Friday, April 27, 2007

Stripped, waxed

The room's white, kinda dingy, and the women has me take off my bottoms and put on a Made in China a g-string that's made out of the same gauze as tea bags before I lie down on the table.

The wax is hot, thick, sticky, and she's as efficient as ever as she strips the hair off my legs.

Soon, we're down to the pink bits, my pussy and ass and she's going to strip me almost bare.

"Close, not a Brazilian," is what I've said, but she's heard Brazilian, I realize, and my trimmed hair is going down this time, wax and polish almost all the way, with just a little landing strip.

God, it hurts like a mother-fucker, I don't care what any one says; she's ripping hair out by the roots that's been left intact for most of my years and I imagine myself as smooth as a billiard ball, shiny, polished and--sore.

The pain's a little erotic, as is her hand on my ass, but it's more fun to imagine what Andre might say when he sees the (missing) muff and to wonder if I now have a part of my body that looks girlish enough to play games with--or if I'll just decide to skip the higher maintance and let the fur grow out.

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