Just Once

Some pretend.

They deny it. They convince themselves that they are content. That they have all they need. That they do not want for more. That there are no dark desires, no moments of wildness, no wish to be someone different, or to do something different.

Some don’t pretend.

They know it. But they keep it from themselves. They bury it. Ignore it. Hold it back. They find fantasies in other people’s lives rather than enjoy them in their own. They think there is always time. Some day. Some other life. They never let themselves go. They will miss it as it sails past.

I have never met anyone who does not, openly or secretly, desire a different path. Even if it is only fleeting. One breathtakingly differently page in a whole book of life.

One soaring, beautiful, glorious flight.

We all wish for release.

Just once.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from Natassia

 

But will you?

I have been as guilty of it as anyone.

But much less so these days.  Now the shadows are lengthening.

Because there is but one life.  There is no heaven in which to smugly contemplate relentless eternity. There is no hell to somehow face greater suffering. There are no forty virgins with legs spread wide. There is no reincarnation as a deer, or a fox, or someone somehow better.

There is only now.

The years which seemed to stretch out endlessly when we are soft and still to be moulded, constantly gather momentum. Like water rushing out of the basin. Like sand escaping the narrowing hour glass.  Life is so short. Time is so precious.

And yet we waste it.  We procrastinate.  We dither. We make excuses. We pretend to be something we are not rather than act upon who we are. We pretend we are looking for perfection as if it really exists. We fear making mistakes and instead we do nothing.  We hold ourselves back, saving our hearts, bodies and souls for some day, some person, some event that may never be. Our days pass by with nothing to mark them but the calendar. We always think that there is still tomorrow …

I know I will eventually end my days regretting the women, the times, the joys (and even the sorrows) I did not have far more than I will regret those I had*.

I once told Beauty that Life is not a Rehearsal.

She did not listen.

But will you?

.

.

* I am certain this thought is stolen from elsewhere, so do forgive the plagiarism

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by the lovely buzillo

 

Not a Rehearsal

You can have every fantasy

Every dark, delicious, decadent desire that you barely allow into your thoughts.  Every aching, arching, secret longing that has ever made you breathless at just the scent of possibility.  Every sensual, sinful secret that so far has never ventured to cross your lovely lips

I will give you every wild, wanton wish, every whispering need. You can share anything and everything.

I will teach you so much, show you so much. I will give you the glorious, deeply erotic almost-holy dynamic of dominance and submission. I will make your body sing, make it soar. I will use you, and I will worship you.  I will fill you with sensation and pleasure beyond your imagination. I will make you suffer such arousing, ecstasy-edged pain. I will teach you about yourself, and about your own desires, and about men.  I will turn you into an extraordinary lover.

I will adore you mind, body and soul.  Adore you in a way that you will never be adored by another. Never.  I will adore every perfect, exceptional inch of you, every smile, every movement, every sentence you utter, every breath. Every curve, every fold, every hollow, every muscle, every pore of your gorgeous skin.  I will undress you, touch you, caress you, whip you, stroke you, tie you, lick you, blindfold you, kiss you, admire you.  I will sigh at your exquisite nakedness. I will make you feel wonderful. You are wonderful.

I will paint my adoration in words that make your heart skip a beat, that thrill you, that coax delighted blushes into your cheeks and make your wonderful brown eyes shine. Words that will still warm your heart when years have passed and we are but a golden memory. Words that are true and capture your heavenly perfection.

I will give you a romance of rare beauty, a romance that is pure and uncomplicated, that exists in its own private place, that does not touch those we love and those who are our future.  A romance that has no tears, no expectations and no regrets.

I will give you a passion, a joy and a fulfilment that is far, far beyond the everyday. 

I will give you this sacred moment that will never come again.  Because Life is not a Rehearsal.

D

She read the message carefully and, just for the briefest of beats she imagined herself as his lover, his submissive, his Muse and his friend.

For a second she held her breath and let the tingle run through her.

For an instant she saw a wild, intense, and completely insane affair with him filling her days with something unique, sexual, special, raw and electric. Something that she knew was once-in-a-lifetime.

But not this lifetime. Or her lifetime.

She smiled and shook her head. With a finger full of complete certainty she tapped the delete key.

It was his final message to her.