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An Experience with Professional Genital Waxing
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Updated 9/08 [M 30] For the last seven years, I have gotten full Brazilian waxes done. I loved the smooth feeling, and since my girl friend also waxes it was always incredible having intercourse with "no hair down there". What I didn't like was:
- The stickiness of the residue that would sometimes take two days (and several showers) to subside.
- The redness and irritation that would come from points where the wax was "too hot" while being applied.
- Having to pull a contortion act on the table so the waxer could reach everywhere, not to mention keeping a G-string over my head (because somehow, her seeing my head would make such a difference while applying hot wax to my lower shaft and balls!).
- Having to walk through a hair salon and get looks from stylists who knew what I was going for, and clients who wondered what I was doing in the back room for so long.
But I dealt with it for the end results. Well, my old waxer retired, leaving me, for the second time in my life, with the job of finding a new waxer who did male Brazilians. By luck, a place called DepiWax had opened not too far from me, offering "unisex body treatments" for hair. I gave it a shot, figuring, if nothing else, at least I wouldn't have to deal with being in a hair salon.
All I can say is WOW! DepiWax is apparently a chain, and also makes their own products. However, it is a hard wax, not a strip that is used. So, instead of having hot wax, then a cloth strip pressed on, then the rip, it is more like having a warm, thicker wax, applied, then it dries in a few seconds, then it is peeled off. About 1/100th of the pain of the old way! On top of which, hardly any residue and no redness! Very professional, spa-like atmosphere (at least at the one I went to) and no shyness. Basically, I was nude under a cover, and when it was time to wax, the cover came off and I just lied back while she went to work. Because it doesn't involve all the steps of the old way, she would use one hand to move my skin whichever way she wanted, apply the wax with the other hand, wait a few seconds and rip it off. Afterwards, she applied soothing lotion everywhere, and while it wasn't a sexual act, there also wasn't the "that's a penis, I can't touch/look at parts of it" like I felt in the old salon.
I guess my advice is, if you are going to get waxed, or have been turned off by waxing, find a place that uses hard wax or Depiwax. It's a totally different experience. The true test is that, instead of waiting two days afterwards, my girlfriend and I were having intercourse the same day I had it done!
Updated 3/05 [M 62] Everyone mentions the pain of a wax-job. Here’s my story and it has nothing to do with wax. The whole crew got it at the same time so it must have been environmental: a hearty crop of Jungle-Rot, Crotch-Rot, Burnin’-Balls – a very tender nasty itch where skin met skin; worse when sweaty. “Take three Panadol and come back tomorrow” wasn't good enough so I visited the local herbery, a very old and bespecacled man. Sure he had the cure but one must understand that this is meant for feet … a day-glo red liquid, almost pure spirit. Yowee! He fixed me: one application daily for three days.
I won’t ask My Boys to do anything I won’t, but I chickened out right at the start of the slow process of painting: this stuff bit hard! So I stripped and dashed on about 50ml from a cup. Yowee? Deathly cold at first then one huge wave of pure, erection-killing hurt: pain to the power of 10!! You think John Travolta moved all over the floor? He’s a sleepy o! ld tom-cat: that few minutes of panic left big red patches in my medium-term memory, and it took an hour for the pain-frown to fade. But the itch went away for a good while.
Twice more? And I’d better get some under my arms … 5H1T, do they pay me for this? The old boy guaranteed results and he had a way of making me believe him. So I stripped again, got that pink cup and the 50 mils, squinched up all apertures, and dashed. Cold!!! And then a slight prickling in the bad bits: the fungus pulling all its roots back in? Er, OK, so let’s get this over and done with: I lay on a red towel with TWO cups for simultaneous dashes. Again my brilliant-striped member dived for cover so I know for sure I’m not a Submissive … but I worked that out only after I waited out the bush-fire in my charm-pits. I hardly noticed my smouldering toes.
Of course the boys wanted to know the why of my new colour scheme: “the good news fellers is that all the itches have gone…” The Foreman ! pinned me with his gaze and scratched so-gently: “And?” I dropped my jeans, flashing plain black cotton knickers and a bright red crotch. “Pure spirit…” He and everyone else winced at the thought. “No itch?” Beatific smile. My shirt was already off: “here too?” Nod: “the first time, it (expl-del) hurts for a long minute, and the itch doesn’t come back until the next day. The second, it’s cold and tingly; I think the third will be just cold. This … is what it is and how you do it! Who’ll be the second Member?”
They were a damn good crew; a collection of rogues, con-men, thieves, pirates, brigands, gaol-birds and others; you’d travel a real long way to find better than them. The staid old herbalist just roared laughing: I just had to flash in and tell him about my Red Balls Brigade!
Updated 2/05 [M 52]
Hey wow, I've got completely nude nuts! Does every man with newly bald balls have the same fascination? I'm sitting stroking my newness. I mean, asking a friend to start a long reputedly painful process on and around the family jewels is one thing: wedding-tackle is Privileged Property! So do you rock into a Beautician and ask the same question? Knowing damn well there's no common language?
Men use solaria too, despite the primarily feminist-cosmetic aura of Beauty Parlours; not one 4WD magazine on the coffee-table! Language aside, what exactly DO women do behind those curtains? The front looks like Star-Trek! Deep in the interior, do they do male depilation, the Brazilian bit? By now it's not just-another-wank-fantasy, it coming real. Hey guys, I'm an Anglo not a local laddie but I've practiced and consulted dictionaries!
The solarium I use in this winter land is a super-duper-hi-tech standup; and the lady just didn't listen - well, she completely missed in three languages = six sins: "brazil" and "wax" and "Bikini". An immediate re-attempt was rebuffed only by local-closing-time!
That late-dim snowy-blowy next mid-afternoon I spied the magic words. Palp-it-ate, can-we-do-it-yes-we-must. Just like cold-dipping after a sauna: do it real quick. Delicately up the frozen steps. A pleasant Blondinka understood my wish for Vitamin K; it's the same word in Beijing and Amsterdam.
After a gest-versation convers-ticulation she agreed to wax some part of hairy me. The solar was a lay-down, economy job; a mistake because my central hangers-on hung over-close to the source: the standup had no lamps in the floor. While ruminating on communication I should have wrapped My Precious Twins in the proffered paper towels. One learns ... eventually. I fronted, fully re-dressed to shirt-level. Arms? Excuse me but - the minor consternation was relieved by the broadly-smiling Senior Person: bikini?? I've learned to be knicker- warming charming in another language! OK!!
The lady on the twinned work-bench doesn't crack a boo; me deciding on a "Form P- 155", a civil-serviceism for ‘if in doubt go wee-wee'. A Shoji-screen appears and I doff shoes etc, arse-southwards bare until the socks (cold feet). There is my co-sufferer in the mirror-tiles, bleaching-eyebrows and all: a guessing in her glance?
Blondinka powders my puff, externally unselfconscious; I demonstrate what exactly I want bared ... not just a simple operation involving body-hair. As soon as she laid on the first big warm sticky smear, I knew she'd interpreted widely. There was no buzzing of clippers to enjoy, just very busy fingers and little rectangles of white cloth. Green wax didn't work too well - so try the red...! She started at the left side of my swelling Precious; on the flat country there well below the foot-hills (by this I felt a FOOT long) and out they come as she stretches my firmness one way and rips wax t'other. Some patches are sensitive, but I am starting to enjoy this scientific research - did I mention My Thesis?
She pulls up clods like golfers carving divots; stubborn growth an inch up my Member takes some pulling! No real hurt, really; more a sting. Her left hand stretches the root again and I am feeling quite comfortable despite the lightening-strikes. The pre-come is outlined clearly in talc as he slips and slaps my belly; she shakes her tresses back between her shoulder-blades, grubs out more roots. In the first short break I felt my new silkiness ... it was really happening! We smiled.
Only certain patches are painful; she is gentle, but down around the other corner the hair just isn't de-rooting: The Boss responds to the challenge ... so ends the sexy bit. Blondinka's quick soft competent hands gently held me aside as Mama clear-fells. It takes oil to remove wax from fingers: please misplace some on me!
Now Senior Lady was quite good-looking: broadly formidable, don't-fuck-with-me, a desirable L-A-D-Y and ancestress of Blondinka. ! I wilted. I'm no wuss but it HURTS -like sunburn! The entire low-hanging bit just smouldered. Smear-pat-rip-pat-pull-pat-smear-smooooth-pull(-pain-silentyouch) ad infinitum, four feminine hands in very personal contact and I all but disappeared.
That bit hurt, and it was the stubbornest; Mr Stoic here heard the quiet word for PAIN: I was macho and just shrugged. Her Ladyship hauled mightily and determinedly: two dozen recalcitrant roots at a practiced twist-of-the-wrist; quicker on the flat perineum. Not one other hair turned on my spraddled body: Mr Cock completely pulled his head in.
Like climbing a slippery, steep, prickly tropical trail - by the laws of physics it MUST come to an end - please! Eventually The Lady smiled and sighed equality: sufficient of my pubic hairs now imprisoned roots-out in wax. Blondinka returned to the (still relaxed) helm and Her Ladyship smiled nicely, too real for a commercial, airline-type; an acknowledgement of my fortitude? I wouldn't crawl over broken glass but I reckon she'd be fun.
My fingers approved the newly bared as she warmed the lotion. DAR-ZEN-MATA-RIT-FEELS-LIKE-FIRE!!!!! She couldn't offer to kiss it better: didn't realise my agony. My mum's remedy for sunburn was fresh tomato ... my next stop a supermarket and planning THAT claimed my attention. I resigned myself to the regulation day of penance.
To say the least, it stung for a bit: soothing words on the bottle notwithstanding, it was tres-tres-piquant. A little more very personal dabbing, maiden hand modest of the original high-tide mark; unsexual.
The other occupants of the salon flicked only cursorily as I re-re-donned efficient-whites, thick pants and boots. Blondinka smiled toward the till: fifteen of Uncle Sam's greenest, less than half expectation plus ten percent... ! Calendar: two weeks?
I did not expect perfection, and did not find it; but enjoyed the hour of stump-finding as the thin pure juice dried. Exfoliation was possible the second evening, and by the third I ! determined on a better-decorated salon in a better area to remove the rest of my private shrubbery. On reflection, those girls weren't all that expert - on me at least. There's still the bit from half-way down my perineum past my arse-hole. I'll draw some lines: I don't want a silky crack showing through my rear shag-pile just yet.
Now of course, I'm another slice from a cut loaf; an initiate who wants more; a rip-addict not a trepidatious neophyte; a regular client to be remembered by name if not also by reputation?
It's now Saturday and I'm buzy Monday all morning...
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