Monthly Archives: February 2014

Any Other

A year ago. It is an addiction

A Faded Romantic's Notebook


It began like any other game.

She had read his words. The heady mix of romance, ropes and respect.  Of dominance, decadence and desire. Of longing, lust and leather.  Of sex, service and submission.  Of poetry, pain and pleasure.

It was an attractive, compelling and perhaps dangerous drug.

Yet she knew she could handle it.  The geographic distance would keep her safe.  The lack of a physical connection would be an antidote to its power.  The absence of the carnal would diminish its dominion.

She placed the collar about her throat.  She could feel the urgent pulse in her neck whispering a warning. She smiled bravely into the eye of the camera.

She could control it.

But now she aches.  A deep, persistent hunger that cannot be satisfied by fingers or phallus.

The geographic distance has become her prison, the lack of physical connection is her torturer, the absence of…

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Posted by on February 22, 2014 in Uncategorized







Yet while I could never

love again

the body that has lain

in the arms of another,

I will remember

every single embrace

the touch of her perfect skin

on mine




© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Henry Asencio


Posted by on February 20, 2014 in Lovers Past


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A lover in the rain


I have walked in the rain with a lover

I have felt her huddled up close to me, beneath the protection of my arm, as we skipped over puddles and sidestepped streams of water rushing down the High Street. I have sheltered beneath shop and restaurant awnings with her as a torrential downpour temporarily flooded the gutters and drains. I have kissed her mouth as separate miniature tributaries beaded and joined on our faces.

I have raced hand in hand with her over a river bridge to find a dry, dripping space beneath shining weeping willows. I have stood looking out to a wild sea with rain mixing with salty spray and our laughter as we shouted our love into it.

I have run with her into the house utterly drenched and joyfully removed each others soaking clothes. Warming one another with the friction of skin on skin.

I have walked in the rain with a lover when the heavens opened above us and it didn’t matter.

Today I walked in the rain.


And it just felt miserable, wet and cold.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photograph stolen from humming girl


Posted by on February 14, 2014 in Lovers Past, Still Life


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Act Dangerously

Act Dangerously

It would seem apt to re-blog this today

A Faded Romantic's Notebook


Romantic that I am, I adore Valentine’s Day.

Not so much for the exchange of cards, gifts and supper between those who are already lovers.  Although I can see the romance, the affirmation, the enchantment and the intimacy – I have fallen under its amorous spell often enough

But what really makes February the fourteenth special is that it provides almost-strangers the perfect excuse and the ideal opportunity to flirt outrageously.

And to act dangerously.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from Maille Queen

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Posted by on February 14, 2014 in Uncategorized


Biding his time


He has reached a point where he has to decide.

In his teens he would have called himself poet. Although, in truth, his talent did not live up to the title . Yet he played the part. Wild eyed and long-haired, a head full of visions, a penchant for flowing white shirts and leather trousers. A singer in bands that failed. A political activist with an instinct for the underdog and a hatred of social injustice.

A romantic soul with a passionate heart.

He does not know how or when industry claimed him. Somewhere along the line he swapped his daytime jeans for a suit and tie, trimmed his shaggy locks and shaved off his beard. He traveled the world, made deals, signed contracts, represented companies and made himself at home in the boardroom

Then, fifteen years in, he’d had enough of blue-chip politics and changed his business life to running smaller companies that were in need of rescue and hope. The chance to make things happen quickly. And to consider the welfare of others. Less lucrative certainly – but far more challenging.

And it was still commerce that has ruled his days.

The writer inside him did not complain. He worked away quietly. He did not seek a life.

He was biding his time.

Until now.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Rene Magritte





Posted by on February 6, 2014 in Still Life


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The Minding


It is a Scottish word.
In normal usage it is ‘a small gift given as a token of goodwill’.
Yet in certain circles it has taken on a different meaning.
A Reminder.

He tells her to choose a piece of jewellery. She knows that, if it were possible, he would have bought it for her himself. But their circumstances do not allow it.

Instead she sifts through her jewellery box, seeking something discreet. An item that will pass without comment from those close to her. She chooses a bracelet and slips it on her wrist. She holds it up to the light and is pleased with her choice. Strangely it seems newer, more elegant, more stylish. The metal shines, the small gems glow. It has taken on a power of its own.

It is then she realises she is excited. There is a light tug in her lower belly. A quickening of her breath.

At first she cannot understand why she has become aroused at the thought, the idea, the concept, of wearing this token.  His token.

For him.

At home, at work, with her family and with her friends. Quietly, on her own. And when she is naked before him.

But then she considers what it symbolises. An external sign of belonging, of being owned, of being controlled. A constant reminder that sexually she is His disciple. His submissive. His slave. That her body is his, to do with as he instructs.

That she is respected, desired, valued and adored. That she belongs to him.

And then it comes to her.

The Minding is a collar.

She is wearing his collar.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from nondani


Posted by on February 1, 2014 in D/s


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