Well, They’re Still There

The gods must be smiling on me, because my date this week was postponed. In the meantime, I’ve been popping arnica homeopathic tablets, and rubbing arnica gel on my nipples. I don’t know if it’s working, but I think that ice actually made it worse.

The thing I forgot to mention…the biter is one of the first men I described in one of my very first blog posts. It had been about a year since I last saw him, but we decided to go on another date. As evidenced by nipples, it went pretty well.

Fuck…

…fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. (I know, not very sophisticated use of the English language.)

So, I had a date this weekend that turned more physical than I’d originally anticipated. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t bother me. But…I have a date tomorrow that’s almost certain to turn physical. And I’d rather not have to explain the bite marks on my nipples.

(I already tried to see if a lip stain would turn them uniformly reddish-purple. At least that would be slightly easier to explain than purple bruises that only cover parts of my nipples. Damn. Anyone have any suggestions?)

Why I Love a Mark

Caitlin’s recent post about marks reminded me that I’d been wanting to blog on a similar topic.

I’ll admit that I’m a relative newbie when it comes to marks and bruises. While I probably fall on the conservative side of the black & blue scale, I’m quickly learning to love marks.

Almost every time I’ve seen the Dark Horse, he’s left me with a mark. He does it deliberately, so I can have something to remember him by, so I can feel a little bit owned. He also tries to put it in a spot where it can be easily covered with clothing, but with a short skirt or deep neckline, someone vanilla might spot it.

In all honesty, the idea of someone spotting a mark isn’t much of a turnon for me. I’ve always been one who bruises easily, so I’m used to have black & blue marks (mainly on my legs, but also on my arms) from being a klutz and bumping into things. (Right now I even have black & blue toenails!) So for all of my years, I’ve been accustomed to having a few self-inflicted marks, and I’ve never paid much attention to whether other people notice them.

But when I have one of his marks, I love to trace my finges over it. I press lightly and feel the ache. I slide my fingers over the skin to see if there’s a welt. And for as long as the bruise lasts, I feel close to him. (Not that I don’t feel close at other times, but it’s another way to feel closer.)

The first guy who gave me bruises marked my breasts through a combination of clamps and a vaccuum pump. I’ve always had sensitive skin, and within a day I noticed marks. The skin on the tips of my nipples turned from soft and smooth to dull, dry and peeling. (I told you my skin is sensitive!) Although I wouldn’t necessarily choose to have dry, flaking skin, I smiled every time I noticed it and remembered the cause.

The next man who gave me bruises marked my ass, leaving a handful of finger prints from a particularly energetic fucking.

Then I met the Dark Horse. He told me early into our conversations that he wanted me to wear his mark (in the form of a bruise). And now I look forward to it. He usually marks me through a combination of sucking and biting. He’ll work on a spot until he gets distracted (usually by my moans and squirms), then he’ll come back to it again and again, building up the mark with layers of attention, until I’m left with a mark that can easily last three weeks.

Red to purple to blue to brown to green to yellow…it seems to pass through a rainbow of colors as it fades. And all the while, I smile every time I see it.

Ups and Downs

With the year ending in less than two weeks, I realized that my sex life this year has been a mixed bag.

I had sex four times this year. That is, real sex–Bill Clinton sex–with another human being. Vibrators don’t count. That’s twice with J2 and twice with Mr. P.

Mid-Week Update

After getting this blog off to a fast start, things have slowed down a bit, as I’d expected. In my personal life, the past few days have been quiet, too, but should be getting more lively over the next week.

I have a first date tomorrow, with a guy who I’ve been chatting with online for a while. We’re getting together for drinks in the early evening…if things go well, it could turn into dinner, but otherwise we can call it a night after one or two cocktails. (I can make conversation with anyone for an hour or two! My friends would laugh and agree with that statement…”anyone,” they’d tell you, includes an infant, a brick wall and your most annoying in-law.) While I’m always optimistic about first dates, I try not to get my hopes up too high! I don’t want to jinx it, so I won’t say anything more.

Mr. P and I last played about two weeks ago, and I was hoping that maybe I’d get to see him this weekend, but I know he has a lot going on this month. Nothing scheduled, however, which is probably good because after writing last night’s post about J2, I shot him an email and got a reply this morning letting me know that he’d be in town early next week. I haven’t told him that I’m delving more deeping into D/s. (I started to tell him one night. He’s always asking me about the men I’m dating, and what I’m looking for. I began to list adjectives like dominant, strong, alpha male…and he said, “Sounds like the opposite of me,” which, ironically, is not the case. I’d use all of those words to describe him. But we were in the middle of having sex–yes, we’ll have conversations like this during sex, mainly when he wants to slow down the pace–and although arguably I should have steered the conversation away from generalities about my dating life and toward the fact that I need D/s in my life, at the time it didn’t seem like a discussion I wanted to have.)

But as I was saying, I’m planning to tell J2 about the fact that I’m embracing my submissive and kinkier side–I’m exploring things that are both more submissive and kinkier than what we had in our relationship–but think I should probably tell him when there aren’t bruises on my ass. At some levels, he’s a voyeur and has always enjoyed hearing details about the other men I’ve dated (both before we were together and after we split up), so I have no doubt he’ll enjoy this, too. And he probably would enjoy seeing the bruises, too, but I’d rather tell him first (or not, if it doesn’t feel right).

I Have a Play Partner :)

Let’s just call him Mr. P.

P is for Pleasure. And Pain. And Play Partner. And Oh-My-God-I-Want-You-Grab-My-Hair-And-Force-Me-To-My-Knees-And-Fuck-My-Mouth-With-Your-Cock-Until-Tears-Run-Down-My-Face. (Yeah, I realize that doesn’t exactly start with P, but I took a few liberties.)

We’ve seen each other twice. Both times I did things I’d never done before, and I loved it. I haven’t told him I’m blogging yet, so I want to refrain from getting into too much detail until I do. (Yeah, I know I’ve been blogging for two days and have no readers, but still… *g*)

Remember that itch I just couldn’t scratch? I scratched it alright…scratched it so hard it left bruises!