The bites of love
I’ve seen D (not stalker D!) quite a lot in the past few weeks. H’s a lovely guy, gentle and calm, yet full of complexities, mostly as a result of his largely being in the closet. Despite the gentleness, there’s a lot of passion in him. Passion about life, beliefs and, most obviously, a fiery sexual passion that consumes him like a fire that burns, smoulders and burns again. I love that sort of passion and feed off it greedily, burning with my own passion. Nibbling, biting and sucking are often part of the territory with intense sexual passion but I don’t like pain and I don’t like the visible after-effects of such pain.
There were several times on Friday and Saturday, the weekend before Halloween, when I’d had to tell D to be careful with his teeth and mouth. I’ve had to tell him to calm down before but apart from a few marks that persisted under my clothes for a few days, I’ve not had to contend with marks on my neck that were visible to all. I only noticed them once he’d left on Saturday evening when I was in the shower. There were a few marks, marks that, at a stretch, could have been explained away as a shaving rash. But one of them was so obviously caused by teeth - Dracula would have been proud of such a row of ‘puncture marks’. I was mortified. How cheap and tacky it looked! How embarrassing to be marked in that way!
I put on a high-collared shirt and went to meet friends at the Lord Roberts.
I think that it would have been quickly noticed without my constant twitching at my collar but, before long, A had made a remark about it. And then it was pointed out to H and several others. Despite the utter embarrassment, there was a brief moment when I felt strangely proud of that badge of dishonour. ‘Look at me,’ it said, ‘I’ve just had sex!’ Immediately after that thought, I condemned myself as pathetic. For a moment, at least, it had given me insight into why those pathetic teenagers and dreadful trailer park inhabitants indulge in such tacky behaviour.
A suggested putting toothpaste on it, someone else suggested holding an ice-cold spoon against it. Why such strange remedies should remove what is essentially bruising, I’m not quite sure. Arnica, a proven remedy for reducing the effects of bruising, would probably have been a better remedy. After a few pints I’d forgotten about my hickey and only remembered it the following afternoon by which time it was too late to buy arnica had I wanted to. Amazingly, almost all trace of the teeth marks and swelling had gone.
I went to work on Monday without wearing the tie I’d thought I’d have to wear.