There I was, my womanliness fully exposed for a stranger on a table in Presidio Heights. As she prepared the wax, I had a horrible, sick thought: What if the hot wax feels good? What if I like it? I couldn’t figure out how I’d channeled the maturity of a seventh-grade boy, but I started to laugh nervously and she patted my leg again to calm me.
I won’t sugar-coat it for you. The removal of my hair at the top of the “V” hurt like a mother. But Karla knew what she was doing and she did it quickly and—as I saw later—perfectly.
The next phase was something I dreaded even more. She’d be removing the hair further down, in the (ahem) labia region. (Sweet Jesus, where’s the vodka when you need it?) For this, she asked me to extend my left leg and rest it on her hip. I readied myself for the most horrible pain of my life, but after the strip was removed, I was surprised to find that this removal was far less painful than the previous one. After a couple of more pulls, Karla told me my front was done. “Time to do the back,” she announced. She asked me to turn over on my stomach. Where was the crouching on all fours? This position seemed dignified in comparison.
Now this was what I’d really been dreading. I’m not an ass girl. This is probably too much to reveal on a public Web site (but since I’m telling the world about my hair-free vagina, why not?). I like to think I’m adventurous, but I’ll never be the girl who makes a special request for any back-door action. So at this point in the appointment I’m sweating bullets.
“Spread the cheeks, please,” Karla requested.
As I felt the heat of the wax, I wished for a leather strap to bite on. I tried to remember algebra. I sang songs in my head. Mary had a little lamb, little lamb ...Then, rrriiippp. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt at all. Another couple of pain-free rips and I was done.
I thanked Karla and made my way to the front to pay. Marilyn herself came out to ask me how it went. I told her it was pretty easy and not as bad as I’d expected, but that it did hurt a little. “Well, anytime anyone’s yanking hairs out of your pussy, there’s gonna be a little pain,” she said. I liked her instantly and vowed to make Marilyn and her staff the official keepers of my nether regions.
My learning is this: it’s not as bad as you think. If you get your eyebrows waxed, you can probably withstand the pain of a Brazilian. If you’re remotely curious, I say go for it. But do a little homework and go someplace reputable so you’re not crouching down on all fours behind some thin shower curtain in a lonely, dark back room.
One of the other Brazilian myths I’m still waiting to confirm is that you’re more sensitive because of your newly shorn privates and thus, more orgasmic. I’ve not yet had the pleasure of finding this out, but apparently Eva Longoria was quoted as saying she had her first orgasm ever after getting a Brazilian.
The one thing I can confirm is how good it feels to give this area a little care and love. I might be the only one who ever sees it, but I feel more put together, somehow; the same way I feel after I get a manicure, a facial, or highlights. As Marilyn says, “A clean girl is a happy girl.”
I couldn’t agree more.
