That time I had period sex and covered it up with lipstick

I don't like to toot my own horn (much), but in this case it's warranted. This was my most genius moment in the sack, and possibly, of my life.

I met this hot-as-hell 24 year old British backpacker at a bar on Chapel Street in Melbourne. He asked me for a light, I confessed that I didn't smoke and he asked me to join him and his friends anyway. I sat down to meet his friends, a couple he was travelling with, and they swiftly asked me if I knew where they could get some Charlie. So friendly!

I could've sworn the hot Brit was flirting with me but he was so young and SO attractive and I was feeling bloated and frumpy so I figured he was just being nice. I lapped up the attention anyway. The girl in the couple and I exchanged numbers because she thought I was "cool" - never a word I would use to describe myself but hey, I took it - and wanted to hang out again.

The very next night I was heading home from dinner in the city and as I was entering Parliament Station, The Hot Brit was exiting. I could NOT believe it! Fate obviously wanted us to see each other again so we could ultimately be naked together and who was I to resist fate? Absolutely no one, that's who.

He was with the same friends from the night before and they suggested I come out with them. They were off to The Imperial to watch someone-play-someone in the EPL. I'm partial to most sports and love a bandwagon so I agreed. I'd had a Disco Nap earlier in the day so was ready for anything!

I walked to the pub with the girl and whilst we chatted all I could think about is if The Hot Brit had clocked how good my boobs looked in this top. We made it to the pub, drinks were ordered and The Hot Brit disappeared into a sea of football fans never to be seen again. Devastating.

After the game (match?) someone had the idea to hit a club, something I hadn't done in about 10 years. Right when I was about to bail, the The Hot Brit appeared with nothing but praise for the idea. I was suddenly SO in, it was embarassing. My enthusiasm for the plan actually resulted in me pulling a muscle in my neck. Classic.

In came Miss Fate again and made it so the The Hot Brit and I were walking together behind everyone else. He could see I was cold so he threw his arm around me. Ohhhh boy. He didn't say much and I was okay with that. I concluded he was the gorgeous, brooding type. The conversation quickly turned to sex, courtesy of his mate who abruptly yelled back to me, "Are you kinky? He is. Tell her where you like to cum." (*sigh*, twenty-somethings.) He confessed when he masturbates he likes to cum in the sink. I guess kinky is relative because to me that kind of foresight just makes good, clean sense.

Somehow our conversation moved into our porn preferences. I volunteered that I was going through a big massage rooms phase. Something about the oil, strong hands and plush white towels. He admitted he needed a massage (smooth) and I admitted I'd be happy to give him one (smoother). By the time we'd reached the club and were into our first drink, we were talking about going home together.

One slight issue: I had my period. I'm not anti period sex, but with a random I am.

I went to the bathroom to check the situation. I still had a couple of days to go but had everything crossed it was light enough to get away with. It wasn't. My disappointment was palpable but still, I decided that this opportunity may not come up again so I'd go for it anyway. This opinion was echoed by all of the random women in the bathroom when I voiced my predicament to the masses.

I returned to our table and he wasn't there. Twenty minutes later, he still wasn't there. No one knew where he was. I was bummed but also relieved that I wouldn't have to tell the intoxicating stranger I'd rather he didn't go down on me because I had my period. An hour after the disappearance, I went home.

Late the following morning, I got a text from an unknown number: "You're the hangover cure I need." I made the correct assumption that it was The Hot Brit and rejoiced that we were back on! In a state of over-excitement, I forgot all about my period situ and sent him my address. I didn't ask him where he went or what happened to us going home together last night, I just wanted his naked body on, in and around mine.

Just as I was about to send a retraction, I had an idea. A rather genius one...

I texted him requesting he bring some massage oil so I could give him the massage I promised. I quickly showered and sent him a sneaky pic of my blood red lacy underwear so I could reveal I would be wearing a matching blood red lipstick. My master plan was set. Telling him I was going to massage him gave me the excuse to have a towel on the bed when he arrived, and cluing him in on the red lipstick meant it wouldn't seem out of place for me to answer the door with a bold lip on a lazy Sunday afternoon alone at home.

He arrived and I led him straight to my bed. Two days of not getting my hands on this guy was enough! I told him to strip and lie on his stomach whilst I gave him a "proper" massage. I'd been getting regular massages for years so knew what I was doing. I massaged his feet, legs, back, shoulders and scalp then told him to turn over. He, and his raging boner, did just that. I was dying to get my hands on his labourer abs, but he pulled me in for a kiss that I had to swiftly pull away from as I needed to preserve the lipstick. He just thought I was being a tease. Excellent.

Time for phase two of the plan.

I moved my mouth to his cock, covering it, his inner thighs and pelvis in smears of red. I told him I was going to wash the oil from my hands and threw a condom on the aforementioned abs. I washed my hands, lost the tampon and reapplied my lippy.

I returned to the bedroom and had another quick suck, getting the red all over the rubber this time. We had the exact kind of sex I remember from when I was 24: athletic, varied, ambitious and pretty quick. After about 15 minutes, I could tell he was getting close so commenced phase three: making sure he came whilst I was on top.

A few minutes of satisfying thrusts and he was done, as was I. And there was blood all over him.

It wasn't a crime scene, but still noticeable. I pulled the towel out from under him to "wipe myself", heavily grazing his junk with it along the way to collect what I could. He pulled off the condom and I offered to take it to the bathroom with me (aka destroying the evidence). I also casually and apologetically mentioned that I'd gotten lipstick all over him so before getting up, did a big wipe of his area and disappeared to the bathroom, towel in hand. I'd gotten away with it.

Sneaky, clean, period sex. You're welcome.