Not a strength

Romantic Dominant:

I wrote this almost exactly a year ago. At the time I was thinking about someone specific with whom I had once been impossibly close. Yet it seems true of all my relationships. – once the girl has gone.

Originally posted on A Faded Romantic's Notebook:

Her head on the pillow


That longing for someone.

Sometimes difficult to untangle from other feelings. Friendship, admiration, wanting that which is not mine. Perhaps even love..

Desire has filled my days with breathlessness and with desperate hope. It has ruined sleep with longing and with twisted sheets.

And even when desire is requited, the hunger returns. Often before she is fully dressed. A glimpse of thigh to make my pulse quicken.

Yet where does it all go?

How does that impossible ache, that yearning, that hunger all disappear, disperse, evaporate? What happens to that seemingly endless need for the perfection of her skin, for the miracle of her cheekbones, for the eloquence of her eyes, the sculpture of her breasts, the geometry of her calves and thighs,

What is that quenches the flame?

I have reached the conclusion that it is her exit that extinguishes the light.

There is some defence within me that cannot long for that which does not wish to…

View original 130 more words


Posted by on March 1, 2015 in Uncategorized


What is it like?

Henry Saliot painting


What is it like?


What is it like to be with her

hearing her words

knowing her dreams?

What is like to be hers?


What is it like to be closer

stroking her hair

holding her body?

What is like to be there?


What is it like to be inside

feeling her skin

parting her thighs?

what is like to be in?




©  the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Henry Saliot

This poem, written by me in my teens, popped into my head today. I have no idea what I must have been thinking about that suddenly brought it to mind…..

But here it is – recited by a much older, but sometimes still inquisitive, me.


Posted by on February 25, 2015 in Erotica, Poetry


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Reading this





I am thinking of you

And hoping you are reading this.

I imagine the light of the screen making your face pale. Your slight frown of concentration. Your head tilted a little to one side, Your index finger playing with your hair, curling a silky strand backwards and forwards, round and round. Your lips parted.

I imagine you scanning the words. Wanting them to be for you. Telling yourself they are not. Yet knowing they can be for no other.

I imagine you glowing, and the faintest blush kissing your skin.

I am thinking of you

And hoping you are reading this

And that your perfect mouth is smiling

As mine is



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Loui Jover




Posted by on February 24, 2015 in Still Life


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Before the years



I wish you had known me then.

Before the years.

Before the suit, the mortgage, the business, the money.

Before the wife, the children, the pets, the friends.

Before the affairs, the half-truths, the lies, the compromise.

Before the lines, the shadows, the hollows, the grey.

Before the words came so much harder to write.

I wish you had known me then

Before the years



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez (which replaced a photograph of me)




Posted by on February 23, 2015 in Still Life


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Not even for you


I cannot change the way that I am.

It is not a whim, a fashion, a style.  It is not act, a pose, an affectation. It is not a sham, a fake, a masquerade. It is not some elaborate pretence.

I have not adopted a persona to attract or to seduce.

I have not appeared as a result of some popular, titillating. empty movie.

I have always been here.

The word Dominant does not define me. It is simply a way of translating what I have always been into something that can almost be understood.

I cannot alter, modify, change, reshape, or reorient myself.

Not without betraying every thought, desire, belief, sinew and fibre of my being.

This is me.

I can never compromise.

Not even for you.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from grafzahl

I wrote this last year around this time. I have updated it slightly, adding an extra line following the release of a certain movie, about which most of you will know my feelings. I have added audio, which gives me an excuse to run it again.


Posted by on February 22, 2015 in D/s, Lovers Past, Still Life


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Hanging on

Man of Steel

I am watching the afternoon dissolve.

The light is fading. The trees and shrubs, the borders and paths, the fences and lawns are merging softly into one another. The last, muted. copper rays of the sun are reflected back briefly and wistfully in the leaded windows of the old summer-house.

I am in my quiet study. The ancient central heating pipes are complaining moodily beneath dark oak floorboards. The melancholy music recently playing has stopped. The absence of piano, violin and guitar has left an almost holy stillness.

Like a church hushed for prayer.

Despite myself, despite my promises to me, I am thinking of you. I have let your presence slide gently into the gathering gloom. I hear the faintest echo of your laughter. I catch your scent lingering like a sigh.

Both, of course, are impossible.

I feel a need to write something for you. A poem to send. Words to make you remember. And perhaps to regret.

But I know I won’t.

I will simply sigh and switch on the desk lamp. I will banish the ghosts and shadows and pale dancers to the sudden darkness that will press at my window.

Yet just for a moment I will sit here.

Hanging on.

Until I can bear to let you go.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

 Art by Anne Magill



Posted by on February 21, 2015 in Still Life


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Stolen Afternoon



Stolen Afternoon


I should not be here

with you

in the holy heaven

of this stolen afternoon.


I should not be held

by you

in the pure paradise

of these perfect hours.


I should not be loved

by you

in this sacred shelter

from separate lives.



© the author writing a Romantic Dominant

Written and recorded today

Photo stolen from spokojnysen


Posted by on February 17, 2015 in Poetry


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