If I'm on the Rag, Get Off Me

I don't like period sex.

There. I said it.

That might ruin the image I have of myself as a fairly sex-positive person, but I just can't get into it. It's not that I find menstruation gross or unnatural--in fact, most months I exhale a long sigh of relief when I see that rust-colored blood come forth as proof modern medicine has kept me from reproducing for another month. But once I see the stain, I don't want to see a dick inside me until it's over.

The reasons for this? First of all, I really don't like a mess. I've just started remembering to pull the comforter off the bed before fucking because it's easier to toss sex-sullied sheets into the wash than the whole blanket. Most months, a post-coital scene when it's that time would look like the horse head scene from The Godfather. Which, quite frankly, nobody needs to see.

But the major reason why I don't want to fuck at the height of my period is because I don't want to be touched by any one for any reason while I'm on the rag. I'm so bloated I feel I might pop like a tick on the back of a dog. My boobs hurt. I've got gas. All I want to do is indulge my food cravings and be left the hell alone until I feel like a human being again.

If you're into shagging on the rag, I salute you. But if you need me, I'll be on the sidelines until the day Aunt Flo leaves town.