“SON OF A BITCH! I haven’t gotten laid in three weeks, and I get my goddamn period. PISSED!” Shouting from the bathroom, I bitched and moaned about this seriously unfortunate occurrence. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole dorm hallway heard the ruckus coming from my Emerson bathroom. Not only did I have the lovely privilege of wearing leggings for five days due to the excessive bloating, the backbreaking aches and pains, the unspoken understanding of my bitch-ass-ness, but after weeks of being away from my bearded, flannel-wearing man, there would be no sex—no stress-relieving pleasure after weeks of daunting papers and presentations, except maybe only on his end. But there would be no reciprocation, I mean, right?
Spreading my annoyance further than the Emerson hall, I left the bathroom to type furiously on my computer into the Facebook thread I have with the girls back home. Searching for moral support, possibly? Maybe just an outlet of frustration? Who knows what compelled me, but it seemed appropriate at the time.
Emma, my most notorious, sexually adventurous friend, responded immediately with a go-ahead, green light sort of attitude. It seemed interesting to me that this was a possibility, that I wouldn’t get scrutinized for having “welcome home sex” while… menstruating.
Struck by her positive attitude, I had to know more. What was it like? Where did it happen? Was it… messy? I almost needed the play-by-play, wanting to make sure every tactic, every maneuver, was done successfully.
Sex in and of itself can be quite tricky at times, spinning and turning and flipping, kissing and unbuttoning, being sexy with a condom, keeping the blankets on, moving from spread eagle to doggy style and any other animalistic position that falls in between. How on earth was I supposed to factor in the menaces of Aunt Flo, with all her needy tendencies?
“Well,” Emma said, “it honestly doesn’t get too messy, but in this case you’re staying in pretty basic, vanilla positions, otherwise it probably would.”
“Is it like a plug or something?” I asked, completely confused by how all this seemed to work together. I naturally always assumed this was some sort of taboo. Not that I am an angel, or by any means sexually restricted, but the option of engaging in any sort of sexual contact during those five days was, to me, out of the question.
The answer to my inquiry was that no, this was not like a bathtub: The blood didn’t simply stop running out. I guess I imagined his penis was like a stopper in a leaky pipe, waiting to burst once it was taken out. Apparently, she explained, his penis isn’t a stopper, and my vag isn’t a drain. Who knew?
“How did it happen? Was Adam [her boyfriend of almost a year] chill with it?” I probed for more information. I was taken aback as I found out the unusual culprit of encouragement for this was Adam’s older sister, Leah.
At a family birthday dinner at Adam’s house, in the lovely suburbs of the Big Apple, Emma had excused herself from the dinner table mid-course: Her excruciating cramps had left her to crawl up the stairs to Adam’s bed to do nothing but wait for the pain to pass. Leah came upstairs shortly afterward to check on her, knowing the reason for her discomfort. Offering her empathy, she told Emma stories of how when she was younger, her cramps would be so painful she would throw up. Her tidbit of advice was simply, “Not to be awkward, but ya know what really helps relieving cramps? An orgasm.”
Turns out, orgasms do relieve cramps and pain. Cramps are essentially a pain due to starvation of oxygen from over-contraction. Massaging and exercising the muscle can help your muscle not contract as much, which is what limits oxygen. The orgasm then releases endorphins that act as a painkiller. So, saddle up, ladies!
Emma did saddle up, in the shower—a recommendation she made for “clean up.” The actual act itself isn’t too messy, but laying out towels seemed to be a just-in-case factor, she said.
This all seemed to be a good sex itinerary, but I started wondering why I felt I needed all this reassurance at all. I mean, it is my body and my boyfriend and MY cramps that need relieving, not to mention, my stress that needs easing. After all, it is just blood—it’s not like semen is a heavenly bodily fluid to encounter. In fact, I imagine if guys had their period, some would brag about it just as they do when they “unload” one: “Dude, I bled all over this girl last night. It was awesome!” No offense guys, but let’s be real.
So ladies and gents, is Aunt Flo visiting? Talk it out, use a condom and have some fun!