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Thanks to the wonders of the female body, every 28 days my cooter turns into that scene from The Shining where blood pours out of the elevator and into a hallway, rushing like a massive flood. I hang up a sign on the muffin shop stating that we’re closed for business and will re-open in seven days because, really, what guy wants to do a girl when she’s on the rag?

Turns out, plenty. (I wish I’d learned this sooner.)

I’m convinced that guys can sniff out when I absolutely cannot have sex. Nobody wants to sleep with me the other 21 days of the month, but guys do love to pursue me when I’m bloated and cranky and with bleeding vagoo. It’s something akin to Shark Week: They smell the blood from a mile away and pounce on their prey. I have always tried to put them down gently, sure that, if they knew the bloody mess I had between my legs, they would be discouraged. I mean, it’s sort of awkward to bring up the shedding of my uterine lining with a dude over a glass of sangria, right? Right.

I had a cleverly devised out in case I was ever in a sticky situation while on the rag: uninterrupted oral attention. What guy would ever complain about that? He gets what he came for, and I don’t have to explain why there’s a string hanging from my vagina. Win-win!

My plan was so bulletproof that it backfired.

I went to the pub with my guy friends for a pint, and when they worried they might be cockblocking me, I proudly exclaimed, “Oh, I’m most definitely not getting laid tonight!” But of course, as luck would have it, I had to meet a cheeky fellow so irresistible that I gave in to his flirting. My new friend and I were getting along very well, and we decided to take our operations elsewhere. I tried my usual strategy and it seemed to work until he told me, “I really want to have sex with you, even if you’re on the rag. I don’t mind.”

Oh. My. GAWD. I almost choked on it. Those words surprised me so much that I needed to get my act together and be a trooper. I had to get into the spirit of things. Paint the town red or whatever. I hesitated, thinking he’d stop halfway with a sorry look on his face and pull out, cut his losses, and leave, but I am happy to report that my lover was the trooperiest trooper ever and he took it like a champ. Guys who like to bang on the rag, I give you your poster child.

And there I laid the next day wondering if I had encountered a weird phenomenon that was surely not to be repeated — yes, even after experiencing it first hand, I refused to believe that there’d be more guys like him out there — when a friend IMed me to tell me he had finger-banged a lady the prior night and she, too, was riding the red wave. Ladies, we can all breathe a sigh of relief: More than one guy out there is willing to give you an alternative to BJ-and-anal week. I suggest you all find one and befriend him.

Needless to say, I am a convert. Yes, it’s messy as hell, but with a few minor adjustments, it may possibly be better than rest-of-the-month sex. It is not the bloodbath people expect upon the thought of it, but if it’s a major concern, slap on a condom and take it to the bathroom for easy clean-up. I never knew the myriad sex positions one could incorporate bathroom appliances into: On top of the sink, bent over the toilet, in the shower... Oh me, oh my! And, obvious benefits aside, it really helps with the cramps. Do you need any more reasons?

But, of course, period sex is not for everyone. Out of the people I talked to, it was the girls who seem to have the biggest issues with it, which I completely understand. It’s hard to feel sexy when your crotch looks like road kill. The guys I talked to who were not grossed out by the thought outnumbered the guys who were by a landslide, so I urge any squeamish girls to get over it because it takes two to tango and if you’re not feeling it, it will suck.

M. is a senior in Course 10. She can be contacted at undress@tech.mit.edu.