Somewhere online I came across an article that promised to tell me all about a super dirty sex act shunned by all of society, except the extremely kinky ones. Naturally, I was curious as hell. What could it be? Clit-whipping? Anal fisting? Something only the Urban Dictionary could come up with? The truth did indeed shock me, but not because of the depths of human depravity.
Instead, I was just dismayed at how anyone could think that having sex whilst on your period is in any way depraved. Yeah, it may not be the most glamorous thing in the world, but neither should it be a taboo. I won’t get into a feminist rant about how menstruation is not inherently disgusting. I’ll just say with a little bit of care and hygiene sex is still possible and enjoyable and thank the lord for spacious showers. The way I see it the problem lies not so much with practicalities, but with finding the right partner. You’re hoping for an awkward story here, right?
Well, I don’t like to disappoint. My first encounter with men and blood was indeed very awkward, and very unplanned. After a few tame meetings, one of the most beautiful men I’d ever known finally invited me over for dinner. I hoped that ‘dinner’ in this context meant lots of food and then lots of nudity, and he wholly met my expectations. However, I do not think that me suddenly leaving copious trails of redness on his white sheets was what he expected. At the time I was changing my contraception, and the new pill (trusting a condom alone? I’d rather die) temporarily unsettled my cycle. Bright side? He was not going down on me right then. Downside? Although he was perfectly understanding, I’m sure that a) those sheets had to be thrown away and b) in his head I’m forever the Period Girl.
After this sad little encounter, it’s no wonder I thought that attempting sex at ‘that time of the month’ was out of the question. Fortunately, another set of circumstances made me see the light.
I don’t know about anyone else but during my period I am constantly horny. Deeply, achingly horny. I mentioned this inconvenience once to a long-term lover of mine, and his solution was so heartbreakingly simple and perfect that I was astounded at never having thought of it before. “It’s only some blood. Why don’t we go for it?” And next time the occasion arose, go for it we did. And the next time. And the next. After a while it was a perfectly routine thing to do, and every month the good shower would be occupied and potentially a little bit noisy.
Suddenly my life was no longer regularly punctured by enforced celibacy. I still need a regular, trusted partner to make it work, but blood equals sadness no longer.