Rose petals bloomed along the thin straight line on my inner thigh, where no one could see. The thorn that drew them was taken from my father’s medicine cabinet, by a hand that never yet had to hold one to my face.

I love the metal. I love the fineness of the grind, the glint of the edge, the coolness of the steel. And it was a double bond. That edge helped reconnect me to a body that my mind wanted to escape. Each crimson petal a chance to feel, again. The steel converting emptiness into somethingness. Pain as a pathway to the corporeal

I met him at a party. His metal attracted me, made me want to be close to him. Septum, PA, nipples, fraenum and a few more, all perfectly placed. All making him seem powerful and free and beautiful.

He gently took me by the hand, down into the basement, and whispered, “I’d like you to feel something.” At first, it was the kiss of his leather on my back, and then, the feel of his hand making it hard for me to sit. And always, I would kiss his metal. And always, I would feel something more.

This time, he showed me his blade. So similar to the one I knew when I was younger, but this one was in his hand, and that I trusted completely. This time, the straight lines bloomed with rubies. Precious gems that would never wilt. And he drew them out with a gentle but commanding hand. In that passionate moment, he repaired the damage I had done before. I was reconnected the way I never thought I could be. As he finished placing his mark, he put his metal on my lips, and, in gratitude, I mixed the rubies with pearls.