I was going to title this blog post “Season’s Beatings,” but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Too corny. The content matter of my sex life lends itself to lampooning enough as it is.
Tonight I dressed up to go out with some of my old girlfriends, and I wore a sleeveless top. I’ve been wearing sleeves all week because it’s cold.
Well, later in the evening, someone asked me how I got the bruises on my arm. Surprised, I looked down, and sure enough–there were marks on my skin. They were on the inside, almost the underside, so I understand how I missed them.
I didn’t know what to say, because I’ll be damned if I have a clue about how they got there. I mean, I know–gotta be the Surgeon; I haven’t let anyone else beat me recently, alas. I had to have gotten them the last time I saw him…but I don’t remember what caused these marks in particular.
Mystery bruises are not at all unusual (as I wrote about here !!!sensitive–work alert!!!). When there are multiple blows (and there almost always are) overlapping on the same area(s) of the skin (which they almost always do), the pain from one area of impact bleeds into another. It becomes impossible for my brain to distiguish the strikes with any certainty. Especially if I can’t see them land, which, again, is typical.
I find that the only thing that helps me distinguish the strikes if they’re coming hard and heavy is if the impliments used to deliver them are switched fairly often. I’ve known men who liked to use many different tools in a scene–Heinrich, in particular, comes to mind, he has an arsenal–and I often do it myself when I control others. The Surgeon’s choice of weaponry is pretty predictable, however. Like all obsessive-compulsive people, he is a creature of habit through and through. Every now and then he’ll shake it up, but he mostly uses the same two or three tools. Excluding his teeth.
Which brings us back, gentle reader, to the bruises on my arm. What the hell caused them? I wish I’d seen them before they faded so much. I’ve got some on my back and legs, but they don’t look like these.
At first I thought they might be bites, because of the dotted look of the lines–see here?
But that isn’t shaped like a bite mark. The ones on my arm are all strangely shaped. Maybe chain? I am leaning towards chain, but I really can’t figure it out. And how did they get on the inside like that? I am thinking it must have happened when my wrists were behind my back–that exposes the inner arm. But then–the chain?
I’ll run it by the Surgeon; ask him if he has any ideas. He won’t mind. He gets a kick out of it when I play CSI Investigator the day afterward. It’s interesting, actually, what comes out of his mouth sometimes when we have these conversations.
“Sometimes, I really don’t know how you can take all that,” he told me once. We were in a Hotel suite in midtown (oh, hotel suites I have known!). We were taking a break after about three hours. He was sitting on the sofa, stabbing at the sushi he’d just had delivered. I was…I don’t remember what I was doing. I was obliterated; off in la-la land.
“I seldom hold anything back. A lot of times, I hit you as hard as I can.”
Interesting, that. Very interesting.
A prudent woman would be wise to consider the implications of that statement.