Bloody Hands

Dear Internets,

And who wouldn't take me home? I touch myself in public. A lot.

On the third day of my period, every month, I go out and get myself some. I know, my Vagina seems like a constant party, and you assumed I’ve been filling it more regularly than that, but the truth is, the rest of the month I work hard, and I flirt, but I go home by myself. I’m waiting for a relationship, I tell myself. And my friends. And my Snatch.

But the thing is, it’s been so long since I had a relationship, I don’t know how to go about getting into one anymore. For all I know, I’m cock-blocking myself at every turn. It could be years before I find a hot guy who doesn’t have anger issues, knows what kind of emotions he has when he has them, and wants to fuck the shit out of me. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting one. And so, I make my sexual choices a little more selectively than I have in the past. That’s why you haven’t read as many tails of rampant sluttery as you  might expect from an Art Prostitute.

Besides, boys don’t impress me as easily as they used to. But by day 3 of The Bloodbath, I am a cat in heat, and it doesn’t take much to impress me at all. I find boys I’d usually dismiss charming, and delicious. I can’t stop myself. The next morning I wake up triumphant and proud of my ability to score. It takes hours for me to start cursing my insane libido, and my seeming inability to find a nice boy who could take care of this and other sexual needs on a more regular basis.

I never tell boys that they are falling victim to my charms because of biological need. I should, I know, give them some sort of warning label to read. But my Vaginal needs come before anything else at that point.

Regardless, I think we all know that period blood, as well as being a great inspiration for bad sexual decisions, is also a great lubricant. And there is nothing hotter than seeing a guy pull away from you with your dead-baby blood smeared all down his happy trail.

So, I made this card for you to give to your guy. Congratulate him on his fortitude, give him his props for sticking it to ya, even when the sticking got sticky.

And in the meantime, I’ll try to wrap my head around the idea of finding something regular to put into my whoo-haa. So that I don’t have to keep conniving my way into strange beds every month.

Sincerely,

Alisa Starr

One thought on “Bloody Hands

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *