Blood

Give Life. Give Blood.
Blood brothers.
"One drop" rule.
Blood on your hands.
What does blood mean to you?

Blood fascinates me. It tastes great, it feels great. It is vibrant and alive like nothing else.

The sweet gush of warm, salty liquer that erupted in my nose after a punk on Thayer Street clocked me 'cuz I said he'd look good in a dress, too. The blood is what made it come alive. I was afraid for my life, and not without reason. The blood, though, that's what told me "this is real". The pain told me too. But the blood, the blood made all of my senses jump into hyperdrive. At the same time, the blood was a secret joy in the midst of the pain.

I don't have a fetish around blood (though hats off if you do). I don't seek it out. But blood is a lovely thing.

And yet.
When I bleed, I'm very conscious to make sure that my blood doesn't come into anyone else's life. I hide the fact that I'm bleeding, and I clean up more carefully than I would, say, sweat or tears. Or for that matter, snot. Or cum.

And blood makes me queasy, too.
I don't think I could watch surgery on TV. Getting blood drawn makes me wince.

Blood has so many fascinating associations. It means so many different things. Often contradictory.

I wish I could talk about giving blood and what it means. But I can't. Not yet.

What does blood mean to you?