Originally posted on A Faded Romantic's Notebook:


She wonders about him….

Outside, the night is pressing inky black against the leaded window of his study. The dark has cloaked the gardens, the trees, the fields, the river, and the church with its sleeping dead. There are no lights twinkling in this secluded place. There is the bark of a fox, the noisy movements of small deer, the wild call of a hunting owl. Migrating geese, preparing. From somewhere distant a dog howls once. Further still a train makes a mournful sound.

His study is predominantly blue. A dusky, muted blue.

A high ceiling. Bare stained oak floorboards. Ultra modern technology. Two acoustic guitars wait patiently on stands. Walls rich with pictures – photographs, originals, limited editions and inexpensive prints – black and white seascapes and forests, Venice, dancers, a jazz club, a cafe, women.

He taps on a keyboard with long fingers, glancing up at the emerging…

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Posted by on October 23, 2014 in Uncategorized


Sometimes I wake to you


Sometimes I wake to you

Your body curled into mine. The warm press of your soft skin. Your smooth back against my chest. Your curls swallowing my breath. Your perfect arse cushioning my hardening cock. Your feet brushing against my shins. Your right hand clasping mine to your breast with slim fingers. Your sad sigh as the alarm whirrs quietly.

You nestle in closer and I know that you are smiling, and stirring, to my desire.

You murmur my name

Sometimes I wake to you.

But you are never here



@ the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photograph stolen from Tuxette


Posted by on October 21, 2014 in Still Life


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When she falls

Originally posted on A Faded Romantic's Notebook:

Dressed to Kill by Jack Vettriano

When She Falls

She has that look.

Something in the eyes.

In the line of her nose.

The tilt of her chin.

The set of her jaw.

She is bright, brave and assured.

But when she falls,

she will fall.


She has that smile.

Something in the curve.

In the line of her mouth,

The shape of her lips.

The show of her teeth.

She is cool, collected and poised.

But when she falls,

she will fall.

She has that way.

Something in the words.

In the sweep of her thoughts.

The pride in her voice,

The ice in her veins,

She is proud, aloof and secure.

But when she falls,

she will fall.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano

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Posted by on October 20, 2014 in Uncategorized



Originally posted on A Faded Romantic's Notebook:


It is strange, this on-line attraction.

An ache for someone we only know from a profile,

We judge upon few words. A carefully chosen representative image, a handful of one hundred and forty character conversations. a blog, an insight into a life different to ours.

It is random, illogical and bizarre.

And yet, just once, perhaps twice, I found such a sweet beauty, such a sympathetic heart, such a bright wit, such a pure sexually submissive soul, such a desirable body, such a creative mind, that I now believe beyond reason.

Even though I know that, within a thousand shells, there is but one natural, perfect, pearl.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo taken from the web, uncredited at source. My apologies, please contact me if it is yours.

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Posted by on October 15, 2014 in Uncategorized


Every Inch


I sense you.

I feel your warmth, hear your breathing. I catch a hint of your scent. I can almost taste your skin.

Your presence seems close. Sensual, delicate, compelling, submissive, heavenly.

I imagine touching your face, Your throat, your naked shoulders, your exquisite breasts.

Owning you. The thought thrills me beyond measure.

I will know you completely.

Every word, every breath, every smile, every sigh, every  fantasy, every curve.

Every inch of your perfect body



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from Yesterday’s Pizza

I wrote this a year ago and decided it would benefit from audio


Posted by on October 12, 2014 in D/s, Erotica


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Cutting room floor

An Imperfect Past II

If only life were a movie.

For their final scene I would choose a soft, balmy night at the very end of that summer with the stars bright and new against an inky black sky.

I would track them as they walked, hand in hand, to a favourite restaurant, bubbling with conversation, hungry for each other, and for food.

I would illustrate them through a dozen loving sequences, oblivious to all around them, cuddled up close, lost in each others eyes, sipping wine.

I would capture a kiss, an impulsive hug on the pavement, illuminated by a fat, silver moon.

I would fade into the credits as they dissolved into each other, heading for home, and the glory of each other’s bodies.

I would call it ‘Endless’ and put their photograph on the front – one they took together in the mirror when their lives were full of laughter.

I would give it to them as a gift to cherish forever. .

Before doing so I would quietly take the last sad, bitter, lonely, tearful, heartbreaking six months of their affair and leave them forever forgotten on the cutting room floor.

If only life were a movie



@ the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano

This was originally an idea in my Shadows & Dancers (now private) blog.  I stumbled across it the other day while looking for something else and reworked it.



Posted by on October 10, 2014 in Lovers Past


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No time for regret

A Very Married Woman 11 by Jack Vettriano

I am not a man who wastes time on regret

The corrosion of ‘could have’, ‘would have’, ‘should have’ will eat into you if you allow it.

The rueing of chances not taken, opportunities not grasped, possibilities not followed will wear you down.

It will ruin your nights as you relive key moments, review decisions, reconsider actions, replay situations over and over again.

It will grey your days with shadows of other paths, other routes, other plans, other lives you might have led.

It will make you doubt your judgement, question your instincts, be uncertain of your decisions.

It will leave a bitter taste in your mouth that will taint the shiny fruits of tomorrow.

It will linger like a ghost, always at the edge of your vision, making you think, imagine, wonder if … just if…

I am not a man who wastes time on regret.

But I wish it could have been different

With you



Copyright the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano


Posted by on October 9, 2014 in Lovers Past


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