I want to start this all off with a little disclaimer: this story occurred over two years ago before there was a pandemic happening. Stay safe and keep your bubble small. Now on to the good stuff.
My first year had a lot of benchmarks of classic university life: underage drinking, meeting new people, and realizing that having sex without a relationship is okay. After years of idolizing romantic comedies, I wanted to see what a Friends with Benefits relationship would look like with me as one half of it.
In October of my first year at Queen’s, I started hooking up with a guy we’ll call Garrett. Garrett was also a first year, and was tall, blonde and extremely funny. Our three-month-long No Strings Attached relationship was filled with watching movies, having sex, and sending each other memes.
But when the winter break separated us, our conversations fell silent.
Early January, after a break filled with Home Alone, Charlie Brown’s Christmas, and more hot chocolate than you can imagine, I came back to Queen’s looking to pick up where I left things with Garrett. I thought about texting him, but I was on the second day of my period, so I decided to wait it out and avoid that awkward conversation.
Once my crimson tide had ended, I shot him a suggestive late-night text inquiring about his plans for the evening. He said he was free and would be over in 10.
Soon after, he arrived at my room and pulled out the classic “so what are we watching?” After scrolling through Netflix for a few minutes arguing between The Office or The Truman Show, I decided that our month spent apart at home was more than enough padding to justify shutting my laptop and getting down to business.
Afterwards, I popped on some sweats in the dark and bowed out of the room to take a post-coital pee.
I walked through the hall of my residence like Tobey Maguire in Spider-Man 3, returning the stares of the three or four floormates I passed with finger guns and waves. The second I got into the washroom stall, however, I realized why I’d faced such weird looks from everyone.
Have you ever seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre? Or Carrie, maybe? You need to conjure mental images of those levels of blood when you imagine what I witnessed. Clearly, my period wasn’t over like I’d assumed at the beginning of the evening.
I had bloody handprints on every inch of my body. It looked as though I had murdered someone or been murdered myself. Because it was dark, Garrett and I hadn’t realized how much of a bloodbath we’d gotten ourselves into.
It suddenly dawned on me that I was going to have to go back to my room and warn Garrett of the gory display before he saw it himself. I left the stall and went to the sink to wash my hands, only to be met with my second horror show of the evening.
Garrett had been kind enough to go down on me, and the crime scene evidence that covered the lower part of my face illustrated how thorough he had been.
After the shock wore off, I cleaned myself up the best I could and went back to my room to explain what had happened to Garrett. As I entered my room, I was prepared to be met with a lot of anger—I mean, I had just gone full-on The Shining hallway scene on this guy. But Garrett, always the gentleman, just laughed and told me it was fine.
My fear of period sex has definitely gone away since then—it’s hard to be afraid of something when you’ve already lived through the worst-case scenario—but I can tell you one thing: if you’re planning on doing the nasty during your period, bring a bucket and a mop for that wet-ass pussy.
Tags
casual sex, Column, tri-colour sex diary
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