Bareback

WARNING: The contents of this blog are fairly explicit and pretty personal. Read of your own compulsion. I don't want to hear if you were offended!

I was going to write about the sexual fantasies that tickle our fancies (following extensive "research"), but recent events have forced me to change my mind. Some of you are going to continue on and read this, then assume that it pertains to sex. Do not be fooled by your own ignorance. This is about an obsession with clearing clutter. As you might know, I spent the numerous hours between Monday night and Wednesday morning cleaning my apartment after witnessing filth beyond my imagination in my own living space. We won't talk about the cow who created the filth and absconded without even leaving an explanatory note. Anyway, I suppose I was on a roll with the cleaning and the clearing. I was unstoppable. After I finished with my apartment, I went to work on myself. Gave myself a mani-pedi. Shaved my 'pits, shaved my legs. Nair-ed my stomach, tweezed my eyebrows. As I began my bi-weekly hedge-trimming, I wondered for the umpteenth time what it would be like if I didn't have to keep using the scissors, what It might look like bald and if I shouldn't just take the plunge and do it once and for all. I've been waffling back and forth on the question of waxing for over a year (To Wax or Not To Wax?). I decided last night that it was time to just go ahead and yank those wiry suckers out of their follicles. Bald Eagle, baby!

I went on the internet and did some research to boost my courage and reassure myself that I was doing the right thing. It wasn't encouraging. For the most part, the articles out there in cyberspace like to emphasize that the pain is horrific and unbearable, then they turn right around and say, "but you'll LOVE the results!" Maybe I have a mental block. But all I could think of was this pain and I wondered how you could "LOVE the results!" after such an experience. How beautiful could it be where you go through that much pain and just keep going back? No one says how long the pain is supposed to last, by the way. They just emphasize all the things that could go wrong and that you want to try and avoid. Mm-hm, how about we hear more about the actual experience, internet bikini-waxing gurus?? Nevertheless, I trudged ahead. I woke up this morning and headed to the nail shop, armed with a glowing optimism that was laden with ignorance...and a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I would live to regret this day.

So I went to the Asians with their acrylic and nail polish and lack of English. Somehow I managed to communicate that I wanted a wax and so we walked into the back room, me and the Asian lady. She asked me, "You wanna takiroroff (take it all off)?" (at least, I assume that's what she said) and I said, "No, I want a little triangle when you're done." Then she goes, "Lemme see." The lack of hesitation with which I dropped my draws was rather shocking, considering I'd never met this woman before in my life, not to talk of showing her my "down-below". Anyway, I showed her and drew an imaginary triangle where I wanted mine to be, then she said, "Ok, " grabbbed the talcum powder and nodded at my shorts. I took that to mean that I could get "nekked", so I stripped from the waist down, hopped onto the tissue-lined bed and lay down, eagerly and naively anticipating what would happen next.

A flurry of Johnson's Baby Powder snowed down on me, some waxing strips were laid on my belly, she spread my legs and went to work. I have to say, those first twenty rips were pretty painful. I tried to let her know that it was my first time and that she should be gentle, but I don't think she understood. Each time she slathered wax on me, she sucked in her breath--Ssssss--as if to say, "This is going to hurrrrrrt....," laid down the waxing strip, and let 'er rip. And, boy, did it rip! I strong sha--I no shout. I did forget to breathe for about 3 seconds, though. With the second rip, I felt tears well up in my eyes, but I smiled bravely and let out a quivering breath. By the fifth rip, I needed to shout, but I didn't want the people outside to know what was happening. So I shouted in my throat: "MMMM!" and thrashed my legs a bit. At that point, all I could think about was the fact that she hadn't even gotten to the nether regions, the tenderest part of the peach, and that when she got there, I was going to die. I was going to burst a blood vessel in my brain and just die. She tore some more hair and flesh off me, at which point I blacked out. When I woke up, she was done.

Yeah right. I wish that's what happened. Instead, at that point, I raised one of my arms weakly and covered my eyes, still shaking my legs. She laughed at me, which translated to: Sebi you said you want to wax? You never see anything!

Well, then she got there. The nether regions. And I don't know what it was: maybe I was motivated by her laughter or maybe I had reached a place beyond pain, but the waxing of my Place of Sweet Surrender was actually the least excruciating pain of all. In fact, I quite enjoyed it. The erotic warmth of the wax traveled down to my toes, and the rrrrip of the waxing strip as it took my hairs with it didn't have the quite the same sting as before. In fact, since my brain was no longer preoccupied with surviving the pain, I had time to marvel at the fact that a strange Asian lady was looking at, fingering and spreading my most private of privates and I wasn't even self-conscious about it! Had I become an exhibitionist and masochist all in a matter of minutes? I asked myself, are masochists made or are they born? When did this self-liberation occur and where had I been when it was happening?

I was almost sad when the experience came to an end. She soothed the area with some baby oil, brought out a pair of tweezers to take care of some strays, and I directed her to a few that she missed. That was a truly priceless moment. "No, you missed these ones right here...yeah, pluck that one...and that one...fabulous!" When I asked for a mirror, I knew then that there is nothing I cannot do in this life. She explained her work to me, pointing here and there, I gave an approving nod and thanked her, and just like that, we were done. Together we laughed at the amount of hair that she had ripped out of me, and then she informed me that "most people just takiroroff." She seemed disappointed in me, and a bit confused at my decision to go with the triangle. I wanted to explain to her that the internet bikini-waxing gurus said that first-timers shouldn't go Bald Eagle, but she probably wouldn't have understood. So I said, "Next time," and she nodded: Great! Then she left the room and left the door open as I put on my shorts so the whole world would have a chance to see her work. Bloody cow.

So yeah, it was a pretty good experience, I have to say. Twelve of the most unforgettable minutes I will ever have. I'm not sharing because I feel a need for the world to know what I look like at the moment (because you couldn't and don't know, even though I'm sure your imagination might be working on it--lemme help you: it's beautiful *wink*), but because I finally feel truly clean. My apartment is clean, my body is totally clean (at least in my OCD mind) and I've learned something about myself: I'm fearless. And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is worthy of blogging about.

Or I'm an exhibitionist with no shame and a mouth that runs like tap. Whatever. I'll redeem myself at some point in life.