I decided to go for my first bikini wax before a holiday to Miami. My choice to go for one was simple: I was seriously tired of endlessly shaving down there. The problem with shaving is that even though you spend hours in the shower, shaving places you can only reach by looking like a ballerina on crack, within two hours the first sign of stubble shows! You also have to deal with the inevitable shaving rash and ingrown hairs which then makes you look like certain ‘google images’ you only look up to gross yourself out…
Attempts at self-styling always end end badly. Shaving inevitably resembles Hitler’s moustache. Hair removal cream, leaves you standing about like John Wayne for ten minutes looking like you’re about to have a shoot out at 12 noon. So I decided to opt for a Brazilian wax for my holiday and daydreamed about frolicking on the beach in the tiniest of bikinis, not a care in the world, especially about what’s sticking out where. I knew it would be painful but it couldn’t be that bad…could it?
So off I went to my waxing appointment, innocently skipping down the sunny road with flowers in my hair and bunnies following me. As soon as I got in she told me to get on the bed and take my knickers off to which, out of awkwardness, I replied, 'what, no dinner first?’ She didn’t laugh.
I took my knickers off and laid back. She asked me if this was my first time and I replied yes. I was a complete waxing virgin. Now, being a mixture of Greek and Indian, lets just say I don’t have a few pesky stray girly hairs that need to be tidied up. I mean these were no pussy, (no pun intended), pansy-arsed hairs…these were tough, SAS style bloody ‘come on if you’re hard enough’ hairs. My waxing lady, however, had no mercy. Believe me. It was like getting a wax from Pat Butcher. She told me she was late to meet her friends but her bedside manner made me wonder if she was late for her second job as ‘Mistress Darkness’ in the depths of Soho!
Although I was scared, there was no ,'You alright love, shall I take it slow?’ OOOOH NO! First she told me to lift my leg in a position I’ve only done once, drunk, in Ibiza. Next I felt warm wax spread on me and a delicate pressing of paper. 'Hmmm,’ I thought, ‘this ain’t so bad'. Then the most horrific searing pain ripped through my body. A pain I’ve never felt before from piercing myself, to bladder surgery, to even liver damage -but nothing, nothing prepared me for this. My whole body shook and a pool of sweat gathered beneath me. After five strips she opened me up and my body sprung into defence.
'I can’t do it anymore, please stop!' I shouted. She looked at me, and in her thick east London accent said, 'look if you’re gonna complain then I’ll just have to stop and leave the rest as it is.' I looked at the Mohican between my legs and told her to carry on. I bit my lip hard as the pain got worse and worse. I looked down. BLOOD! F-ing BLOOD! I’m only having a wax! But there was no time to say anything as she told me to turn around. I wanted to hit her from the pain, but to be honest, right there and then, I felt like her bitch.
I lay on my belly, my butt in the air as she told me to grab my butt cheeks and 'spread ‘em open'. 'Do you know how many times I’ve said no when men have asked me that? Yet there I was, spreading my arse cheeks open. All I could hear was 'FURTHER, FURTHER'. I actually started to get paranoid. I don’t think anyone has ever seen that part of my body before. It was then and there that I grew a private bond with my waxing lady.
After 10 minutes I heard, 'Alright love it’s over, pop your clothes on as quick as you can, I’ve got to close up'. I got up, my whole body shaking. I put my clothes back on and as I pulled up my jeans up I felt a strange sense of shame and being used fill my body. This increased as I handed over £30. I left with my private area feeling red raw, hot and sticky. I walked down the street looking like I had been gang banged by the New Zealand rugby team. So was it worth it? Well I can safely say…
….Damn right it was! It looks great!!
Niki Durham
