipple in, first sucking then nipping. She exploded around me. I deep within, her clutches, spasming, my own lightheadedness as the bed rocked and creaked its complaints. She went limp beneath me but retained her grip. I watched as she rested and returned to lucidity, me slowly but relentlessly thrusting the whole time, as if it was some minor habit.
“Roll over,” I said, withdrawing.
She did and uttered, “Good God.”
I gasped and knew why she cried out when I had grabbed her ass. Bruises. Compliments of a recent spanking.
I touched her gingerly and, though she flinched fully and suddenly, she also moaned with the same passion she had expressed with my other touches. I knew now but still waxed serious, the past catching up with me.
“I did this to you,” I said remorseful. “I made you a masochist.”
“Your love made me a masochist,” she declared firmly, sparing me the reproach. “Forget the details, come on, forget it. Take me!”
She backed into me and pressed me into her. I took aim and entered. She gave ground grudgingly but welcomed the penetration. I felt reluctant.
“You can’t hurt me,” she counseled. “Just do me.”
I took her by the hips and slowly worked her. She became noisy. Stroke by stroke, I convinced myself that I could not hurt her. I relented and indulged myself by plundering her. She upped the decibels, begging me to work harder, to tear her up, to rut her, to never stop.
In times past that would have sent me over and I would’ve come. Maybe it was the poor choice of words. Tear me up, only works on a sadist.
“Roll over.”
She did. I draped her legs over my shoulders, her ass angled upwards. I resumed the sodomy. I played with her nipples, pinching and pulling. An old trick, my failsafe. She started shaking head to toe. She was nearing, again, just like old times but me in a new venue.
“Oh God.” The signal was the same, timeless.
I slammed into her, repeatedly, relentlessly-finally groaning, shivering, remorseless as I became rigid so I could better feel each ejaculation. Wet warmth flooding her leaving me shivering, chilled and guilt ridden.
Just like old times. . .
//
Downtime followed. Lying there we resumed looking at each other’s bodies. Memorizing them. Our skins were softer, our bodies fuller in spots, yet my cock and her cu*t looked essentially the same. And they spoke to each other in the same way as long ago.
But we weren’t just cock and c*nt. Our entireties had changed, bodily in countless little ways, our essence in ways profound.
I looked at her now wanting to revel in the body before me but too perplexed. Happiness couldn’t be had here. The gulf between us too large for anything but solace and love.
You can’t go home I wanted to tell her but words failed me so I drew her head to my chest, held her, caressed her hair.
She sighed and started, “I wish. . .”
“Shhh. I know. I wish too.”
Long ago though, I learned that wishes don’t sustain: dreams do. And, laying there, with her in my arms, I realized the harshness of the world had dashed both our dreams and those dreams that came after didn’t include her because I was incapable of embracing them. Because, years ago, after her, I had abandoned my own singular chance at sustenance and gypsied my way through life, forever too skittish to trust again in dreams, forever avoiding them.
And, despite my own longing to have her and have her often, I could live with the limitations of her being with another. Love had indeed made her a masochist and me a sadist. A good one at that. The only problem from where I sat is the realization that I was a sadist didn’t make me flinch.