It was so easy,
He made my heart race,
yet soothed my soul.
It was so easy,
like sinking into sleep.
He cocooned me,
then released me with butterfly wings.
It was so easy.
When I think of it,
I sigh, then cry, then sigh.
It’s so hard.
Like trying to catch my breath,
after a long run.
His kiss I miss,
but not as much as his engulfing arms.
It’s so hard.
He crawls into my head,
when I’m in my bed.
It’s so hard.
When I think of it
I sigh, then cry, then sigh.
It was so easy, and now it’s so hard.
Have you ever been so connected to someone, you never wanted to leave the bed?
What is that intangible, exquisite, compelling, magical ‘thing’ called chemistry?
It either exists or doesn’t. No matter how hard we try, it cannot be summoned or created. For centuries poets have penned their poems, composers have written their music, and wordsmiths have authored their books, focusing on the elusive and all-consuming thing called, being in love. Is that chemistry? Whatever its name, when it crosses our path it can make us crazy, creating euphoric highs and depressing lows.
I have only felt that overwhelming sense of being engulfed by my heart, when in a relationship with a dominant. Was it his extraordinary dominant talent with which I was in love, or was it the man?
You might say both, but had he not possessed his unique skills, had he not been able to express our connection with his ropes, shackles, and dominant prowess, would I have experienced the enveloping, intense, indescribable pleasure?
Since my heart lives captive in the chains of a submissive soul, I think not, but it’s impossible to know for sure. Chemistry, lust, being in love, maybe it’s all the same thing, and the degree to which it is experienced is intensified by D/s.
Chemistry, whatever that is, remains the elusive magic we all want, crave, and seek, and through the ages humans have attempted to answer the question, what is it?
Being in love, being in lust, aching to be with that one special person, surrounds and engulfs our lives. The songs to which we listen, the movies, television shows, and the books we read, what are they about? Romance, love, and desire. The glowing embers of passion ignite, and the couple tumble between the sheets.
But, throw in Dominance and submission, and the richter scale starts to move signicantly higher.
Or am I wrong?
The first look,
the one filled with promise,
with a hint of fear.
The first touch,
the one filled with sparks,
with a hint of warmth.
The first hug,
the one filled with reticence,
with a hint of need.
The first kiss,
the one filled with tentative passion,
with a hint of heat.
The first hot smack,
given and received.
The first command,
that sends the butterflies fluttering.
The first moment of surrender,
that fills your soul,
in a way you never imagined,
The first realization,
that you have found each other.
Is there anything so wondrous,
as the first…?
It’s a frosty, chilly night, and this came to mind, so I wandered through the corridors of my old blog, pulled it out and dusted it off.
Made visible by her breath, the frost’s cold hung in the air. She didn’t want to be there but she’d promised she would meet him. At the time she’d wanted to, but now…!
A shuddering ripple cascaded down her spine. The park was desolate and forbidding, but it shared its eerie stillness with its beauty, and she allowed herself to fall under the spell of the glacial grandeur that surrounded her.
Reflecting the full moon’s silver glaze, the icy shards clinging to the trees twinkled as brightly as the canopy of sparkling stars overhead. The bench where they had first kissed suggested she should sit, but it didn’t seem right without him, and as much as her feet hurt in the too-small boots, she couldn’t bring herself to accept its silent invitation.
“I’m so glad you came.”
His voice, deep and comforting, sent the much-missed, familiar fluttering through her belly, and she turned to see him sauntering towards her, his hands stuffed in his overcoat pockets.
“I said I would,” she replied, immediately wishing she hadn’t sounded so defensive. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” Dammit, why am I here? I know I’m a physical masochist, but I’m not an emotional one…am I?
He smiled, and the dimples that once had charmed her worked their magic again. She wanted to sink against his soft wool jacket, feel his engulfing bear hug, smell the rich aroma of his-
“Let’s sit,” he said, interrupting her thoughts as he moved confidently towards the bench.
“So, what’s up?” she asked, attempting to appear nonchalant as she perched on the edge of the wooden seat. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll sit here with a brave face, pretend I’m fine, then go home and cry with my dog.
“Do you remember the promise I made you this time last year?”
The glint in his eye set her butterflies wildly flapping making it impossible to concentrate.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked pulling herself from the depths of his gaze.
“I asked if you remember the promise I made you last New Year’s Eve. You were sick, too sick to go out.”
She swallowed hard and glanced across the icy lawns. Of course she remembered his promise. She remembered it every hour of every day, sometimes as a fuzzy shadow, other times with crushing clarity.
“Yes, but like you said, that was last year, before we, before you…”
“Before I was an idiot,” he muttered.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but you could have, and you would have been right.”
Her heart did a quickstep, and as she caught her breath she felt her teeth clench. This was not what she’d expected, but then, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected, and she realized she was there because every part of her had ached to share his space, even if only for a few minutes.
“I’ve figured something out,” he continued. “There’s a problem being a Dominant. No, that’s not right. There’s a problem I used to have, being a Dominant, or at least your Dominant.”
“I don’t understand?”
“I thought I was supposed to be smart all the time, infallible, have all the answers, but I’m just a human being, and I’ve got all the flaws and weaknesses of any other human being. I’m sorry, Beth, I let you down. I tried so hard to be perfect, and all I did was make an absolute mess of things.”
Her hands balled into fists. Was this just an apology?
“If you want me to,” he said slowly, “I’d like to keep that promise.”
Heart thumping, her eyes searched his, seeking the glow of love behind his words.
“I want to spank you right here, now, on our bench, in the freezing cold,” he said softly, locking her gaze.
A hot lump began forming in her throat. She wanted it. She wanted him.
“And then what?”
“And then I’ll take you home and kiss every single inch of you.”
She brought her gloved hands to her face and covered her eyes, though she he wasn’t sure why. What she did know, was that she missed him like crazy, and she wanted desperately to take the leap of faith. Was she that brave? Could she risk it?
Wordlessly, tremulously, haltingly, she crawled across his lap. As she felt the comfortable familiarity, she sighed heavily and relinquished her fears. She was home.
Easy relationships can sometimes be difficult, difficult relationships can sometimes be easy, and going back, can sometimes mean going forward.
Posted by Romantic Dominant. Details below.
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
I can take no credit for this post. It is authored by a super blogger, A Faded Romantic’s Notebook. I post it with his blessing.
The best thing
is that it is still
We may write it
give life to it
as we wish.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Rob Hefferan
Not the voice we chat with! I’m talking about the voice that warns us not to do take that extra drink, or buy that car we can’t afford, you know the one. We all have it. Sometimes it’s so clear it clangs, and sometimes it’s barely a whisper, and sometimes it is shouted out by our intellect telling us to do just the opposite, because just the opposite is what we want to do, not what we should do.
As I was driving today, it struck me that I wanted to share a profound experience I had with my voice just recently. I did something…knowing the outcome. I made a phone call. Sounds simple enough, but it wasn’t, not at all.
I actually wanted the opposite response to the one I knew I would receive. It was baffling in a weird way. I really did want this thing, and I knew, if I made the call, I wouldn’t get it, but not getting it, was the much better outcome. How do I know that?
Because after I made that call, I felt better. I was at peace. I knew it the moment it ended. I knew when I woke up after a long, deep sleep. And I know it now. I’m relieved.
Had I not made the call, had I gone against my voice, I’d still be in anguish.
But…and this is a big but…it was really hard.
Sometimes, the hard thing to do in the short term, is the right thing to do in the long term. We’ve heard that a thousand times, probably more, because it’s true.
Love though, well…love can get it the way. Love can deafen our voice, or it can convince us we’re right. Being in crush, or in lust, or in love, doesn’t confuse our voice, our voice is always there, and always clear. No, love doesn’t confuse our voice, it confuses us. Love makes us argue with it, ignore it, and makes us believe we know better.
We don’t. Our voice, whatever it is, from wherever it comes, is in us to protect us.
This was written by Romantic Dominant, blogging under the name,
A Faded Romantic’s Notebook.
I have taken the liberty of changing the title. Please forgive me, Mr. D.
The magic words are all yours.
when I feel
I have given too much
of myself away,
of the heart beneath,
revealed too much
of the soul within,
I fade into the shadows
and bleed silently
into the darkness.