Spotlight

 

You are the girl

I want

dancing

in the spotlight

of my desire.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Hamish Blakely

Not a brand new post. But you are the girl I want ….

 

Music starts

The music starts

slow guitar

growling bass

dirty brass

drums kick in

high hat

snare.

.

His eyes

are upon her

watching her face

watching her body

as she moves.

.

She has never

felt more

a woman

than she does

right now.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This is three years old, yet a dancer is always special.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 

Music starts

The music starts

slow guitar

growling bass

dirty brass

drums kick in

high hat

snare.

.

His eyes

are upon her

watching her face

watching her body

as she moves.

.

She has never

felt more

a woman

than she does

right now.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This is two years old, yet a dancer is always special.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 

Music starts

The music starts

slow guitar

growling bass

dirty brass

drums kick in

high hat

snare.

.

His eyes

are upon her

watching her face

watching her body

as she moves.

.

She has never

felt more

a woman

than she does

right now.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

A year old, yet a dancer is always special.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 

Imagine a girl

Imagine a girl.

She is young. Yet still a woman.

Imagine a girl

She is dancing.

Her hair is a dark storm cascading over her shoulders and down her back. It is wild and wayward. It frames her lovely face with waves and curls. Her expression is serious as she concentrates on the music.

Yet when she smiles it ignites the room.

Imagine a girl.

She is dancing.

Her body is a paradise of lines and curves. Her shape is slender but not thin. She is exquisitely proportioned, poised and peachy perfect. Her movements are sensual, sexy, and subtle.

She knows how to move. But shedding her clothes is new.

Imagine a girl

She is dancing

She is dancing to Lana Del Rey ….

I do not have to imagine her.

She is dancing for me.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art stolen from Mr. Pilgrim

I wrote this exactly a year ago. So here it is again.

 

Chant Revisited

 

Chant

I will chant your name

The chords beneath my fingers
no longer break the silence
with words I cannot find.
Only hunger resonates.

I will chant your name,

I will chant your name
in this night of endless yearning,
drowning in the echoes
yet thirsty beyond belief.

I will chant your name

Your eyes have held me captive
Starved me without thinking,
crucified my days.
Yet our suffering is the same.

I will chant your name

I will chant your name
A hymn to aching distance
Until all latitude means nothing
Only lines to score desire.

I will chant your name.

Your body will dance before me
a vision of solemn beauty
numbing me with need.
A longing beyond your golden skin.

I will chant your name

I will chant your name

I will chant your name …

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

 

Show

She is shy.  She has never done anything like this before.

She has rehearsed it so often that the music has become a soundtrack to these last few nervous days.  It plays in her mind from the moment sleep releases her until she slides back into its arms. Perhaps it echoes through her dreams. She knows every persistent drumbeat, every smooth chord, every deep bass note, every sweet moan of hungry, dirty brass.  She has her timings to the second.

She has tried to imagine this moment, tried to prepare herself for how she would feel.  

Now, standing before him, she realises that she could never have readied herself.  Not for this intimate space, this hushed room, this audience of one.  Her mouth is dry, her heartbeat is wild and loud, her legs are weak.  She is finding it hard to breathe..

She smooths her hands down her dress.  They slide over her waist and onto her hips.  She is desperately nervous. She is blushingly embarrassed.  She is impossibly excited.

She is achingly aroused.

His eyes lock onto hers and he smiles.  He presses a button on the slim, black remote and the music begins.  The first notes are soothingly familiar and disturbingly erotic.

Despite herself she begins to sway into her routine. She feels her hips move.   As if by magic her body becomes lithe and sinuous.  She is seductive, sexy, sensuous..

He nods almost imperceptibly but somehow appreciatively.

Her hands glide over her breasts, caressing herself. Her fingers reach behind for the metal tongue of the zipper.

The show has begun.