I’m not sure when or how my fascination with blood got started, I just know it’s always been there as far back as I can remember.  As a child, I remember playing with the scrapes and cuts I got trying to make them bleed.  I picked at scabs just to reopen the wound and make it bleed some more.  Growing up I was always that “weird” kid the the other parents didn’t want their kids to be around. *smiles*

My first experience with cutting was an accident, I guess?  Not sure actually.  I was about 14 and I was hanging out with my cousin in her bedroom.  She’s older than me, she was about 16 or 17 then and she had this hand-mirror that she had broken, shards of mirrored glass were everywhere and I was helping her clean it up.  She left the room for what I don’t remember, I just remember I was alone for a while and I picked up the next piece of glass to be thrown away and looked at it.  I didn’t set out to cut my arm that day, it really just kinda happened.  I really believe that the fetish for blood and becoming a “cutter” picked me, I didn’t pick it - the glass was jagged, but sharp and for reasons known only to God, I put it to my arm, pressed down and roughly dragged it across my skin.  The pain was more like a burn, but it did bleed and I was thrilled!  Being young and dumb - what to do or how to hide it didn’t occur to me until after I had done it and my cousin had come back.  She wanted to know what had happened and I said I had accidentally cut myself.  I remember the look on her face because she knew I was lying and I remember feeling shame for cutting myself….not that it really stopped me.  I was hooked.  I enjoyed it, I loved it and I wanted more. 

 My grandpa used razor blades to cut out the corns on his feet so he had several boxes of new razor blades in their bathroom.  I stole a few and started experimenting.  I did a few quick gashes on my arm and I loved the instant warm and satisfied feeling I got.  When those cuts healed, I did one on my thigh - it probably should’ve had stitches put in it because it was so deep.  Then I did something I thought would be fun or “funny” and I made 8 cuts across my wrist to look like a suicide attempt.  I was young and thought it would be cool. lol.  I had no way of knowing the repercussions of that decision would last a lifetime.  When it healed and I was left with 8 long scars across my wrist, I realized I was going to have to live with them the rest of my life.  I panicked and I started to worry about what to do or say if/when anyone ever saw it.  Then as if on cue, my mom saw them.  She hit the roof - yelling, screaming, crying, thinking I was suicidal - it was hell!  I got sent to see a shrink and they talked about putting me in the hospital or on some medication.  My entire world was turned upside down over 8 scars on my wrist that I did on a whim and the whole fiasco was a fucking nightmare!  I finally convinced my mom that I wasn’t suicidal, I didn’t need a shrink,  I was just “experimenting” and cutting myself on purpose.   I think my mom would have preferred for me to be suicidal because then she started treating me like a freak.  To think your daughter is having emotional problems and trying to kill herself is one thing, to find out she cuts her wrist because she just likes doing it is apparently another.  Eventually the whole thing got swept under the rug and life went on, but that incident changed everything.  I stopped cutting myself so I could be my family’s version of normal, but my fascination with blood was still there.  I couldn’t get it out of my mind no matter how hard I tried. 

It took Daddy a long time to convince me that there was nothing wrong with me and that I was free from judgement and persecution.  The first time Daddy planned a scene that involved a cutting, I was thrilled and terrified.  That first cut brought back a flood of memories and emotions.  I watched him as he made small cuts on my thigh, wishing he’d go deeper and happy there was no shame in it.  He wasn’t going to make me feel bad for wanting it, liking it or needing it.  He understood.  I remember watching the blood run down my leg and feeling so free!  Free to be me!  Free to be the weird chick with a blood fetish. lol

Now, I’m wanting more blood - never satisfied that’s me. *smiles* I want to bathe in blood.  I want to be completely drenched in it from head to toe.  I also love that scene from the movie “Carrie” when they dump a bucket of pig’s blood on her.  That’s just fucking hot!  I would love to do it, but it would have to be human blood.  The idea of animal blood just doesn’t “do it” for me and I have no idea why.  It’s the same thing with bathing in it - it would have to be human blood.  Here’s the question, how do you get that much human blood without….let’s be clear here….without committing a crime?  I don’t know, but I’m thinking it over - always open to suggestions! *smiles*  So far, I’m thinking about drawing my own blood and storing it until I have enough….hmmmm.  I found this picture on the internet and I thought it was beautiful!

Is this not just amazing!?  I LOVE it!  I doubt it’s real blood, but it’s still pretty damn hot!  So there are 2 things that I’m working on now, finding Daddy and I another female to play with and finding a way to fill our bathtub full of (human) blood. *smiles*