If you’re not Brazillian…

Don’t wax like one. If you never listen to another thing I say, ever again, fine… but trust me on this one.

Avoid it at all costs.

A friend of mine was getting married, and she insisted I go with her to the spa for the day. I’m not a huge fan of strangers touching my naked body- but oh well- one must always do what the bride wants. It’s karmic law.

It was my first day in San Diego and I knew with the partying ahead it’d be good to have a nice peaceful day. They handed us bathrobes & flutes of champagne when we walked in the door. Ah. Morning drinking- the universal sign of a vacation. It had officially begun. We had our nails done, eyebrows, massage…. and drank a bottle of champagne between us- at least. We were giggling like a bunch of prom queens, when they came to get us for our waxing.

S- She’d like a Brazilian.

J- Yeah- and a new car. Shut up.

S- Yes, you do- now quit being such a country bumpkin and throw your stupid razor away. Aren’t you tired of always shaving it? Try it out- it’s not that bad. You’ll be hooked for life.

J- Oh alright- fine.

Famous last words, as they say.

The woman led me back to some nice quiet room with what appeared to be a regular massage style table.

W- He’ll be right in.

J- Excuse me? He?

W- Yes, Matthew. You can go ahead and undress if you’d like.

Uh no… I would not like… I would much rather get the rest of my clothes on and get the hell out of dodge. See what happens to me when I’m a freaking pushover? I end up in these situations ALL the time. I sit nervously on the edge of the table… crossing every single available limb. Willing my endangered pubes to fall out spontaneously before Matt gets there.

No luck… they’re oh-so-firmly planted and not leaving without a fight. (I still get goosebumps even typing that sentence.)

He comes in and is fucking gorgeous- of course- and I have to bail.

J- I’m sorry- but I have to draw the line at a hot guy doing this. Sorry.

M- Relax, I’ve seen a million and besides, I’m gay. Have you had a chance to decide from the menu?

J- Oh that makes it all better. The menu… that’s hysterical. Just take it all off. No cute little heart shaped landing strip for me, thanks.

M- Ok…Relax- it’ll all be over in a second.

Oh goody…more famous last words.

M- Ok. Hand me your robe- and get on your knees on the table. Great… now relax and rest on your elbows…

Oh. My. Fucking. Hell. You’ve got to be kidding me. Don’t get me wrong- I’m fond of this position but generally there’s a wild naked man behind me… not a beautiful gay man holding hot wax.Relax… ha fucking ha. Yeah. Like that’s ever going to happen with your naked ass in the air.

I must mention…there are places on your body that feel heat differently. Tender spots… like your asshole. Holy Christ on the Cross- it burns like you’ve been shot or something. Yikes. I bite my lips to keep from shouting “NEVERMIND” It’s too late.  I fight to relax and not shriek every time he puts more wax on… but damn it to hell- it’s HOT.

However. I should have relaxed. I should have laid my head down and enjoyed the fiery paste being applied… because it was NOTHING compared to the white hot suffering about to commence.

M- Ready?

J- No… maybe we should just wash them off.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip. I can’t help it, I yelled. So would you.

J- FUUUuuuck. Omg…

To call it waxing is so wrong…. and everything Brazilian is good- something that also makes the name of this procedure completely misleading.

This is good old fashioned torture. Plain and simple. If they’d thought to use this method at Guantanamo we’d have had Osama Bin Laden in seconds.  The pain is unreal- blinding even. As with any waxing- it’s over pretty quickly once they have those little cotton strips on… but my experience prior to this only included legs & eyebrows…

I was afraid to look down at first- absolutely positive he’d torn off my clitoris with one of those evil waxy strips. My poor little vagina- she’s all red and sad. I’m wondering what sick fuck thought this up anyway- and I’m silently blessing my Gillette razor- which will forever have a job with me.

He spreads some sort of gel on my skin after all the torture has ended- which takes some of the sting out. Sort of. Ouch. Holy silky vagina, batgirl… it is pretty cool.

M- That wasn’t so bad, now was it.

J- Worse- but like the Gynocologist- over now, so I can get on with my life.  Thank you- you’ll be the only man I ever do that with.

M- Don’t say that yet- try it out and see first. Have a great vacation.

What they don’t tell you is that it transforms you into Miss Silkymuff Nakedsnatch after this procedure. It has you strutting around, willing any man to challenge you correctly enough that he gets to see the magnificence of your sacrifice. Come on…please- make my day so I can make yours. I could never drink Grey Goose with a fresh Brazilian wax- I’d end up starring in a porno.

Again… famous last words 🙂

Straight lines, please.

I dated a guy who was bi-curious once. I tried to be as supportive as I could be. Literally.

He bought me a strap on… oh boy… WTF kind of thank you note do you write for that one?

Dear Boyfriend, never in my 31 years has anyone bought that for me before. Thank you- I was completely surprised. Here’s to the Fifth of Grey Goose that will get you what you’re hoping for.Cheers. xo J

I admit I stepped up to the plate and walked away from the experience with this…

  • Men have it way harder than we do. Trust me. It fucking sucks to be the guy. Not only did my ass, thighs and back hurt the next day, my neck was out and I was supremely annoyed and completely put out. Ugh. Ugh. Argh. Not only did I never look at him the same way again- I hated him a little for putting me in such an uncomfortable situation. I suppose if you have a dick it’s a little different. The electric blue Feeldoe was not ever what I wanted for my birthday. Incidentally it was the first thing he packed when he moved.
  • You have to be really clear about your limits. If you try to run with it… take one for the team, so to speak… you’ll find yourself where I did… with two men.. interested in each other… freaking the fuck out and running for the nearest exit. NOT GOOD. NOT FUN. Trust me. DO NOT PRETEND TO BE OK WITH IT. Embrace your intolerance in this instance. Please. Because it’s truly horrifying when you find yourself in that moment.
  • Missionary sex is highly underrated. It’s my favorite in fact… and you cannot have that in this instance. Well maybe… but I don’t think I’d ever be attracted to a man again if his ankles had been around my neck. Sorry. Double standard maybe, but sheesh, can you blame me? Ackkkkk I’m way too visual.
  • If you cross a line you aren’t comfortable with – you may never like him again. This is ultimately what happened in our instance. In true form, I tried to be supportive, tried to be accepting and loving and sweet- and was fucking blindsided by how utterly horrified I was to have the man I wanted so much to be aggressive and sexy… want me to take a masculine role (or fuck him, as my sister loves to say) I never looked at him the same way ever again.
  • I love masculine men who have no sexual ambiguity. I want him to know he only wants me. Otherwise I’m not interested… I don’t mind kissing women- because it’s just too good- but they’re of no use to me beyond that- sorry. Love beautiful girls- but I’m completely hetero. If I have to worry about my man looking at girls AND boys? I’m not happy. I’m not faithful- I’m on a mission to replace your ambiguous ass.

Thank heavens for the blatantly straight men of the world who approach me. I adore you- one and all…. and no offense to your ambiguous brethren- I just want a man who can’t sleep at night thinking about me. I’ve earned one. 🙂