Some time ago, my friend P and I were chatting about the new wave of sex, grooming and what today’s expectations are of women. Jokingly, I said ‘I just feel old, dry and hairy’. ‘Well, I can’t do anything about the first two’ she said. ‘But you should get a brazilian’.

I knew what it was of course but as a self titled feminist I always thought a woman’s vagina should look like a woman’s vagina. Not a little girls. What was so bad about a hairy vag that would make someone want to get rid of it all? ‘Oh it’s all about the sensation’ she told me. Also, for the reason just mentioned she had stopped getting brazilian waxes years ago because she had a daughter now and she wanted her daughter to know what a grown woman really looked like. Well, I don’t have a daughter and given her urging plus Sir’s recent demands I decided to give it a go.

Turning up at the local spa I was taken into a little room downstairs by a spritely young woman dressed in what looked like scrubs. ‘What do I do now?’ I was nervous. Someone I didn’t know was about to strip all of the hair off my body from the neck down while I lay there naked and vulnerable in the most unflattering but necessary bright lighting. ‘Take everything off and lay on the table’. Starting with the most painful area first she sprinkled a bit of powder on my by now very shy vagina and proceeded. To help me feel at ease she started with a bit of light banter. ‘Why now?’ she asked. I told her I wanted to get back in the saddle as it were and had not had sex with anyone but my husband for 13 years. ‘Oh it’s easy’ she told me. ‘You can get whatever you want in this city’ rip ‘I mean, I had this lover who lives in the same building as me.’ rip ‘We don’t have much in common’ rip ‘but he has a huge cock and he really knows how to use it’ rip ‘You don’t mind me talking like this do you?’ rip.

 I loved it. I’m not sure why she chose to disclose these things about herself to me unless, she does that with everyone. (Somehow though I couldn’t imagine the mother of three packing kale salad in her kids’ lunch boxes being too receptive to this type of  chin music).
She was giving me hope. She was speaking openly, even joyously about using a lover to just be her lover. No strings, no hang ups, no emotional luggage. Also, in my circle of women friends it’s still taboo to glorify the size of a mans cock. True, we had all had lovers with varying cocks and the best sex does not always come ‘packaged’ but a very large cock feels different if not frankly, a little uncomfortable at times. So it’s worth a mention.

She told me to bring my knees up to my chin. I had always wondered how they take the hair off that part and suddenly it became startlingly obvious. During the whole procedure she pulled at my labia like a gynecologist with expert ease making sure I really would be bald as a baby. No strays. ‘I see women’s bodies all the time’ (clearly) ‘and yours is nice. You’ll be just fine’.

‘But now’ she said, ‘I am dating a much nicer guy. He has a small cock and he’s not that great with it.’ We proceeded with my legs and underarms while we both lamented the nice guy/not hot sex ratio that seemed to be all too common. Why? Was it us women who can’t get it together for a nice guy? Or was there something missing from their make up that had been replaced by a different even more valuable quality: Friendship? Emotional maturity perhaps? The mind boggles.

One thing was certain. I knew I would be back to see her again. I skipped out of there feeling on top of the world. As every woman with a new haircut will tell you it gives one a new sense of self, a new identity. New superpowers even. Plus, I had a ‘nice body’.
I was ready for my next adventure.

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