“Goddamnit!” I yell to no one, alone in my hotel room. I’m supposed to leave in five minutes to meet Logan, a sexy deckhand I met while at Oktoberfest three weeks ago. My period started, and it’s a heavy flow day.
Logan and I never voiced out loud what this weekend means to us and for us. After our endless flirting on WhatsApp, when he suggested I come visit him in Barcelona for a long weekend, I thought, fuck it, what’s the worst that can happen? If it all goes tits up, at least I’ll be in Europe.
But hastily digging through my duffle bag in search of a tampon wasn’t part of the fantasy. Sure, I’ve had period sex before. I mean, who hasn’t had period sex? But it’s never been a big deal because it happened toward the end when there was little risk of making a mess.
This is not one of those times.
I get to the rooftop bar, walk out of the elevator, and text Logan that I’m here.
“Clara!” I recognize his deep New Zealand accent.
He’s taller than I remember. He has to be at least six-foot-three but then again, I was standing on a table most of the night when we met.
Logan smiles down at me and leans in for a hug. Fuck, he smells good too. The night hasn’t even started, and I’m already aching to go back to the hotel with him.
He leads me by the hand to the table, where a vodka lemonade is waiting for me and beer for him. We immediately jump into conversation about our families, our jobs, and how the rest of his trip went after we met. He looks different than when I first saw him in the beer tent a month ago.
For one, his beard has grown in. It’s not too thick but the perfect length. I imagine what it will feel like when his face is pressed against mine while kissing. He’s wearing tan linen shorts, a white T-shirt, and a hoodie draped across the back of his shoulders. He’s tanned, sex appeal personified, and the accent ties the package up in a bow.
The anticipation is so sweet. By the time we finish our drinks and head back to the hotel, it’s late. I’m not sure where his head is at, but based on the casual, flirty touches we’ve both been stealing from each other all night, I imagine we’re on the same page.
I unlock the door, and he pushes me through, gentle but assertive.
“Fucking finally,” he mutters, turning me around, putting one hand on the back of my head, pulling my hair into his fist. His other hand is on my waist. Then he moves it lower and lower.
Before I can even process what’s happening, he’s lifting me up, wrapping my thighs around him so I’m straddling him.
“Wait,” I gasp as his tongue and lips rake up the side of my neck.
He looks at me but doesn’t let go.
“I’m on my period,” I say to the wall because I’m too embarrassed to look him in the eye. What is it about period sex that makes people feel embarrassed?
He lowers my legs back onto the ground, and my heart drops… It’s looking more like that period sex is not in my future. I’m sure he’s going to suggest we go to bed. My period must be a dealbreaker. I’ve become a waste of time.
But no.
“Go take your tampon out,” he demands.
He turns my shoulders around, pointing me toward the bathroom door.
“Oh…” I mutter, blushing.
I rush, tossing my tampon in the trash can. The second I step foot out of the bathroom, he’s on me again.
I worry that I might bleed on him too soon.
Logan moves me over to the bed as if I weigh nothing. He throws me down and peels off his shirt. I didn’t think it was possible to get more wet, but now I’m soaking.
I catch a glimpse of the light dusting of hair across his chest and leading down from his belly button to his waistline. I’ll remember this forever.
He unbuttons my jeans and throws them on the floor, his following seconds after. Off goes my top. Then he stands back, positioning himself at the foot of the bed.
He spreads my legs apart, opening them slowly until I’m totally exposed. He runs his fingers up my inner thighs as I squirm. I want to be closer to him, craving any type of friction.
Finally, his thumb gently presses into my clit, making slow circular movements. Ultimately, I don’t know if it’s blood or arousal, but I’m dripping.
Seriously, I need more.
I reach for the waistline of his boxers and shove my hand inside.
I pause. “Are you uncircumcised?” I ask.
He lifts his head up from where he was nipping on my breasts and lets out a half laugh, half huff, “Yeah, what about it?”
I worry I made him self-conscious, so I backtrack. “It’s just that I’ve never been with someone uncircumcised before.”
Logan seems genuinely shocked by this, but I squeeze him tighter, pumping him hard and forcing him to forget I said anything.
Finally, he inches closer. As his cock slides across my thigh, my whole body tenses. I consider suggesting a condom, if only because of the blood and the mess. What if he doesn’t want my blood all over him?
But if he doesn’t care, then neither do I.
He slides in.
His movements are hard and fast but not too rough. My period has me feeling extra sensitive. It’s like he knows exactly what I like. I feel everything more. As I claw at his back, I moan his name and then he hits my g-spot.
I close myself around him. Everything’s tight, and I’m crying out. We come at the same time, my body going limp under his.
This was definitely worth the flight – and the mess.
