I learnt all about the menstrual cycle in school. I was fascinated with the mechanics of it, the elaborate intertwining dance of the various chemical messengers as levels of Luteinising Hormone, Follicular Stimulating Hormone, Progesterone rise and fall in counterpoint to each other. The elaborate train of events synchronising into a regular pattern, like the striking of a clock. All orchestrated by the pituitary under the instruction of the hypothalamus. The logic of cause and effect, of triggers and feedbacks, appealed to me
Of course I was later to learn that the words ’Period’ and ’Logic’ do not sit comfortably together.
I had gained this valuable knowledge as part of our A-Level Biology course. I was at an all-boys grammar school and it was the early seventies.
’The Little Red Schoolbook’ had just been banned and learning about the mechanics of the reproductive cycle was about as close as we got to Sex-Education. Tough luck on those who opted for Modern languages instead of Biology. Going off-topic just a little, our teacher did explain that at certain times during their cycle, girls were prone to be a bit weepy and headachy and that we might find ourselves having to take that into consideration when, at some point a long way off in the future, we might return home from the office to find the wife a little off-colour one day and with the household chores left incomplete. The remedy for this being flowers.
Armed with this scientific knowledge and with the naïve confidence posessed of 17 year-olds I was able to comfort my girlfriend of the time, the next time she complained of feeling ’a little washed out’ by telling her that I knew exactly what she was going through and by offering her my sympathy.
”Unless you’ve been through it yourself you have ABSOLUTELY no idea what you’re talking about” She snarled back at me. She snarled at me a lot during the time we were together, and not just when she was premenstrual.
Well, that was more than thirty years ago and I’m older and at least a little wiser now. The Nuffield A-level biology course made no mention of the backache, the sore nipples or the spoiling for a fight. Neither did the textbooks include any helpful diagrams as to how to retrieve the soggy little bit of blue string should it be thrust up out of reach by an over-enthusiastic fucking.
I may have to check my notes from the time again, or flick back through my ’
Roberts’ but I’m pretty sure that neither were we taught that right in the middle of the whole bloody mess, one is likely to be faced with a woman who is horny as hell.
Anyway, these years of acquired wisdom appeared to become redundant a couple of years ago when a monthly cycle which, apart from a few tense days early on in our relationship, you could set your watch by, started to falter and misfire and eventually conked out completely, rather like the time the engine in my MG broke a valve-rocker. Hot flushes and night-sweats were the replacement, but even these have died down in the last few months. Then a few weeks ago Aunty Flo, that previously regular if unwelcome visitor, announced her comeback in no uncertain terms. Hardly had she cleared out than she was back again with a vengance, leaving Heather with a dull nagging pain in the small of the back and nipples so sore it was painful to take her bra off. It also left us respectively licking our wounded pride after the first blazing row we have had for months blew up out of nowhere.
And, last night, it left her horny as hell.
Let the record show that I certainly have no distaste for sex during her periods. If nothing else it has always been a prime excuse (if excuse were needed) to enjoy a bit of anal. But for the last few nights we have been leaving each other alone. Just cuddling and comforting but nothing more. Quite apart from anything else, work has been extremely busy, social commitments have seen us out of the house most evenings and we have flopped into bed very late and absolutely exhausted.
It was no less late last night. 2,30 was showing on the clock-radio by the time we finally managed to roll into bed. But the need was on her.
”I know it’s late…” she began, grabbing my cock none too gently and pressing and rubbing herself up against me. Entwining me in arms and legs.
I was electrified in an instant.
I couldn’t go near her breasts, they were just too painful. I couldn’t brush my fingers over her thighs or stomach as I often do, it was simply irritating to her. I reached an arm round her shouders and crushed her to my chest. Hard. As hard as I could squeeze. She reciprocated with pleasured moans and by gripping my cock equally hard.
I stroked her chin in my hand. Then slipped the thumb in between her lips, pushing it as far back as her tongue would allow so that my fingers could caress the side of her neck below her ear. She wrapped her legs around mine and I thrust my knee up between them as far as I could, until I could feel her warm wetness on it. She was ready to give herself up and be pleasured by my hand. I reached down to find her cunt lips engorged, the space between them slick with her juices. I gently stroked up and down while encouraging her to share with me her masochistic fantasies.
Her excitement rose, she was starting to get lost in her mounting orgasm but I was frustrated at not being able to go near her breasts. Pinching and pulling her nipples when she’s about to come always adds an extra kick and if I’m not in a position to do it then Heather will often do it herself. I settled on her next favourite way to heighten her pleasure. I gripped her neck.
I never squeeze, I just let her feel my hand around her neck and that is enough. She came with all the intensity of one who has been aching to come for days and has been denied and I held her close once more to warm her against the ensuing chills.
As I have said, I am not in the slightest bit squeamish about fucking Heather when she is using a tampon, and neither is she for that matter, but it was late and I didn’t really want to get into a game of ’Hunt The String’ afterwards. I encouraged her onto her knees beside the bed, positioned so that her breasts were lying displayed in all their glory on the mattress and I wanked myself while she tickled my balls until I emptied my load into her cleavage. Quick, relatively clean and deeply satisfying.
I don’t know how long this little revival of her monthly cycle is going to last. I see it as a kind of closing-down sale for her ovaries. For her sake I hope she’s soon sold out.
