“Go ahead and strip down from the waist to your toes. Then knock on the door when you’re ready.”
Nodding, a weary smile crossed my cheeks, and then I was left alone. Everywhere I looked, there were strips of fabric and mounds of melted wax. I started freaking out, but I slipped my pants and my underwear off before I spread my legs and looked down.
Holy shit. It was a jungle down there.
My eyes bulged. She was going to rip that shit out with wax. Nope. This was not good. None of this was good. I couldn’t shave? I could shave this away. I could do it an hour before the date. I’d be smooth if I shaved an hour before—
“Miss Leary?”
“Yes?” I asked a little too loudly.
“Are you ready for me?”
“Sorry. Um—yes,” I said.
I hopped up on the table and tossed a towel over myself as the door flew open. The technician smiled at me as I got settled on the table. Then she whipped the towel off like it was nothing. I closed my legs. I’d never been exposed to a technician the way I was now.
“First time?” she asked.
I was fucking tired of that phrase.
“We’ll start with your legs, huh?” she asked.
The legs weren’t too bad. I kept those up during the summer. I drew in deep breaths and let them out when she ripped the cloth off my skin. She bent my leg up to get the backs of my thighs. I closed my eyes and settled into the routine. It would be no different with my more sensitive areas. The same sensations, the same rhythm, the same mechanical comfort of having hair removed from my body.
“All right, we’re going to start on your Brazilian now. I’ll start with the outer side of your right vaginal lip and work my way over.”
I nodded, scared that if I spoke, I’d end up bailing on the whole thing.
The second the hot wax hit my skin, I jumped. Uh oh. This wasn’t good. She smoothed the cloth over my skin, and I closed my eyes. I tensed. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t rhythmic. This was new—big, bold, brazen.
“One, two—”
She ripped the cloth away and tears welled in my eyes as I forced myself to gulp down air. My hands curled around the edge of the table. I felt her put more hot wax on more of my pubic hair as tears rushed down the sides of my face.
“On second thought, maybe this isn’t—holy shit! Wait, wait, wait. Can we pray? To someone? Just before—mother-mmmm!”
My toes curled in so many bad ways and my fingers hurt from clutching the edge of the table. I squeezed my eyes shut as she ripped the last cloth away from my pussy, then breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. I was smooth. I was burning, and my vagina lips were probably hanging off on the strips, but I was alive.
“Is it time for my other services yet?” I asked.
“Almost,” the technician said.
Almost? What did she mean by almost?
She lifted my leg before hot wax fell into cracks and crevices no person should ever touch. My eyes widened as I looked up, locking eyes with the woman between my legs. No. This wasn’t happening. That was my asshole. It had to have hair. This wasn’t—I wasn’t—
“Oh, sweet mother of—” I cried out into the room as the cloth was ripped away.
Three times. It took three times for that woman to wax my fucking asshole. I didn’t even try to hide my tears. I didn’t even try to tame my cussing. I lay there with my legs spread wide, my entire body a pile of goop on top of her table as she threw all the cloths in the trash can.
“When you’re ready, I have a cup of water for you to drink. Then I’ll escort you to your mani-pedi.”
A cup of water? To drink? Could I throw it on my burning genitalia? Could it be used to put out the fire she had started down there with all that fucking friction? I couldn’t even process the idea of a mani-pedi. I had to sit on my ass for that. Could I even do that? Would my butt cheeks tolerate it?
“Am I alive?” I asked.
The technician giggled as she laid a warm towel over me.
“Yes, you’re alive. You survived your first Brazilian. And, believe it or not, you did better than most.”
I looked at her and watched her giggle at me. She shook her head before she left the room, leaving me to pick myself up. I couldn’t feel my pussy. My ass cheeks were screaming at me. I managed to sit up as the room spun around me, and the only thing I could think about was how unlucky my future husband was.
I’d be a damn hairy beast for the rest of my life.