This week I got a letter from a lady who is learning that love may hurt, but sex can leave a bruise: “I met a guy who’s shaping up to be pretty awesome. Except, he squeezed my boobs so hard the other night that i woke up the next morning with black and blue bruises from where his fingers were. Needless to say, next time I see him, we’ll be having a little chit-chat. Or will we? Because when I look in the mirror instead of thinking, ‘Ew, those nasty marks are GROSS!’, my thought process is more along the lines of, ‘Hell yeah, I got some last night!’ I generally have the same reaction when I get hickeys, even if it’s a pain to cover them up and they look horrendous. Is it strange to take pleasure in getting sex scars?”
Yeah! You got some! [Insert victory dance here.] Meanwhile, I was just watching “Project Runway.”
Anyway, I once was in love with a biter. One night, he chomped down on my nips so hard I couldn’t wear a bra for two days. It hurt so good that I’m not even embarrassed to say I like the John Mellencamp song of the same name! No need to be disgusted by yourself. Maybe you’re just discovering that you’re into S&M like a lot of peeps, including yours truly. Psst, I’m an easy bruiser too.
Battle wounds are cool, and love marks are a source of pride—that is, unless they embarrass you at the office. Here’s how I cover ‘em up to save corporate face…