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Written by Yue (any/all) | Contributing Writer

I loathed the fact my boyfriend would not sleep with me on my period. I knew it was because he didn't like to touch my blood but I would follow his beck and call for any of his needs despite my ailment. We just couldn't do anything for me. 

Sex was always for the other, my partner, whether I was a willing participant or not. He had scrunched his nose when the blood was all around his groyne, dick going soft, trying to imagine a pornstar's tight bloodless pussy over mine. That was the only way he could cum, he had said. Thinking of someone else.

I hadn't cum once in any of our entanglements, I had never cum with a man and had only briefly made out with girls, never close to having sex with them. ‘Maybe with a woman, it would be different?’ was my one constant, bitter thought. He stared with this dead fish gaze, trying to finish himself off. Degrading is not the word I would like to use, but nothing else comes to mind. I always helped him get it over with even though I would have rather slept. He promised to touch me when I wasn’t bleeding, but I knew that wouldn’t be the case. There was a period of almost 2 months where I regularly gave head and he aimlessly fingered me. 

Perhaps he couldn't tell I didn't feel a thing. I had told him I couldn't feel a thing. He could just be bad at listening. Maybe it was worse than either and he just didn't care. I knew that I performed well, I practised in and off the bed, referencing pornstars with their contorted bodies shuddering in pleasure. I performed the perfect girlfriend and the even better slut. I heard him brag to his friends, whisper to me in a trance he'd never felt pleasure like that before. On the other hand, I'd memorise lies to repeat about how good my sex life was and wistfully listen to queer friends recount on two hands how many times they had come. Perhaps, and I had thought this a lot, everyone is lying just a little bit about how good the sex they are having is. I didn’t really think my pussy was a mind-boggling experience like all my partners seemed to think and liked to tell me. Like how I had told them how incredible their dicks were and I hadn’t felt anything like it. Everything was just for pageantry. Nothing could actually compete with my little handheld vibrator - which was my most reliable sword for my little sheath. 

The most solace I’ve found navigating everything is with straight women. They all recount stories of moaning and squirming just so they could get the act over with. Not at all like the seeing-stars stories my fellow homosexuals told me.

Not that I’d know, bound eternally to my hetero nature.

Maybe sex with men was not meant to be that enjoyable to women. 


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