Bleeding Love

Even though aunt flow comes to visit us at the same time, we have vastly different reactions. Honey Bunch gets sad and sweet; bloated and achy; irritable if there’s no vegan chocolate ice cream to pacify. Not me. I get horny. I'm not just talking about wanting sex—I mean I go into a fucked up bloodlust fog. With my full moon werewolf appetite unleashed, I want to devour her, scream at the moon, and tear her to pieces. It's an unquenchable thirst. No matter how frequently I feast on her skin, for an entire week, I simply can't get enough. I yearn for her. 

Waking up, snuggled in her small bare breasts, I want to suck her nipples. She makes us breakfast, and I swallow her shape with my stare. Every movement she makes is a blistering turn on. She plops down on the couch next to me, engulfing me in the crook of her muscular arm, while presenting me with vegemite toast, planting a swift kiss on my cheek, and I want to suck her tongue into my mouth. She tells me her plans for the day, and I want to fuck her brains out. She’s cute, I’m hungry. Goldilocks, Big Bad Wolf. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to be gross. I'll gladly skip a first-day blood bath. I'm a feminist and shit, but I'm not a fucking vampire. Still, I don't shy away from our body's natural cycles. And you gotta admit, there's something particularly carnal about our ability to create a monthly murder scene on our white queen sheets. Undeniably, period sex is hot. It's forbidden, irreverent, and really fucking gay

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