I have a high tolerance for pain. I’ve dealt with fractures and scrapes with nothing but a shrug and a smile. And these are the exact thoughts I had when I decided to wax my bikini area, on my own, for the very first time. But before I get into the details of my experience, let me first unravel the series of events that led me to this extremely silly decision.
It was the last day of college and I was super excited about my farewell party the same day. I’d spent my entire savings on a really pretty black dress and nude heels. I had just enough money to pay the entry fee for the party (I was always broke in college!). That left with me no money to get my hands and legs waxed. And there was no way I was turning up with hairy hands and legs. So, I went out and bought some wax (Rs 50) and cut up an old pair of jeans to use as strips. I couldn’t afford a wax heater so I just put some wax into a steel bowl and heated it over the gas stove (mistake #1).
I started with my hands and simply used the technique waxing ladies use at parlours – spread wax in the direction of the hair growth and then pull in the opposite direction. By the time I reached my legs, I was pretty good at it (or so I thought!). As I reached my upper thighs, I got the worst idea of my life – why not just wax my bikini area as well? You know when you give a pyromaniac a box of matches and he wants to burn down an entire building? Those were my exact feelings when I had that wax applicator in my hand.
How painful could it be? I had a good tolerance for pain anyway. So I spread my legs in front of a mirror and smeared a line right down the centre of my vaginal area (mistake #2). I then grabbed a fresh piece of denim cloth and stuck it to the wax. I gave it a few pats to help the hair stick to the cloth and then I pulled….
It was the worst pain I’ve felt in my life. I remember thinking I’d drawn blood, because the pain was unimaginable. I looked down and saw a bald landing strip right where the cloth had been some seconds ago. The area felt like it was on fire and all I wanted to do was douse it with a bucket of ice cold water. I couldn’t. My mom didn’t know what I was up to in my room.
The worst part is, I didn’t have the courage to continue. I was clearly disillusioned about my threshold for pain. So I gently washed the area of all the wax, turned the air conditioning on and lay down on my bed to try and gather my thoughts. I HAD A HALF-BALD VAGINA!
I arrived at the party with just a hint of a limp in my walk. I half-smiled my way through the crowd, found a quiet corner to sit and didn’t move the entire night. I couldn’t even dance (and I LOVE dancing). I made a promise to myself that day. Never would I get my bikini area waxed again. Even from professionals. The pain is too much to handle.
If I do fall in love one day, I’ll find a guy who appreciates fuzz down there. We were born like this, boys. We don’t come hairless. Also, half-bald vaginas are not my thing, and never will be.
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