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Tag Archives: William Oxer

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 seventy two 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 hourglass.  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 to make mistakes and instead we do nothing.  We hold ourselves back, saving our hearts, bodies and souls for someday, 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?

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

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Another unearthing from my archive. Always relevant.

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on June 30, 2020 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Slow surrender

 

She is innocent.

Her bold beauty is barely blemished. Her gorgeous body is almost untouched by another’s breath. The gentle pages of her heart are yet to be written.  Her hunger is new and urgent. She longs for something she has yet to discover.
She has purity in her soul.

He is darkness.

He has loved and won and lost his way through enough joy and sorrow to fill the night. He has coaxed forth endless sweet fantasies, elegantly bestowed a thousand decadent pleasures, administered such breathtaking, delicious torture.
His eyes have seen far beyond the shadows.

Yet there is an ache that binds them. A primaeval yearning that sets them apart from all others.

He will sanctify her slow surrender and make them both holy.

.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

More delving in my archives. I like this one.

Art by William Oxer

 

 
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Posted by on June 29, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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There are days when I want you

 

There are days when I want you.

 

From the storm of hair on your gorgeous head to your beautiful face.

From the eloquence of your eyes to the sensuality of your mouth.

From the elegance of your throat, to your neck, to your collarbones, to your shoulders, to your arms.

From the heaven of your breasts, to the wondrous curves of your waist and back and hips and arse.

From the paradise of your thighs, and the shapely splendour of your legs.

To your pretty toes.

 

There are days when I want you.

 

In truth, there are never days when I do not.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by William Oxer

 

 

 
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Posted by on June 26, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Stare

 

I devour you secretly with my eyes.

I am hungry for your presence, ravenous for your beauty.

I want to take you in whole.  One magnificent glorious vista, one gorgeous portrait, one high-definition-full-resolution-never-fading screen capture for my memory. Such divine visual food to somehow satisfy this desperate, aching desire.  To help sustain me when you are gone.

Then I want to take you piece by piece,  An inch at a time.  An eye, a nail, a lock of hair, the lobe of an ear….

Yet I hardly have such control.  I take your lips, your mouth, your nose, the hollow of your throat, the elegant swell of your delicious breasts, a wrist, an ankle, an arm, the heavenly architecture of your thighs….

I have swallowed you whole again.

My eyes devour you like a starving man, made weak by famine, who has no sight of his next meal.

I try not to stare.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I am still digging around among old posts. I am surprised how apt and fresh some of them are.

Art by William Oxer

 

 
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Posted by on June 25, 2020 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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The show has begun

 

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 the video camera, she realises that she could never have readied herself.  Not for this intimate moment, her hushed room, this distant 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.

She 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.

She knows he will watch her.  Again and again.

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

The show has begun.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

For various reasons, I have been sifting through my past writings. I discovered this one, and it made me smile. I thought new readers might like it.

Art by William Oxer

 

 
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Posted by on June 24, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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You think I am romantic

 

You think I am romantic.

You read my words and you read ‘love’ into them.

But I hardly ever use the word.

It is too big and too small. Too specific and too universal.

It has been idolised, eulogised, exalted, celebrated, hymned and acclaimed.

It has been hijacked, railroaded, politicised, kidnapped, blackmailed, broken, ruined and whored.

It has been given and taken, lost and found, borrowed and stolen.

It has been used as a reason for everything, an answer for everything, an excuse for everything.

It has been devalued by so many wanting it, by so many selling it.

So I hardly ever use the word ‘love’.

I write of lust, desire, longing, and yearning. Of sensuality, sex and eroticism. Of arousal and excitement. Of seduction and initiation. Of pleasure and pain. Of Domination and submission. Of attraction and infatuation. Of caring. Of nurture. Of adoration. And yes, of romance too.

Because I know exactly what those words mean.

And if I ever write of love – and I sometimes do

I make sure I know exactly

what

and who

I mean.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by William Oxer

 

 

 
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Posted by on June 22, 2020 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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In wait

 

Sun on my skin

eyes closed

birds singing

insects humming

breeze whispering

and my restless

hungry

Dominant soul

waiting

for you.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant.

Written a year ago. But in wait …

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on June 19, 2020 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Holy sin

 

Eyes to lips

throat to breasts

belly to hips.

 

Arse to thighs

hair to skin.

 

You are holy.

You are sin.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not a brand new post but sometimes I find holy sin

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on June 12, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Change me

 

You might

charm me

seduce me

engage me

.

You might

excite me

enchant me

delight me

.

You might

thrill me

bewitch me

amaze me

.

You might

inspire me

arouse me

inflame me.

.

But you will

never ever

change me.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new. But always true.

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on June 6, 2020 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

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The call

 

Sexual submission

is not for the needy

or the lost

or the lonely

or the bored

or the casually curious.

 

It is for the independent

intelligent girl

who knows the call

the ache

the yearning

to be owned

and fulfilled

deep in her soul.

.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new, but endlessly true.

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on June 3, 2020 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

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