All I wanted to do that night was drink massive amounts of alcohol that would put even Bukowski to shame, and hook up with Luke Taylor. Earlier that week I had fended off a roommate whom I had mistakenly went to first base with (but that’s another story), had been hit on by my boss (yes, another story to come) and quit a job I had not even started yet (one not so very interesting story). Making bad decisions with Luke Taylor, the boy with the hot name, sounded like the perfect antidote to my vile week.
The red dot had other plans for me, however. Remember those disgusting tampon commercials about seven years ago that represented a woman’s period with a fat red dot on a white screen?
A lovely girl, strolling along the beach with her curly locks blowing in the breeze, giggling as she sips on a fruity drink and gazes on at the dolphins playing in the waves, then…
BAM! Red dot, white screen. Her period.
I used to laugh and roll my eyes at those obnoxious commercials. Now, I feel for that curly-haired girl because my period came and fucked up my whole day too. Only hours before I was to hang out with Luke Taylor, my red dot came. All I wanted to do that night was drink massive amounts of alcohol and hook up with the boy with the hot name. In an effort to not come across like I objectify men, I will digress and say, he is the only person I have met so far in Los Angeles who is, 1. Normal. 2. Not an actor (you can’t trust those). 3. Did not attempt to name drop at the first available opportunity and 4. Made me laugh.
Despite my vagina bleeding, I still shaved my legs and made attempts at looking attractive. Now, I will fast-forward through the flirty parts, and bring us to later that night, after large quantities of alcohol had been consumed by both parties. I was too drunk to drive home, and Luke Taylor, being a nice young man, offered to let me stay over. Don’t roll your eyes, I know he was probably more concerned with his penis than he was my safety, but he is sweet and disguised that well. Luke and I met on a film set where we did the whole, flirt all day, make cute eye-contact and then exchange numbers awkwardly at the end of the night thing. This was the first time we had hung out since that day. I was not expecting to be spending the night out anywhere, so I did not bring an extra tampon. Luckily, my period is always very light, so the fear of leaking through has never been a concern of mine.
A good twenty minutes into a hot make-out session, it came to the point where we were either going to bring things below the belt, or not. Though I have had my period for eleven years now (don’t bother guessing, I’m twenty-five), I still am sufficiently grossed out by the thought of clumpy blood mixed with vaginal discharge flowing out of the female body. I absolutely do not participate in any type of below-the-belt act while I am on my period. I know I am speaking of it freely here, but I do find periods to be embarrassing and avoid telling a boy that I am on mine at all costs. As Luke Taylor’s hands reached for my belt buckle, my hand’s intercepted. A short look, then from my lips,
“So…. I uh-”
“Are you about to ask me if I have a STD?” he said.
That’s when I knew I liked this guy. I laughed and said no, though it’s mildly disturbing that this was not even a little bit on my mind. Quickly, he came back with,
“You’re on your period.”
I forced out some kind of sound that resembled a yes, and then we continued with our intense making-out which included straddling him, shirts coming off, dry humping and all of the other embarrassing foreplay activities.
The next morning, we did all of the necessary post-hook-up duties… cuddling, complimenting and caressing which took up about fifteen minutes… then I left. Not until I got home did I realize I had fucking bled through. Of course. The icing. No, the period itself was the icing. This was those little bullshit flowers on top of the cake that are inedible. I spent the next two days freaking out that I had possibly perioded on Luke Taylor’s bed sheets. Figuring out at what time during the night the leaking took place was vital, but I was drunk, and mental backtracking through pee breaks I had taken was not jarring any memories. I went to the physical evidence… the pants. I examined the blood stain and let out a sigh of relief when I concluded that there was not enough to have dripped through the denim and onto the sheets.
Then, the flashback of myself straddling Luke Taylor came flooding in, drowning me. What if I had perioded on him? My crotch was absolutely rubbing up against his and all I could see was him getting up in the morning after I had left, to the fat red dot on his white boxers. Ew. So what did I do? I called my 911, my best friend, Lance. Lance is fucking annoying when it comes to periods because he is not grossed-out by them at all. I suppose it’s safe to say that he and I are on total opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to vaginal bleeding. I wanted him to tell me that if in fact I had bled on, or around Luke Taylor, that this boy with the hot name would simply never call me again. That sounded fair. A girl periods on your bed on the first date, and you never contact her again. I was cool with that. Unfortunately, Lance informed me that if it had happened to him, he would have probably just ignored it, washed the sheets/boxers and still called the girl again, assuming he had a good time with her. This is not what I wanted to hear because then how could I ever be sure if it had actually happened or if I was just being paranoid?
I’ll save you from the suspense. It has been a few weeks since the incident, and I am still not positive if I did in fact period on, or around Luke Taylor. I have hung out with him a few times since, and I am 95% sure that I did not, and here is why. Lance is my age, 25, but Luke Taylor is only 22. In a lot of ways, this means nothing, but in a few ways, it means enough. When I was 22, boys my age were equally as repulsed by periods as I am. Now at 25, I’ve noticed that the boys simply don’t care anymore. They claim that they’ll just put a towel down and go to work.
The difference between 25 and 22 also becomes apparent during/after a blow-job. I have found that the 22-year-old’s are still very apprehensive about their own cum. They warn you about its approach which, I guess I appreciated when I was 18 because I participated in that awkward pull away thing where you finished him by jacking him off, or even worse, he finished himself with the last few strokes, because the thought of semen in your mouth was terrifying… but we grow out of that. A 22-year-old will not want to kiss you again until the next day, even if you do brush your teeth. A 25-year-old does not give a shit anymore, and will kiss you as long as you don’t have cum dripping down your chin. So that was my clue that I did not period on Luke Taylor.
I went down on him about two weeks after the possible “incident,” and he absolutely played the role of the 22-year-old, warning me, and then even going as far as throwing away the glass cup I spit into instead of just washing it. This leads me to the conclusion that he would have also played the role of the 22-year-old in the period situation, being disgusted by it and never speaking to me again. So my friends, I am happy to have reached the verdict that I was simply being paranoid, and did not period on, or around Luke Taylor, the boy with the hot name.