Love Bites.

What is it about men and love bites? I don’t know if I told you but after my rough and ready ‘bonus night’ with The Director, I walked away with the mother of all hickeys on my neck. A big one, centre-stage, right where everyone could see it.

What the fuck? You’re a 40-something year old man. What the fuck do you think you’re doing having a good old suck on my throat? Do you think you’re fucking 13 or something?

I’m so angry. Honestly, hickeys are by far one of the worst things to ever come out of a good night of rampant sex. It’s disgusting. I’m an almost-thirty year old woman and I’m walking around with a huge purple splodge on my neck. Edward Cullen, eat your goddamn heart out.

Christmas Eve, of all times to get a love bite, Christmas-fucking-eve! And none of the home remedies work, just in case you were wondering. Toothpaste might make the colour dissipate a little but it’s not enough to completely get rid of it. Plus you just walk around smelling like a giant Polo. And the more you try to mask it with makeup, the more obvious it becomes. I read somewhere that pulling the skin tight and rubbing a coin on it might work but that just hurt. Love bites suck.

I thought I’d gotten away with it on Christmas Day. After layer upon layer of foundation, concealer, highlighter, powder, more foundation, more concealer, and a bit of Sudocrem for good measure, I almost made it through the entire day without someone commenting on it. And then it happened… Bestie’s step-pops and his, “Have you got a love bite?”

“No, I had an incident with a curling wand and the more I tried to cover it with makeup, the more it looked like a love bite so then I just gave up.” 

Quick-witted as always, I managed to pull something outta my ass on the spot and I think I might have just about gotten away with it. Doesn’t mean I’m not still raging angry about it though.

The Director is a 40-something year old man. I’m a few months away from 30. We finish off almost three bottles of wine together and apparently it turns us both into raging, sexual beasts. My war wounds included some pretty impressive fingerprint-bruises running the length of my inside upper thigh as well as the poxy love bite. He’s got a couple of scratches down his back and similar fingerprint / handprint bruises on the backs of his shoulders and the top of his arms, smaller but still somewhat noticeable. I also have some little bruises on my ass, my hips and even one of my boobs. They may or may not have been sex-related. I probably fell off the bed or something. It’s pretty fucking annoying to have all the marks of a bloody good night yet not quite remember all of it…

But seriously though. What the fucking fuck? He’s an ex-military and ex-cop man. He knows more than anyone else that the neck is off-limits. As an ex army wife (and occasionally, ex army slut), I learned before anything else that you do not leave sex-marks on the lower arms, neck or face. You get in some serious shit for that kind of thing. He should know better. He said he doesn’t remember it and I’ll be honest, when he first noticed it as I scampered out of bed, he seemed pretty shocked. Mildly irritated at the time, I’m starting to wonder if he was perhaps marking his territory now? Or at the very least, making it difficult for me to move on? He was aware I was messaging someone that night. I’m pretty sure I remember him asking about it too. He saw a couple of the videos and photos that Someone New had been sending me too. Some of them made me laugh (they were all of his pooch) and it just seemed natural to just show him. Believe it or not, things are actually very natural between The Director and I when we’re together. Perhaps a little too fucking natural.

But it just proves the point about sex between men and women. Once the chick has left his bed, he just gets on with life, still logging onto POF occasionally, and throwing the odd message her way just to keep her interested. For the chick on the other hand, it’s a very different story. Anxiously pacing the room every time he’s on POF because she wants to scream at him, ‘Please come back to me’, but doesn’t for fear of not actually meaning it, she’s unable to leave the house for a week because of hickey-gigantor. AKA the huge fucking love bite.

How does he get to walk away so easily? How come the marks of that night stay with me longer than they stay with him, both physically and in every other way?

It’s hardly fair.

So here’s some advice boys & girls: Love bites are NOT attractive. And they are NOT easy to mask or get rid of either. Stop doing it.