My sister wrote in her journal about her perverted waxing experience. Who is so stupid to blab day and night about Ryan Gosling and then make it the password? WTF! So, I'm posting her most intimate story here for the ultimate humiliation. Go see what your colleagues at the Penny Design Agency think about you now.
See after we finished school, we moved in together to save money. Now, she is on an intervention crusade with me. All I have to say is: Never ever fuck with my Xbox again!
Saturday, August 24th
I watched the ferry crossing the plane of dark water in front of Blake Island. The sky was already dark from the clouds of fall drifting in from the Pacific Ocean. The little wave tops were whipped by gusts. A chill crossed my soul only looking outside. The room was warm from the heating. The heating was working only a little. However, it already dried the air presaging how dry and irritating the heater air would become in the midst of winter. That's when I knew I needed a little summer on my inside.
An hour later, I was walking down Pike street. The walking crowd was wrapped up in coats. Knit beanies and statement coats were going strong this fall. With all the pastel colored brown and black coats, I stood out like a sore thumb. I was wearing a white dress with red stencils. The light summer fabric flapped in the gusty wind. To keep the chill out, I had put a winter strength leather jacket over me. I looked like a hoodlum with the contrast of summer dress and winter jacket.
There was a reason to keep any possible clothes friction away. Ha, I'm such a bad ass going for a Brazilian wax. Lissie, in the office, had swooned over how smooth it made her and how crazy the boys go over it. So, I put up with cold gusts cutting into my thighs. The whole area above my brown over-the-knee-boots and below the leather jacket was hurting from the cold. A little sweat dripped down my spine from the hot leather jacket.
Phew, after twenty mintes of walking, I closed the glass door of the beauty salon behind me. My brother hates this place. He complains about the tacky Christmas lights. He frowns upon the old ladies that come her to have three Asian workers massage them, while a fourth works the pedicure. He says that it is all pretend-belief. The whole thing is simply for show to parade around to the other customer what a royal treatment they are getting. The massage girls only use their pointy fingers in the nape of the neck. It's nothing like getting a full body massage from a skilled therapist.
Well, they have the cheapest deals. It's only $20 for a full Brazilian with a coupon. Take that brother: Who is the financially smart one?
A flamboyantly gay Asian man welcomed me at the reception. He snapped his hands as only gays do. His hair was styled in a giant pompadour hair cut with shiny hairspray. His shirt was based on a cubist painting. He batted his Mascara style eye lashes at me.
"Poor child, you finally made it out of that nasty weather. What can I do for you?"
"I'd like a Brazilian wax. I got the coupon right here."
"Jasmine, you have a customer."
A big Asian woman in her forties got up. From the get-go, I knew that she was in charge. She was heavy. Her face looked angry. All the young girls had cute fingernails and flairs in their hair. Jasmine was wearing non-descript green scrubs. Her hair was cut to neck length. It was thick and plain.
"You go to backroom now," she bellowed.
"I have to freshen up in the restroom first."
"Restroom is in the back, too. Opposite to treatment room."
I walked to the back past the parade of green plastic "thrones," the high chairs with the water tubs for the feet. An esthetician chair was in front of the tubs. There was one customer, an old woman with blond hair that was partially wrapped in aluminum foil. There was another customer, a young girl with her jeans rolled up her calves getting her feet exfoliated. Three working girls were eating lunch out of Rubbermaid boxes.
The restroom had cardboard boxes of towels stock piled. There was lots of green plastic. Big, yellow light bulbs lined the mirror. A cheery, "you are a star" banner hung over the mirror. A colorful Asian doll was there for good luck. My long amber colored hair flowed nicely down and over my leather jacket in the mirror image. I popped the two Ibuprofen pills for the pain. I got a moist wipe out of my blue Forever 21 purse and wiped my private parts clean. You don't want any fumes making the esthetician uncomfortable about her work.
"You go in now." Jasmine had been waiting for me in front of the restroom. I was a little startled with how close she stood to the door. I guess the back area was a little crammed.
The treatment room was a small room. A lot of colorful jars stood on the counter. There was an overhead cabinet hiding towels and utensils. The tart smell of wax was heavy in the air. Scrubs of workers were hanging on one wall. I took my jacket off and hung it from a hook.
The door clicked shut behind Jasmine. I slid backward onto the vinyl cushioned treatment table. I slipped out of my over-the-knee boots. I slipped my black Maxi panties down, folded them, and stored them in my purse. My downtown area would be too sensitive to wear them again right after the treatment. I pulled my dress up to my belly. It's always so strange being half naked in front of a stranger.
Her blue-gloved fingers pulled on my skin without hesitation. She felt how taut my skin was. My labia was folded open to see how far the hair growth looped around to the inside of the outer lips. I looked sideways at the counter of jars to disassociate. There was a tea candle light flickering. The flame was licking up into the air with eager and rush flicks. Most of them were white jars with industrial printing. One was colorful with a high-end photography shot of smooth legs and bold colors. That one was my favorite.
"You skin is young and strong. Can use a lot of hard wax. You'll be very smooth."
She had big, strong arms. She stirred a jar of green and a jar of red wax. I felt very stiff and awkward on the table with my knees folded open like a butterfly. My back was tense with anticipation of the pain. Then, the wooden stick spread the first application of wax on the right side. The warm thick paste felt relaxing. I knew it was a false relaxing, a betrayal.
Jasmine stood back waving her hand over the wax to cool it. I could feel the air draft all over my groin. My whole business was folded open for her: thighs, outer lips, inner lips, and my deepest pink. The first one is the worst, I kept telling myself.
