I had found her at work, between orders and phones and endless complaints. I was delighted: finally a project worth my energy! So I spent weeks dropping hints at queer culture in straight coworker company, trying to verify if she really was what she looked like, in her awful 90s platform sneakers, baggy sweaters, and shaved hair: a dyke. Trying to subtly convey to her that I was a dyke, too, even if my hoodies were slightly more girly than hers.
I don’t remember what ultimately settled that matter, but eventually there was confirmation: she was indeed a dyke. So here we were, dykes both of us! And she even was butch enough for me to be attracted to her! And I had a feeling she might be attracted to me as well.
I don’t remember how exactly she ended up in my bed (I suppose alcoholic beverages at the local gay hang-out and very broad hints on my part were involved), but one summer night she did. I do remember it was a weekday, though. I do remember I had work the next day. An afternoon shift, but work nonetheless.
So here we were, in my bed, and she found out that I really liked how she applied her lips and tongue and teeth to my neck, gently at first and more forcefully soon after. And I found out that I kept wanting more and more of that, being the mostly unacknowledged masochist I was back then. So I kept asking her for more, and she happily delivered. I don’t remember much else about that night. Just me sprawled out on my back, neck arched in bliss, skin expanding to make more room for her. Just her leaning over me, mumbling how amazing I was, hot breath damp on my throat. Just the sharp pain of suction on my flesh, needles of blood rushing up to my surface. Eventually, we fell asleep.
My first glance into the mirror the next day immediately added urgent items to my to-do list, right after “have coffee” and “send her home” and definitely before “go to work”:
Assure my roommates that I had not been assaulted. Find a t-shirt with a high neckline. Discover that it doesn’t cover much of anything. Find a scarf to wear to the drugstore. Buy the most well-covering foundation available that at least vaguely matches my skin tone. Return home. Apply several layers of foundation to neck. Discover that this still doesn’t cover everything. Despair slightly. Decide that not obviously looking like I had been strangled was probably the best I could get. Put on scarf on top of flaky beige foundation layers despite the summery temperatures. Wait for the train. Pray that no one at work asks any questions.
And finally: Decide the hassle of the unexpectedly-expanded to-do list has still been worth the pleasures of the night before. And: Start being amused that it never even occurred to me that all the gorgeous kissing and biting and sucking would leave a whole bouquet of hickeys in various shades of scary purple scattered all over my neck.
(We were more careful with the hickeys after that. Because I did invite her back into my bed, even though we decided to remain mostly undercover at work.)
This week’s Kink of the Week prompt was “love bites.”
Image source: Wikimedia Commons