My vagina starts feeling like it’s chewing a piece of cool peppermint and a nuclear-hot chicken wing at the same time, contracting around nothing as the fire-and-ice sensation strikes with a vengeance. My lady bits feel under siege, and I cry out in pain when I shut my legs, because it makes it that much worse.
Shower! This shit has to come off immediately!
I jerk my shorts up, and start to rush to the bathroom, when someone starts knocking.
“Bo? It’s Viv. Your father asked me to bring something up for you.”
Shit! Not now. Of all the damn times in the world.
It’s not like I can tell her I have to wash my fiery vagina, so I hobble spread-legged to the door, fighting back the tears as my downstairs lady goes to war.
I’m almost worried it’s going to eat a hole in my shorts as I open the door. A painful image of a dragon breathing fire or acid from my crotch distracts me from whatever Viv is saying, as I bite back the whimper of pain that is trying to turn into a scream of agony.
It isn’t until she thrusts something at me that I remember I’m holding the door open and standing in front of her like I’m trying to dump a baby out from between my legs.
All the ice feeling has subsided, giving me no relief from the unrestrained burning as I try to focus on Viv. And the box of tampons she’s trying to hand me.
“Are you okay?” she asks as I snatch the tampons away—stupid asshole father—and toss them to the ground.
“Fine,” I wheeze, barely holding in that scream.
Think of the Arctic, Bo. Think of all the penguins sliding around the ice and snow… My crotch would melt the Arctic if I went there right now. Then the sweet and innocent penguins would be homeless and easy prey to all those killer whales. Poor little penguins.
“Bo?” Viv prompts, retracting me from my twisted thoughts.
“I have to go save the penguins,” I tell her, and then realize what I just said. Stupid, mean, cruel mind. “I mean my vagina,” I tell her, wincing when I realize my mouth is still leaking stupidity.
“I mean… I have to take a shower,” I bite out, barely reining in the desire to claw my shorts off and start shoving ice into the fire pit.
“Okay…”
I shut the door in her face, and hobble to the bathroom. I whimper when I have to close my legs in order to peel my shorts off, because those flames seem to shoot inward, trying to reach my chest. Holy mother of pearl, that stuff is insane. How did it make it to the tester phase?
I leap into the shower, blasting myself with cold water. It doesn’t seem to be working fast enough, so I lie down in the tub, arch my back, and let the spray hit me right in the pit. Yep.
My life is officially spiraling out of control.
Relief slowly starts to fill me when the fire either fades or my crotch goes numb from the consistent cold spray. I stay that way for so long that my skin starts to turn blue from the incredible, blessed cold water.
My teeth start to chatter, which forces me to pray for the best and hope the fire doesn’t return when I’m not under the water. My hair is wet and now a little messy since there was no shampooing or conditioning going on, but I’m not risking a hot water shower just to remedy my hair.
After wrapping up in a towel, I walk toward my phone, glaring at the stupid gel on the bed. But then I see the note, and decide to finish reading it.
When I pick up where I left off, I realize it would have been best to finish reading the embarrassing letter before dealing with the vagina assassin.
By the way, the tubes are the best. You rub them on like chap stick. Even tastes good. Wink. Wink. The gel is incredible, but only use a tiny amount. Give it a few minutes to start working. If you use too much, it could get too intense. I suggest ice if you attempt too much.
Damn it!
I type out a quick text to her.
ME: No to the gel.
Immediately there’s a response.
SHANNA: You used it! Yay!! Oh, and the gel is a definite go. It’s everyone’s favorite. What’s your deal with it?
ME: It’s dangerous if you use too much.