My period is extremely unpredictable. I am not angry with it for being so – it more than makes up for its unpredictability by being relatively swift. Although I almost never know when I’m about to start bleeding, I do at least know that once it’s started I’ll be blood-free in about four days. What’s more, I usually only have one day of absolute agony (the day after I come on, if you must know), and although it’s absolute hell trying to sit at a desk and knock out erotica while my lower back is screaming for mercy, as soon as the pain is over I’m usually rewarded with a period horn so powerful I could milk a whole rugby team in under thirty minutes.
So. My periods are short, but wildly unpredictable. Apart from the occasional group-sex evening during which I had to keep my knickers on for fear of staining the carpet, this unpredictability was rarely a problem when I was with my ex. He didn’t mind a bit of blood, and neither did I, and although it was annoying to have to remember to put a towel down, most of the time we just fucked on the wipe-clean sofa, or I’d go on top so the blood would pool on him, and we thought no more about it.
Now that I’m single, however, the unpredictability of my period is an absolute pain in the cunt.
What’s wrong with period sex?
It’s not that people I’m fucking will mind, exactly. It’s more that I’d prefer not to have to deal with the shock. I worry that if I come on mid-shag, the person who’s been railing me might pull their dick out and think they’ve accidentally punched through an internal wall.
A recent-ish fuck involved some pretty aggressive pounding – exactly the kind I enjoy the most – and (likely thanks to the strength of the pounding), when he pulled out the condom was liberally smeared with blood. Not just any blood, either. Not the ‘little bits that look kinda brown’ which indicate I’ll probably be getting my period tomorrow, no: the freshest, most intense shades of scarlet. ‘Game of Thrones Red Wedding‘ on the Dulux colour chart.
It’s fine. As I say, I don’t think the people I’m shagging will mind, and by day two of my period I’ll be so horny I could ingest a whole LAN party of men without blinking. But period sex is by necessity a different (and less enticing) experience to the sex I’d have on a standard week.
Why? A few reasons:
1. It’s too wet. I may be horny and more sensitive, but I am also more lubed up on account of all the blood, which means I do not feel someone’s dick in as much detail as I do if things are a tiny bit drier. I know that we’re meant to be super into lube, and it’s sex-positive to point out that ‘dry’ does not equal ‘tight and therefore good’, but still. There’s an ideal level of wet for me to be, and that amount is ‘usually a bit less wet than I am when my cunt is expelling uteral lining.’
Sidenote: a recent guest blogger spoke to this in a way I have never heard anyone else put it but it struck a real chord for me: “She’s wet, but not slick, she wants to feel the resistance.” Unngh yeah. Gimme that sweet sweet resistance.
2. It’s messy. I love messy sometimes, but messy requires planning. At best it requires putting a towel down, at worst it means we have to physically move our
lovemaking mutually-assured genital destruction to a room where the soft furnishings are not as easily stained. Because even if I’ve put a towel down, I’m probably still going to want you to rub my clit while I ride your dick, and if there’s nothing to wipe your fingers on then you might end up smearing the chaise.
3. It’s a surprise. As a general rule, I don’t want to surprise anyone during sex unless I know them really well and have a good grasp on what they do and don’t enjoy. A surprise whisper of ‘fill me good and deep with your fucking cum’ to someone who has a spunk fetish might be sexy as fuck, but a surprise ‘whoops looks like you hit an artery’ when they pull out? Not so much. If my period arrived like clockwork I could warn people, but its timing is not only sporadic but rare (I know, I am lucky), so I often forget to have these conversations before I launch into a bang.
Coming on? BRING IT ON
All this is to say that I am obsessed with getting my period these days. I’ve gone from being ambivalent about it to actively crossing my fingers and hoping it will arrive, like a kid urging Santa to hurry on Christmas Eve. Why? Because I don’t get to see any of the people I’m fucking very often, so if it’s been a while (anywhere from 4-8 weeks) since I last bled, and I have a date coming up, I find myself desperately wishing for my period to come soon so I can get it out of the way before fucktime.
If it comes now, it’ll be over before the weekend. If my tits start hurting tomorrow, I might come on by Friday, which means I’ll be good on Tuesday when I get to see that hot guy. Blood today means I don’t have to spend next weekend telling a guy not to touch the bedsheets after he’s fingered me, or assuring another that despite his dick looking like he’s plunged it directly through my heart, I promise I’m definitely not dead.
Anyway. That is how I feel about periods at the moment. And that is why today, as I wiped myself after a quick wank-then-a-piss before settling down to do work, I spotted the shade of the tissue after wiping – a rusty brown that I believe Dulux refers to as ‘Day Before Your Uterus Really Lets Rip’ – and did a little dance. Skipped out of the bathroom after washing my hands, singing to myself with glee.
My period is here! It has arrived! I have no dates booked in till next week! Which means that for the conceivable future of fucking, I won’t have to put a fucking towel down!
Shoehorning in some vaguely topical news to the period joy here: Scotland has just passed legislation that enshrines the right to free period products for anyone who needs them! What a kickass move.