The Art of Biting and Ghosting: A Story of How I Ended Up With a Hole in my Boob

I haven’t updated this blog in a while…but gosh do I have an update for it now.

Remember how things were going well with Nice Guy Adam from Tinder? Well, they continued to go…well.

Of course, as you’ll remember I am overly cautious about jumping into anything straight away (sex, relationships, doing the dishes). But this guy, I really started to like.

We liked the same music, laughed at the same jokes, sent eachother overly offensive memes because we were both ‘okay with dark humour’. Physically, he had the body of a God and I was more than okay with that.

We’d been dating for around a month and it was going well. Cute-but-not-overly-cute messages being sent, mainly from him. Stuff like him thanking me for being here and making his move to the area so pleasant. Even soppier things like him describing my voice as a ‘hollywood romance’ kind of voice. (I asked him to expand on that because I am nowhere near American sounding or even posh British and apparently he meant that it was like that moment in a movie when you hear someone’s voice and its so perfect and lovely.) However, there was only kissing and light touching. Nothing else.

Anyhow, one evening he’d asked me to come over and hang so I did. I told him I had to leave by a certain time (12, I think it was) because Chloe was on a date in the town centre and wanted me to meet her when it was over to get a taxi back together. He said that was fine. As per usual, the evening descended into making out. Because I’m so nervous, it was he who initiated it but once he had I kissed back with force.

It was great. Just the right amount of touching for me to be comfortable – gentle tracing of each other’s bodies whilst we kissed tenderly. Then he did this thing.

Now, I’ve told this story a few times – to friends, and unfortunately my mother – because I was panicking at the aftermath. Yet, I’m still not one hundred percent sure what he was aiming to do. So, bear with me as I attempt to describe this one in writing.

Lying on top of me, he started to -kind of- nibble on my shirt and pull it up towards himself gently. Not enough to suggest he was trying to take my shirt off (something we hadn’t done yet) but just a little. He did this a few times, biting where my bra would be underneath my shirt. Maybe the 4th or 5th time he did this, he bit down a bit harder and actually ended up with a bit of my boob in his mouth (through a shirt and bra, still) and then he pulled up. However, this time, he wasn’t gentle. Oh no. He yanked upwards super hard.

Now, I’m not against a little rough/kinky play in the bedroom so this didn’t bother me too much. However, my body naturally was not expecting this so I made a little squeak in response to the unexpected sting.

It was at this point he realised what he’d done. Horror streaked his face as he was incessantly apologetic. At that moment I was only thinking ‘pfft, that’s nothing compared to other sexual escapades I’ve taken part in’.  Not wanting to come across as a complete freak, all I said was ‘Pfft, that was nothing, don’t worry about it!’

Looking visibly relieved he said ‘Well, that’s going to leave a mark.’ I laughed a little and to alleviate the awkwardness pulled him back into a kiss. Boy, was he right.

I left around 12 to go meet Chloe and we got in the taxi to go home. We were going to stay up and have a little to drink, tell each other about our nights. After we got home, I told her to hang on whilst I went and changed into some pjyamas. I was taking my bra off when I suddenly caught my reflection in the mirror.

I near screamed. Fortunately for the neighbours, I did not. Instead I put on my dressing gown and joined Chloe back in the living room. There comes a time in every girl’s life when she utters these words. I just was not aware the time had come so soon. ‘Hey, can you look at something for me?’

I opened my dressing gown and, whilst managing to cover my nipple (like that would somehow retain my dignity) I showed her my boob.

Her jaw dropped. ‘Bail, what the fuck?’ See, what I had brushed off at Adam’s house was actually a little more serious. A chunk of my skin had come out and my boob was bleeding. I didn’t feel any further pain than the light stinging when it first happened.

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Excuse my messy room, but scarred for life (above)
However, what we were both confused about the most, after a long (panicked, on my part) discussion, was where did the chunk of skin go?

Did I just leave a chunk of skin on his bed and go? Surely he must have seen it. But in a situation such as this, if one were to find a singular chunk of skin belonging to another, would one message said person saying ‘Hey, I’ve found a chunk of your skin on my bed, do you want me to put it aside for you when you next come over?’ or does one simply discard the skin chunk and never mention it again?

Unfortunately in sex ed, this scenario was not discussed in depth so I lacked the skills to go about it properly.

The killer here is that I didn’t even have sex, which is hard explaining to other people when you’re asking for advice. Protip: When yougo into a pharmacy asking how to best deal with a human bite on your breast, prepare for a strange look coming your way. Or more, if there are several customers in the store.

So, that night I decided I needed to tell Adam about the boob wound because he’d probably need to be a little more careful next time we made out. But I also didn’t want to hurt his feelings because what a lovely guy, honestly. I was sure he was feeling horrible already.

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Oh mystery skin chunk, where did you go? (above)
So, I sent him both these pictures. And put a jokey message alongside them. ‘#WhenBaeGetsKinky’ (I know the whole bae thing is cringey but I just wanted to make sure he didn’t feel bad and honestly that’s all I could muster up at 1am.)

So the next day I opened messenger on my phone to see if he had replied. I was expecting a massive, paragraph-sized apology from him just because of the way he had been with me since I’d known him – a complete gentleman.

However I found nothing. Hmm. I assumed he had just gone to work and hadn’t checked his phone or messages in the morning. But after I had waited all day, seen him go active and then inactive on Facebook multiple times, I gave up.

After a few days of this, I realised he was clearly ghosting me.

As for the scar, you know how they make those jokes about young children thinking that kissing makes you pregnant? Well, no, kids. Kissing doesn’t make you pregnant. It just leaves you with a gaping wound on your breast that will scar for life.

So that is the story of how I got my boob ravaged whilst simultaneously being ghosted.

And I didn’t even get laid for it, either.

 

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