On the 4th day of Christmas...

... my True Love sent to me:

Four Bloody Men

Three hundred Spartans,

Two detectives dancing,

And a werewolf tied to a tree!

Love and Hugs,

Madelynne

Bloody men

by Madelynne Ellis


A few weeks ago, Kristina Lloyd teased us all with her love of wet men; well I have a similar fascination for bloody men. I’m not all that hot at analysing my own reasons for liking things, mostly I prefer to accept that something is and not delve to deep, but for the purposes of this collection I’ve done a bit of prodding and poking and made a few discoveries.

Let's get a few things straight: I'm talking cuts and bruises here, nothing more visceral, no gaping wounds and missing body parts, and I don't particularly enjoy watching men knock nine shades of hell out of each other, so it’s nothing to do with them being macho and fired up on testosterone that makes me tremble with delight. Maybe it’s a teeny bit to do with the knowledge that they can handle themselves, should the need arise, maybe not…

So what is it about a black eye or a bust lip that grabs my attention? Generally, I like pretty men, a bit of polish, even a hint of make-up, but add bruises to the mix and you instantly add layers of interest. How did he end up with blood smeared across his shirt? Why? Just one flaw in all that perfection adds a whole history.

"Vaughan’s body was lean but muscular and tapered neatly at the waist. His arms and shoulders were strong from his love of fencing, the same sport that had given him his oft-admired thighs. However, the most striking feature of his near-nakedness was the pale silvery line across his left side that marred the surface of his skin. Lucerne traced its length curiously with his fingertips, and then with his tongue. It appeared to be a duelling scar.

There’s a maternal aspect to my fascination to. “Are you all right?” I long to ask. “Here let me look at it? Let me kiss it better.” As well as a darker, sadistic one. “Does it hurt if I press it?’

And bruises are such pretty colours, all those purples and blues with a hint of green and a splash of yellow. I’m the child that given a present of eye shadow for the first time proceeded to make my sisters look as if they had black eyes. Actually, that same fascination lasted into adulthood, faking injuries is still my favourite bit of Stage Make-up. I’ll quite happily while away an hour or two painting bruises onto my knuckles, or faking taut silvery-white scars.

"A smile of satisfaction spread across his ruined visage. The skin across his left eye was creased into a web of red and silver lines. The eye itself was milky, while the rest of him was undeniable handsome. Once he’d have been painted, admired, celebrated, but the fates had turned a cruel hand. Thea clasped her fist to her chest. Stark turned his head to one side, then the other, showing her his flawless profile, then ruined one. The widest of the scars was the same breadth as her finger. It overwhelmed her with such a terrible urge to touch. He knew he was making an impact.

I love the fact that blood is so red and shiny against the skin, and the way it flows, drips and splashes. The way it runs inside a collar, just like a bead of sweat or a drop of water, but blood is
far more erotically charged than sweat or water, it's very essence tied up in the symbolism of life. It's forbidden imagery too in our post-HIV world, where its presence can mean danger to more than the injured party - although I'm not into blood play myself. Ms Jolie can keep her knives and her vials of her lover's blood to herself, thanks. Mine is a purely voyeuristic pleasure.

"Asha tentatively pressed her tongue to the first of the ten long gashes and licked. The mixture of blood and poison tingled on her tongue. It tasted bitter, although the ripple of pleasure that flowed down her throat was sweet. She licked again, her tongue delving into the wound, and the taste became acrid. She spat it out, then returned to the wound and began to suck. Beneath her, she felt him tremble, and his spine stiffen. ‘Shh!’ she soothed before tending the next gash.

So folks, tell me, am I alone in my obsession or do bloody men do it for you too? If so, have you a favourite image to share? I'm rather taken with Mr Sharpe's smile up top. You can check out a few others who didn't quite make it into the post over on my blog.

Madelynne Ellis

blog : website

Excerpts from i) A Gentleman's Wager ii) Desperate Measures (work in progress) & iii) Broken Angel.