It was 2018, I was recovering from my first heartbreak/trying to figure out how to stop fucking my ex every single time we felt like it, so naturally I downloaded Tinder - surely some fresh dique to be found there. I organised a date with this guy called Matt (was going to change his name but never mind lol there are so many Matts this isn’t a lead). He was going to come around to my flat at 8 for wine and I think we both knew a root as well.
The date started going downhill before it even started, because I accidentally got hecticly pissed at 6pm with my girlfriends on the beach. We were just chilling, chatting, sipping away at Pals rtds and (as per) I got ridiculously fucked ridiculously fast, very much by accident. We were all cracking up as I hung out of the window on the drive home but as we neared my flat my drunk ass remembered I had a stranger coming over to meet me for the first time ever in under an hour. To make things worse, I smoked a an entire spliff thinking it was a ciggy back at the flat.
Properly cooked at this point.
Time was ticking, I was tripping, then the homie Matt pulled up perfectly on time. He was clean, 5 years older than me, wearing sandals, and (what I reckon he regrets now) brought two bottles of above $20 wine. I was spinning. Hectic.
Anyway, that’s all the build up to the actual part of the story where shit gets ridic. Cringing writing this.
The date was crack up because I just walked (stumbled) him around my neighbourhood chatting his ear off, wildly confident for someone who should have been very embarrassed, trying to sober up through some bipedal locomotion. We smashed the two bottles of wine on our set up of a mattress on my lawn under the stars and then started hooking up. He had really big lips. I remember, it was crazy.
I’m stalling. Once things started getting hot and heavy and hands were suggesting going places, I had a horrifying realisation: I was on my waiwhero (red-water; period). Don’t remember how I thought I was going to curb this pre getting on the piss and inviting this guy around, but apparently I thought it would just sort itself out. I had a mooncup in and remembered a friend telling me the week before that she had been doing it with her boyfriend with her moon cup up there.
We very drunkenly had pretty okay sex under the stars on the lawn outside my flat and all was well while it was dark - however, we woke up and it looked like a mattress from a medieval birthing scene in one of those horrible movies where everyone is grotty as fuck the whole time. There’s so much to this yarn, but essentially - he was a legend about it, I (still drunk) thought I’d just say, “Wow whoops! Got my waiwhero unexpectedly last night, sorry!” and he wouldn’t know that I had accidentally invited him around for what I should have been straight up was going to be period sex. He left with my blood on his shirts (so gross to see I am sorry) and here is the punchline: Why in the fuck would I have a precautionary moon cup inside of me if I “hadn’t known that I was going to get my period”? Fucking legend of a dude not making feel like a total wanker. But it's Aotearoa, so of course I found out post-coitus that he is a great childhood friend of some mates of mine. Just hoping I’m the only one telling this story, would HATE to hear his rendition.
Moral of the story: 99/100 times, lying makes you look like way more of a fool than if you’d just told the bloody truth ;-)