Tag Archives: infatuation

Who can explain?


Who can explain














Who can explain

the magnetism

that draws me close?


Who can explain

any of it?

I just know

you turn me on.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Marcos Beccari

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Posted by on July 12, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life


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A definition of infatuation



For reasons fully known only to myself, some four or five years ago I was looking for a serious definition of infatuation.

But I found this in the Urban Dictionary. It made me laugh so much that I posted it on my blog at the time. I remembered it the other day, and thought a few of you might enjoy it.

Some of us may have been the ‘object’ but who of us cannot admit to having been the ‘obsessor’ at least once.



All-encompassing, gut-wrenching, soul-draining activity that only requires the active involvement of one individual: the obsessor. A second individual is required for the peripheral need of providing the obsessor with an object of needless, unappreciated, possibly unwanted, often unwarranted affection. The second individual may or may not be aware of his/her peripheral involvement, and may or may not be willing to be peripherally involved: the object’s awareness and/or willingness of being an object of desire is of no consequence to the obsessor.



Source : The Urban Dictionary

Other words @ the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photograph : The lovely actress Felicity Jones for whom I have had a mild infatuation for the last ten years. I am delighted to see her successful in Rogue One. This photo was taken by Mark Abrahams for GQ magazine in 2014 


Posted by on January 7, 2017 in Still Life


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I wrote poems for you

Test of True Love


I wrote poems for you


I wrote poems for you.

Some were bold, burnished, bright.

They praised your beauty, your body.

Burning for your

brilliant mind.


I wrote poems for you.

Some were sweet, silky, soft.

They were sensual, sexual, seductive.

Seeking to steal

your sacred heart.


I wrote poems for you.

Some were yearning, wanting, craving.

They were aching, thirsting, needing,

Longing to draw you

into my arms


I wrote poems for you.

But they were just wasted

unwanted words.

You were always

someone else’s girl.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano


Posted by on March 26, 2015 in Lovers Past, Poetry


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Blown away

Loui Jover

A girl

Pale and perfect. Pure and poised. Peerless pulchritude.

Her hair a lustrous, thick, dark cascade. Her eyes an eloquent, unexpected green.

Her mouth a soft and sensual promise, a dream of a kiss.

Her skin is almost luminous in the light of a winter day. The fading afternoon clings onto her, jealous of the dark.

Her body is a prayer of line and curve, a blessing of muscle and bone, a bible of heavenly anatomy.

Time stands still.

I hold my breath.

Her elegant fingers reach for the top button of her blouse. White as virgin snow.

A slow release.

The clothing parts to.reveal her.

Her throat, her cleavage, her belly.

A girl.

A woman.

And I am blown away.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art – Dark Siren by Loui Jover





Posted by on December 13, 2014 in D/s, Erotica


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Beginning to fade


I remember that night so well.

We were in a hotel bar after an awards dinner elsewhere in the city, We were a little inebriated, but not drunk. I had wanted you since I hired you. And you had your own fantasies hidden away. We were many years apart. It was such a sweet taboo. And completely unplanned

I remember the moment my bold arm went around your shoulders. How you folded gently into me, your small hand making the muscles of my stomach ripple beneath its almost imperceptible caress. We both knew then. And the certainty was far, far more intoxicating than the red wine we were sipping.

We found our way into your room. I think we chose yours because it made you feel safer, more in control. Although of course it was an illusion. You put your arms around my neck. I stopped your lips with my fingers and whispered ‘my rules’. You nodded and instinctively put your hands behind your back. My mouth was dry with desire.

I turned you around. The top of your lovely head was beneath my chin. I took off my silk tie and covered your eyes, securing it with a knot at the back. I stroked your bare arms and softly kissed the nape of your neck. From behind I ran my hands over the gorgeous, impossibly petite body I had coveted for so long. The dress you’d bought especially for the evening slid to the floor with an elegant sigh.

Our lovemaking was a strange, wild, erotic, uninhibited mixture of intimate vanilla and creative D/s. There was not a single part of each other that our fingers and mouths didn’t find, cover and enjoy. I spanked your perfect peach of an arse until you cried out, grinding yourself against my thighs. I squeezed your nipples while you moaned, your head thrown back. You took me in your mouth so deeply I thought you would swallow me.

I have no idea where the hours between the first midnight embrace and our early morning exhaustion went. There were moments of pure delight that even now make me catch my breath.

I have replayed them in my mind so often that all the colours are beginning to fade.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano




Posted by on May 14, 2014 in D/s, Erotica, Lovers Past


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Without fail

seamed stockings and heels

She reminds me of you.

An actress in a TV series. She has the same dark brown hair curtaining a sweet, elfin face, her fringe worn long. Her eyes look out from beneath it like a curious, wild animal. They are the same dark brown, although not as wide or as eloquent as yours. Though they do sparkle and wrinkle up at the edges in that same adorable way.

When she smiles I can see you sitting opposite me in the restaurant on that distant, sad, yet somehow hopeful last day. It is so clear. I can almost feel your small, cool hand on mine.

She is petite – perhaps even a little shorter than your perfect five two. Her legs aren’t as good – no one in the world has calves so wonderfully sculpted. Her figure is similar – slim, with curves, and deliciously pert breasts. She has your walk – the slight roll of the hips, head back. Shy and proud at the same time.

In the television story she has an affair with an older, married man. I could see it coming a mile off. Perhaps that makes it even more poignant.

Anyway, she reminds me of you.

The programme is truly awful.

But I watch it every week.

Without fail.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

The photo was used as an advertisement from the documentary film Mademoiselle C. My apologies for stealing it, but I have credited the film. It has absolutely nothing to do with this post and is for illustrative purposes only. Although there is actually also a passing resemblance – but again, her legs aren’t as good.




Posted by on May 4, 2014 in D/s, Lovers Past, Still Life


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No Stranger to Beauty Revisited

Because it is that time of year …

A Faded Romantic's Notebook


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 today.  It was written the day after an extraordinary, unexpected, magical night with one of the sweetest. most beautiful…

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Posted by on April 25, 2014 in Erotica, Lovers Past


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