Monthly Archives: June 2014


fabian_perez_paola on the couch
There are fragrances I adore
Red wine and the earthy aroma of a mature Rioja. Pepper, smoke, leather, pencil lead, tobacco and oak.
The pungent, salty, briny, fishy, seaweed, damp sand, ozone smell of a small working harbour when the boats have returned with their silver, flapping catch.
Patchouli, and musk and sandalwood, and the magical promise of marijuana, reminding me of stoned nights lost in music and poetry.
A garden awash with flowers, wisteria, alyssum, gardenia, magnolia, sweet pea, jasmine and glorious rose.
The smells redolent of summer and my childhood – new-mown hay, cotton candy, melting tar, honey, horses, chlorine, cinnamon, chocolate, the drifting smoke of a barbecue.
And others too – coffee beans roasting, peaty Irish whiskey, wild garlic, the evening after the rain and storm, and the familiar breath of home when I open the door.
The rich leather of cuffs, collar and blindfold, whips and flogger
And most of all, woman.
A thousand fragrances, every body different. Her fresh washed hair, her make up creams and oils. Her sweet perspiration. Her soft breath. Her purchased perfume made unique when it meets the personal aroma of her warm skin
And that heady, wondrous, eloquent, wild, delicate scent
of pure arousal
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Fabian Perez

Posted by on June 29, 2014 in Erotica, Still Life


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A Faded Romantic's Notebook

She stands before the mirror.

Her reflection is the same and yet she knows something inside herself has changed.  She had expected to see the evidence in the face of the slightly pensive woman staring back at her, but there is none.  Except perhaps a slight blush in her usually pale cheeks.

She raises her chin and flicks her long black hair over her shoulders.  She is aware of a pulse dancing beneath the skin of her throat.  The room is as silent as a church.  She feels holy and profane at the same time. She feels like she did her first day at school.  Excited and afraid, and slightly awed, all at once.

She unties her gown, opens it and lets it fall from her shoulders.  As it glides to the floor it brushes her skin like a soft caress .  She is wearing nothing beneath.

She is not ashamed of her body and yet, even though she is…

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Posted by on June 25, 2014 in Uncategorized


In his prime

threepenny-opera-Paul Davis

I played Macbeth

(And also Hamlet, but that is another tale of woe)

There is a point where Macbeth says

‘I am in blood
Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go over’.
I feel like that, sometimes.
And yet, at others, I am Macheath (a part I also played)
In his prime.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Poster art by Paul Davis

Posted by on June 24, 2014 in Still Life


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A Faded Romantic's Notebook


I am almost always in control.

Of another, of course, but particularly of myself.

But tonight with the summer solstice girdling the evening with magic, and with a wild, apocalyptic moon building herself in the heavens, I am partially undone.

I pace the humid, velvet, fantasy-rich night with light, hungry, tireless footsteps.

Prowling. Circling. Rattling this invisible chain that tethers me.

I am taut, stretched, urgent. I am savage, romantic, decadent. I am poetic, dangerous, sensual.

I close my eyes and allow the rush of her body to sweep over me, exciting my imagination. Her hips, her thighs, her belly, her breasts. The sweet hollow of her throat. The sacred mound of her sex.

The delicate silk of her hair trailing against my skin. The feel of her gorgeous curves beneath my fingers, against my lips, beneath my tongue.

Her scent filling my mouth.

The certainty of leather restraints upon…

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Posted by on June 21, 2014 in Uncategorized


He does not want her body

A Faded Romantic's Notebook


He does not want her body.

It does not matter how extraordinary she looks.  The gorgeous construction of flesh and bone, the heavenly geography of curves and lines, the exquisite shape of her face, the eloquence of her eyes, the sensuality of her mouth.

It does not matter that she excites him physically. That her shape and sexuality thrill him. That he can feel his desire for her turning his mouth dry, leaving him aching and breathless, causing him to harden urgently at the thought of her.

He does not want her body

Unless she yields to him her sweet, submissive soul.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from the very lovely Muse-Morte

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Posted by on June 18, 2014 in Uncategorized




A shiver.

A delicious, electric, thrilling shiver.

An ice hot sensation rushing from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine.

It hurries to her throat and steals her breath.

It colours her skin with a sudden, rosy, tell-tale blush.

It hardens her nipples as if touched by a kiss

It dances wild across her belly and hips.

It makes her gasp as it tugs at her thighs

It penetrates her sex.

A shiver

Running down her spine

Coming from him.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from Hands and Teeth



Posted by on June 17, 2014 in D/s, Erotica, Still Life


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They make me laugh

These boys

With their 50 Shades clichés,

their limited vocabulary,

their barely disguised misogyny,

their ‘do it because I say’ mentality

their unlikely claim

to a suit.


They surely only thrill

the most naive

and undemanding

of girls…


Yet perhaps it is me

that is old-fashioned.


A remnant

from some classical and heroic past


One day soon

I shall write it all

as it was

And then hang up


this blindfold

and cuffs.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez




Posted by on June 14, 2014 in D/s, Still Life


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