Why do I want to bite everyone I make out with? Part II -- In which I actually talk about why I want to bite everyone

Ok, the biting thing. Let's talk about that. 

I first noticed I was doing it in high school. Well, of course, that's when the making-out thing was really happening, so ... duh. And it wasn't with every boy I made out with. Not with my first high school boyfriend, freshman year. I remember kissing him on the loading dock after a football game. I remember my back against the brick wall, and him leaning against me. I remember his strong hands with his long, lean fingers, gripping my arms. I remember how he smelled, woodsy, smokey ... he smelled like a man. Oh, yeah, I liked that boy a lot. And I never had the desire to bite him.

But let's look at a different high school boyfriend. I wasn't even really that into him. He was a friend, he had a crush on me, he asked me out in front of the entire girls' and boys' basketball teams. So I said yes. (We may have to get into the psychology of that later, it may have bearing.) And then I endured a few months of his truly terrible kissing. Ok, I didn't actually bite him, but I pinched him. On the arms. On the neck. A few times. Hard. Yes, while we were making out. Yes, he thought it was weird! And no, I did not explain myself. When I finally realized it was stupid to keep going out with him,  I think he was a little relieved. 

How about my serious high school boyfriend? The one who gave me head for the first time, so delightfully? Did I ever bite him? Not at first. When we first started going out, there was still some mystery, some allure surrounding him. He was a really good kisser. He smelled good. I would get butterflies in my stomach and tingly between the legs when I knew we were going to be getting hot and heavy. I felt like there was potential for ... something. But that something never materialized. I would have this feeling of ... expectation ... that was never satisfied. He was so nice ... and when he touched me he was SO soft and SO sweet and one night I was kissing his neck and I ... bit him. Hard. He even yelped. I couldn't help it! I felt so frustrated! His gentleness made me want to scream! I didn't want to have sex with him but I wanted I wanted I wanted! He didn't mind the biting. I guess he thought it was kind of hot (and I guess it was!) and because he never stopped me I kept doing it. I would bite his lip as we were making out in the car. Just a nibble at first, teasing, his bottom lip between my teeth. I could feel him tense up, waiting, waiting, and then I would suck his lip and bite! Hard!  I would try to just lick his ear, kiss it like a nice girl would, but I couldn't stop myself. His ears, his neck ... I would grab his arms and dig my nails into the backs of his biceps.  Eventually he asked me why I was doing it. He was SUPER polite about it. He was a very curious person and would ask me all kinds of questions about everything. He asked me if it turned me on to bite him like that. Hunh. It was a question that kind of stopped me in my tracks. Up to that point I wasn't really thinking that much about it. It was up to that point an unquestioned compulsion. So I sat there in the front seat of his car, classic rock playing on the radio, and thought about it. Was it a turn on for me to bite? Was the act of inflicting pain exciting to me? And the answer was ... no. It wasn't. So why was I doing it?

I bit the next boyfriend, too, though our relationship was short lived. He was nice, again, more of a friend than a boyfriend. It was my senior year, and we were driving around in his car. He asked me to go to prom with him and we starting kissing. I bit him. Like, really hard! He pulled back and yelled, "Ow!" I just laughed this kind of crazy laugh, because I didn't know what the hell I was doing! And he got this look on his face. This wide-eyed, amazed, worshipful look on his face. Like me and my biting ways were the best thing that had ever happened to him. That look made me want to slap him. I broke up with him before prom. I guess that wasn't the reaction I was looking for.

How about Jack, you are wondering? Did I ever bite Jack? I'll have to get back to Jack. We still need to continue with his story. But I'll give you a preview. I did bite Jack. But what's important is what happened when I did.

Once I did start having sex, the biting didn't stop. I think in some cases it actually got worse. I briefly dated a young but well-hung 19-year-old when I was in my early twenties. We only had sex once or twice, but he probably still bears a scar on his shoulder ... just sayin'. But there was also a very intense boyfriend in college (whom I will dub my "asshole college boyfriend") and I don't think I ever bit him. I was probably afraid to. But also, he was a "bad boy", he was angry, he was intense. He had a strong personality. Not in a good way, it became clear, but it had an affect on me.

The sex biting was the same as the kiss biting. There I would be, all naked and, ideally, sweaty, with a guy that I presumably liked enough to have sex with, and I'm feeling it. Our bodies are moving, he's over me (are we surprised that I like to be on the bottom?), doing his thing, and ... and ... and ... what? What is missing from this picture? I'm turned on, he's obviously turned on, and maybe I'm kissing his chest, his shoulders, my legs wrapped around his waist ... my hands gripping his upper arms ... everything seems to be going well when suddenly, I feel it. The overwhelming urge. I need ... something. But I don't know what it is! It's like a wave washing over me, this ... urge, this expectation. I have this perfectly nice guy with a perfectly nice cock fucking me and ... it's not enough! I'm certainly not going to have an orgasm, no fucking way. Because no matter how great the sex is ... it's not enough. And the combination of that need and frustration would cause an uncontrollable reaction in me. I would bite. Chest, shoulders, neck, legs, it didn't matter, nothing was safe. (Well ok, the cock and other extra delicate parts were safe from the biting, don't worry fellas!) And the bitch of it was ... biting during sex is way more acceptable than biting during kissing! It's not altogether uncommon. So it was a total turn-on to whatever guy I was with. It just proved I was feeling the passion, right? Unless I bit too hard. And even then, I would get a chuckle, or a pat on the head, like, "Look at little Shea, getting so hot and bothered she can't control herself, that's so cute. I must be amazing in the sack!" And oh, that would make me so mad! I would want to scream! Or kick someone! Mainly my lover of the moment. Right in his stupid satisfied face. I just could not get the reaction I was looking for. Well, (spoiler!) until Jack.

Because, what I finally figured out, years later, was that I was trying to get a very specific reaction out of these boys, these men. But I didn't want them to like it. I wanted them to NOT like it. Even if it turned them on a little, I wanted them to grab me by the hair, hard, and pull my biting mouth away from their delicious flesh. I wanted them to grab my arms, hard, and hold me down until I stopped. I wanted someone to sternly command that I cut it the fuck out, and threaten consequences. I wanted someone ... ANYONE! ... to bite me back. Ultimately, looking back with what I know now, what I really wanted? I wanted a man to punish me.




I eventually stopped biting. I wish I could say that it was because I finally got what I needed. Sadly, the opposite is true. There came a time in my life when the frustration got to be so much, I just pushed it down down down, until I stopped biting because I just stopped caring.

In the next post, I will continue with Sexual Awakening Part II. What happens when I start dating Jack at age 18? What happend when I bit him? You're curious, come on, admit it.