My husband and I have been happily married for over 17 years now (yes, I was a teen bride—obviously), and keeping the spark alive in our relationship has been a delightful challenge. We’ve explored various ways to amp up the passion: from lingerie to toys, and yes, even some adult films (but no, we’ve never used a drill).
However, my favorite method of adding some excitement has been through the art of pubic hair styling. Over the years, I’ve shaped my hair into various designs—hearts, arrows, and even a martini glass. I’ve just realized that I’m a bit of an artist in this unconventional medium! And if a design doesn’t quite turn out as planned, I simply make it a Rorschach test and we still have a good time. (No, I won’t be sharing any pictures with this post.)
For my husband’s last birthday, I thought I’d surprise him with a Brazilian wax. Now, I’d never undergone any waxing before, let alone a procedure that involved removing all the hair from my intimate area. I figured if I was going to do it, I might as well go all in! So, I scheduled an appointment, a little nervous but excited about the surprise.
On the day of the appointment, I gave the technician a sheepish smile when she asked if it was my first time. “Yes,” I replied, trying to sound brave. She explained the process, starting with trimming the hair. It turns out I had quite the jungle down there. As she snipped away with tiny scissors, I couldn’t help but giggle, which felt a bit strange considering the situation.
Then came the moment of truth. “Okay, I’m going to start with the most sensitive area first,” she said. “I’ve given birth to two kids; how bad can this be?” I thought, trying to muster some courage. But when the wax strip came off, I screamed internally, “HOLYMOTHEROF—!” Instead, I managed a weak “I’m okay” while she pressed down on my pubic bone to ease the pain.
The session felt like an eternity of discomfort, but soon the worst was behind me—though the rest wasn’t a walk in the park either. Once the waxing was complete, she applied a soothing salve that I can’t remember the name of. I was too busy wishing for a massage or maybe a smoke.
But the absurdity of the whole experience isn’t why I won’t be getting another Brazilian wax. No, it’s for three other reasons. First, when I finally got off the table and caught sight of myself in the mirror, I was horrified—not just because of the lack of hair, but I noticed my stretch marks were now glaringly visible. They looked like strange little fingers pointing downward.
Fortunately, my husband didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he loved the new look. Second, without any hair to cushion things, I was feeling frisky all the time! My husband didn’t consider this a problem, but it became an issue for me. I found myself wanting to pounce on him in the most inappropriate places. We ended up having a whirlwind week of intimacy!
But then came the third reason: the aftermath. As my hair began to grow back, the joy turned to agony. I quickly realized that waxing was not for me. The itching was annoying, sure, but I also dealt with painful ingrown hairs. I felt like I was turning into a character straight out of a medieval fantasy—definitely not a good look!
So, no more Brazilian waxes for me. I’ll stick to my creative pubic hair designs to keep things spicy. I’m already contemplating a chili pepper next!
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In summary, the Brazilian wax was an experience I won’t repeat, thanks to a combination of pain, unexpected side effects, and my own creative flair for pubic hair art.