Until last night it had been about two weeks since I’d gotten to play with Tavi, and it was a whole week since I’d seen her at all; plus I’m working a lot with the holiday rush so I hadn’t had anything new to post. But now that I’m once again happily bruised I feel inclined to blather on once more.
Last night was rather lovely, I made a marinated salmon filet, pan fried asparagus and a garden salad with a apple cider vinaigrette that I whipped up on the fly (It was pretty awesome.) Then, Tavi wrote me a new exercise routine, which looks to me like more torture, without the benefit of cuddles afterwards (it’s listed on my BFL page if you’re curious.) And then we had some fun, though I felt like my pain tolerance had dropped some, but that might just be a bit of a cold I’m getting over.
I neglected to take pictures, but you can imagine that it looked like this.
Although I squirmed and whined getting them I’m pleased as punch to be wearing her marks again. for the last week all I’ve had is a small lingering bruise on my thigh, and I felt, naked would be going to far. Just like something was missing. I was missing her, missing the closeness, and missing my marks.
Which puts me in mind of a post I saw on tumblr a while back. I didn’t really care for the picture itself (so I’ll link it instead of posting it.)
On this picture of a Femdom of some sort showcasing the whip marks she’s left on the back of a malesub, the commentor Workneverover said “Do I detect an air of pride there? (From him, I mean. Hers is obvious!)”
I can totally see the pride there, and I completely get it. I get super excited for all my marks, and as I’ve said I’m kind of a wuss when it comes to taking pain, so I know what marks I’m getting are hardly that impressive. But I love them.
If I didn’t know better I’d say it was a guy thing, because growing up all the guys I knew loved to show off and talk about any scars we had. It’s proof of having done something dangerous (or stupid) and that gets you, I don’t know, man points.
But I do know better, it’s not a guy thing or even a sub thing, Tavi gets pretty excited when she sees me and marks she made last time are still nicely visible. And oh, how I love to have her fawn over me.
I sort of wish I could show them off to everyone and brag; you know? Because they give me some sort of pride, maybe not that I live dangerously or I’m so cool and edgy, but that there is a a lady that likes me enough to mark me in this way, and that I can take the pain that comes with it (or most of it.)
I wish bite marks showed up more than this, cause they hurt, but they’re also really fun to acquire.
Seriously, Peroxide, are you me? Like, I have split personalities, and one of them is a blogger who is a much better cook than me but still likes being bitten and showing off marks? No, on second thought, I don’t think you are me. I don’t have any tattoos, and Seattle is too far away for a split personality to live.
But I know the feeling of “Look where she bit me so hard I lost control of my voluntary muscles. Isn’t it awesome?!” It makes crashing at my sister’s house after play parties a dangerous idea. Have to resist the urge to show anything that couldn’t be construed as a hickey.
I don’t think so, I would know if I wasn’t me part of the time.
I can tell you that cooking isn’t too hard of a skill to develop, you just have to follow the directions. Although getting practice while cooking for one can be a pain. And it’s nice to be able to pull out a nice meal every now and again to impress a lady.
Yeah, I wish I could show them off, I’ve got a pretty cool litte bite mark on my pectoral up towards my armpit, that isn’t huge, but it’s really dark, and oh, then there is the patch on my back… and you get what I’m saying. It’s a shame to have to keep them under wraps all the time.
I love my marks. I was at a party on Saturday where a pro-Domme was giving tips about how to keep marks from showing. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me! (I’m a freelance writer, so my co-worker is my geriatric greyhound. He doesn’t give a fig about the bruise on my arm or neck.) Your bite marks are lovely, Peroxide. It’s like we’re in a secret club together! 😀
I work in customer service so, I’ve given it considerable thought. It’s not new for me thought I live at home for three years with a couple of largish tattoos that my father still may not know about.
One of my limits is no marks visible outside my work uniform, and Tavi is really good about that, but I get real skittish whenever she start working kinda low on my upper arm or too high on my neck.
Even still I’ve had my sleeves slide up and expose some nasty looking bruises to co-workers a couple times, So I try to be careful. In a perfect world our club wouldn’t need to be secret and we could show our marks off with no consequence, but alas the world’s not perfect.
The marks that show when I wear a t-shirt aren’t from biting, so I can explain them with a combination of “oh, I bruise easily; anemia” and “I was sparring with a friend,” which is sort-of true. But it is yet another reason that I’m looking for a boxing class: a socially acceptable reason to be covered in bruises and an excuse to show off some marks without giving away their origin.
Tavi likes to pinch the sensitive underarm area, it leaves some gnarly bruises and twice my sleeves have slipped up and I’ve been questioned about them. I really didn’t know what to say.
I just sort of got smiley and stammery and changed the subject.
There’s always the option of making up a completely ridiculous over-the-top story… “So there I was, just having dinner, when a Canadian goose came crashing through the window in a frenzy. I tried to fight it off, but let me tell you, geese are vicious, and this one was out for blood. So there we were, dueling in the kitchen, beak versus butter knife, in a fight that puts all the Rocky movies to shame, when I made a fatal error. I dropped my knife. The goose saw it. An opportunity. Its beady eyes glowed in anticipation of the kill. And so I dived in desperation for this lost piece of cutlery, my only hope in the world… And, long story short, I’d left a drawer open in the kitchen and knocked my arm at a really awkward angle while trying to pick a knife up off the floor.”
The thing is, I’m just not very clever on the fly. Plus when the horrible bruises on my arm were pointed out to me, my mind just went to the happy memory of getting them and I’m incapable of doing anything but smiling and maybe blushing a bit.