Virgin (17 page)

EM: I have had a lot of negative experiences with men who have rejected sex with me when I was on my period. It was horrible.

It was also fucking stupid of them.

When I am on my period, I am generally hornier. It’s how Mother Nature made us. Unlike the bastards who rejected me, she clearly thought we should be shagging away while our uteruses sort out their lining. Also, the blood is basically free lube.

It makes the sex better.

A lot of the men I’ve been with seem to think that when girls are on their periods, the blood gushes out of us. Well, listen up, men: It doesn’t. I am not Moses splitting the Red Sea. My red sea is more of a trickle.

If you have sex with me while I’m on my period, I will not bleed all over you. Especially if it’s at the start or end, when periods are generally lighter. You might have a bit of blood on the condom but aside from that, I doubt you’d notice.

If you don’t want to go down on me, that’s okay. There will be days when I don’t want anyone near my bleeding chalice. But when I suggest period sex, I don’t want you to wrinkle your nose at me and turn away in disgust. It’s fucking natural.

It’s also the best sex you’ve never had.

We got the bus back to Jack’s flat in East Dulwich and I followed him up the stairs, my heart beating rapidly. I just about took in the wooden floors, spacious living room and relatively tidy kitchen before we got to his room. I noticed the single bed with preemptive disappointment about the quality of sleep I was going to get, but I was too full of adrenaline to care.

He put his arms around me and started kissing me again. We both sank onto his bed and began pulling our clothes off so we were just in our underwear. I hoped he wouldn’t notice I was wearing the same black bra and underpants as last time—freshly washed—and made a mental note to buy some more boy-appropriate underwear that didn’t have colorful patterns all over it like everything else I owned.

His hands wandered all over my body, and this time I was prepared for the boob squeeze. The pain even felt sexy and I briefly wondered if maybe I was a sadomasochist. Once we’d had sex a few times, I would ask him if we could try S and M—except without the whole whipping thing because that looked too painful.

“I want you so bad,” he whispered into my ear. Oh my God: dirty talk. There was no way I could do that yet. I was a virgin, for chrissake.

“Same?” I said awkwardly, and then decided that talking while fooling around—or during sex, when the time came—wasn’t for me.

He must have got the hint because he carried on snogging me in silence. His hands met behind me at my bra clasp and I felt him struggling. I was going to do it for him like last time, but then I remembered it was a
Cosmo
golden rule to let the man feel masculine. I didn’t want to emasculate him by helping him. Instead I let him struggle for a few minutes until it triumphantly fell limp against me and he pulled it off my arms.

He burrowed his face in my sizeable cleavage and started licking and sucking on my nipples. I made little gasps, which I hoped sounded sexy, and took note of his sucking techniques so I could use them later on his own erogenous zones. For a second he stopped completely and I momentarily panicked that he’d suffocated in my cleavage, but he quickly came back with full force and was licking everywhere like a happy puppy.

His hand slipped towards my underpants and my hand reflexively jumped on top of his. He paused and looked up at me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brow all creased up.

“Oh, um, nothing.” I laughed nervously. “It’s just that you can’t go there.”

“I . . . don’t get it,” he said. “Why not? I thought you wanted to?”

“Oh! It’s not that,” I said. “It’s just that . . .” Why couldn’t I say the word “period”? I said it enough in my daily life but the one time I needed to say it aloud, my brain got all coy and refused to comply.

He looked at me questioningly.

“Um, it’s just, that, uh, Venus is visiting?” I finally said. He stared blankly and I mentally yelled at myself to stop being so awkward. Venus is visiting? Where did my brain get this stuff from? “I mean, I have my, um, lady time,” I said in a jokily posh voice, hating myself for not being able to say the word out loud.

A look of comprehension mixed with relief dawned on his face. “Right,” he said. “Well, there’re other things we can do to keep ourselves busy . . .” He grinned and leaned back in to kiss me again.

We carried on kissing and by now I was sure I was ready to take the plunge—quite literally. I was feeling tipsy and all the kissing meant I was running low on oxygen, so I took advantage of my head rush and pulled his boxers down. He jolted in surprise, and I realized I could have probably done that a bit more slowly and sexily, but I looked straight into his eyes like Gabby said and gave him such intense eye contact that I felt his penis literally
expand
against my thigh. I slipped my hand around it and gently moved it up and down.

Okay, this was fine. I didn’t have to worry about the pace because I was going to go down and sort that out with my mouth. I distracted him from my unrhythmic hand movements by excessive snogging, until I felt confident enough to venture down south.

He was sitting on the bed, and I had been half sitting on top of him and half draped over him, but now I stood up and bent down onto my knees. I gently pried his knees open and moved my head into the groin area. His pubes were shaved like the teacher’s from the Britney porn video.

He leaned back on his elbows, clearly making himself comfortable while I tried to ignore the cold wooden floorboards bruising my knees. I stared at his member. It was pink and long and hard. It looked like a normal length and size. I turned my head to the side, inspecting it, and decided there was nothing chod-like about it. Phew. It didn’t smell either, thank God.

I took a deep breath and prayed to Gabby, Queen of Blow Jobs, to guide me through this. I slowly released my breath and moved in. I put the tip of it in my mouth. He groaned in pleasure. Encouraged by this unexpected confidence boost, I started swirling my tongue around the tip, whilst making sure my teeth were nowhere near it. He almost screeched in pleasure, and I remembered that Gabby had said we had to mix things up a bit to make it last. I pursed my lips around my teeth, stretching them out so much it kind of hurt, and pushed more of him inside my mouth. I went right down to the end, which was called deep-throating. I didn’t gag—I was clearly a natural. I started moving up and down, as slowly and as rhythmically as I could handle. I tried to suck at the same time. As I sped up, I realized I wasn’t immune to gagging.

I started going a bit slower and didn’t go right down to the end. I put my hand round the base of him and used it for support. Every time my mouth got down towards it, it felt comfortable to see my own hand there instead of his pale, pube-less groin. Now he started to really moan in pleasure. I slipped my hand under his cock and felt his balls. Their texture was unlike anything I had ever touched. They were wrinkly and I could feel sparse hairs on them.

I carried on with my up-down movements, occasionally using my tongue, and when his breath quickened, he put his hands on my head, just like in the porno, and made me go faster.

I wanted to feel like an angry feminist and yell at him, or at least not enjoy it, but oh my God, I loved it. He was actually helping me out and telling me what he wanted. I wasn’t in it alone and he was making me feel appreciated and wanted. I let him guide me and bobbed my head faster and faster until his entire body tensed up and . . . he came. Inside my mouth. A gloopy warm liquid.

Immediately, I knew I was not going to be a swallower.

I grasped around for a tissue to spit into, but all I found was my dress. Jack was barely acknowledging me and seemed to be basking in his own pleasure so I bent down and spat into my clothes. I felt sad as I saw the liquid stick onto my flattering floral dress, but breathed a sigh of relief that at least it had been inside out so I wouldn’t go home with stains all over me.

“That . . . was amazing,” he said as he fell back onto the bed, and I flushed with pure, unadulterated joy and pride. I was good at blow jobs. Fuck you, James Martell. I was
good
at this. I had a talent, a skill and, oh my God, I had conquered my fear! I was every woman, I was Chaka Khan, and I was euphoric.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” I said flirtatiously and lay down next to him. I wasn’t sure what came next. I’d never given a successful blow job. I hoped he would spend a few minutes telling me how great it was so I could ignore the weird salty taste in my mouth and not feel sad about my dress. He didn’t oblige, but instead, he leaned over and kissed me. I thought of the salty taste being transferred to his mouth and giggled mid-kiss.

“What’s up?” he murmured.

“Oh nothing,” I said quickly, and started kissing him more passionately, pressing my boobs into him again. My fail-safe move wasn’t having the desired effect because he stopped to yawn.

“Fuck, I’m knackered,” he said, and before I knew it, he had closed his eyes and was falling asleep.

I lay there in silence. I wanted a glass of water, but I couldn’t bring myself to put my dirty clothes on or risk seeing any of his flatmates. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but instead I relived the whole night. I grinned stupidly to myself, feeling a liberating sense of happiness as I realized I had finally given a proper blow job, and basically tossed someone off at the same time. I wasn’t a failure. I was normal.

P.S. to “There Will Be Blood” by EK

For all the girls out there who don’t care for period sex—especially if you’re a virgin and don’t fancy adding more blood to an already delicate situation—try not to feel weird about telling the guy you’re bleeding down there. “I have my period” is a very normal thing to say. Getting shy and telling him you have your lady time, you’re “on” or that—wild card—“Venus is visiting” will only confuse him. Yes, I am talking from personal and recent experience here.

In the morning, I knew I had to take out my tampon or I was going to get toxic shock syndrome and die in my prime. I also knew that I didn’t have another tampon in my bag.

I sat on the loo seat, wondering what I should do. I was wearing one of his jumpers and would normally leap at the chance to feel like a sexy romcom heroine with my legs out, but I was too preoccupied. I had opened every bathroom cabinet, because I knew he had a female flatmate, but the bitch hadn’t left a single sanitary pad floating around.

There was a knock on the door and I froze. “Um, who is it?” I asked.

“It’s Cat. I need to go to work. Will you be long in there?” a girl’s voice called out impatiently.

Ohmigod, it was her—the female flatmate. I ignored the mild irritation creeping up my veins at the fact that she was saying I was taking a long time. I flushed the loo, adjusted the jumper that barely covered my underpants and opened the door. She had short dark hair, a nose piercing, and looked angry.

“Hey . . . sorry,” I said. “Um, I’m a . . . friend of Jack’s and was just wondering if you maybe have a tampon or something I could use?”

She looked at me with fake sympathy and tilted her head to the side. “Aw, sorry, I don’t. I’m a Moon Cup girl,” she said, and pushed past me to get into the bathroom.

I stood there in silence, frozen to the spot. A Moon Cup girl? What the fuck was a Moon Cup? And now she was in the bathroom and hadn’t even given me a chance to shove some tissue into my pants. I walked back upstairs slowly, and when I opened the door, Jack was awake.

“What’s up?” He yawned.

“What’s a Moon Cup?” I asked.

He blinked slowly and sat up. “What the fuck?”

“Exactly!” I said as I sat down next to him, too confused to bother hiding period talk from him. “I asked your flatmate Cat if she had a tampon and she said she’s a ‘Moon Cup girl.’”

“What the hell is that?” he asked.

He really wasn’t the brightest of sparks in the morning. “That’s what I want to know,” I replied. He reached for his phone.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Something that is hopefully not going to make me wish I hadn’t,” he said as he tapped on his phone. “I’m Googling it.”

“Oh, yay,” I said as I cuddled up closer to him to look at his phone over his shoulder. This was
sooo
boyfriend/girlfriend of us. I grinned again as I waited for his phone to load. Then we both let out noises of total disgust as the Wikipedia entry came up. A Moon Cup was a reusable plastic bowl-type thing that girls shoved into their VJs to collect blood, and then washed out. It was good for the environment.

“Oh my God, that’s disgusting,” I shrieked.

“Fuck,” he said slowly, shaking his head to the side. “That is messed up.” Then he looked up at me and pulled me close to him. “Thank God you don’t use that shit,” he said as he kissed me and wrapped his arms around me. I smiled happily and sank into his arms.

I sat on the bus, tissue wedged into my knickers, shifting my legs uncomfortably. I was sitting on the 179 back to Tottenham Court Road, and it was stuck in traffic. I was still a million miles from Camden, and the girl I used to be. Okay, I was still a virgin but I was finally the kind of girl who could give a BJ without blinking an eye. I had just shared a blow gift with a guy who was definitely about to become my boyfriend.

The thought of Jack asking me out was enough to distract me from the tissue situation and the dried-up come making my back itchy. I listened to my iPod and chewed on the gum I’d just bought. I wanted to text Lara to tell her the good news but that wasn’t an option yet, so I decided I should text Paul instead. He had, after all, been my BJ learning partner.

I sent him a text.
I just gave a man the greatest gift of his life and am wearing his dried-up joy on the inside of my dress.

He replied back immediately, saying,
Congratulations!! I have a date tonight and may be doing the same. You’ll have to share your tips with me soon.

I grinned and sent the same text to Emma. I got a reply just as I was swapping buses.

Woo hoo! Can I come over to hear the dirty details? Can’t handle revision.

Yes. I’m en route to Camden now and will definitely not be revising or dissertationing today. Bring snacks.

I closed my eyes and leaned against the bus window. Jack had been so sweet this morning. He had made me coffee using his fake-retro latte machine and had barely stopped kissing me. I’d freshened up with his toothbrush and shoved loo roll into my pants when Cat had gone out to work, and we had spent an hour sitting in his kitchen, chatting. I loved that he didn’t think I was weird for bringing up the Moon Cup. We were clearly a good fit and we already had plans for next week. By then Venus would be gone and we could consummate our relationship. I smiled sleepily in anticipation and spent the rest of the bus journey pretending I was still curled up in his arms.

Emma elbowed me as she pulled the duvet over our legs. “Budge up,” she said, and I obligingly rolled across my bed to make room for her. I yawned, glad we were having such a lazy afternoon. We were already halfway through the packs of chocolate mini bites and rocky roads that Emma had brought.

“These are so good,” I mumbled, my mouth full. “Thanks for—” I was about to carry on but a spray of chocolate crumbs flew out of my mouth and Emma hit me in disgust.

“Ellie, you’re so gross!” she said. “But yeah, they are amazing. I’m in major need of chocolate—I’m sooo tired.”

“Does that mean your date with Mr. Waiter went well?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. She blushed and actually went quiet. I was shocked. “Oh my God, Emma, do you actually like him?”

“Erm, maybe,” she said. “Okay, we had loads of fun—and oh my God, is he talented in
le sac
—but he is also just a really nice guy.”

“This is amazing, Em! I’m so happy for you!” I shrieked, accidentally releasing the next fleet of chocolate crumbs from my mouth. “Oh shit, sorry,” I added, brushing them off her jumper.

She rolled her eyes at me and grabbed another two mini bites out of the plastic tub. “He’s just a truly decent guy,” she explained. “Okay, he took a while to text me, but that’s because he was ending something with some other girl. And he didn’t want to cheat on the other girl, or mess me around.”

I nodded wisely, as if this happened to me on a regular basis. She carried on. “I think it’s because he is a bit older—he’s thirty. He’s called Sergio, by the way, and he is doing an MA in creative writing while he works in the bar. He is originally from Spain, even though he’s lived here for, like, six years. I’ve seen him a few times now. Also, he is just so fit and he’s six-foot-something. You know I
love
tall men.”

“Me too,” I said wistfully, imagining how great Jack would look if he had a couple more inches on his average five-foot-ten height. “So what did you do on the date?”

“We went to a bar in Bloomsbury, got drunk together, and he even bought a few of my drinks, which he really didn’t have to do. But,” she continued with her familiar naughty smile, “the fun didn’t really start until we got back to his Brixton flat.”

I lay down on the bed, pushing the box of snacks away. “Okay, I’m ready for the real story to start,” I said, snuggling into the duvet and yawning. “Bedtime story, please.”

“‘Bedtime’ is definitely the right word,” she said, “considering we spent most of our time in, on or around the bed . . .”

I laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Start at the beginning, please. I want a step-by-step account.”

“Jeez. Demanding, much?” She paused to shove more chocolate in her mouth. “So, we walked into his flat, snogging loads. Then we walked into the bedroom—which was
so
nice, by the way. He has this huge bed with comfy pillows and a weird glass wall thing in between his room and the bathroom. He lives with a South American guy, who was so nice.” She must have heard me yawn again, because she then said, “Ellie, you brought this on yourself. I thought you wanted every detail. I’ve just been listening to you go on about Jack’s penis for the last half hour.”

“I didn’t discuss the interior design of his flat though.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “So
anyway
, we were just getting with each other, sitting on the bed for a while, and then he pulled my dress over my head and the real fun began. It was just incredible. His body isn’t as perfect as the last Spanish guy’s but his penis is
huge
and, my God, does he know how to use it.”

I opened my eyes wide and absorbed her every word, as transfixed as if someone was telling me the winning lottery numbers.

“It’s all a bit of a euphoric blur but I remember him pushing me up against the glass wall and doing me from every position imaginable. He lasted for sooo long, it was incredible, except . . . There is one tiny problem,” she added. “I am
so
sore right now . . .”

“What, from the sex?” I asked stupidly.

“Yeah. Like, he was so big that it genuinely hurt my vagina, and that never happens to me. It was like losing my virginity again—it was
agony
at times. I’m just not used to being with someone so well-endowed. I had to actually tell him to go more gently at times, and I’m not a gentle kinda gal.”

I wished I’d already lost my virginity to Jack so I would be able to empathize or at least have some idea of how to respond to comments like these. “Can’t you just practice, though?” I asked. “And then you’ll get used to it?”

She sighed. “Yeah, I guess. It was just a bit embarrassing, having to tell him we needed to go more slowly. Especially because he’s so amazing in bed. I am definitely up for more practice sessions, though . . .”

“And I’m sure he is too. I can’t think of any guy who would be offended that you thought he was too big. Isn’t that the ultimate compliment? And now he gets to have sex with you for as long as it takes for your vag to get used to having him inside. It sounds ideal to me.”

She laughed. “Well, that is one hell of an optimistic spin on the situation, but you’re right.” She blushed. “In fact, I’m actually seeing him again tonight, so I guess we can practice then.”

I felt a twinge of jealousy but then remembered I had Jack, and this was what being a single girl was all about: the dating, and the stories to share with your girlfriends. It wouldn’t stop just because Emma was hanging out with Sergio now.

“Em, yay! That’s amazing. But seriously. Are you guys, like, going steady now?” I teased.

“Shut up,” she replied. “Of course not. He’s great, but it’s way too soon for all that crap. Besides, I’m having way too much fun being single. Why would I want to stop now?”