Once Bitten, Twice as Aware: Becoming Present Through Kink (A Dating While Dad Story)
March 22, 2016. I am in N.’s bed for the third consecutive night. We are underslept, drunk on and sustained by an incandescent chemistry the likes of which I haven’t felt in years.
I am raised up on my hands, looking down at her. We have railed against each other’s bodies for three days straight. Those bodies are sore, but aching muscles and raw skin are no match for an attraction like this.
We’re both soaked in sweat. We need a little break. I slow my pace, sliding in and out of her. N’s fingers play languidly between her legs.
I glance at the clock, exhale. It’s after midnight again, and we’ve been at this for nearly two hours. I am normally always conscious of time. Those two hours have felt like 10 minutes. I ponder what this loss of a sense of time might mean. I stare at the clock while N. grinds her pelvis against me, willing me deeper.
Then N. stops. I look down. She is studying me.
“Come here,” she says, her singer’s voice pitched halfway between a purr and a growl. I drop gently onto her, and we kiss softly. Her mouth opens, and she starts to suck my lower lip. It’s a pleasant sensation. I give an appreciative hum.
Then I feel her teeth. They do not nip or pull. They lock on that lower lip, and begin to bite down. The pain accelerates like a jet rattling down a runway for takeoff. It goes from mild to excruciating in seconds.
I am immobilized. I cannot pull away. I freeze. My hips stop moving. Her muscles clamp and release on my erection. Her jaws only clamp on my lip. There is no release.
I remember seeing a nature show as a child, one in which I saw a gazelle chased and caught by a lion. The gazelle struggled frantically until the lion’s teeth sank into its neck. The gazelle seemed to relax as if anesthetized, eyes rolling back in the head.
Perhaps what looks like calm is really only shock. Or perhaps Mother Nature softens the harsh reality of being eaten alive by flooding a dying prey animal’s brain with comforting chemicals. Either way, some sort of peace seems to come at the end of all things.
I feel like that dying gazelle. N. is as tall and strong as I am. As she bites, she wraps her legs and arms around me. I barely feel it. My whole world of clocks and cocks, chemistry and crushes — that world is gone. My world is in my lower lip. It is a raging fire that has filled the screen of my consciousness.
I know if I tap her shoulder, N. will release. And I’ve been around long enough to know that if I don’t tap out I’ll get something I need.
N. bites just a little harder. I see red, only red, and I hear a roaring in my ears.
And then, the pop in my brain. It’s like the sound of a champagne cork flying out of the bottle, or the sound a glass makes when it’s crushed by a groom at the end of a Jewish wedding.
When the pop comes, all the red in my consciousness turns white, and then a pale blue. The pain drains away, as if the vessel that contained the agony had begun to leak. The pale blue in my brain is sweet, like confectioner’s sugar dusted over every last crevice of my consciousness.
The sweetest part is that every nagging worry has been obliterated. I am adequate at topping, but it is not my nature. This kind of exaltation and release through particular kinds of physical suffering — this is who I am.
I let my entire weight go, relaxing completely onto N. Slowly, she releases the pressure on the lip until her mouth pulls away completely.
I hear her say something. It sounds far away. I’m still in the ecstatic pale blue.
“I said we’ll put some ice on that when we’re done.”
I raise myself back up. N. is grinning. I laugh, almost cackling.
“Wow,” I say.
“You ready to be here with me now?” she asks.
I cannot see my face, but I am certain that my eyes are alight. I can see that hers are, as her fingers once again slide between us.
“Yes, I am fucking here.”
“So show me.”
And as best I can, I do.
My lip will be swollen for nearly a week.