Unclean.

Is it any wonder we find little cause to celebrate our periods when the Bible describes all menstruating women as unclean?

I’ve heard all the derisive jokes.  

“Oh, must be shark week!”

“You’re so cranky – are you on the rag?”

“I don’t trust anything that bleeds for 5 days and doesn’t die.”

In addition to the overwhelmingly negative cultural experience of having a vulva and a regular menstrual cycle, I also experienced pain with each period from the very start.

When I complained to my doctor about it, I received a pat on my hand, a pitying look, and, “Oh, yes, that’s just part of being a woman.”

For the longest time I believed I must be a complete wimp if my menstrual pain doubled me over and brought me to tears.  Who was I to be such a wuss when generations of women before me had managed?

At 44, after being diagnosed with fibroids, I finally had a hysterectomy which confirmed that I’d been suffering with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), endometriosis and adenomyosis as well.  My pain hadn’t been all in my head, and had been much worse than typical dysmenorrhea.  Confirmation, as well as the stark contrast in monthly pain levels after my surgery, was long overdue relief.  While I could not conceive children, women who have and also have endometriosis have described their pain as “worse than childbirth.”  Some have said it’s akin to heart attack pain.  I lived with this pain from 12 to 44 years of age; 32 years of debilitating pain monthly.  

I don’t want to dwell on how much I dreaded my period for the reasons above, and others, like social stigma.  Rather, I want you to know a bit of the background to the story that follows.

While I never grew to love my menstruation, I did stop seeing it as something dirty, impure, or unclean.  I have Paul to thank for that.

One night after work, I went to a pub with some co-workers to see a band.  The year was 1989 in suburban Baltimore, and I was 19 years old.  Since I worked at a dance studio, my work clothes were often the same as those I hit the town in – clinging to my curves.  With a bit more lipstick and mascara, and re-scrunching and teasing my hair, I looked like I’d stepped out of a Whitesnake video.  I’d just started my period that day, but it was ladies night and I was determined to have a good time despite it!

We sat with a larger group that someone knew, right up front near the wannabe hair band.  I spent a good deal of the night flirting with Bob who sat across the long table from me.  He looked like a cross between Freddie Mercury and the Marlboro Man, though not quite as attractive as either.  He wasn’t really my type.  But Bob seemed to like me,  as evidenced by the endless deliveries of gin & tonics.  By the end of the evening, I was tipsy enough to let him sweep me off to the dance floor for Open Arms. 

The song ended, and after a brief hug, I returned to the table to finish the last few sips of my drink.  Bob scurried off to look for the friends he’d come with. When I exited the bar some minutes later, Bob was standing there looking flustered.  Seeing me, his face brightened and he asked if I could give him a ride – his friends had left him!

Now, remember, this is 1989 – we couldn’t text or call our friends to come back and get us.  He wouldn’t be able to reach his friends until they got home, on their landline!  So, I took pity on him and agreed.  He was nice enough that I didn’t feel threatened, and besides, I could turn him off immediately by telling him I had my period.

He directed me to a dark marina at the end of a long road, indicating he was staying on a friend’s boat.  The boat was dry-docked and covered with tarps, but I still wasn’t concerned.  We were enjoying each other’s company and he’d done nothing to raise any alarm.

We sat in the galley and he poured us drinks.  When he handed me mine, we kissed.  There were no real sparks, but it also wasn’t unpleasant.  I didn’t intend to sleep with him anyway since I had my period.

We continued touching and talking until he shushed me when I giggled, indicating his friend was likely asleep and we shouldn’t wake him.  A heartbeat later a voice called out, “did you bring someone home?”

It was a deep, gravelly voice; rumbly and calm and soothing and sensual.  Bob jumped up, walked down the short hall to a door and poked his head in.

“Yep, I did.  Sorry if we woke you.”

“YOU didn’t.  HER laugh did.  Why don’t you introduce us?” the voice said.

The first guy motioned me over and I stuck my head in the small room.  At first, I didn’t see him.  Just a single bed with a brightly patterned blanket.

But then I saw two shining impossibly blue eyes and the end of a braid lain over the blanket at one end of the bed.  My first impression was of a wizened, Native American man, but that was likely due to the pattern of the blanket and the long braid.

He spoke.

“Well, well, who are you?”

I told him my name.

“Come closer, Jennifer.  I’d like to take a look at you.”

Bob behind me put his hands on my shoulders as I moved forward.  The man in the bed lowered the blanket so I could see his face, and smiled broadly.

“Aren’t you lovely?” he said. “What on earth do you see in my friend here?  You are far too lovely a creature to have any interest in him, and much more interesting than the sorts of women he usually brings home.”

I probably should have felt a bit nervous by now, blocked into this small room with two strangers, but there was something incredibly mesmerizing about the braided man, and all I did feel was intrigued.

I think I stammered some reply, but I don’t recall what it was.  Something about leaving soon, I suppose, because next he said…

“Won’t you give me a goodnight kiss, Jennifer?”

I stepped forward and did so without much thought.  Just a soft, closed mouth kiss on his lips.  I pulled back and opened my eyes to find his gazing at me intently.

You know that irresistible magnetic pull to keep kissing someone that you sometimes feel, if you’re lucky?  I couldn’t stop myself.  I kissed him softly again and his tongue snaked out , licking my lips gently.  I met his tongue with mine and we were just dancing with our lips and tongue and teeth.

I sensed Bob still behind me, but he seemed very far away.  I was just lost in this kiss, which seemed to last for hours and the next time I thought to notice, Bob had disappeared.

The man in the bed said, “I know he intended to seduce you tonight but I just can’t let you go.  Stay with me.”

So, I did.

He opened the blankets to reveal a wiry, golden body, muscled but not bulky, and a long, slim erect penis.  I think I gasped a little.  I pulled my sundress off over my head and climbed in.

We kept kissing, and touching, and writhing against each other.  He removed my bra and worshipped my neck and breasts.

I snapped out of my trance when his tongue started snaking lower down my body, and stopped him as he tugged at my panties.

“No!”

His head snapped up and he looked directly at me.  I still remember the lust in his eyes.  It was the first time I’d ever seen such a raw and hungry look.

“I will, but why?” he asked gently.  

“I have my period,” I said, assuming that would halt things right there.

“Is that all?” he said.

“Um, yeah…” was all I could get out.

I’ll never forget what he said next.

“That is the essence of life; of you.  I want to taste you.”

I tried wrapping my head around what he was saying, but it was so foreign to me.  All the boys and men I’d been with before were repulsed by my menstruation.

He asked again, “May I taste you.”

I nodded silently, still flabbergasted that he would want to.

But all the kissing and caressing and his skin and eyes and lips and something about the smell of him had my entire body throbbing.  My vulva was swollen and tingling and I wanted his mouth on me more than I’d ever wanted anything before.  

And, I came.  Oh my goddess, did I cum!  Repeatedly, laughing and crying and moaning  and screaming as I did.  We woke up the poor guy who’d planned to fuck me, and he told us he was headed to the woodworking shop so he could get some sleep.

The man between my legs lifted his face then, and it was covered with my blood.  He grinned and I couldn’t help but grin back even though  I was also appalled, feeling all the shame society instills around menstruation. At the very same time, I was also sated in a way I’d never been before, and felt light and suddenly very, very sleepy.

He wiped his face and crawled up to kiss me again.  The taste of me on his lips was sweet and metallic, like when you cut your finger and suck on it to stop the bleeding.  

I finally learned his name, then – Paul – before drifting off to sleep curled next to him.

When we woke he invited me out to the workshop for coffee, which he percolated on a rustic wood stove and served to me in a heavy stoneware mug, sweet and dark.  I soon learned that the boat I’d slept on was a 1914 sailing yacht that he’d been restoring piece by piece.  

We became regular lovers and I did, ultimately, get to feel his long cock inside me, but that is another story.

That first night, though, when I met him the most unusual of ways, was the night I started to realize there was nothing wrong with me. I wasn’t dirty.  My body, my desires, my sexuality, my menstruation – none of it was dirty, it was natural and beautiful and delicious.  It was the first night I started really enjoying sex rather than feeling indifferent, numb or ashamed.  

I’ll always remember Paul for giving me that.

Photo by Ludovica Dri on Unsplash

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