If there’s one thing that has stuck with me from university it’s this bold statement from my (female) Women’s Health lecturer: “Women’s bodies are messy.” Nineteen years old, innocent in hindsight; I made a face. “We bleed, we sweat, we have curves, our bodies don’t return to our normal state straight after sex. We are left with the aftermath.” I went to the bathroom before my next class, snapped my underwear and thought, fuck I’m gross. It wasn’t my lecturer’s intention to stir the pot of the insecurities I had, but to serve us with a spoonful of anti-feminist discourse. After a same-sex date and being called "too straight" (there's a spectrum, people!), a new wave of hetero was coming on so I dove right in. A cornflower blue-eyed stranger threw on the same trunks and said goodnight, while I was dying for that post-coital pee, shower and underwear change. I’m in the fitness industry these days and a common reason I hear from women for wantin