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Monthly Archives: April 2014

Bonfire

 

In the half light

It is over.

He says it to himself out loud, testing the meaning, trying to gauge how much hurt there is in those four hard syllables. He does not flinch as they bruise the air.

He has been here before. He knows how to cope, The procedure, the action, the process he must follow.

He begins by telling himself he feels nothing. He shrugs his shoulders, hardens his jaw, stiffens his lip. He is determined, resolute, strong.

He knows there is an exorcism to perform, a ritual, a ceremony, an extraction, an eradication. He must obliterate, wash out, abolish, expunge.

He is methodical, thorough, determined. He does not hesitate. He removes her name from his contacts, removes her telephone number, removes every address of any kind, removes every reference, removes her birthday.

He makes certain he cannot show weakness in the future, He cannot bow to sentiment, He cannot make a fool of himself.

He can never be tempted to tell her he wants her.

With great certainty of purpose he blocks her or unfollows her on all the social media, all the networking, all the blogs, all the messaging they shared.

Finally he builds a huge, raging, hungry, devouring, virtual bonfire of everything that would remind him of her.. He deletes all her photographs and videos. He deletes their e-mails. He deletes their messages. He deletes their texts. He deletes their words.

He deletes their history.

He does not look at any of it as it vanishes into the flames His fingers are precise, cold, dispassionate, tapping at the keyboard.

He leans back in his chair.

It is done. It is over.

He takes a deep, dangerous breath.

He blames the tears running down his face

on the smoke

from the bonfire.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

 
48 Comments

Posted by on April 28, 2014 in Lovers Past, Still Life

 

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No Stranger to Beauty Revisited

Because it is that time of year …

A Faded Romantic's Notebook

fabian-perez-letizia-a-la-siesta-20464

No Stranger to Beauty

.

I am no stranger to beauty

It has thrilled me,

haunted me,

betrayed me,

pursued me,

evaded me.

It has danced wild with me

Through soft, velvet night.

It has lain gentle with me

In the quiet, silver dawn.

.

I am no stranger to beauty.

It has inspired me,

Calmed me,

Enraged me,

Tortured me,

Chained me.

It has walked easy with me

On golden summer days.

It has danced only for me

With urgent promise in its eyes.

.

I am no stranger to beauty.

But yours …

Brown eyed

And naked.

Pale skinned

and perfect.

Has taken my breath away.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

It would seem an apt time to revisit this post today.  It was written the day after an extraordinary, unexpected, magical night with one of the sweetest. most beautiful…

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11 Comments

Posted by on April 25, 2014 in Erotica, Lovers Past

 

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Question

only_typing_by_alexaidonidis-d37i39o

She stares at the screen.

The room is quiet.

Outside a brisk wind is sliding milky clouds across a pale blue sky. The sun sulks behind them. The afternoon is strangely silent, suddenly hushed. All the usual sounds are subdued, muffled, muted, softened. As if waiting for her.

She is aware that since reading his message she has been holding her breath. She releases it slowly, exhaling a dozen different emotions. Her hands are shaking.

She places them flat upon her thighs to calm their agitation, but her fingers flutter like small birds to her throat as she returns to his words. They are elegant, intelligent, seductive. dangerous.  Expected and yet unexpected.  They are clear, unambiguous, and yet somehow subtle.

They are a carefully crafted question.

She reads once more, aloud this time, her mouth forming the shapes, as if testing their meaning upon her lips. She whispers them like a prayer.

In her head she goes through arguments, concerns, and fears. She wrestles with an immediate and instinctive protestation.

She measures her hopes, her expectations, her needs. She feels a rising excitement.

It is barely two minutes before her nails click on the keyboard.

She types a single word

Yes

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from Alex Aidonidis

 
47 Comments

Posted by on April 24, 2014 in D/s, Still Life

 

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Misconception

untittled-ii-fabian-perez

 

Misconception

 

I know you once believed

that I

wore my proud heart on my sleeve,

transparent and unsubtle

a far too obvious read.

 

You wanted to think

that I

had the look of a victim,

casual and trivial

lacking restraint or wisdom.

 

It disturbs you to find

that I

am such a private person,

self-contained and unafraid

of solitude or isolation.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

 
10 Comments

Posted by on April 21, 2014 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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A serious mind

Spellbound_by_AliceInUnderland

      ‘Sex and death are the only things that can interest a serious mind’

W B Yeats – Quotation  (paraphrased)

 

Photo stolen from Alice in Underland

 
17 Comments

Posted by on April 20, 2014 in Quotes

 

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Pray

moi49_pray_by_ladymartist-d5dsqwu

She knows it is wrong.

She wears her white dress with purple flowers. It hugs her modestly at breast and hips. The hem of the skirt ebbs and flows at the top of her calves. The collar is a chaste V. Her matching cardigan elegantly covers her shoulders.

She is upon her knees.

A prayer murmurs around her like a sea. The air is holy with incense and devotion.

It is Easter.

She tries to concentrate, to focus, to give herself up to ritual, supplication and adoration. To offer up thanks, orison and worship.

But all she can think of is the ribbon tied tightly around her bare upper thigh.

And her nakedness

Beneath her dress.

 

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from Lady Martist

 

 
15 Comments

Posted by on April 20, 2014 in D/s, Erotica, Still Life

 

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Realisation

Exactly one year ago today. We all make mistakes. Sometimes the same one.
Over and over.

A Faded Romantic's Notebook

blue-vest-last1

At what point does he realise?

Is it when he wakes to find she has left no word?  No gentle mailed reminder of her gorgeous presence.

Is it when he points the car towards the office and the first song on the radio has an image of her in every line?

Is it when he finds himself comparing every woman he sees with the absolute glory of her face and form and finding others utterly wanting?

Is it when the second glass of wine dulls his defences and he can’t stop her from climbing into his thoughts and curling up in his heart?

Is it when he goes to sleep and she is the last thing he thinks of as he closes his tired eyes?

At what point does he realise

He has made such a stupid mistake?

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas…

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Posted by on April 20, 2014 in Uncategorized