All of my towels are covered in blood — but it was so worth it.
That might not be your reaction to period sex but if you had the month I've had, you might reconsider. In the past 31 days, I've had the nastiest, ass-spankin' sex of my entire life — all while bleeding through every pair of underwear I own.
I was doing all right prior to that. I had my side pieces and called them when they needed to be called, but was never comfortable with getting it on during my time of the month — and certainly not as frequently (or as rough) as it has been in the last few weeks.
Let's start from the beginning:
I only get my period three, maybe four times a year. It comes when it feels like it. I live a life of an untrackable period. Doctors told me I had Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) at 18 and sent me off with hormone regulating medication — all of which made me vomit and caused manic episodes resulting in a lot of crying fits. They refused to give me birth control for fear that it would delay my period even more. The manic episodes got so bad and the vomiting was so intense that I had to give up and stop trying to fix my irregular periods.
There have been routine trips to the OB/GYN after giving up 10 years ago, but no one ever had a real answer for me besides losing weight. Like, cool. OK. But I've lost weight and gained weight over that amount of time and my period is still two month on, three months off, one month on, six months off.
The latest OB/GYN visit suggested birth control. Keep in mind, I'm under the assumption that this new class of birth control makes you skip all your periods. Apparently, a lot can happen in baby-stopping, hormone regulating modern medicine. My doctor prescribed a low-dose birth-control to basically flush out my system. A uterus detox, if you will. It was explained it would definitely bring about a seven day, full-flood menses and maybe a little spotting after that.
It came. Oh boy, did it. This was not some spotty, sort of annoying, bring a tampon everywhere you go kind of a period. I went through two boxes of tampons in the first week. It was like a faucet — a vaginal crime scene during every tampon replacement. Blood poured out of me all the way up to day 31. Never trust something that bleeds for seven days and doesn't die? Bow down to the woman that bled for 31 and didn't kill anybody.
The first Friday living on the pill was D-Day. Not just the start of bleaching all of my panties — but for the unquenchable sex drive that came with it. Normally it's the two weeks prior to a period when the progesterone causes all your bits to become more sensitive and swollen. But since I had never ovulated regularly, I was a walking sex bomb of built-up fuck hormones. It crashed into my clit like a wave.
The first sex I had was day two of my period. It was with a regular of mine (side-piece #1). After a few flirty text messages, I immediately stopped by the nearest Duane Reade to pick up a cheap pack of next-day underwear, deodorant, condoms, and, of course, a backup herd of tampons. I was so turned on the entire time I wasn't concerned about the mess being made. It was slipperier and more sensitive . . . and I wanted it rough. Like, take me from behind and don't stop until there are bruises and handprints everywhere kind of rough. I was so lost in it all I didn't bother to worry about any of my sexual hang-ups — it was just about getting off and having an amazing time doing it.
That trend didn't end there. The second person was a Tinder-find (side piece #2). We were already fooling around a little when I mentioned that I was on my period. We set up our boundaries (no oral, yes gloves, yes condoms) and went from there. The next morning I stared at the ceiling while lying on top of a blood soaked towel with dried bits splattered around my inner thighs - wondering what the hell I've been missing out on all these years.
A few days into the next week was when the cramps started in full-force. I barely wanted to speak, let alone have someone poke around inside of me. But that didn't stop my biological clock preparing my insides for a baby. Blood rushed to the edges of my genitalia for hours on end. I bought a high-powered vibrator and proceeded to spend the next couple of nights in bed with hottest Internet porn playing on my laptop. I didn't care. I just needed to get off.
Once I recovered from the worst cramps I've ever felt in my entire life, I spent time with side piece #1, Tinder hook-up, an ex, a friend, an OKCupid date, and a super hot bartender. All excellent lays, all while bleeding, all without a fucking care.
Maybe that's it. Maybe by being so strung out on arousal I forgot to turn the lights off, lie a certain way so that my stomach looks flatter, and overthink which bra and panty set I should wear for the big reveal.
We try to be so calculating with sex . . . so concerned with how we look. When did we forget that no one cares if you have cellulite, or if you have a mole on your inner thigh, or if you're on an insane monster period?
The total numbers for the month goes as follows:
Days on Period: 31
Sexual Partners: 6
Time Spent with Partners: 16 separate occurrences
Masturbation Sessions: 19
Sexual Positions Tried: 13
Sex In The Shower: 7
What I learned through this experience is that you have to let go of what's in your head before you can enjoy giving head.