What’s wrong with hickeys… not that I have one

I’m having trouble with the social norm that decrees displaying hickeys is vulgar. So what if in the middle of crazy carnal cavorting my neck gets sucked and a royal purple bruise blossoms? I like it and I’m not interrupting the flow of steam with a polite request to cease sucking. I understand that hickeys happen. Covering it up with a blatant Band-Aid that draws more attention to my neck is just silly. High collared shirts and turtlenecks discreetly hide some love bites, but not all. Why the fuck do people care, anyway? I had sex last night. That’s right SEX. And not normal ho-hum sex but the kind that led to clawing, biting, and loud banging noises. The kind of sex that made me forget I had to go out in the world today and face this sexually dysfunctional society. Instead of whispers of, “Shenry’s hickey is so disgusting. Can you believe…” I want to hear shouts of, “Hell yeah dude, you scored! Rock on Shenry.” Then I want to do a victory lap around the cubicle farm with my arms waving wildly in the air while flurries of confetti dance around me to an appropriate victory song such as Sex Machine or Gonna Fly Now.

But…

The aesthetic side of my brain (that would be the neuron on the left huffing glue fumes not the one on the right buggering itself) finds the blatant display of hickeys to be frightfully trashy. Like liver spots and goiters, it’s just not attractive. Perhaps my aversion to hickeys is a result of societal programming, and perhaps I can realign my tastes such that hickeys are beautiful blood brooches pinned on the neck. Since beauty is an ascribed attribute, I can liberate myself from the tunnel vision of this judgmental civilization and be more accepting of that which surrounds me. No longer will an external entity structure my perceptions.

I will embrace the hickey, the deep majestic colors and sexual symbolism. The neck is the canvas and the lover is the artist, together they compose passion by sucking until the building pressure ruptures subcutaneous blood vessels: The birth of a hickey. Be it large and amorphous or small and perfectly circular, I will admire the form. Be it royal blue contrasting marble white skin or fading brown blending into a summer tan, I will revel the colors. Should I be the lucky recipient of a love bite, I will coordinate my attire to match the soul of my passion art.

Next time I see a resplendent specimen of a hickey, I am going to extend my balled up hand for a fist pound and smile, “Fuckin’-A, nice hickey!”
...and so it was written, shenry at 12/27/2002 09:53:00 AM.
...and so it was appended with .