This is a collection of real events from my life that I will never forget.
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My first time getting a bikini wax was embarrassing. Not in the normal I'm-showing-all-I-have-to-someone- who-is-touching-me-and-is-not-a-doctor-or-someone-I-am-planning-on-being-intimate-with-at-any-point kind of way, but in the ...well, what other kind of way is there, and is there a normal way for that?
I can tell you what happened. I was getting nervous, but I was tired of shaving and decided to try waxing. I walked down the mall where I worked and made an appointment at a local esthetician for after my shift. During my shift I managed to remember that this lady would be seeing at the very least, my underwear. That morning was one of the days I had dressed by a first-come basis. Whatever came into my hand first out of my drawers, I put on. I thought it might be a good idea to put on clean underwear. I should say fresh underwear. Not that mine were ripe and filthy when I put them on, I just, well, you know. I didn't have to time to run home and change because my shift was running late. I phoned my boyfriend to bring some by for me so I could just change them in the bathroom stall at work.
When I had asked for him to bring me underwear he wanted to know what ones. I had no idea what ones were in my drawer so I said "nice ones."
My boyfriend showed up just as the person who was replacing me came in. I thanked him and slipped into the bathrooms with the plastic bag he had handed me. I opened it to discover my hot pink, ruffled underwear that are trimmed in glittery lace. The ones with the heart ribbons on the side. The frilliest thong I owned was sitting in the bag staring at me. Flashy pink and bright satin. I had a choice, I could wear the ratty old one I had on, or I could don the fresh one and pray that she wouldn't notice.
I went down the mall corridor, boyfriend in tow and zipped into the salon, 5 minutes late.
There I am in this small white room with green plants everywhere with Enya playing through recessed speakers overhead hoping that this lady wouldn't think I was trying to impress her with my swank undies.
I'll tell you something I learned. When someone is around your crotch and their job is to make it prettier by ripping out hair by the root, you can't help but know they are looking at your underwear. I felt like the lady who accidently sprays herself with glitter on her cootch instead of feminine deodorant before getting a pap smear. You kind of want to explain why your underwear are very pretty and frilly basically screaming, "Look at me! I'm special!" but then again you don't want to draw attention to it anymore than you have to.
How do I know this? Because I blurted it out. I said, "I know my underwear are odd, my boyfriend picked them." It was at that point I blushed because what I had just said had sounded like my boyfriend was getting off to the idea of me getting waxed in these pink lacy undies by another lady.
I tried to fix it but it just went from odd to worse in a flash of, "I told him to bring nice ones and this is his idea of nice." Now, not only does my boyfriend sound like he's going to get off on this, but I sound like I'm an active participant in the sexual deviancy instead of passively being a prop. After that I shut up and tried to focus on the vent.
After a bit of silence she started to make small inane chatter about chick flicks I will never see or care about, music that makes me grind my teeth, and other such fluff. It must have been the pink.
I paid the fee and tipped.
This was the conversation on the way home:
"Why did you send me in there in lingerie???!?!?!?"
"You said "nice" so I picked the nicest pair."
"When I'm having my cooch looked at by another person, that is NOT the time for high fashion."
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"How was the waxing?"
"It was ok. I was surprised that the most painful part was the strip across the top."
"Really?"
"Yeah, weird, eh? The part I hated was when she started to make conversation. You know, gynos and waxers should learn that as a part of training. That when you're down there you just shouldn't try small talk. I feel like you're talking to my vagina."
"Yeah, it's not like it's going to answer."
"My vagina wouldn't say much, it's pretty tight lipped."
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There was a guy in high school who always bragged to us about the size of his dick. It came up in conversation fairly regularly until we just kind of let it go, and didn't really notice anymore.
I started to date him (not for his dick). He was pretty fun to date for the first bit. We went to movies, listened to music, hung out, walked along trails etc.
One night at his house we were watching television in the basement waiting for a show we both enjoyed to come on. During a commercial break he turned to look at me. "Want to see something? Like REALLY see something'?"
I just looked puzzled. His eyes lit up and he had this massive grin on his face.
He goes ahead and unzips right there on his sofa in the middle of the downstairs area with his folks upstairs. I was in shock. My mouth formed one of those comical little O's.
