Rip.

It's one of those moments that's just sticking in my head. I was face down and my friend was working over my back with my knife. The knife was just a little dinged up, not perfectly sharp,, and there was a little catch in the blade, almost imperceptible to the eye, and yet when it slid over my skin that little catch was the absolute center of my attention.

Then he took the knife and cut a line at the very base of my neck. It wasn't a quick slice but a rough, scraping, almost sawing dig into my flesh.

And the memory that comes back to me in odd moments: we could both hear my skin rip. Little fibers of flesh were tearing through with a sound like a piece of beef jerky being pulled apart.

What in my life or genetics or what book I read or traumatic event or societal pressure or random neurological misfiring makes that the sexiest fucking thing ever? Why does it get a little gasp and an uncomfortably aroused squirm out of me just to think about it? It's not just the pain but the sheer fucked-uppedness of the moment that makes me insanely wet.

The cut wasn't even big or bloody at all. It was really a nothing, when it was done. But oh God, I could hear myself ripping.