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Monthly Archives: March 2014

Even if I wanted to

Couple X

I do not dwell on the past.

I cannot bring it back

Even if I wanted to.

It is gone forever. As distant as the outer reaches of infinite space. As hopeless as waking the dead. As impossible as immortality.

Nothing I do now can change its nature.

It is set in the hardest of stone. It is unchanging and permanent. It is fixed and unmoving. Forever.

What value would there be

In remembering her. Of conjuring up sunlit mornings, her breasts cupped in my hands, nipples hardening against my palms. Her laughter like music, making me catch her up, and spin her round. Her eyes bewitching me.

What point would there be

In revisiting her. Of recalling her body stretched out like sacrifice, her wrists and ankles tied, her thighs damp with desire, her clean, white teeth biting her lip.?

What purpose would there be

In recreating her. Of picturing her dancing in flickering candle light, her curves breathtaking, her eyes eloquent, her smile only for me?

Her long, sweet, lingering, hungry, soft, velvet kisses.

I do not dwell on the past

I cannot bring it back.

Even if I wanted to.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano

 

 

 

 
24 Comments

Posted by on March 30, 2014 in D/s, Lovers Past

 

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Stable Revisited

It is pure indulgence of me to repost this again. But I enjoyed writing and reciting it. I hope you will also enjoy reading and listening to it.

A Faded Romantic's Notebook

naked girl on horse

Stable

.

We shall meet

in the close, cramped,

tack-room dark where,

for almost an hour

I have shared the tight space

with saddles and hats,

bridles & bits.

.

The pungent odour

of horse and leather

and something sweeter

has made me heady,

has made me dizzy,

has made me hard

and tight in my jeans.

Waiting for you.

.

I can hear the horse

in the next stall

noisily shifting

his fifteen hands

on thin, muscular legs.

Hooves striking concrete

through soft smelling straw.

.

Your favourite mount

is soft mouthed

and compliant,

alert and responsive

to your hand on his flanks,

and your weight on his back,

your legs astride,

your legs open wide,

open so wide,

forgive me,

so wide.

.

I am leaning against

a smooth wooden table.

In the musty dark

my fingers have found

a dozen deep carvings

of passion and lust,

scratched…

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Posted by on March 30, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

More than I could bear

Blue Denim

The church bells are ringing.

Tuesday is practice night for the faithful and unfaithful campanologists. The peal is uneven, discordant and untidy. A novice is hauling the rope. The sound disturbs the silence. The evenings are usually so quiet here.

I sip my wine. It is nothing special. A syrah grape without provenance, but it fills my mouth with blackberry, and pepper, and smoke. And summer. And memories of her.

She was far too young for me. A child when measured against my grey hair and dark experience. And yet she touched me in a way that few have ever done.

She was lithe and slender and had eyes that saw beyond the obvious, She was as sharp as a glass shard and far cleverer than she realised. Her demeanour was a mixture of swagger and vulnerability. She had the face of a model and the bewitching smile of a girl. She pretended that she was five foot six, but she wasn’t. Her legs were breathtaking, her breasts spectacular on such a petite frame.

She was as heavenly as sin.

She gave herself to me with poetic solemnity and a glorious sense of drama. In retrospect, I think she meant it. She lived for the moment and, just then, with her head bowed, I was the moment.

I am a master of discipline, manipulation and control. But I’m not sure I could ever have tamed her.

She was a wild and wayward spirit.

I don’t know what has made me think of her. Perhaps the confusion of bells, the wine in my mouth, spring rising, the overwhelming certainty that evening is descending on me fast these days.

We drifted apart.

I am glad we did.

She would have only disappointed me.

And that would have hurt

More than I could bear.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot

 

 

 
18 Comments

Posted by on March 25, 2014 in D/s, Lovers Past

 

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Sometimes the unexpected

Sometimes the unexpected …… actually happens
A year ago, almost to the day.

A Faded Romantic's Notebook

Dark Jean's girl by Thomas Saliot

Sometimes the unexpected.

An exotic young creature with a perfect screen-goddess pout on a face of pure, beautiful innocence. Eloquent clear eyes capturing the world in a glance.

A body with lean, tight, sleek sports-car curves and a peerless skin that has barely been touched by the sun or a possessive, unworthy lover.  A new sensuality that throbs and dances through her entire being.

A heart that has yet to be broken, still brave and bold and certain.

A mind that is still dangerous with curiosity, hungry for art and literature, yearning for adventure.

A proud will that bends to his with enthusiasm, with elegance, and an unlikely mature understanding of shared respect.

Sometimes the unexpected.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot

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4 Comments

Posted by on March 23, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Addiction Revisited

Another post from exactly one year ago today.
This addiction has given me such extraordinary highs – and some chilling lows – but I will never give up this drug,

A Faded Romantic's Notebook

His favourite girl by Jack Vettriano

Addiction

.

The uncaring night will take me

And oppress me with its heat.

Leave me wide-eyed and sleepless

In a tangle of tortured sheets.

.

Since you became my addiction

I have wanted no one else.

Only to see you dance before me

I have longed for nothing else.

.

The over bright dawn will find me

And burden me with its hope.

Leave me confused and restless

Tied up tightly in my own rope.

.

Since you became my addiction

I have wanted no one else.

Only to see you dance before me

I have longed for nothing else.

.

The relentless day will trap me

And unsight me with its glare.

Leave me wandering and helpless

Your distance has stripped me bare.

.

Since you became my addiction

I have wanted no one else.

Only to see you dance before me

I have longed for nothing else.

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Posted by on March 21, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Dress Revisited

I posted this a year ago. A smaller audience then. I hope you enjoy

A Faded Romantic's Notebook

Girl in blue dress

Dress

One more glass and I will submit

to the memory of her dress.

Silk less smooth as the skin within,

and I’ve seen her wearing less.

.

But you never knew me quite this way

with my eyes so full of clouds.

Some black poison has ruined me

and the gown is now a shroud.

.

One more glass and I will resort

to softly whispering her name.

Writing words on my exposed pale wrists

in an attempt to hide the stain.

.

But you never knew me quite this way

With my body so stale and old.

I’ve tortured the flame of this candle

And its grey smoke kiss has left me cold.

.

One more glass and I will forget

the sweet memory of her dress.

She wore it for me one afternoon

when she still wanted to impress.

.

.

© the author writing as…

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Posted by on March 18, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

As he will

One year ago – For him to do with her as he will.

A Faded Romantic's Notebook

Submission

She barely understands it.

It is a desire to serve.

A hunger to yield, to bend, to give, to allow herself to be controlled.

A need to submit, To comply, to assent, to acquiesce.  It is an itch, an ache, a yearning.

She is compelled by some deep inner want, some unfathomable need. some almost primal desire to bestow  dominion.

To render up complete power.

She has craved such wondrous, glorious authority over her for as long as she can remember. Before the budding of her breasts, before the flow of blood, before passion, before the longing between her thighs.

Yet it could never be anyone.  It had to be him.  It always had to be him.

She has waited forever for his presence. For his strength, his certainty, his discipline, his protection.

For him to do with her as he will.

Mind, body and soul.

.

.

© the…

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Posted by on March 14, 2014 in Uncategorized