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Battle Scars.

I remember using the bathroom at work a few years ago, and looking in the mirror before walking out to make sure I didn’t look like shit. That particular day, I noticed an oddly shaped bruise on my right arm. Perplexed as to how it got there, I began recalling the night before. Did I get drunk? Did I get into a fight with a dog? Did I run into a wall? 

Just as I was about to give up, I remembered something. I put my arm in the air and turned my face to the right as if to kiss my bicep, and just as I suspected – my mouth lined up perfectly with the bruise. Chuckling to myself as I walked back out, I realized it was a bruise from biting my arm the night before in an attempt to shush myself while I was getting fucked into Narnia.

If you’re anything like me, you like it rough ever so always often. Slow and sweet is lovely, but getting manhandled makes me feel like a woman. Bruises and scratch marks are usually a clear indication that someone did more than knit a sweater the night before. While unsightly to some, they’re the sexual equivalent to a soldier’s purple heart. So don’t be ashamed of a sex induced battle wound (unless it’s a hickey, ew). A little (consensual) choking and  pulling doesn’t hurt unless it hurts so good.

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