Is There Anything More Fun Than Waxing Your Privates? Yes, Everything
WHY YOU SHOULD CARE
While beauty is in the eye of the beholder, pain is fairly universal.
By Alex Furuya
It’s T minus three days until the Folsom Street Fair, and I am pumped. For those who don’t know, this is an annual street fair in San Francisco that celebrates all things BDSM and leather. It’s where you can unapologetically divulge your desires and dress in your best fetish gear –– or nothing at all. Basically, it’s an ecological environment where I thrive. Don’t tell my human resources department, but I love to show off my body.
I like feeling like I’m worth a million bucks. This year, for the very first time, I will walk around wearing just a black jockstrap. Like having a superpower, wearing a jockstrap comes with great responsibility. It’s a symbol of confidence and strength … plus, it makes your ass look dumb-thick. Translation: nothing but upside.
So, yes, my ass cheeks are going to be out and proud to the attendees of the Folsom Street Fair. But I need to make sure my rump will be looking its absolute best. My bum is not hirsute compared to my friends’, but it’s definitely got a little fur. It could use a bit of a cleanup, especially if my butt is going to have its premiere in front of thousands of sexy people.
I see Gwen, and she’s holding up an applicator stick with hot, pink wax. She points to my balls and whispers …
Which means, I decide with the help of one too many White Claws, that I should get a Brazilian wax. I get off Grindr and pull up Yelp to look for the closest salon, and I find a woman named Gwen to epilate my private square. But here’s a quick Waxing 101 lesson: In a Brazilian wax, an aesthetician uses hot wax to remove all the fucking hair in the pelvic region. That’s everything, including the pubic hair, the hair around the bum –– and even around the genitalia!
To confirm my life choice, I phone a friend.
“It’s not that painful! It actually feels good, and you will feel like a porn star afterward!” This convinces me.
So here I am, lying on a massage bed in a tiny closet of a salon. Belinda Carlisle’s “Heaven Is a Place on Earth” is playing, and I’m not wearing any pants or underwear. Gwen puts on some latex gloves, making a loud snapping noise in the process.
“Is this your first time?” she says, eyeing my overgrown hedges.
“Yes,” I reply. Her smile turns into a sinister grin. Oh, God, did I make a mistake?
She stirs the hot wax in the warmer, lifting up the applicator stick every so often to show off the strands of hot wax. My heart is palpitating, but I’m not nervous. I like pain! I’m a self-proclaimed masochist. I have a high pain tolerance –– I’ve eaten a Carolina ghost pepper, I had my wisdom teeth removed and, hell, I’ve been thrown onto a bed from great heights! So while I wait with bated breath for all my hair to disappear, I know this won’t hurt as much as I ––
OH, SHIT, the wax is … super hot! Oh, my God, it’s like spilling coffee on my hoo-haw. She had just applied the wax to the top left part of my pubes. Now Gwen is grabbing a strip of paper, and she slaps it on.
I swear to God, she is laughing. She looks at me straight in the eye, and I just know she’s getting high off my fear. She pulls the paper away –– I see my straggly hairs on the pink wax she’s holding up –– and then the pain kicks in.
Sometimes in life, you immediately regret a decision. In a split-second. This is that moment for me. I literally scream, “FUCK!” as the pain of my pubes being ripped out registers. I look down at the war zone and there’s a clean, red landing strip of emptiness. A single tear drops down my cheek. Oh, Lord, what have I done?
But there’s no stopping Gwen. She’s like a machine, with a single goal in mind: to remove every single strand of hair. My yelps are getting louder and louder, and I swear the people getting peaceful pedicures in the room next to mine can hear my cries. Within seven minutes, my pubic hair is gone, the skin glowing red and warm.
The next destination? The bum. To be honest, this part doesn’t hurt that much. Gwen is quick, mechanically putting hot wax on my booty and tearing out the follicles. At one point, I reach down to touch my butt cheek, and though it is warm, it is damn smooth. Smooth like pizza dough.
Did I enjoy having my butt waxed? Short answer: yes.
“All right, we will do the balls now,” says Gwen, breaking my momentary bliss. “It won’t hurt.”
Time pauses, and a divine voice speaks to me.
“Dumbass, don’t do it!” says the voice, who I’m convinced is God. “It’s going to hurt like hell.”
I turn to look at Gwen, and I sense a dark aura around her as she menacingly holds up an applicator dripping with hot wax. I look down at my gonads. My precious gonads.
“Actually, I’m just going to shave my balls,” I say. She frowns, disappointed.
I pay Gwen $40, plus $8 for tip, and I leave the salon. My pelvic region feels weird with my pants rubbing on the raw spots, but I have to say, I do feel like a porn star.
Moreover, the day teaches me a lot of lessons, mainly: I’m definitely not a true masochist. And in the future, I will just shave my pubic hair and go to a professional to get my butt waxed.
Anyhoo, I’m primed! Primed and ready to wear my jockstrap in public. Folsom Street Fair, here I come!
That night, after applying some astringent to the waxed region, I had a dream. I am walking down a dark hallway, and I turn around. Behind me I see Gwen, and she’s holding up an applicator stick with hot, pink wax. She points to my balls and whispers, “Next time ….”