Page 72 of Don't Puck Him

He can clearly tell that I don’t understand. He runs his finger down my chin and traces the curves of my body.

“Before I start, I want you to tell me why you want this,” he tells me. “Why do you want a mark on your body?”

I try to pull words together as he continues to caress me. It’s hard not to just relax and feel. “I want to be able to look at it. To see that I’m yours, and I always will be.”

He continues to touch me, sometimes lingering on my nipples. He’s very good at casually making me feel melty and dreamy. “And why do you want to be mine?”

“Because I love you,” I say, almost automatically. “And because I like it when you care for me and protect me and… and because I love you.”

It feels silly to say the same thing twice, but Hunter smiles. He loves seeing me when I’m just a little bit not quite there.

He leans close to me and kisses me just next to ear. “Turn over.”

The tension in my toes returns as I rotate on the bed. I lay back down, facing him as best I can. Here it comes. The moment we’ve been building towards. The moment it actually becomes permanent.

The symbol we’ve chosen is a simple one, hopefully. It’s going to be an infinity symbol. The sign of something that lasts forever, and also something that’s deep. Even the basic design seems fitting somehow. Two circles, two zeroes, joining together and becoming one thing. One presence out of two absences.

Maybe that’s a little poetic, but it is how I think about Hunter and me. Neither of us were doing well exactly before we met each other. Hunter had his walls built all around him, and I went through life like I was filling out a checklist. Do as I’m told. Be a good student. Go to a good college, and then do something. Probably find a job.

Together we’ve become something beautiful. We are something beautiful.

Hunter picks up the razor. My skin prickles as his hand, carrying it, moves over my back.

“Relax,” Hunter tells me. “It’ll be easier the more you relax.”

It’s not easy to relax when you know someone’s about to cut you with a razor, but I do my best. After all, it’s Hunter. And this is a symbol of love. This is a symbol that will mark me. This is about commitment.

And I do want to commit to Hunter. I love him, and I want to be his. I want to feel him change me, even if it’s only in a small, symbolic way.

“With this mark, I claim you,” he announces. “Your body is mine. Your skin is mine and so is your blood under it. I will care for you, but I can hurt you. I love you, but I can change you. You are my possession, and I take power and responsibility over you.”

“I’m your possession…” I repeat, almost thoughtlessly.

And then, the blade cuts into me.

It hurts, almost like a burning sensation in my back. The cutting is over almost quickly as it begins but the feeling of heat continues. A second later, Hunter pats away the blood, and I feel the alcohol in the wound. I wince, but I can take it. For Hunter, I can take anything.

The second cut comes. My whole back is on fire, but Hunter moves methodically and slowly. I try my best to make myself relax. This pain is like a symbol of my love for him. If he tells me to bear this, I will bear it.

The third is shorter. More alcohol, and I wince again. There’s a tear pooling in my eye, but that’s okay. I’ve almost made it. Just one more and it’s done, for now.

And there it is.

I made it. I did it. Even as the pain screams at me, I feel a pride rising in my chest. And even more, I feel love. I feel how much I love Hunter, and how much he loves me back.

“The lotion should help,” he says. I feel a coldness on my back, which somehow doesn’t make the burning feeling go away. I just feel both at the same time, only a little duller. Next comes the film and finally the bandage.

“That should be that,” he says. “And we didn’t even get much blood on the bed.”

I consider turning on my side, but decide to wait for a little before doing it.

“Did I do okay?” I ask.

“You’re perfect,” he says, setting everything back on the bedside table. “You’re always perfect. How do you feel?”

“Like someone just cut a figure eight into my back,” I answer, then smile. “But good. I feel good.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?”

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