Gross stuff and fun go together like Elvis and fried food; they’re best friends and you can almost always find one inside the other. So considering that bodily fluids are some of the grossest things around, and sex is pretty much the most enjoyable pass-time there is in this world of ours (obviously), it’s essentially common knowledge that when you’re swapping DNA with someone, the more weird stuff dribbling, sweating and gushing out of your bodies, the better the sex.
This is why I find it fucking baffling that so many women have those stories about nights when dudes wouldn’t fuck them because that thing that makes their uterus bleed was happening. As a “menstrual enthusiast” (Oxford Dictionary, 2010) I honestly do not understand this; some of the best sex I’ve ever had has been a result of converting her period into our time of the month and I truly believe that from the humblest of missionary cuddles, to the holiest of depravity’s grails that is feltching, there’s not a single act in all of colosseum boudoir that can not be enhanced by the sanguine elixir that keeps us all alive.
The most obvious way a side of menstrual sauce can be enjoyed by both parties is through wholesome and hearty labia-lickin’. Now, if you’re concerned that this may be a tad degrading or emasculating, don’t worry, Hell’s Angels do it! They love slapping their lips into a bleeding vagina so much that the club has a respect-inspiring patch it bestows only on those man enough to get their beard dirty and prove themselves worthy of the admiration of other burly, sweaty, bearded men who stomp each other’s heads in for fun. Anyone who has stepped up and done the deed wears the accolade on his leather as proudly as boys from The Shire wear the southern crosses inked upon their neck.
Before leaping in there it’s important to give the whole area, especially the venus mound (that lump of bone above the vagina), a nice rubbing to make sure that she’s good and covered in the lovely stuff, because “slick” and “blood-matted” are exactly the adjectives I want describing the pubes I’m about to chew on. As blood has a consistency with exactly the right ratio of slippery to sticky, it provides the perfect balance of lubrication and friction, making it stupidly easy for you to get those long, slow Os singing through her whole body. I’m guessing it looks pretty hot too, as after one particular dive in the pelvic Red Sea, I sat up to wipe my face and the lass gasped “no! Leave it there and fuck me”. This is a phrase everyone needs to hear more often. The sharp, rusty flavor of the blood also mixes wonderfully with that salty taste we all love about vagina and makes getting chin-deep in it a real treat (I’ve been watching way too much Masterchef).
Last time we got primal while my girlfriend was riding the crimson wave, foreplay involved painting messy red marks all over each other’s bodies/faces. While there are few sights more captivating than watching two bloody hands and a mouth go to town on your meat, seeing ruddy human-juice dully glisten on the skin of someone you’re having sex with is definitely one of them. The aforementioned slippery/sticky quality of the blood makes penetration feel like your junk is gliding through a tunnel of clouds lovingly greased with warm, silky milk from mother nature’s own teat. I don’t care who you are, or how good you’ve had it before; this will make you bust one so hard you pass out.
Granted, you do end up looking like you’ve just crawled through a fresh buffalo carcass, lying in a bed that looks like an abortionist’s workbench, but there’s nothing quite like the smell of blood and sex to make you feel like you’ve done something with the day.
Sex is supposed to be disgusting. The pure, unashamed hedonism and carnal perversity are what make it the joy that it is, so while everything I’ve said may seem filthy and creepy enough to set your gag reflex to “hyper-purge” , every human that draws breath is essentially a filthy, creepy, repulsive sack of meat. There’s no reason at all why we shouldn’t embrace that wholeheartedly while we’re still honest enough to enjoy it. There will be plenty of time for the bland, depressing, vanilla shit after you’re married.
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Words by Skinny Longlegs. Amazing shot by Jens Ingvarsson.
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