The candle has burnt down low.
The bar is close to empty. It is late. The waitress is hovering near the table with the bill, He motions to her with a raised eyebrow and a smile. She places l’addition on a white saucer with two small squares of gold-wrapped chocolate.
The girl opposite him runs her hands through her long black hair and stretches back in her chair. It is almost provocative.
His eyes flick over her body appreciatively and return to her face. He stares into her eyes. She doesn’t look away. They are both more than a little drunk.
She feels she knows everything about him. He has answered her questions all evening. About his lovers, about D/s, his rules, the cities and the hotel suites, the romance, the shadows and the dancers. His briefcase full of ropes and bindings, toys and instruments. The reasons behind it all. His adoration, his admiration, and his love of women. Of some women in particular.
She has captured his velvet voice on her recorder.
And yet, although he has been the one telling his story, she feels as if it is her soul that has been stripped bare.
He punches the PIN into the card machine with long slender fingers, and it is time to go. He hands her both of the chocolates. She slips them into her bag. She knows they are destined to sit uneaten on her dressing table forever.
Much later that night, with the dawn creeping softly over the silent sea, she slips naked from his bed. She is careful not to wake him. In the pale light she re-reads the note he gave her, written in his distinctive hand, in dark midnight-blue ink.
I remember them all.
The beauties, the heroines, the angels. The wide-eyed girls in their best party frocks. The bold but trembling women in their gorgeous. silk gowns.
The waifs and the strays. The wild and the hungry. The creative and the eloquent. The sacred and the profane.
Tiger Cub, Rebecca, Jenny, Beauty, Angel, Hermosa, Lindsay, and the rest. The sweet submissives who have perfumed my nights and made wonderful my days.
I remember them all.
You are the last.
It is the end.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic
But is it/was it the end?
Art by Fabian Perez
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