I want you.
in ways I have written a thousand times
and yet make me hard when I apply them to you.
I want you
in countless, endless fantasies,
stacked in towers of gorgeous film reels in the dark corners of my mind.
I want you
in visions of breathtaking pleasure and exquisite pain,
stripped and tied and teased and touched and tortured and adored.
I want you
so fucking much
it hurts.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Ho-Ryon Lee
I have let the time slide past
I have not counted it, not numbered it, not measured it, not allowed it to register as having slipped away.
I have not marked it on the cruel grid of a calendar.
I have not allowed its tyranny to impose a structure on the passing of moments.
I have done all I can not to think about your illness or how long you have been gone.
Instead I think of you smiling, I imagine you laughing. I dream of you dancing.
I make plans for you.
I have let the time slide past.
I have not allowed it to mount up as hours, days or weeks.
All I know
is that I will not be happy again
until you are well.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photo stolen from Quelarie83 (Serena Biagini)
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 at this time of year. It was written the day after an extraordinary, unexpected, magical night with one of the sweetest. most beautiful women I have ever known, It is almost exactly three years ago.
We will never meet again.
It is like a morning when the sky is achingly blue. When the sun gently stretches skin. When turquoise dragonflies hang in the air. When gorgeous sticky-winged butterflies take first flight. When birds sing, bees buzz and insects whirr. When everything and anything is possible.
It is like an afternoon that finds you on the sea in an open boat.. When the waves rhythmically lap the sides and a warm breeze fills the sails. When pure white gulls soar and mew high above. and sleek grey dolphins glide silently through the clear green water. When time means nothing.
It is like an evening at a wild carnival in the old streets of a romantic city. When the fireworks burst bright and bold with colour. When the dancers move and sway, twist and turn, spin and shake. When the outside restaurant tables are full and noisy with chatter and clatter and conversation. When the smell of delicious food fills the nostrils, When all is electric with excitement and pleasure.
It is like a night of inky black velvet softness, sensually wrapping itself around your shoulders. When exotic flowers yield up their heady scent. When fireflies glow like sparks. When candle flames flicker on the walls. When satin sheets are cool beneath warm bodies. When there is romance in every sigh.
It is like a perfect day
Just being with you.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photo stolen from eamfos
Light is just beginning to seep into my room
It gives shape to furniture, Illuminates pictures on the walls, and faintly smears a trace of gold onto the brass of my bed.
Outside stirring birds are beginning to sing themselves awake with liquid voices.
I glance at the time on my phone. I do not check for mail although I desperately want to. But it is early. And anyway, messages will keep me awake.
I hope that you have written.
I feel my body stir and my heart yearn and I bury my head into the pillows with a sigh.
I begin to slide back into sleep. You are not there, but I feel you next to me. The heat of you. The scent of you. Your skin soft against my mine. I feel your back against my chest. The perfect peach of your arse pressed against my increasing tumescence. Your breasts cupped in my hands.
You whisper something soft and beautiful but I hardly catch the words.
I feel you dissolving into me.
We are floating away,
My alarm sounds urgently.
My day begins.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photo stolen from MalunaDragon
He swims to the windswept, miserable, English winter holiday season with urgent, desperate strokes.
He hauls himself up on its grey, rocky, precarious shore with tired limbs, a bruised body, a jaded mind and the salty taste of multiple loss in his mouth. He is weary to the bone with work, with untidy confusion, and with human frailty.
He is only hungry for the warmth of his fire, a case of red wine, and the easy comfort of family and friends.
He watches the rain fall in endless silver lines and laments the passing of another year and the fading of its legendary adventures.
The last thing he expects is her.
An impossible creature of bright colours and sunshine, extraordinary beauty, and a perfection of form that takes his breath away. A paradox of pure innocence and of deep, vibrant, sensuality. A gorgeous submissive emerging from a vanilla chrysalis.
An unexpected rare, exotic, almost holy gift waiting to be unwrapped.
To be adored and treasured.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Thomas Saliot
This is a repost. It was inspired by a very beautiful girl some time ago. She has now grown into a beautiful young woman and, I believe, from her writing, she has found love. I am delighted for her. But far, far more important, she has discovered her creative voice and is writing the wonderful poetry she was always destined to write. So it is a good time to repeat this, albeit rather out of season, with added audio.
I posted this close to a year ago today. My views haven’t changed. And now and again I simply shake my head.
Images of naked strangers leave him cold
Nudity has become far too common a currency to attract his attention or pique his interest.
A body is a body. Some are more elegant than others. Some have been treated better or worse by time. Some are cared for. Some are toned by exercise. Some are a paradise of lines and curves. Some are the shape he admires.
But they do not raise his pulse.
Not unless he is attracted by the personality within. By the intellect, the sense of humour, the creativity, the warmth. And of course, by the hungry, submissive soul.
The body, especially without exclusivity after having been viewed by many, is merely a shell.
It is she who inhabits the body that gives it attraction, magic, desirability, potency.
She gives it power.
The power to make him ache.
And want her.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Henry Asencio
