The Brazilian was about as much fun as having all of my pubic hair ripped out. Oh wait, that’s what happened. I had all of my pubic hair ripped out.
The name of the place had about as much class and discretion as “Bush Whackers,” but I didn’t anticipate how embarrassed I’d feel walking in. There was a little cafe next door, and I imagine the cute college boys sitting outside sipping their espressos were silently wondering how hairy I was.
I was nervous, but the technician (the waxer? the bush whacker?) was very nice and explained the procedure to me first. While I was pretty sure I knew what would happen–she’d apply hot wax to my pink parts and rip all of my hair out–it made me feel better to hear her explain it anyway.
In the unreasonably tiny room, I got nekkid from the waist down and was told to lie on the table and position my legs “frogger style.” This made me think of “Frogger,” the old-school video game, and that got the midi tune melody stuck in my head. Every time she ripped off a strip, I swear I could hear the “got run over by a van” cadence.
If that wasn’t bad enough, right before she ripped off the wax, she yelled “PULL!” I half expected to see a clay pigeon fly through the air, and of course, that made me think of “Duck Hunt.”
I guess the happy place I went to in my head was video games–but the sorts of video games where animals get run over by trucks and shot with hunting rifles. Maybe it wasn’t such a happy place?
When she was done, I relaxed my legs and finally exhaled. But unfortunately, it wasn’t over. She told me to pull my knees to my chest and hold them there.
“Wait, what? Why do I have to hold my knees to my chest?”
“Oh honey, we didn’t go through all of that just to leave a little bit of hair in the back.”
“In the back? Wait…. the back of what?!?”
Before I had a chance to mentally process what was happening, I had already pulled my knees to my chest and she was applying hot wax to the perimeter of my asshole. She yelled “pull!” ripped the strip off, and it was finally over. Yes, dearest readers, my asshole has been waxed.
All in all, it wasn’t that bad. I’m pretty good at taking pain (although I do not enjoy it) and it was way less painful than when I’ve waxed my bikini line myself.
I do want to respond to a couple of comments left on the last post, and I might as well do it here…
Anonymous: “You forgot to mention the motivation that it turns you on–you, not the purveyors of unrealistic standards…”
Umm, no. I didn’t forget to mention anything. It doesn’t turn me on. I am not turned on by the idea of it and I am not turned on by the results. There is nothing about this that turns me on. However, as I tried to indicate in my initial post, in the past couple of years, I’ve been somewhat uncomfortable receiving oral sex, and I had hoped this would make me more comfortable. I don’t think it will.
Anonymous 2: “…the end result is just wonderful.”
Wonderful for who? I think J prefers the hairless look (and feel?) but he’s said he doesn’t really care and would rather me avoid the discomfort. And if this is the end result, it isn’t wonderful, it’s just hairless. For the record, I typically shave almost everything, and I keep what isn’t shaved trimmed very short. If the end result you speak of is more enjoyment of oral sex, I don’t see how this will be any different. I hope it is, but I doubt it.
So, that’s it. I’m hopeful, doubtful, hairless, and only slightly less annoyed than this…