Painting the town (and below my waist) red
Periods suck. Girls must hate them, guys almost certainly do. There's little more annoying than when you're in a relationship and it seems like, sexually, you've got the make of her and then BAM, just like that, a crimson tide tsunamis your sex life for anything up to a week. Sure, I've had girlfriends who've given the occasional period blow job and even let me hit them up when it was "almost done" but there's nothing like the surprise of being up in those guts as it hits, especially with one-night stands.
My first encounter was years ago, back in the 90s. I'd been out at some shitty house party and somehow managed to bag myself an okay-ish one-nighter, a decent 6, maybe 7 at best. Anyways, we got back to her place and got to the fucking pretty instantaneously.
I can remember this as clear as anything, even in my stupor, but I couldn't get over quite how fucking wet this particular young maiden was. We were both fucked up and the lights were out so it wasn't anything spectacular and, to be honest, I can't even remember if we finished the job before passing out. I just remember her panty marination prowess. I woke up not long after, literally dying of thirst, so I got out of her bed and went to bumble around her house in a towel I found on the radiator next to her door. I eventually stumbled upon the kitchen, almost tripping over what seemed to be a week's worth of shopping still bagged up on the floor – I could barely see in the moonlight that trickled through the window pane.
The fridge was calling my name so I went over, opened it up, grabbed a carton of Tropicana and just drank straight out of the carton like I owned the fucking place. The fridge gave off quite a bit of light and I hadn't noticed this at first but there was blood on the carton. Odd. Why would there be blood on a cartoon of OJ? And why was there blood on my hands? Looking down I noticed the source of the krovvy seemed to be coming from under the towel. Was it a broken banjo string? Wrong. All wrong. Period blood fucking everywhere. It was so fucking gross I started cracking up not really knowing what to do. I guessed she had "come on" since we had eloped. Still, this was a predicament I wasn't sure I could handle. I mean, she was liable to be highly embarrassed by the whole scenario and might throw me out at 4 AM, into the street, wearing only a menstrual-blood-stained towel, my body covered in said blood. I crept back upstairs to her room. She was still asleep. I walked in and grabbed my jeans and got my phone out and shone its light over the bed.
The side I got out still had the duvet peeled back, displaying a white sheet that was literally painted with thick, menstrual discharge. "Fuck. This," I thought, and found the nearest bathroom, cleaned up, got dressed and left. Just before I left I remembered the shopping I nearly tripped over in the kitchen and, you know what, I took that too.
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