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How I Ended Up Swallowing My Own Period Blood

A tale of a blowjob gone wrong (and other stories of threesomes with Aunt Flo.)

POSTEDBYMEG ROY

One of the many things they don’t teach you in sex ed: sex can get gross. The human body is a strange place, and accidents happen. Really – you can’t avoid them. Okay – that’s just what I keep telling myself after what happened last weekend.

Make no mistake: I’m no stranger to the trials and tribulations of sex during the one week of the month dedicated to bleeding; period sex and I have had a long, tumultuous relationship. My first boyfriend’s desire for sex could not be stopped by a little blood. A period was nothing that a towel under us couldn’t solve. In fact, he was so comfortable with periods, that he once actually pulled my tampon out in the heat of the moment (and, yes – I look back on that and feel shock and minor embarrassment wash over me.) Since only short-lived sexual partners bridged the time gap between gung-ho-period-sex-guy and my current partner, I was surprised to find out that a bloody sexcapade makes my boyfriend a bit squeamish.

About a year into our relationship (having already destroyed his duvet cover when Aunt Flo stopped by a bit earlier than expected about six months in,) I was at the tail end of my period when I arrived at his apartment. Knowing the usual dependability of my cycle, I suggested we just ignore the spotting and proceed as usual. I got on top, and things were going well until I reached down to adjust. I looked down at my hands to see them comically bloody. I went from a light, spotty end of my period to that Carrie scene– blood trickling from my hands to my elbows. Noticing it for just long enough to recognize that it was both alarming and hard to ignore, I put my hands behind my back and tried to continue on. I felt him go soft. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He’d seen the blood before I could hide it. “But, I put my hands behind my back so you couldn’t see them,” I said. “I know,” he replied “But just the act of you having them behind your back kept reminding me of how bad it was.” It was bad, but I found myself strangely and unreasonably resentful. It’s just blood. I can’t control it. If I could deal with it, he should, too. After a few minutes and some cleanup, I lightened up. Normally making the most of our time together, we were separated by my chastity belt of potential gore and kept my panties on for the rest of the night. However, the morning proved too difficult, and desperate times call for great problems-solving. We thereby discovered that period sex on the tile kitchen floor is efficent and minimizes cleanup.

Yes – period sex and I had reconciled with some improvising, and we continued on happily through the next few cycles. Then, again, I found myself ready for sex at a less-than-opportune time. My period was once again on its way out, so I figured we could go for the bed as long as we stripped it of anything that’d be a particular struggle to wash. 

Things went fine – no sign of blood; no Lady Macbeth moments, and then it was time for him to finish. I hopped off and went for one of my only moves in a situation like that. I put my mouth on it. It only took a split second to remember that while we weren’t in for a Sweeney Todd-level gore situation, we were still amidst that time of the month, and I didn’t need to see blood on his dick to taste it on my tongue. Here, however, was where the bad decision was really made. I decided to just keep going. The mild taste of my own blood shouldn’t be enough to put me off. I’d certainly never shied away from tasting any of my own residual vaginal liquids that may have been lingering on dicks in the past– even the ever-gagworthy leftover condom residue wouldn’t cause me to give up on the task at hand, so why should the remnants of my own uterine lining? I continued on, attempting to neither draw attention to what had happened, nor be too affected by the blood-flavor before it was all… washed away. To my surprise, I went a bit deeper, and the taste hit me even harder than before, and rather than dissipating over the course of the act, it seemed to be getting worse. I stopped and said “... I messed up.” We both laughed, as he immediately knew what had gone wrong. Instead of orgasms, the next few minutes involved a lot of Listerine. 

So, in lieu of a sex ed class that talks about perfecting period sex, I have two pieces of advice. 1. Period sex on an easily wipe-able surface is superior. And, 2. Be very prepared if you’re planning on putting your period blood anywhere near your tongue (unless, of course, you have some sort of vampire kink; in which case, enjoy.)

 

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