Monthly Archives: January 2013

No more distant


Beauty and I did not meet for lunch today.

She had her reasons,  I understand them.  They had nothing at all to do with me. In her elegant shoes, in her difficult circumstances, I would have postponed it too.

I would feel more disappointment if I had really been expecting to see her.  If I really believed that today I would gently take her sweet hand in mine in a warm, almost shy greeting. Possibly brush the skin of her perfect, precious face with my lips in that same untidy welcome. Maybe even hold her close for a brief, tender, breathless, self-conscious moment.

To embrace for as long as friendship would decently allow.

But these faded days I seldom allow my hopes to rise higher than the cold winter sun on the distant horizon.  I have had more than my share of recent star-crossed quests.  I am weary, jaded, and just a little cynical of feminine promise.

When next I see Beauty, if indeed I ever do, she will be married.

It will not make her any more or less distant than she is now.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez


Posted by on January 29, 2013 in Still Life


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No one died


He picks himself up.

He crawls up a beach of broken glass like a shattered, damaged survivor.

Endings and wrecks always bring the same response.  An initial sense of relief that it is over. Almost euphoria. A strange weightlessness, a floating, a feeling of detachment, almost a glow of optimism.

It as is if the brain has seen an approaching tsunami of hurt brutally threatening to overwhelm it and has pumped out adrenaline and shut down receptors.

The pain spikes in as if his body is surfacing through a heavy anaesthetic.  The sense of loss makes the day black, the night endless, every moment without purpose, and every movement in slow pointless motion.

He has been here before.  He allows the torrent of emotion rise up around him, fill him and drown him.  He lets sorrow soak his words.  He loses himself in the flood.

The receding tide leaves him free.

He has all his limbs.  His heart still beats. His soul is undiminished and will sing again.

He picks himself up.

No one has died.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Illustration stolen from Kay Jensen.


Posted by on January 27, 2013 in Still Life


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The Silence


You wish you could turn back the clock.

You would seek the button that delivers ‘system restore’ and apply it to those final, confused, damaged weeks.

You want to delete the frantic, bitter texts, the urgent, hurting e-mails, the angry, red marks left by your stinging fingers upon his surprised face.

You want to erase that last cruel, triumphant, foolish message you left like poison on his phone.

You long to explain again what you really felt in words that this time do not say much less than you meant and far more than you intended.

You want to take his hand in yours, to pull him close, to feel his protecting, loving, dangerous arms around you.  To nestle in the safe hollow of his shoulder and listen to the steady beat of his certain, adoring, Dominant heart.

You swear you would give anything to see him one more time.

But you will not be the one to break the silence.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from Tatyana Klimenko


Posted by on January 24, 2013 in Lovers Past


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To make me smile


Beauty and I have a date.

Lunch. A week from today. In the place we said goodbye in August.

It is strange friendship.  For me the attraction is obvious. She is young and breathtakingly beautiful.  A pale-skinned, dark-haired, brown-eyed, diminutive beauty with the body of a perfect goddess, legs of celestial design, and the smile of an angel.  And yet it is more than that.  As much as I adore her physically I find her adorable personally. She makes me laugh. She makes me want to hug her with pure affection.

And although, in my darkest and most delicious fantasies I would strip her and bind her and make her gorgeous body dance with pleasure and pain – I also have a desire to champion and nurture her, and keep her safe from harm.

It is what she sees in me that is the mystery.  She knows I want her and it both disturbs and delights her. Perhaps there is a tug of excitement in being so close to the dark creature that she is deeply aware that I am. Perhaps there is joy in the knowledge that I would never go beyond the boundaries she has gently drawn – even in suggestion or proposal –  so she can safely bathe in my attention. Perhaps I make her glow.

I might wish that she has a submissive ache, a hunger, an itch somewhere deep beneath her skin.  But in reality. I know it would have surfaced long before now.

The simple truth is not carnal.

She simply likes me.  As a friend.

That is more than enough to make me smile.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez


Posted by on January 22, 2013 in Lovers Past


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carpet surfin'-thomas-saliot

She had flown.


He was saddened

she could

take to the air

without him.


She was disappointed

at how little

he seemed to care.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot


Posted by on January 22, 2013 in Lovers Past, Still Life


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Four Minutes


She has promised herself.

She has made a temporary deal with the mocking minute hand of the clock. She will not hit the ‘refresh mail’ button again for at least another fifteen minutes of its slow passage through the wasteland of another hour. She will not stare at the screen willing it to show his name. She will not read and re-read and recite his last communication.

She will not construct a future or resurrect a past. She will not allow her imagination to betray her. She will not let her hopes create expectation. She will not permit her fears to rise like a lump in her throat.

She will not touch that key.

Her finger rebels.

Four minutes.


Copyright : The author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from Vidmantas Read the rest of this entry »


Posted by on January 21, 2013 in Still Life


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On Pornography

An Imperfect Past II

I have never quite understood visual pornography.

Images, moving or otherwise, of the coupling and diverse sexual activity of complete strangers has no power to excite me. Explicit photographic captures of unknown naked women do not arouse me.

Perhaps it is because I have no interest in the bodies of people who I do not know.  Without context, without character, without motivation, without history, without true desire, without an understanding of the intelligence and sensitivity and emotions of another, what value is there in an artlessly over-exposed exterior? What pleasure is there in another’s random fuck?

It could be argued that at times I have created my own very private pornography, capturing the image of submissive lovers on film and video.  Or having them create such images for me.  But the erotic power is in the whole, in the person, in the circumstances, in the relationship, in the passion, in the intimacy, and in the romance.  It is because of who they are and what they mean to me that inspires and thrills me. It is what we both felt before, during and after. Their body, their soul, and the moment are one.

It is a far cry from that which, for me, stimulates no more than a yawn and a mild sense of perplexity.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano


Posted by on January 20, 2013 in Still Life


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