Bitchicisms

After sex. Hair all mussed up. Sunlight streaming in through an open door. The place is a mess, I worry about where my underwear is. The man is half asleep beside me. We're still naked,
cigarettes in hand, resting and contemplating whether to have another go at it. I feel a slight pain on my calf. I lift it and notice a faint bruise.

"Did you unhinge your jaw to bite that?"
"Sorry, it's been a while since I had crispy pata."
I hit him and laugh.

24 hours later, there's no sign of a bruise but the bite still hurts.

I love sex bruises and injuries. I love how they feel when they're being made. I love feeling the twinges of pain after the fact. I love how they remind me of the orgasms I had. I love them.

New addiction: scratches. I've tried to make light scratches an art. My long nails demand it, and men expect it. But when men scratch my back with their short, trimmed nails, it just makes me so horny.

Good sex should leave a mark.