Sex is always fun for me. Periods are always an inconvenience for me. So why in the world would I bring these two oddballs together?
Let’s go back to 2014 when I still hadn’t had sex with anyone but was dying to know anything I could about it. I came across an article about period sex being the best thing that the woman had ever done, and the idea grossed me out. Who could possibly want to have sex when your vagina is bleeding like a river? Images of bloodbaths straight out of a Tarantino movie, while I am twisted like a pretzel, flooded my overactive imagination. I immediately shut it out.
“I would never do that,” I told myself.
But, as they say, horny ko kaun taal sakta hai?
I didn’t plan on having sex the first time I had sex. I was on my period, and all I could think before the date was, “Best case, I’ll get to make out with him and send him home.” It was a “Netflix and Chill” session, so even as I was wrapped in his arms on the sofa, I knew it was coming. Every person who’s been in this situation knows the drill. An arm on the shoulder becomes a palm on your chest and, next thing you know, you’re kissing someone’s face.
In that moment, I was walking the thin line that every menstruator walks between extreme lust and an extreme aversion to touch. And I gave in to lust, only to remember that article from 2014. My brain went into overdrive, and I interrupted my incredibly hot makeout session, to say words I was hoping would end the story right there: “I’m on my period.”
And, in a shocking turn of events, my date replied, “I’m okay with it if you are.”
MUTUAL RESPECT? IN THIS ECONOMY?
That was a bigger turn-on than the person himself.
So my first time having sex, I did something I had sworn never to do. And I liked it? Were people lying about your first time not being fun? Because here I was, relieved to be eased of the sexual tension, and not even remotely disgusted at the thought of my period. My period was, in fact, the last thing on my mind. It wasn’t the bloodbath I expected it to be.
I rode the crimson wave with multiple partners over the years and realised that not only was the shame only in my head, but that period sex helped me.
And I probably got lucky with the people I met because they all seemed to… understand.
With PCOD, life is pretty unpredictable in the reproductive region. And in the most Abbas-Mustan-esque manner, one time after sex a particularly kind partner called me up on his way home to say, “Hey I think your period is here because I saw some blood on the condom. So, please take care and let me know if you need anything.”
Sex knocking you up is so Bollywood, but sex so good your period shows up? I was on board with this idea.
My cramps were noticeably more manageable than before. It was easier to have sex. It was more fun. Honestly, I thought I was crazy but turns out science backs me up. The vulnerability of sex and all its other noises and quirks and laughable moments made having a period one of the more mundane details in the equation. The bleeding was secondary and didn’t matter. Besides, the almost-thrill of possibly making a mess drove me.
I am not going to lie. Writing this piece down is hard. It’s hard to admit that I liked loved something that sounded disgusting in theory.
Our periods have been put on a pedestal by society. A pedestal of gold and extreme reverence that has also been buried six feet below; asked to be wrapped in silence and sheets of newspaper on the way home from the chemist. Don’t tell the world that you’re on your period but also embrace your pain, hide your sex drive, and conceal it all behind a smile because, “it happens to everyone, beta.”
Our realities behind closed doors may see us secretly hating ourselves for our desires, no matter how progressive our outer selves are. That’s because our realities beyond our threshold hold us back. In a patriarchal world, this essay is blasphemous.
How does a brain that is conditioned to live in shame grow out of it? By facing the shame upfront. No, really. Brene Brown has said it too. So, I did it. I spoke to people about it, and some of my friends were intrigued by my experience, having a-ha moments about their rising libido during their periods just as I was. Then, some just nodded along and said, “Isn’t it great?”
Was it a secret that my friends were hiding from me? Were all menstruators called into a secret room and told that they will enjoy what should feel wrong but will feel so right? Did I miss this memo? We are hornier on our periods. So how have we not made the connection out loud yet?
We’re living in a world that is constantly telling women how to feel, including how to feel pleasure. We can’t even stand the idea of a woman masturbating (check Swara Bhaskar’s mentions on Twitter and you’ll know what I mean). We isolate women from their own lives when they’re on their periods. The pursuit for bold pleasure is not one we’re supposed to aspire to. In that world, to tell people that you enjoy period sex is like opening Pandora’s box of character assassination.
But it’s 2020. There are no rules anymore.
This essay is almost a note to me because you know what? I need to be more honest with myself too.
I. Like. Period. Sex.
So say it with me — I like period sex!
Or at least promise me, you’ll look someone in the eye and ask them for it. You deserve earth-shattering, potentially-cramp-healing orgasms too. What are we afraid of? A little blood? We have been trained in serial-killer-level cleaning up of blood since we hit puberty.
Do it. You know you want to.
Cut to 2019. I was on my period. We were face-to-face, and I told him, “I’m okay with it if you are.”