The Cutting

As I've recovered, I've spent a lot of my time in our bed, where I can see the framed and matted silk impressions that we made on the night that we made the ritual cutting of His initials in my back. They hang on the wall across from the bed, and if you didn't know what they were, you might assume they were some sort of Chinese calligraphy or brush painting perhaps. There are three of them, done one after the other, and the images are all similar, but different as the blood flowed from the fresh wounds that night. It will be three years ago, come July. In some ways, it seems a lifetime, and in other ways, it seems very fresh and very now. I know that what I thought we were doing that night was very different from what it turned out that we really DID do. I know that what the cutting has come to mean has changed radically over time as I have worn it in my flesh.

I still feel it. Not like I did. For a very long time, it itched wildly -- most of the first year. Reminding me, forcibly of its presence. It drove me to concoct the potion of aloe and chamomile and calendula and vitamin E and "cheaply-had" cocoa-butter based cream that we smoothed on by the gallon to help soothe it without reducing the scarring. That, in the beginning, was one of my constant dilemmas: something that would help with the agonizing itch (which I was desperate to get rid of) without diminishing the scar (which I most definitely wanted to keep). Somewhere along the line it finally calmed down and let me stop scratching like a grizzly bear at every doorjamb. I don't think I actually noticed when it happened. Now, I can feel every line of it, especially if I move my shoulder -- most especially, if He lays His hand on it or traces His finger over it... but it is calm in the upper layers of my flesh.

I never see people's reaction to it. Because it is on my back, the looks and responses that people have to it are always behind me. Surprise, shock, horror, admiration -- whatever response it elicits, it happens behind me. Sometimes, the faces come around to see me if it is just me. Sometimes they deal with Master. In the kink community, we most often get approbation and admiration, although a submissive of a friend was shocked and upset when she first saw it. Sometimes people out in public can be quite rude, although most just ignore it. Medical professionals generally ignore it, choosing to "not see." The only exception to that is my dermatologist who is just horrified by it -- but then she deals in skin (go figure).

When we first did the cutting, in July of 2002, it was only a few weeks after I'd come here to live permanently. I knew that the Heretic was newly trained in how to do cuttings, knew He wanted to practice on something besides a chicken breast, and I was so excited to be here. We were so excited to be, finally, together. After so many months of longing and waiting and planning and talking on the phone and planning and working and dreaming and ... I'd arrived in early June and it was July 27. I'd gathered the needed supplies and offered it all to Him the day before the party that we'd planned for that evening. We hadn't really discussed it much, hadn't talked about what it would mean or imply or even what it would actually "be." I had no design in mind. When He suggested His initials, I simply agreed. It made perfect sense to me. Still does. I don't know if my then husband had issues with that idea. If he did, he didn't say anything. At least not to me. Typical.

But, honestly, the impact of what it would mean to bear His initials on my back -- what I was agreeing to, wasn't discussed at any depth at all. I knew I suppose, and didn't know, and didn't really care. I was in a place where I was wrapped up in a euphoria so intense that I was not making decisions really. I simply was there. Wanting to be with and for this man for always. Like the itching that followed, the implications and the impacts of what we would do that night would settle in over time.

We played intensely ahead of time and then we cleared the big dining room table for what became, essentially a minor, but very seriously handled surgical procedure. As much as we were able... Well, as much as He was able, sterile conditions were applied and maintained for the procedure, and one above the other, His initials were cut into my left shoulder blade. The entire "design" is about 7 inches high. The silk impressions were made and then it was all bandaged up and I was cuddled and cosseted and treated like a queen. For the next two or three weeks we scrubbed those wounds with soft toothbrushes and anti-bacterial soap, keeping them from healing and encouraging the keloid scars that did eventually form quite nicely. Actually, because He was a bit timid in the first cut, we had to go back in and redo the top of the first letter about 3 weeks after the first session... but oh well, we were new to this, too.

The cutting has come to mean exactly what we should have known it meant from the start -- absolute ownership. A soul bond, emblazoned not just in flesh but in the heart and in both our souls. He sometimes says that He will find me across lifetimes because He is sure that mark will be on the soul that I bear. I am sure He is right. In fact, I am sure it was on the soul before He ever set blade to flesh and that His hand simply revealed what was already there. In my dark days and crabby moods, in days when I would reject all that I have chosen and agreed to, in moments under the lash of His whips when I might weaken and turn to a "no", the cutting reminds us both of who we most truly are to ourselves and to each other. It also reminds us of the path we've walked to get here.