Thoughts From Guys On Our IM: Sex While Aunt Flo Is In Town
Posted by: Amelia McDonell-Parry
Filed in:
guys, sex
1:00PM, Thursday April 17th 2008
We’ve been curious for awhile about what dudes think about having sex when a woman is on her period. I don’t like it, but not because it grosses me out—I’m just a clean freak and don’t like messes of any sort. But what about dudes? I got a wide mix of responses when I asked the guys on my IM. Check out what they had to say, after the jump!
The Hipster Guy
The Married Guy
The Music Nerd
The Sensitive Guy
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cdiddy
wrote on April 17 2008 @ 04:03 pm: [report]
I got no problem with sailing on the red sea…If the mood is right or even if it isn’t. People need loving 4 weeks a month!!
Elle
wrote on April 17 2008 @ 09:22 pm: [report]
I don’t think it’s gross, but I prefer to abstain during the heavy flow moments because it’s messy and I don’t want to deal. I’ve never met a man that cared about it one way or the other.
I have to say though, if I was a dude I wouldn’t be so keen on the blood hump unless I was in a deeply committed relationship.
VerbalVenus
wrote on April 25 2008 @ 02:45 pm: [report]
(*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.)
I have to admit, the first time I had sex on the rag stressed me out. Often impulsive, my boyfriend Josh* tended not to be the planner in the relationship and I worried he literally wasn’t thinking about what he was getting into.
Even though he said he didn’t care where “we” were in my lunar cycle, I just didn’t trust he would feel the same way post-impact, when we had the leisure to survey the lay of the land and any resulting casualties. Specifically, I had concerns we would need to bring in Harvey Keitel as the contract cleaner, after the (f)act to deal with the sheets, pillow cases and smudges on the bedroom walls.
The actual sex-with-my-period part knocked my socks off—it was the after sex part that made me cringe—and not the immediate after part, either. Josh and I both came to, relatively unfazed that my bed resembled a scaled-down version of the battlefield after Gettysburg.
Unexpectedly, it was the post-coital scene in the bathroom that separated the woman (me) from the boy (Josh.)
When I headed to the kitchen for my ritual after-sex Capri Sun, I passed by the bathroom door; And there was Josh, my strapping cowboy-of-a- boyfriend, whistling contentedly in front of the mirror and sink, gently cleansing the froth from my crimson tsunami off his man-parts and polishing his knob with a pink washcloth. It FREAKED me out. I stammered and apologized too many times, as if I’d done something with disastrous consequences, like the time I backed a Hyundai hatchback over my neighbor’s pussy cat.
It was then that I discovered the extra-large phallusy lurking in my sex-positive “embrace-your-fluids” phallusophy. The worst thing, besides the weird panic and guilt, was discovering I was a hypocrite – I only embraced Josh’s fluids, and not my own! I thought his were “Grade A fresh,” and mine, well, not so much.
All those formative years of thumbing through Our Bodies, Ourselves, and staring at those creepy hippie photos were for naught. Didn’t I absorb anything? What about all those hours in college deconstructing feminist theory for my minor in Women’s Studies? Wasted? Pointless? No benefits? Nada. Nunca. Nadia. Ningun. Nyatt. Zilch. Zero. Zeta. Zed.
Anyway, a shout-out to Josh (wherever he may roam) for getting me back on his horse and fixing that phallusy right-quick. And I eventually did learn female fluids are friendly. And I don’t feel like a fraud in a crowd full of feminists anymore. (Not that I can say I’ve been to any Sisterhood is Powerful rallies or Take Back the Night marches in a very long time.) But, Oh-ho-ho. Damn, I feel like a woman!