Life Cycle of a Love Bite

Staggering, I know, but I’m no expert on modern sexual practices - in fact, I’m not sure I ever was - but I do know a love bite when I see one. And, having given it some thought, and done my own rudimentary research (sneaking looks at young teens’ necks as I pass) I come to the conclusion that they’re a bit of a no-no these days.

How wrong can you be? Confidently, I messaged the family on the communal WhatsApp, asking whether love bites are currently in fashion. I should have known I wouldn’t get a sensible answer. The first to respond was my husband, with, ‘Yes, I get loads.’ I ignored that, deciding that (a) I’d never seen any on him and (b) good luck to anybody who ventures near enough to hoover his neck. Other replies were equally silly (I’m not naming names as they all now have responsible jobs). Eventually, my teacher son said he spots love bites on some of the teens in his classes (no chance to cover up in PE). His response is always to ask if they’ve been hit by low flying golf balls. He thinks they'll be amused. I don’t need to describe the looks they give him in response. My PC daughter backed up the theory that, in her experience, love bites are really only for young teen lovers.

I’m guessing it was the same in my day. If my memory serves me right, I think I only ever received one. I was about fourteen and it was a pretty traumatic experience. I’d just been enjoying a good old teenage snog in the back row of the cinema, when his lips abruptly pulled away from mine and latched onto my tender young neck. If I hadn’t been so shocked I’d have screamed and run out. As it was, I was rooted to the seat. However, the physical pain was nothing to the mental worry when I finally managed to extricate myself and slink off to the toilet to look in the mirror. I knew my new neck decoration wouldn’t go down too well with my - albeit pretty liberal - parents.

I ditched the boyfriend, and for the next few days, polo neck jumpers, huge collars, and chiffon scarves soon became very popular in our house. What I lost in fashion credibility, I gained in peace of mind. The bruising gradually changed from red to purple, to yellow and green. I cursed that boy. The angry mark was taking a long time to completely disappear, and the scarves were become claustrophobic.

I thought I’d got away with it till I was emerging from the shower one day, wrapped in a dressing gown, hair up in a towel, about to scoot across the landing to the safety of my bedroom. Dad was coming up the stairs, his eyes just about level with my neck. I recall his double-take as I threw myself into the bedroom and slammed shut the door. I sat on the bed, dreading the expected knock. I heard the toilet flush, then dad descend the stairs. I breathed a sigh of relief and pulled on a polo neck.

That evening, as I said my good nights, dad looked up from his paper. ‘You’d better check your bed,’ he said. Puzzled, I stared at him. ‘I think you might have bed bugs.’ Pointedly, he rubbed the side of his neck, and a grin spread across his face, ‘They can give nasty bites.’ I was horrified, and probably blushed a deeper shade of red than even the original love bite.
‘Night, love,’ he said, returning to his paper.
‘Night, dad,’ I managed, ‘Errr, I wouldn’t mention bed bugs to mum, she’ll only worry.’ xxx


Life Cycle of a Love Bite

It’s not on the curriculum
Life cycle of a love bite
I do my own study
inspecting my neck
at regular intervals
I’m hoping its life is short
and painless
Always fascinated
by form and colour
each night I squint
at its reflection
directing the spotlight
at its epicentre
as a scientist might look
through a microscope
at slides of mysterious things
To start, its shape is random
its colour, angry red
mirroring my mood
Slowly, shape and shades
morph and fade
Purple, green, orange, yellow
All colours that I love
but best displayed elsewhere
Day 6, the life cycle of a love bite
is coming to an end

One last lingering look
before the scarves are ditched

Thanks for reading.......Jill

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No sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy.

I'm missing kisses at the moment.  Therefore, I'm thinking about kisses often.  The thought of kissing distracts me regularly.  I'm becoming obsessive.  Until recently I had kisses on tap.  Mine for the taking at any time.  Now I'm reduced to remembering kisses, dwelling on kisses past.  Longing for kisses.  Pining for kisses.  (I did mention I'm becoming obsessive)  With this in mind, I've combined obsession and theme to produce a poem:


What I have learned about kissing

That it's better approached gingerly, like a nervous mammal
That pheremones pass between us, suggestive of immortality
That crossing the streams does not end the universe
That breath can be swapped only so long before dizziness
That trumpet players' lips are more prone to dryness
That sometimes the mouth becomes all that exists
That breathing is less important than commitment to the kiss
That lip-reading means knowing a murmer's purpose
That the moment before connection should be prolonged indefinitely
That the best kisses feel like both home and adventure
That teeth don't matter
That hands should be actively engaged
That eyes can be open but ought to be closed
That busy supermarkets spark memorable kisses
That kisses should occur whenever they are considered.

 

This is the second poem about kisses I've written.  The first I wrote when I was 18.  I don't remember it all and I'm not sure I have a copy but it started like this:

My kisses are not thoughtless gifts.

Nor are my caresses to be taken lightly

Though lightly they were given

As gently I traced the tracks of your smile

On your lips and beyond.

So maybe I've always been a little obsessed by kisses.  I suppose if you're going to be distracted by something, considering kissing's not a bad way to pass the time.  

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