Out, damned ickiness.
That’s a good data point, but here’s the thing: anybody who claims to love vaginal intercourse but holds the position that periods are all “icky” is not only wracked with a Bill Clinton level of compartmentalization — you’re ambling dangerously close to the mindset of the frat boy who finds breastfeeding nauseating. That? That’s a couple hundred years of cognitive dissonance talking, my friends.
We are mammals. It’s all there to make and feed babies, gang.
And even when we’re using our pre-assigned equipment just to unwind after a long day of whatever makes us want to unwind, we’re never very far away from the several million years of evolution that have been dedicated to turning our latest round of mojitos into a hungry little person who’s looking into sub-letting a studio apartment just uptown from your tidy little fuck tunnel.
Not by a long shot is this a case for purely procreative sex; it’s merely a case for reading your 10th grade Biology book like it’s more than a Penthouse Forum.
You heard the man*—vaginas are serious business.
Also, for any confused new readers, I feel I should point out a tiny research error: I am a he, not a she. Thank you for the vote of confidence though.
*No pun intended, but then I noticed it and left it in.
