Posts Tagged ‘scars’


He likes to bite and I love when he does. Like a wild animal tearing into his prey, marking his territory, with wild abandon.

The bruises he leaves behind are my reminders. There are currently a dozen I can see in addition to my bruised derriere and a scratch up my thigh. They remind me of him with every move, every glimpse caught in the mirror. As I touch them with my finger I feel the ache and the memories of how they got there come flooding back. I can’t wait for more.




I’ve missed him the past few days. Still a few more before he returns. Maybe I’ll leave him with a few reminders the next time he has to go out of town.




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“Women have always been these vixens, these animalistic erotic women.”
~ Tyra Banks



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“Every heart has two parts, the part that pumps and the part that loves. If you’re going to spend your life fixing broken hearts, then learn about both. You can’t just fix one with no concern for the other. ”
~ Charles Martin

heart scar

Click below to see all of this week’s sinful pics

Sinful Sunday

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Victor peered up from behind his fork full of meat and I knew. I watched as he put the bite of food in his mouth then, in his usual precise manner, put his fork down on the napkin beside his plate. He never took his eyes off me. We were about to play, this is what I knew, but what did he have in mind? He was hard to read this evening, I couldn’t help but be excited and terrified at the same time.

He slowly pushed his chair back from the table, continuing to keep his eyes on me the whole time. Shivers ran up my spine.

Are you ready little whore?

Uh oh! My eyes darted around the kitchen searching for a way out. Behind him was the entrance to the living room, which then led off to the rest of the house. I would have to get past him first though. Highly unlikely. To my right was the basement door. Nope. Just a dark damp nothing behind it, not even a lock on the other side, I had checked earlier.

He picked up his drink then in a low voice, barely above a whisper, Run…

chasing_by_justashadowleft-d3l3kykI was out the back door before the word was fully out of his mouth. Which way? I didn’t even know where I was, let alone know where to run to. I couldn’t believe he was doing this while we were on holiday. At least it was still early evening so I could see to find my way. Straight ahead, towards the beach.

You don’t want me to catch you, do you little whore? You better run. I could hear him clearly. Turning around I saw that he had come out the back door and was standing there, watching me, sipping the last of his scotch and buttoning his shirt. He was taking his time. He wanted me to know he was taking his time. I again wondered what he had in mind for tonight. He was thoughtful, even when he was being what appeared to be just plain mean and sadistic, he wouldn’t send me running without a plan.

The last time he chased me I gave up, conceded his win, and he proceeded to punish me thoroughly with his hand and the cane for doing so. I was unable to sit comfortably for nearly a week. Each time I did I was reminded of my own failure. I knew the rules and had purposely disobeyed, at least that was what he thought and what he thought was what mattered more than anything else. I was determined to win this time.buttercup_field_by_keldbach-d51howv

I took a left at the end of the property, before the beach started, and ran into a field of blossoming buttercup. It was a beautiful sea of yellow and green. I was brought back to my childhood, memories of buttercups under chins. Some old children’s rhyme I couldn’t quite recall… do you like butter, do you like cheese…. There was something else too, something about a handful of buttercups. I couldn’t quite catch a hold of the memory. It fluttered through my mind just beyond my grasp leaving a trail of something that felt like, I don’t know, sadness maybe.

I was returned to the now by the sound of Victor’s voice. Where are you little whore? Not close, yet not too distant, I could barely hear him now above the waves and the breeze rustling the trees. The flowers in the field were joining in with a little dance of their own before the rain came. It was a beautifully choreographed sight, the breeze sweeping down, the flowers bowing to it, moving to and fro in response to the breezes gentle sway. More flutters. Deja vu. I have been here before, I have seen these flowers do their dance before.

I am having the best day at the summer house running carefree at the beach and through the fields, feeling the sun warm me through my orange and pink sundress. The smell of springs blossoms surround me. I pick some buttercups for Mum. She loves when I bring them home. She smiles and hugs me and says thank you before putting them in a little glass cup on the window sill. I run back to the house to give Mum her flowers and am greeted by a policeman and ambulance. The policeman tries to turn me about and get me into his car but I struggle free and into the house before he can stop me. There is my Mum, hanging from one of the banisters in the open upstairs hallway. I drop my handful of buttercups.

I fell to the ground, tears flowing, wretched agony overtaking me. My memories didn’t feel like twenty year old memories, they felt fresh and new as if it had just happened right now this moment. I couldn’t stop crying. It hurt so. I sat there weeping, remembering it all, replaying it over and over again in my head. Victors arms were around me now, his mouth to my ear, soothing me, comforting me with his words and his touch. I love you baby. Everything is going to be ok. I am here, I have you, I won’t ever let you go. It’s ok baby. Let it out, let it go. I’m here. He kept saying these words to me. Sometimes he sounded as though he might break himself. It was so touching and heartbreaking at the same time. I love you baby. Everything is going to be ok. I am here, I have you, I won’t ever let you go. It’s ok baby. Let it out, let it go. I’m here…


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Sinful Scars

Sinful Sunday is all about the image. Click on this link to see who else is playing today.

After an intense journey these past few months, this is me, well one part of me, after my shower this morning.


A little scarred, but better because of it…


Healing nicely, now I am ready to be nibbled…

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Wedding Speech

Looks like I will be working on that internal scar. I agreed to give a speech at my brothers wedding in May. He asked, I said yes, and then I realised what the heck I had just agreed to. Can’t back out now, not on my brother. Funny thing, one of my very good friends said I would be great at it. After nearly 15 years of knowing each other she still has no idea the fear that comes over me at the thought of speaking in front of people. Obviously no situation has ever come up in her presence.

It is over 7 months away, May 11, 2013. Maybe I will be able to do it by then. Maybe not. Seriously, how the hell did I agree to this?!

Fact is, he’s my baby brother and I’d do just about anything for him. He is marrying a wonderful young lady he adores and they are head over heels in love with each other. You can see it in everything they do. You can see it in the way they communicate and interact, in the way they take care of their beautiful little girl and each other. They bring out the best in each other. What more is there than that?

I can’t back out on them. But can I get around actually having to stand up in front of everyone and give a speech?

I could probably pawn it off on the boy. He will be three and I am sure he will be able to string a few words together into something cute and coherent by then. Yes, maybe that will work.

Then again, I may just have to suck it up and do it myself. Being highly medicated and intoxicated won’t be noticed at a wedding will it?

At least I have some time to figure it out.

Any advice? Anyone? Please?

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Internal Scar

Scars. We all have them. Sometimes they are on the surface, fully visible to the naked eye, others are hidden deep within. I have an external one that has led to an inner one that laid rest for nearly 30 years.

When I was around 5 years old I had open heart surgery to repair a septal defect, or what is more commonly known as a hole in the heart. There was a hole in the septum, wall, that separates the right and left sides of the heart. This causes blood to flow between the two chambers of the heart rather than through the rest of the body as it normally should. Many babies are born with this but it usually corrects itself in the first few years of life. Mine didn’t heal so I had to have surgery to repair it.

The surgery left me with a big scar down my chest. When I was younger I thought it was cool that I had a scar similar to my Dads. The only difference was that his was down his back and mine was down my front. It never really bothered me much. I got it so young that it always seemed to be a part of me. Besides, it was always covered by clothes so nobody saw it anyway. Until that one time…

It was grade three. Mrs Yates’s class. I really liked my grade three class because it was in the only basement classroom and it was way at the far end of the school where the good play area was. I was wearing a pair of jeans, a rarity as my Mother was still into making much of my clothes, and a western style shirt. Red and blue plaid with a simple yoke and shiny white pearl snaps. I should see if I can find a picture. I’m sure there must be a few as I never wanted to take it off. I loved that shirt.

I don’t recall what we were studying that day. Seems to me it must have been some kind of health class considering what was about to happen. Though a stupid move on Mrs Yates part, I am sure she wouldn’t have done it completely out of the blue in like math or english class. It was just before afternoon recess. Mrs Yates asked me to come to the front of the class and show everyone my scar.

Yep, there I was, 8 years old, standing in front of my class with my pretty pearl snaps undone and shirt open showing off my scar. To say I was mortified would be an understatement. I was completely traumatized. It took me a very long time, nearly 30 years, to realize to what extent.

I had joined a local Toastmasters group to help me get over my fear, total anxiety really, of speaking in front of people. I had been going to meetings for a couple of months but never had the courage to stand up and speak. I filled the timekeeper role a few times but that was easy. It was a job, a set task, and I didn’t have to leave my seat to give the stats at the end of the meeting. I had even prepared speeches based on the program so I could work my way through it and get over my crippling fear. Even after six months I never gave a single speech.

I started thinking about all those years in school when I wouldn’t get up in front of the class to give presentations. I always just took a zero. Even with that I still managed to graduate with honors. Not too bad, but I could never figure out why it was such an issue for me. I could talk the day away with anyone,  a “Chatty Cathy” many people said. Why couldn’t I get up in front of people and speak? What was the problem?

My subconscious finally released its grip and I had my eureka moment. Hello!! Remember grade three? That time when you were put on display in front of the whole class? Yeah that.

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