Teaching stinks because now I have to be super super careful about visible bruises.



This Saturday’s selfie comes with a little story. Simply:

  • Flint gave me this bruise and owww.
  • I accidentally left my phone charger at Macy’s place.
  • Flint and a friend of his met me in town yesterday to return it to me.
  • I pulled my dress down in public to show him this bruise. His friend probably didn’t see (whew) and I’m not dwelling on it if he actually did (nooope).

While the flashing was not caught on film, here’s the bruise. And my nipple.


Tonight’s my last night with Sir for a while.

We’re sitting beside each other on his couch: reading tumblr, snuggling, sneaking some touches. I’m going to miss him a lot and we’re not sure yet exactly when we’ll see each other again date-wise.

I’ve sustained a few little bumps and bruises from today. Nothing major, but enough to let me be a pouty girl and put this photo of a girl with a very bruised ass up and pretend that I can identify with her. 

But, crap, I’m going to miss him a lot.


Sweetheart’s a silly girl.

But – sometimes, usually – she learns her lesson.


She checks herself for bruises the next morning and, when there aren’t any, she’s sorely disappointed.

Because bruises to her are a reminder. And while just as temporary as the evening prior, they serve as proof until they recede back into the skin. Like the way their mattress has slowly begun to wear into the shapes of their sleeping bodies, the indentations retreating only into hints of their sleeping bodies by noon.

It’s not that she has an issue with memory. It’s more that she likes being decorated as if she were some sort of shrine to their dynamic, however briefly. And so she’s upset when she isn’t bruised. Because even though the marks fade much earlier than the memories, they’re somehow more tangible.


After I’m played with, I go right to a mirror. I like to hunt for bruises, for burst capillaries, for scratches. I think certain kinds bruises look gorgeous, the way the color manifests itself on the skin. I’ve always thought hickeys looked like fireworks. I like the feeling of being marked and being in some way possessed through this.

I carry myself differently when I’m bruised. I usually make a concerted effort to cover them, but I still recognize they’re there. They make me hyperaware of my body. They make me feel gorgeous and unique. 

The Infamous Car Story, Part 6


Continued from here.

I stared over my shoulder at my reddened ass in the mirror. I had never seen it so red, it was almost as if heat were radiating off of it. I winced for a moment, tentatively tapping the raw skin before turning back around and pulling my top down. My nipples were swollen, tender. Somehow, I derived some sort of enjoyment from this. I felt a sense of pride at what I had endured.

The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful until Elle suggested we drive back to her place so I could get my car and head back home. My boyfriend pulled me into the back with him and urged Elle to help him tie me up. She chuckled and shrugged, “hell, one more time for luck.”

My wrists wound up back behind my back and they pulled the stockings between my teeth and around my head before knotting it again in my mouth. They sat me up on his lap before Elle got into the driver’s seat and started to pull away. 

As we drove, I continuously ducked my head down whenever we passed through traffic, dipping back up to mess around with my boyfriend whenever we found some relative privacy. However, I started contemplating the possibility of being seen as we drove and I could not help but wonder what some other driver would think when he or she saw me tied up in the back seat and messing around with my boyfriend.

We stopped at a stoplight and a truck pulled up beside us. Fortunately, the driver, a young guy probably in his early twenties, was not looking in our direction. I was laid back across my boyfriend’s lap, facing him, my legs resting up on his shoulders. My boyfriend rested his knuckle on the window. I blushed furiously and nodded. 

I cannot describe to you the sort of thrilled smile that crossed his face when he knocked on the window and the driver looked over. My boyfriend smiled. I winked. The guy just seemed awestruck, taking in the fact that there was a girl, tied up and clearly enjoying it, with her legs spread, looking up at him from the back seat of a car that another woman was driving.

The light turned green. The guy just kept staring before smiling and honking the horn. Elle honked back before driving off. 

I swear I got an adrenaline rush from the experience. There was this complete stranger getting a glimpse into something that I normally considered terribly personal. 

“What do you think he thought of it?” I asked as my boyfriend released my mouth.

Elle chuckled, “you’re speaking as if he’s stopped thinking about it.”

The end.