Every month I have to take few days off the Street because of my periods, which happen to be so irregular. Ideally I would love it if my periods started around 17th of the month, when business is relatively low, but such, like in the last month, remained only a wish. Going to the Street when I have my periods is not exactly a no-no; I can do it only because its awkward. In October I took some time off to do some exams, then wasted time in unnecessary travelling, and just when I was settling back to work, the periods came calling. Well, I decided I would rather be in an awkward position than financially grind to a halt.
Sex when having the periods is not entirely impossible. But I imagine it to be so filthy and a turn off to many men. That’s only my imagination. There are many tales here of what has happened when a man has picked a girl during that time of the month. There are men who will get a mad that a girl didn’t do a full disclosure before she entered the room, and thus throw her out without pay. On the other hand there are those who will go ahead and have sex so as to get value for their time and money. You know picking a girl from Koinange, taking her to a hotel in Milimani costs. Whether such sex is enjoyable or not, only those involved can say. There can’t be generalisations in some matters of sex.
I didn’t have a clear plan on the day I went to the street during my periods. I opted not to have a plan because many times when I follow a script here I end up being too careful and messing things up. However, if I were to plan, there would have been two important considerations: one, the point from the street to the room when I was to tell the man I was having the periods, and two, my reaction to his after the disclosure.
The man who picked me was the kind many of us on the street don’t prefer: a haughty man in his late twenties driving an average car. A man likely to be dramatic. But it was that devil hour that I once talked about; after 2.30 am, an average-looking girl becomes a beggar of sorts without much choice. And sure, he was dramatic. On our way to a hotel in Ngara, he could not keep his hands on the steering wheel, stretching it to feel what, to use his words, I had in store for him. He also didn’t want me to keep my hands on my lap but on his crotch. “You think I have no money? don’t you?” he kept asking me. I smiled. I knew his type. I actually thought he had money, but just enough. I expected him to spend a lot of time negotiating and, if all went well, not to give a performance bonus.
In the room I undressed faster than he would have liked. I was quite anxious and wanted him to know of my wet situation before the money matters. In my pants with the pad protruding all was clear. “Don’t tell me you are having your periods!” he said. I was waiting for him to start hurling insults before throwing me out. Instead he lay on the bed resigned. “You should have told me,” he said. I didn’t know what to say. Then an idea struck me. I went and started playing with his zip. “There is more to sex than penetration,” I said, trying to sound like a sex guru. For 800 shillings we did all we could do without penetration. Awkward but fun.
Once more, I am running behind replying to emails but trying to catch up.
