Let it Bleed by Graham

Covered in a potent and purposeful mix of my partner's blood and my semen, this moment took me on a journey all the way back to the beginning of my relationship with sacred blood. 

As a young boy proudly charged with laundry duty, I remember my first sight of my mother's bloodied panties. A deep sense of curiosity filled my awareness, sated by my mother's open yet pragmatic way with words on the subject. 

Mum was a senior sister at the local hospital, and I could tell she enjoyed sharing her expertise about the human body, though detached from her subjective experience. There was no reverence - just an extremely inconvenient bodily function. 

I was confused. The more I learned, the more I processed periods as inconvenient, unpleasant, and not at all connected to anything sacred. They were messy, gross, and a reminder of some perceived inferiority.

Sex education did little to shift my perspective. The boys in class seemed repulsed, terrified, or hiding behind humour, and the girls deeply in shame in reaction to the gags and at having to listen to an ageing male science teacher fumble his way through the noisy, collective embarrassment.

I was thirteen when I first had sex with a girl. It was her 13th birthday, and - somewhat surprisingly given their conservative father's suspicious disposition - her friends and I were allowed to camp in the back garden. We'd been planning to have sex for several weeks, and getting the information on how to go about that process was no mean feat as I didn't know anyone credible on the how. 

When the time came, I remember the extraordinary tension. Even at that age, she was so gorgeous and womanly. A fearful story of how she'd never seen my small, naked body rang through my mind. I was so scared of showing her my erection that I turned off the torchlight. She patiently and calmly waited for me to pluck up the courage until we finally connected. I remember desperately trying to conceal the sounds of my pleasure and to hit all the bases - this was a mission I had to complete successfully! After what lasted only a handful of minutes, I tried to remove the surprisingly wet, slippery condom to no avail, so I switched the light back on.

My belly and cock smeared in blood. But whose blood? 

I could feel my consciousness starting to fade away from my body at the thought I'd somehow broken my cock, immediately grounded by the teary and distressed admission that it was her blood. I tried to hold her, but she felt so uncomfortable about my initial reaction that we awkwardly drifted off to sleep. We never had sex again. 

More than two decades passed, mostly with one partner where periods were not such a big deal, or spoken of very often, albeit the dialogue was open and I was supportive as I knew how to be. We would occasionally connect sexually when she was on her period, but it was more a time of you do your thing, I'll do mine.  

And then came my first sacred sexuality retreat! As someone whose experiences had led to a near-complete disconnect between sex and sacredness, there was one witnessing ritual that brought my journey with women's blood back to the forefront. After a witnessing ritual, one of the women openly complained about a man - without naming him - who wouldn't look her in the eye. As she shared more and more about her deep sadness around the cultural conditioning and lack of reverence for sacred blood, I could feel thirty-plus years of shame and discomfort spiralling through my body and brain. As soon as the session was over, I felt compelled to approach her despite my mind's best advice. And in doing so, I got to see where I was not... I left humbled, more honest with myself, and committed to being a man that women could share their blood with, who listened deeply from a place of respect and holding.

One year later, and I was standing naked in an autumnal Irish forest. Adorned in a concoction of menstrual blood and semen, while the owner of said blood and I roared at each other like wolves, vibrating life force with total abandon, releasing everything that no longer served. I was deeply touched and honoured to connect with this powerful woman in such a primal and cathartic way. Another step, but it still felt like something else needed to drop. 

That final piece came in my sexological bodywork training, observing female genitals. While the set-up was more from the medical bent, one of the women on the course gave us all the opportunity to witness her genitals while she was bleeding. Even before asking for her blessing, I could feel the magnitude of what was happening. Tears streamed as she gave me her permission to look inside her yoni to her cervix. 

My heart burst open for my little boy, and all the children indoctrinated into the shame programme. 

I saw a vision in which sacred blood was revered and celebrated in our homes, schools, our communities, and in our places of work. 

For a few hours, I could feel the deep peace created by the psychic space made available once again. All that remained was love and respect for the mothers, sisters, lovers, and girls whose bodies are so connected to life. 

I now support my current partner with everything I have. Running soothing Epsom salt baths; applying down-regulating castor oil treatments; administering CBD oil; taking care of mealtimes; appreciating the smell of her blood; holding space for her to be; making incredible, heartfelt and bloody love; listening to my body and feeling hers.

I now look back at that little boy, curious, noble, and eager to learn, and I show him what it is to follow that beautiful humility in service to such a beautiful process. 

Thank you to all of the women who've shared blood with me.

Graham, 40, UK