WARNING! THIS POST CONTAINS EXPLICIT MATERIAL THAT IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH PARTICULARLY IF YOU HAVE ISSUES WITH BLOOD.

“I believe in sex and death, two things that come once in a lifetime, but at least after death you don’t get that nauseous feeling.” Woody Allen in Sleeper


He lights the candles in the living room. I change into the the yellow and pink Italian lace slip that I brought.

One does not get a petname like the Sauvage for one's gentle and romantic lovemaking. One gets a name like the Sauvage for tearing off a woman's underwear with one's teeth and ravaging her with such passion that one leaves bruises that last two weeks. Of course, if you are a girl like me, your relationship with pain is such that you don't trust anything that doesn't have a bit of a twinge to it, lovemaking included. And perhaps this makes me perverse, but I rather like being left bruised after lovemaking, particularly on hidden parts of my body. I relish the sudden surprise of soreness followed by a quick half smile of remembrance that accompanies such marks.

And so our lovemaking on the living room couch, in front of an unshuttered glassed in balcony was as rough and brutal as I expected. But as we changed positions, I looked down and noticed dark marks on his body. It wasn't until I touched his skin that I realized it was blood, my blood, for I was covered it in as was the couch. I ran to the bathroom and began to wash myself off. I wasn't scared, it was either a slight tear or a very early period, I was merely embarrassed. The Sauvage came in after cleaning the couch. He only had a few streaks of blood on him. After cleaning up, I managed to confirm that this was indeed my period.

On top of all the others issues facing our trip, I had now gotten my period about two weeks early. Just in time for a long roadtrip and two weeks at the beach, not to mention what this was going to do to my brilliant plan of two weeks of relentless lovemaking. And I began to wonder if God really wanted me to take this vacation or if I was in for the most nightmarish two weeks of my life.

I returned to the living room after cleaning up, a bit sheepish, to be rather surprised that he still wanted to make love. I wasn't quite in the mood, and I'm not sure he was entirely either, for after a bit of half hearted effort, we both decided to go to bed instead. Still I was impressed with the ease that he simply accepted what had happened and moved on. There are many men I know who would have needed to shower in 20 mule team borax for a week as well as receiving counseling 2 or three times a day before recovering from such an event.


I fell asleep easily enough, but woke at 3 am. The Sauvage was snoring and the bed, which was wide enough for two was not wide enough to dull the sound. I went into the living room and tried to sleep on the couch, but I was just in time for Mimi Secour, le chat de Sauvage, to have her nightly crack freak out. After trying to put up with the French cat jumping on my head for about 20 minutes, I took half a dose of tylenol PM and returned to the bedroom where I was able to sleep. I knew that whatever lay ahead I needed all the help, and sleep, I could get.