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Walks this earth

Originally posted on A Faded Romantic's Notebook:


 rose_by_don_paolo

There is a woman.

She walks this earth.

I have not met her, although I once came close. I have barely seen her, though glimpses have thrilled me. I have never spoken to her, although I swear I can hear her sweet accent in my head. And in my dreams.

I do not know her perfume but her scent thrills me. I have not touched her but can almost feel her skin beneath my finger tips. I have not looked into her eyes, but feel light-headed at the thought.

I have not owned her, but the hunger to do so consumes me.

There is a woman.

She walks this earth.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from AntekPyra

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Posted by on September 29, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Tapestry

she_was_a_tapestry_by_ravenangeldoger-d6wwj62

 

Tapestry

 

I will take a thousand threads of you

Strings of contact and conversation

Fibres of film and photograph

Strands of time and place

Skeins of smiles, sadness and skin

Ribbons of remembering

 

I will take a thousand threads of you

And weave a rich and vibrant

Bold and beautiful

Tapestry of love

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art stolen from ravenangeldoger

 
27 Comments

Posted by on September 23, 2014 in Poetry

 

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Where lovers meet

Romantic Dominant:

Almost exactly a year ago.

Originally posted on A Faded Romantic's Notebook:

The Meeting Place at St. Pancras station

He doesn’t like to think that far ahead.

The dark nights of November falling like a cloak about his shoulders. The chill air hardening the skin of his face. Orphan snowflakes ghosting the afternoon.

He pictures her, wide-eyed in a foreign land. A mixture of innocence and swagger, confidence and vulnerability. Black, shoulder-length hair, sculptured cheekbones, exquisite lips, perfect chin. A slender waif.

Decadently, dangerously, deliciously young. Yet wiser and braver than many twice her age.

He doesn’t allow himself to conjure up the moment of breathless recognition. The coming together. The folding of her into his arms.

At St. Pancras station.

Where lovers meet.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photograph : The Meeting Place, a 30 ft. bronze sculpture at St. Pancras railway station, London. I couldn’t find the source – apologies

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Posted by on September 18, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Something about her

Originally posted on A Faded Romantic's Notebook:

Painting by Thomas Saliot

I have (although I have no religion) been blessed.

I have enjoyed so much of beauty.

I have flattered, seduced, stolen, attracted, enchanted and compelled her. I have adored, admired, worshipped and respected her. I have yearned for, longed for, ached for, wished for, hungered for her.

I have dominated, owned, controlled, instructed, disciplined her. I have used and abused her. I have kissed, caressed, tied and whipped, licked, stroked, teased and thrilled her. I have made her body electric with pleasure.

I have felt beauty moan and sigh beneath my hands.

I have held her in my arms and soothed her fears. I have fallen for her.

Very rarely, I have loved her….

Yet of late I thought I had grown weary of beauty

I thought I had grown tired, cynical, jaded,

I thought my lifetime infatuation with her was over.

But there is something about this beauty that…

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Posted by on September 14, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Always someone

Little Black Dress

When I am alone

In the sultry, electric heat of a stormy summer night. In the still, misty air of a hushed and muted Autumn afternoon. In the warm bed contrast of a shivery bitter-cold winter morning. In the sap-rising new warmth of a gentle Spring evening.

When I am utterly alone

And when my wordy mind is full of dancers. Of yearning. almost-innocent girls in party dresses. Of elegant, long-legged women, heels sending staccato gun fire across marble floors. Of leather-clad vixens, full swagger, poise and scarcely admitted vulnerability.  Of submissive, naked angels. spread and tied like sacrifice on pure white sheets on wide brass beds…..

And when my memories and fantasies, and the touch of my own fingers across my flesh, have made me ache and burn for physical release

There is always a beauty and a body I conjure up when I close my eyes.

A delicious smile. A paradise of curves and lines and soft tender skin. A wonder of gorgeous breasts with hard-as-berry nipples. A roll of hips that take my breath away. A perfection of soft thighs, seductively parted. Eloquent eyes that know my dark soul.

There is always someone my hunger turns to.

Someone to bring me to a wild, private, exultant, shuddering climax

It is always you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot

 

 

 

 
19 Comments

Posted by on September 11, 2014 in D/s, Erotica, Lovers Past

 

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Done

 

Test of True Love

We all do it.

We cling on to something for far too long.

We remember everything. Every touch, every smile, every kiss.

Every wild moment when nothing, absolutely nothing, truly nothing else in the world, mattered

We re-read everything. Every word, every sentence, every nuance, every space, every between-the-lines.

We recall conversations. Where we were. How they started. What was said. What was meant. What changed. What mattered.

We follow them after they have gone. Reading their posts, their tweets, their status. Studying their friends, their followers, their new contacts.

Almost, but not quite, yet still almost, stalking them.

We think of them, imagine them, want them, believe in them.

We expect them to return.

They never do.

I have carried this torch for what seems like forever.

No more.

I am done

The fire is out.

.

.

 the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano

 

 
25 Comments

Posted by on September 10, 2014 in Lovers Past, Still Life

 

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Tale of a Dominant : Part Two : The End

Originally posted on A Faded Romantic's Notebook:

fabian-perez-fabian-and-monica-18912

The candle has burnt down low.

The bar is close to empty. It is late. The waitress is hovering near the table with the bill, He motions to her with a raised eyebrow and a smile. She places l’addition on a white saucer with two small squares of gold-wrapped chocolate.

The girl opposite him runs her hands through her long black hair and stretches back in her chair. It is almost provocative.

His eyes flick over her body appreciatively and return to her face. He stares into her eyes. She doesn’t look away. They are both more than a little drunk.

She feels she knows everything about him. He has answered her questions all evening. About his lovers, About D/s, his rules, the cities and the hotel suites, the romance, the shadows and the dancers. His briefcase full of ropes and bindings, toys and instruments. The reasons behind it all…

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Posted by on September 9, 2014 in Uncategorized

 
 
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