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I use to smoke cloves, and still do on occasion. Little things like that caused more pleasure than pain-- but when the need to cry becomes too great, what then? I need a focus, something to take my mind off of what was going on around me, and let myself focus on what was more important, me. I could drink away my life, but then again that becomes horribly expensive. I could wreck my car when I needed the rush, but then after that, how responsible would I be? I turned to cutting. Sure it seems a perversion of terms, but to me, it was what I needed to move past mental pain, and concentrate on something, literally, more tangible.



The scars on my chest are a testament to, not only the man I love, but also the pain and pleasure associated with the act. I had already let him fix the horrible scarring and re-piercing act of my nipples just two weeks before, but I wanted something more, in a way, more permanent. When you've learned over time not to cry, but to find another outlet and there is none, a small, precise blade makes the difference between letting yourself snap, and holding on by the thread in which we weave the next chapter of our lives. It also the pulse to come through, and become an extension of the self.



First I would purchase a small pack of disposable straight razors, some people actually still use the devices in order to shave as closely as possible, and also for use in drug addiction. My addiction was slightly different.



The addiction or even fetish of bleeding for another and drinking was a sign of devotion to those in the underground cliques of darker society. This is indeed how I feel in the matter. In medieval times, bleeding was letting go what ailment you have (such as the use of leeches to bleed the body of its poisons, as thought by medieval physicians). This act of bleeding was a mixture of the two, a spiritual letting go, while showing devotion to another. However, I must explain that this is best done with someone you trust (the man I am currently doing this with is a nurse from the navy, fellow cutter, and has had problems himself in the past).



Once the blades have been chosen and purchased, I surprised him with them in a personal setting. Being also in a Master/slave relationship with this amazing man, I wanted him to be my guide and guardian as he had accepted, and have him there to do so in case I faltered.



A small mark was made across the chest at first to test the area was done by my own hand, and the feeling of having such control over something never felt so empowering. A slit of red appeared at the breaking point of my flesh, and I felt a bit woozy as I did so. The after effect was amazing though, and another longer, then another deeper incision was made. Small streams of blood passed down past my pulse, as I had cut just above my left breast, and the rush came with the hotness of actually blushing as he looked on.



I will admit it, I was nervous the first time I wanted to bleed for him, but felt that it was what we needed to not only cement the foundation we had in each other, but to show him how serious I was.



I had told him once that I would bleed for him in the act of giving myself up, a ‘rebirth by blood’ so to speak, and that is exactly what I had set out to do. Having been considered a vamypre of sorts for nearly 10 years now, it seemed almost unnatural to turn around and do so for someone else. For him though, it was like feeding a god. As he pressed his lips to my flesh I felt the rush of his energy surround me, as if something was holding us, not just him holding me. I closed my eyes, this is the release from this world, this encasement that I needed.



When it seemed he was satisfied with what had come from me, in turn he cut above his heart, and I will never forget that night. (The scar there I still kiss when I’m in the mood) His leaning over me, stroking my stomach as he gave it a moment to truly take effect, it began to pour from his chest at a rapid pace. I became frightened even, thinking that if it didn’t stop we would be making a run for the hospital.



Just then, he lifted me up to his bare chest to drink from him in turn. There was so much it nearly covered my face as I drank. He told me to hold him close, and as I did so and as I did as commanded he rolled on to his back as I continued to drink from him.



The taste of fire, and of life, and of passion worked its way into my throat. Every so often I found myself letting go, only to caress the 10g rings of his nipples or nip at the 12g in his nose. His moans and waves of pleasure pushed their way across my 12g dydoe-ettes, causing me to get more than just a little wet at his course.



Again I went for the blade, cutting myself even deeper as I moved to stroke my fingertips in his blood as he drank, again from me. It was the most spiritual and animalistic feeling I had ever had. Once we were spent, and found ways of keeping ourselves from bleeding further, we spent the night in each other’s arms.



We talked about the first time we had done it, by ourselves when we were lonely and needed something to feel alive. I couldn’t help but smile after he told me his story. Turning to him with the biggest smile I could muster in my weakened state, I told him he would never have to be alone again. I just hope he feels the same about me. Everything in time.