Jake (for the sake of his ego, let’s call him Jake) was perfect. He was tall, smart, funny, and liked the same pizza toppings as I did. We had been talking for about a month when disaster struck. Jake and I had just recently taken the next step in our relationship: the dreaded adult sleepover. You can argue all you want that this is a precious and sentimental milestone, but if you snore in your sleep (me) and consistently wake up with raccoon eyes from smeared mascara (also me), it’s far from cute.
Naturally when you put a boy and girl into a bed, one thing leads to another. I don’t know if it was the fact that I was drunk off of tequila, going through a painful dry spell, or both, but I smiled through the sleepover pain to get some. The sex was great, which obviously meant we would go through an absurd amount of condoms.
We stayed up all night talking and laughing, having sex in between episodes of our favorite shows and ordering in junk food. We passed out naked and intertwined, feeling like this first sleepover was one for the books. When we woke up naked in bed, we naturally decided to pop one off to start the morning. Unfortunately, that’s where it all went downhill. It went downhill fast, and hard, and messy. In the middle of our steamy session, I started my period. In broad daylight. At 10.a.m. Doggy Style. Hours after our first time.
All of the possible escape routes were lost. There was no veil of darkness to hide the nasty, brown, “congratulatory gift” from the condom. The position we were in was certainly not one that I could maneuver around to block the evidence. Jake didn’t even know my littles yet, so naturally we weren’t ready for this level of comfort.
So what did I do you ask? I did what any rational female would do. I freaked out. I was lucky enough to be the first of us to see my markings from mother nature stained on the sheets, his leg, the wall, among other things. I immediately dropped the f-bomb multiple times, just like any classy woman in this situation would do. He was instantly concerned. I exclaimed for him not to move and that “something horrible had happened.” He had to ask multiple times before I could grow the balls to tell the truth.
I had to look him in the eye and say that, even though he didn’t know my middle name or how I take my coffee, I had just perioded all over him.
After acknowledging the elephant in the room, I refused to let him look around. I hastily put a pillow over his face
to suffocate him to get rid of any witnesses, and began to wipe my DNA off of his body (side note: there are few things less desirable than touching a limp dick). After apologizing a million times, explaining that my period was early (that never happens), and avoiding eye contact at all costs, he took me home so I could wallow in self-pity.
Though Jake said it wasn’t a big deal, I could see it in his eyes like he was a witness to a murder crime. To this day, I still have flashbacks of my red sea giving him a red D.
Oh well. At least I’m not pregnant..
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