Salud, old friend.

 

I have a dear friend

Although he is more than a friend.

A mentor. A guide. A wise man.

In my globe-trotting, high-flying, ladder climbing, corporate days he employed me to set up a European business for an American multi-national. But that is the dull part.

He was more than the next generation above me, he is now in his eighties. And yet he still exudes a raw energy. His voice is fathoms deep, a precise Canadian accent with that ever-so-slightly-I’m-not sure-it’s-there Quebec-french inflection. He is still movie-star good-looking and he has that charming charisma and wry sense of humour that has people naturally gravitating towards him. Wherever he is.

I was with him in lots of places. Chicago, Miami, St. Louis and the US Mid West.  We travelled in Switzerland, Germany, England (of course), Italy and France – to unashamedly name drop some of them. He had that genius for making whomever we were meeting, wherever we were eating, and whatever we were drinking, into something special and memorable. Moments to savour.

Especially the wine. He adored red wine. He would always choose an unexpectedly brilliant restaurant (even in Germany) and then find a gem on the wine list. He would smile at me – and whomever else was with us – and grinning over the top of his glass growl ‘This won’t do us any harm’.

He is a long way away now, and becoming elderly, but it would be good to hear him say that just one more time, his eyes twinkling.

But I grow maudlin.

It was he who introduced me to my favourite wine on the planet.

Brunello di Montalcino.

I am not going to tell you how perfect it is. (Although it is pure nectar). I shall leave it for you to discover.

But I will never take sip of that divine liquid without thinking of a man who is of a very rare and special vintage indeed.

Salud, my old friend.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

I posted this a year ago. I am pleased to say that my old friend is still alive and well and, as an erudite, intelligent and well-travelled Canadian living in America, is bemused and shocked by recent events there. I’m sure however that a glass or two of red still allows him to see the extreme comedy in it. I raise my glass to him right now, though sadly it is not a Brunello.

 

Salud, old friend

I have a dear friend

Although he is more than a friend.

A mentor. A guide. A wise man.

In my globe-trotting, high-flying, ladder climbing, corporate days he employed me to set up a European business for an American multi-national. But that is the dull part.

He was more than the next generation above, he is now in his eighties. And yet he still exudes a raw energy. His voice is fathoms deep, a precise Canadian accent with that ever-so-slightly-I’m-not sure-it’s-there Quebec-french inflection. He is still movie-star good-looking and he has that charming charisma and wry sense of humour that has people naturally gravitating towards him. Wherever he is.

I was with him in lots of places. Chicago, Miami, St. Louis and the US Mid West.  We travelled in Switzerland, Germany, England (of course), Italy and France – to unashamedly name drop some of them. He had that genius for making whomever we were meeting, wherever we were eating, and whatever we were drinking, into something special and memorable. Moments to savour.

Especially the wine. He adored red wine. He would always choose an unexpectedly brilliant restaurant (even in Germany) and then find a gem on the wine list. He would smile at me – and whomever else was with us – and grinning over the top of his glass growl ‘This won’t do us any harm’.

He is a long way away now, and becoming elderly, but it would be good to hear him say that just one more time, his eyes twinkling.

But I grow maudlin.

It was he who introduced me to my favourite wine on the planet.

Brunello di Montalcino.

I am not going to tell you how perfect it is. (Although it is pure nectar). I shall leave it for you to discover.

But I will never take sip of that divine liquid without thinking of a man who is of a very rare and special vintage indeed.

Salud, my old friend.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

 

 

 

No more distant

Beauty and I did not meet for lunch today.

She had her reasons,  I understand them.  They had nothing at all to do with me. In her elegant shoes, in her difficult circumstances, I would have postponed it too.

I would feel more disappointment if I had really been expecting to see her.  If I really believed that today I would gently take her sweet hand in mine in a warm, almost shy greeting. Possibly brush the skin of her perfect, precious face with my lips in that same untidy welcome. Maybe even hold her close for a brief, tender, breathless, self-conscious moment.

To embrace for as long as friendship would decently allow.

But these faded days I seldom allow my hopes to rise higher than the cold winter sun on the distant horizon.  I have had more than my share of recent star-crossed quests.  I am weary, jaded, and just a little cynical of feminine promise.

When next I see Beauty, if indeed I ever do, she will be married.

It will not make her any more or less distant than she is now.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

 

To make me smile

Beauty and I have a date.

Lunch. A week from today. In the place we said goodbye in August.

It is strange friendship.  For me the attraction is obvious. She is young and breathtakingly beautiful.  A pale-skinned, dark-haired, brown-eyed, diminutive beauty with the body of a perfect goddess, legs of celestial design, and the smile of an angel.  And yet it is more than that.  As much as I adore her physically I find her adorable personally. She makes me laugh. She makes me want to hug her with pure affection.

And although, in my darkest and most delicious fantasies I would strip her and bind her and make her gorgeous body dance with pleasure and pain – I also have a desire to champion and nurture her, and keep her safe from harm.

It is what she sees in me that is the mystery.  She knows I want her and it both disturbs and delights her. Perhaps there is a tug of excitement in being so close to the dark creature that she is deeply aware that I am. Perhaps there is joy in the knowledge that I would never go beyond the boundaries she has gently drawn – even in suggestion or proposal –  so she can safely bathe in my attention. Perhaps I make her glow.

I might wish that she has a submissive ache, a hunger, an itch somewhere deep beneath her skin.  But in reality. I know it would have surfaced long before now.

The simple truth is not carnal.

She simply likes me.  As a friend.

That is more than enough to make me smile.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

 

If …

If I should die soon

I will leave behind

enough love

to warm your sweet heart

for eternity.

.

Sent as a text at four a.m. one bleak, sleepless, lonely night in March of this year when it actually seemed a real possibility

Photo stolen from elultimodeseo

 

Wide awake

The text reads : ‘I am on my way to you’.

I am not expecting her.  The day has long since become night and I am heavy-eyed and ready for sleep.  I have eaten alone, drunk enough red wine, written a little prose, played my guitar, and watched instantly forgettable drama on TV.  I am showered and naked and have already turned on the bedside lamp.

It is my penultimate evening before leaving this place for good.

I leave the key hanging outside in the front door, climb beneath the duvet and switch on my Reader. Sleep begins to soften and blur the words.

Half an hour later she enters the bedroom quietly and is peeling off her clothes.  She always undresses as if she is in a show.

She slides in beside me. Her warm, slender body moulds itself to mine.  Familiar yet exotic. Comforting yet sensual.

Suddenly I am wide awake.

 

Sunbeams

The sun was still captured in her golden curls.

She was facing him in the grand-georgian-dining-room-made-recently-modern.  Her eyes were bluer than the washed skies and yet as grey as Welsh slate.  Her smile was as warm and easy as the soft early evening.

They raised glasses to whatever point in their long history the day represented.

She, the least materialistic woman he has ever known, fell in love with a limited edition photograph hanging on a nearby wall.  It was a stark black-and-white capture of a place of almost-pilgrimage they both knew well.

He sought out the restaurant manager and negotiated a price.

She shook her head with delight as they carried it to the car.

Sunbeams danced from out of her hair and lit up the coming night.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I found this lovely art on the web. I cannot locate the painter. If it is yours, I apologise for the theft and will happily credit you or take it down

 

Not today

I will not think of her today.

I have far too much to do.

I will not think of her sitting opposite, her delicate fingers wrapped around a glass of wine.  And then her leaning back, capturing her hair, guiding it over one shoulder, baring her gorgeous throat.

I will not recall her laughter, bubbling up, making her eloquent brown eyes dance, and bringing an immediate smile to my lips.

I will not call to mind her voice, its honeyed sweetness and warmth so softly caressing me.

I will not check my mail, or my phone, now and again, just in case, on the off-chance, even knowing she cannot make contact.

I will not remember how she put her arms around my neck the last time we were out, in the town beside the sea. I will not summon up the delicious frisson of that divine, intimate moment.

I will not remind myself that we held hands briefly, in the car, between my shifting gears.

I will not imagine her in a blue dress, the tight silky bodice highlighting her lovely breasts and tiny waist.

I will not remember her achingly perfect body beneath it.

I will not, will not, will not conjure up memories of that night …

I will not think of her today.

I have far, far too much to do.

 

Unearned

I do not know how to say this in words that she will believe or understand.

And that will not frighten her.

I have confused her, baffled her, perplexed her and perturbed her.  Far worse, I have upset her and treated her without care.  My desire, lust, need, fascination and hunger have made me seem erratic and unpredictable.

And yet beneath it all I have been utterly constant. My devotion has never wavered.

I am her friend.  She can depend on me absolutely.

I will be her rock when the seas are wild and dangerous.  I will be her sunshine when the sky is bleak with cloud.  I will be her refuge when she needs somewhere to escape..

I will cry with her when she is full of sadness, and then wipe away her salt tears with a touch of hope.  I will be her girlfriend when she needs to share.

I will be her confidant when she is weighed down by a secret.  I will carry her burden when the world has made her weary.  I will be her daybreak when the night has been lonely.

I will be her safe blanket when she needs comfort and warmth. I will protect her from her enemies.  I will defend her honour and her reputation..  I will guide her when the path is obscure.  I will be honest when she most needs it.  I will be her shield when unkindness and insult might hurt her

I will make it right when everyone else has made it wrong.

I will be her poet, her jester, her guardian, her angel, her patron and her mentor.

I will never allow anything to harm her, threaten her or damage her or anything that she holds dear.

All I need is her easy, irreverent, platonic affection, her smile, secret and close, and the patience of a muse.

And the smallest of signs to know she values my presence in her life

And I need her trust.

Which I have not earned.

 

 

 

 

 

Secret Smile

She passed by.

A vision of exquisitely subtle curves and gorgeously shaped legs in a simple black dress that her body had transformed into classic Dior.  Her dark hair hung divinely onto her shoulders. contrasting magically with the pale skin of her elegant throat.

Her beauty and her movement took his breath away.

As he watched her, enthralled and captivated, her bewitching brown eyes met his own.  And she smiled.

It was a smile meant only for him.  It was warm, genuine, charming.  It was full of complicity, of co-conspiracy, of confederacy.  It was gentle with kindness, soft with amity, open with friendship.

It was stunning.

It was her secret smile.

 

“Secret Smile” by Semisonic

Nobody knows it but you’ve got a secret smile
And you use it only for me
Nobody knows it but you’ve got a secret smile
And you use it only for me

So use it and prove it
Remove this whirling sadness
I’m losing, I’m bluesing
But you can save me from madness

Nobody knows it but you’ve got a secret smile
And you use it only for me
Nobody knows it but you’ve got a secret smile
And you use it only for me

So save me I’m waiting
I’m needing, hear me pleading
And soothe me, improve me
I’m grieving, I’m barely believing now, now

When you are flying around and around the world
And I’m lying and lonely
I know there’s something sacred and free reserved
And received by me only