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The Perfect Cut

Author's Note: Approximately 3 million Americans, mostly women, engage in some form of self-injury each year; approximately 2 million of them are "cutters." The following story may be disturbing to some.

*

The room was stifling. No, life was stifling.

An hour ago, I was everything I was expected to be. A perfect wife, mother, and career woman. A perfect size 2. PTA. Pilates. A psychotherapist, I spent my days listening to over privileged woman in overpriced clothes complain about their kids, husbands and gossiping friends. I wore perfection like a wet suit, constricting me, suffocating me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't feel.

Perfection had strangled me like a noose for so long that I couldn't remember what it felt like to breathe. After all, I was the white trash girl who made it, prep school, college, and a ph. D. But, as with anything in life, everything came with strings that would eventually wrap around me and squeeze until I couldn't feel anymore. It started with a scholarship to a fancy private school, so that the board of the school could soothe their own guilty feelings about their bloated tuition. The price? I had be the best, straight A's, student government, captain of the volleyball team, whatever it took to be the poster child for their scholarship program for underprivileged children. College also offered scholarship, but as the financial aid director warned me on the first day of school, "Don't blow it." Every morning I was up by 4:30 a.m., working in the school cafeteria, prepping for breakfast service while my wealthy classmates slept in, just so I could pay for my books. Grad school was more of the same. Best dissertation. Best residency. Best. Best. Best.

Perfection had no bounds. I married a good man and had two beautiful daughters. Everything was expected of me. I had to prepare the right organic foods, read the right books, wear the right shoes and have the right hairstyle. Not a hair out of place. Shit, I even had to fuck my husband just the right way, move around a little, but don't get into it too much or you'll look like a slut. Most mornings, I would awaken, feeling perfection tighten around me, crushing my bones before I even put my feet on the floor.

As a teen, I found my solace. My ticket to freedom from perfection, even for only a few hours, was a blade. Fuck, yes. Sometimes, I could go months without it. I even suffered for over a year once without it. But eventually, inevitably, it would always come back to a blade.

So, I now stood nude in the bathroom of some, no name strip motel, far from my life, far from anyone who might know me. I had folded my clothes neatly on the bed. I took out my cleaning supplies, a can of Ajax, sponge and heavy yellow gloves. I got on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor of the shower stall, washing away every microscopic piece of piss, shit, puke, blood and cum that may have been there in that shithole motel. The manual labor felt good. It felt real.

After I finished, I threw my gloves and can of Ajax in the wastepaper basket. I tore open a pack of Marlboros and lit a cigarette. The smoke was hot, burning my lungs. I took out my worn black leather case, feeling the stiff leather, the scars and scrapes. I reached in and took out my supplies, a box of heavy gauze pads, a bottle of Betadine antiseptic wash, and a fresh surgical scalpel still in its paper wrapping. I reached into my bag and pulled out an old leather bracelet from a summer arts and crafts camp I attended a lifetime ago. I smiled as I studied the bracelet, the tanned leather still supple, but its once-smooth surface now pockmarked with deep divots and gashes. Quietly, I attended to my preparations, tearing open the packets of gauze, pouring out copious amounts of Betadine.

When I was done, I lit another cigarette and stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. The hum from the old window air conditioner that was too weak to cool the room was the only sound. The room was hot and humid. I examined myself. My breasts stood high on my chest, my nipples pointing slightly upward. My belly was hard and flat and a small, soft patch of dark brown hair spouted just above my slit. My pale skin seemed to glow in the harsh lighting, a ghostly white marked only with brown orange streaks of Betadine underneath my breasts and along my inner thighs and bikini line. I took a long drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke out my nose. Finally, far away from my world of PTA meetings, family dinners, and clients, I was... myself.

I snuffed my cigarette out against the white sink and grabbed my supplies. I stepped into the shower stall and allowed my body to slide to the floor. It felt damp against my skin. Silently, I tore open the paper wrapping of the scalpel. It felt so good in my hand. I held it up, examining the blade and how the fluorescent light shone on the perfect razor edge. Fuck, did I need this... badly.

I put the old bracelet between my teeth, the divots and holes fitting my bite. I could taste the salty bitterness of the old leather. I lifted my left breast with my left hand and exhaled hard as I carefully lowered the scalpel with my right. I bit down hard as I ran the edge of the blade into the soft skin just below my breast. I just shook as the blade sliced a clean three inch cut into my skin. I could feel my blood, warm and thick as it ran down my side. The deep red streaks stood out against my pale skin. Struggling against the pain, I gulped huge breaths. The air felt good in my lungs. For the first time in months, I could actually breathe. I could actually feel.

I sat there panting as the blood ran down my side. The bathroom was hot and I could feel my sweat stinging my cut. The pain from my fresh cut brought all of my nerves to life. Torn from the insulation of perfection that had been torturing me for months, I could feel... everything. Softly, I began stroking my pussy. I ran my fingertip down my slit now slick with my wetness. I could feel the edge of my fingernail scraping along my swollen lips. As I pulled my finger away, I watched a strand of my pussy juice stretch from my cunt to fingertip, stretching and growing thinner and thinner until it broke. Fuck.

I regained my breath and lifted my right breast. Again, I bit down hard on the old leather bracelet, stifling my scream, as again I sliced into the skin in the crease of my breast. My flesh offered no resistance to the blade. I bore down hard, my teeth clenched, again tasting the worn leather. Fuck, this hurt so good.

I brushed my hair, now matted with sweat, from my face. I unclenched my teeth and breathed in hard. The air was now thick and humid. The small bathroom stunk from stale cigarette smoke, sweat and sex. My skin stung, but, fuck, I felt so alive. It was so hard to describe. The pain mixing with the pleasure, released me from all the pressure and stress of perfection.

My left hand returned to my pussy, now swollen and wet. My fingertips found my clit and began working it in soft, gentle circles. Every nerve in my body shook. I could feel the ridges of my fingerprint as I slid my fingertip over my clit, now peeking from its folds. Pushing back the hood, I trembled as I rolled my clit, between my fingers. I inhaled deeply, tasting the mixture of blood, sex, and sweat that filled the air.

I continued to rub myself with my left hand while readying my body with my right. I took the leather bracelet into my mouth, while spreading my legs wide to expose the soft skin streaked with Betadine between my legs. I placed the tip of the blade against the skin at my bikini line. The skin at the crease of my thigh was so soft and sensitive. I exhaled deeply. While pressing down hard on my clit with my left hand, I slide the blade into my skin. Warm, deep red blood ran down my inner thigh, pooling under my ass.

Fuck, yes. As the pain burned, I plunged two fingers deep into my pussy, lifting my ass to meet my hand. I curled my fingers upward inside my pussy, finding my G spot. Nearly catatonic, I rocked back and forth against my hand, fucking myself as I bled. I rocked hard against my fingers, feeling the juices flood from me. I looked down to see my own cunt juices mixing with my blood to form a faint pink swirl in the shower drain.

I continued to fuck my hand as I quickened my pace with the blade. My body and my knife moved in perfect rhythm, like a ballet of self-torture. With each thrust of my fingers into my cunt, I sliced the skin of my inner thigh with short, quick flicks of my wrist. Now sweating profusely, I could feel my inner muscles tighten and squeeze around my fingers. Although so tight, I worked a third finger deep into me. I shuddered hard as my eyes rolled back into my head. The stretching of my pussy only put more pressure on the cut along my thigh. The pain became nearly intolerable.

Feeling my orgasm approaching, I struggled to control the shaking in my thighs for one last cut. I forced my legs even further apart. While still rhythmically fucking my fingers, I ran the blade up my bikini line, starting close to my ass and continuing up and alongside my stretched pussy. Screaming one last time, I bit down so hard until I could feel my teeth touching. Lifting the blade from my skin, I unclenched my jaw, allowing the leather bracelet, now in two pieces, to fall from my mouth onto the shower floor. I convulse and bucked hard against my hand. My stomach streaked in blood drew hard and tight as I bore down. My toes curled against the hard shower floor. Wave after wave of my orgasm passed through me. I collapsed to the shower floor. The damp tile felt so good against my head. I felt myself lose conscious.

Two hours later, I woke. Slowly, I lifted myself from the shower floor. I examined my body, dried blood and my juices caking my belly and thighs. I turned on the water and gingerly washed my skin, scrubbing the blood, cum and Betadine from myself. The steamy shower felt good on my aching muscles. I allowed the hot water to soak my battered skin for a few minutes until the shower ran cold. I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, drying myself gently, careful not to open any of my cuts.

I stood in front of the mirror and removed the can of spray on liquid bandage from my leather case. I lifted my breasts and sprayed cuts with the bandage. I gently squatted and sprayed the bandage on my inner thighs and bikini line. I repacked my leather case and zipped it closed... until next time.

I slowly put my bra and panties on and inspected myself in the mirror. Not a single mark on my skin was visible. I finished dressing, fixed my makeup and smiled to myself.

Perfection.

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