The Day My Boyfriend Became My Gynecologist


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I’m a huge advocate for period sex. I know it’s gross, so I only participate in parting the red sea with (serious) boyfriends. I’m not a cuddler, or in any way romantic/affectionate, so I can honestly say that the lack of period sex is the one of the biggest downfalls of being single. But seriously, period sex is just better. You’re tighter, you’re hornier, you’re more sensitive, plus it’s almost always done in the shower which allows me to be exclusively in my favorite position: doggy. And yes, wiping blood off of a guy’s dick and from all over yourself is disgusting and definitely a mood killer, but do you really care after an orgasm?

As much as I love period sex, there was one time where it really wasn’t worth it. Let me take you on a journey back to freshmen year, in my boyfriend’s (at the time) dorm, while he was just straight up destroying my downstairs. He was POUNDING away. And, yes, I was on my period. Now, I would like to take a second and appreciate this boy because he really was everything I needed in a boyfriend at a time. He bought me PSLs when I had cramps, he helped me with my homework, he never discouraged me from going out with just my girlfriends, and he put up with me still talking to the fuckboy down the hall. Seriously, even now, after the breakup, we still hang out and watch Gossip Girl. But the best thing he ever did for me was that he never judged me or made me feel bad about my “embarrassing” body. He heard me fart, he literally watched me pass out while peeing, and he had sex with me when I was on my period when normally 18-year-old guys can’t even hear that word without running away.

So there I was, getting savagely boned, shoving my face into a pillow to keep myself from screaming too loud. It was, admittedly, pretty great sex. We rolled over after he finished and he kissed my forehead before starting to clean himself up. I just laid there, trying to catch my breath and let my body stop shaking.

“Hey, you should go put in a tampon, please,” He asked politely. I know that might sound rude, but there was already a decent amount of blood on his sheets, and I could understand why he didn’t want anymore.

“Yeah, no problem.” I stood up and immediately knew something was wrong. I had forgotten to take out my tampon.

I figured there was no reason to sweat it. I mean if anything I had like really strong vagina muscles (I thought) and I was sure I could get it out. I threw on my underwear and an extra-large T-shirt from his closet, grabbed a fresh tampon and set off down the hall. He lived in the last room of the guy’s wing, which meant I had to pass by every room to get to the girls bathroom. The walk of shame is really real when you know every single guy who lives in the dorm. What’s worse is that they all knew my name, but only called me by my boyfriend’s dorm number during these situations.

“Enjoy your afternoon nap, 224?” one called out. God, freshmen boys are the worst.

I had finally arrived at the bathroom and beelined for an open stall. It was time to get this fucker out of me. I squatted with one foot up on the toilet seat and began to push. Remember how I was convinced that my vagina was a world-class lifter? So, as it turns out, my vaginal muscles are just as pathetic as the rest of my muscles. The tampon wouldn’t budge. I spent the next fifteen minutes fingering myself, pushing with all of my might, and grunting like I was giving birth.

What was I supposed to do? I sat down and weighed out my options. I was really leaning towards suicide before I remembered all the events I couldn’t attend if I was dead. So I womaned up… after crying a little bit more. My relationship with my boyfriend was about to get really real, really fast. He was going to have to play gyno.

I went back to his room and sat on his bed. I motioned for him to join me, and he did, then he wiped a tear from my eye.

“Something terrible has happened!” I sobbed at him.
“What happened?!”
“I forgot to take my tampon out and now it’s stuck inside me!”
“Oh… do you need me to…” He stared wide-eyed in horror and I pouted back helplessly, “do you need me to take you to the doctor?” I started crying harder. How do you explain a doctor’s bill to your parents when it’s for a life-saving stomach pump, let alone to have a tampon aborted out of you?

“I can’t go to the doctor for this!” I wailed.
“I could… I could try to get it out for you?” he suggested, but his eyes begged me to say no.

Tough shit, kid, because I said yes. I needed his help, and this was the only way. After asking if he really didn’t mind (knowing he definitely did) and him insisting that he didn’t (he seriously looked like he was going to puke and cry at the same time), he told me to lay down. Now, I’ve gotten myself into some pretty horrifying situations before, but laying on my back while the boy I was in love with was wrist deep inside of me trying to remove the tampon he had smashed into my cervix? Yeah, that was one of the top five “I fucked up” moments of my life. I cried literally the entire time.

He finally said he got a hold of it, but before I could tell him to let me do the rest, he fucking pulled it out of me. So now I’m on my back, legs spread, watching in horror as my boyfriend held what looked like road kill in front of my face. Honestly, maybe I don’t advocate for period sex anymore.

Nah, fuck that. It feels amazing, trust me. Just try to be smarter than me if you ever try it.

Blondie excels at being an underachiever. She is currently trying to add an extra year onto her undergrad so she can continue to down $7 bottles of wine in an environment that encourages her erratic behavior. After graduation, she has big plans to flunk out of a prestigious law school. Email her compliments and Netflix suggestions at

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