Every mark I’ve had has been owned by someone that has shared an intimate connection. Every mark was a time and place. Every mark was an emotion and an energy.
Scratches. Welts. Bruises. Burns. Bites. Punctures.
A very select few have marked my body. I have been incredibly careful to never receive a mark that wasn’t owned and earned.
I took pride in looking at the remnants of moments seared into my flesh. I very clearly remember my first bruise, my first fingernail scratches. Each one a prize. Each one a reminder. I can look back at the scattering of people and smile.
I can count on one hand those I have “scene’d” with.
The one time I was unpartnered and negotiated my own terms I didn’t say no marks. But this being our first time together it was going to be light. I awoke the next day with a tiny bruise that faded within hours. Neither she nor I could figure out how the bruise occurred. I knew then that I wasn’t mentally ready for marks that weren’t intimate and owned.
Sometimes things happen that are not planned and your brain has to quickly play catch up.
I’ve defined my limits for myself. I’ve decided things. Discarded possibilities. There are things set in stone. And sometimes that stone needs to crumble.
What if the marks that I receive I own?
I attended a recent play party. My compromised immune system making play of any kind nearly impossible. I must plan for every negative outcome and weigh it against chemo, cancer, lymph nodes and medications. I’m also not one for public play. Not knowing I needed this stone to crumble, I stepped into the middle of the room and one thing morphed into another into another until I’m sitting in a leather chair covered in warm blankets with offers of water and cuddles. It all happened so fast. Of course I consented to everything but much like a kid in a candy store unaware of the stomach ache that follows.
The bruise that I woke up to was astonishing. The Top was very concerned. Over the next few days watching the bruise bloom brought forth emotions I didn’t realize I needed to deal with.
Reassurances that I was indeed fine were given to the overprotective Top. No worse for wear. Truthfully I wasn’t in much pain. But I was angry. How could I let this happen? Every time I looked at the bruise it reminded me of the collar I’m not wearing. I tried to stay within the experience and enjoy the scene for what it was. Honestly, I had so much fun. So I talked to a friend of mine.
Thank goodness for amazing friends that are willing to be your sounding board.
I need my marks to have ownership. I need them to belong to someone.
Why can’t that someone be me?