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Razorotic Love Affair

This is an account straight out of my personal journal. Jayne is my girlfriend; Jason is her boyfriend. As you will read, we are all quite close.

Although I'm sure this took seed much earlier, I feel things were really put into motion when I noticed Jason had what looked to be a vampire bite on his arm - made by a knife tip, I later learned. Jayne had a case of bloodlust and took it out on him the previous day. I'd been mumbling about it for weeks prior and was beginning to wonder if my quiet insinuations of "You know, I'd really not mind . . ." went unnoticed. Towards the end of last week, we'd vaguely discussed it, but I'd noticed an increase in the frequency of smug smiles they'd been exchanging.

The three of us were just barely recovered from that nasty cold that was going around by Saturday, when we decided to take a trip to Freak Manor in Bellingham. We got dressed up. We got directions. We begged Steve to house us. My cellphone number was liberally distributed. We were in the car, we were looking for food, we were so fucking ready to go up until the moment we realized how sick we still were and what a stupid idea it would be to spend just over hour and a half driving in the pouring rain only to dance and drink for a bit before crashing in a house already crammed with occupants. While parked in front of the already closed Taco Bell, we pondered our situation. It was then Jayne declared, "I don't want to spend all that time driving. I want to go to Jason's, get warm, order pizza, and CUT BREE UP." I didn't have the heart to argue against an offer like that.

We promptly drove the short distance home and started calling up take-out places. Once the pizza had been acquired, we settled into his cozy livingroom. I had been surprised earlier on when Jason showed off the "supplies" he'd purchased the day prior, which were now nocholantly scattered on the coffee table. A shining new scalpel lay innocently on the glass. It was delicately thin, silver, equipped with detachable blades, similar to an x-acto knife. It was a fetish object in its own right, able to recognize its sexual potential before ever grazing flesh. I was too shy to tell him buying Jayne and I a present like that meant more to me than a dozen red roses, and was a hundred times more romantic.

Clothing had been dropping all evening and we were eventually to be found tightly wrapped about each other, exchanging kisses (They keep me warm on cold nights / We must be quite a sight / In our meat triangle / All tangled). Those embraces slurred into actions and soon enough, alcohol, cotton, and bandages were being retrieved from their respective kitchen niches. The warmest, most homey quilt was spread on the floor, then me over it. My forearms and calves were bound in saran wrap, with an extra layer of duct tape around the wrists and ankles. We had decided to work on my back, since it was less likely to scar and the closest to a blank canvas my body had to offer.

I was already spacing out by the time Jason brushed my skin with alcohol and Jayne made the first incision. It hurt more than I thought. I was my first time being cut by someone else, and it made a big difference in the sensation. I always had anger or despair to drive the blade previously. Even when I realized I fetishized it, I never trusted myself to do it "for the right reasons." I'd never been bled in an atmosphere of love and warmth.

The cuts multiplied and I could feel my back burning, despite the cool bursts of air they blew across the wounds. Just once, I remember the feeling of Jayne licking some blood from my skin. Later on, I learned of the power rush she was getting from it as well as the reciprocation of my feelings of love, pasion, and trust.

I took two breaks and when it was over, I was bandaged and bundled up in warm blankets. At that point I was so deep in subspace I could barely communicate. It took a mighty crank of the thermostat, hot chocolate, and lots of cuddling to bring me back to reality.

Once I was properly functional, I took a stumbling walk to the bathroom, where Jason gave me a handmirror to help view my back. Mm. Star. Spiral. Pinwheel. A gift from my lover and beloved to me.

I don't care if it scars. I love it. I love her. I love them both.


submitted by: Anonymous
on: 17 Feb. 2002
in Scarification

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