Scot here. It is my extreme honor to hand the key to the keyhole to my lovely doll Leigh, who after much persuading (in other words begging) has put fingers to Macbook to share with all the Peekers™ her first-hand (literally) account of our evening christening our new Gigi Brazilian Hard Waxer.
I will just add in advance that this was all her idea, I did my best, and that no waxing salons will be seeing my resume any time soon.
Parental guidance suggested. Not for the squeamish.
Scot has been on me to write this post for a while, so here goes.
This is not going to be a super sexy hot wet accounting of a sensual night of trying out our new Gigi Brazilian Wax Kit. Despite the video included, it is not painless. At. All. And despite the fact that I actually like pain, I like good pain. Ripping the hair off your hooha is NOT good pain.
But I digress.
It started with a video. They had included a handy dandy DVD to give you a play by play on how to do the waxing. I recommend not watching it on the kitchen island with the screen to the window where anyone walking up to your front door can peek in and see. There is a life sized hoohaa that leaves nothing to the imagination and may just make your elderly neighbor stopping by with a tray of brownies expire right there on your front lawn.
I had opted for a hard wax system, which does not require strips. You just spread the melted wax on and pick up an edge, and then pull. Easy right? The woman in the demo smiled the whole time like she was in a toothpaste commercial. Pain free. Bullshit.
We decided to do this in the bedroom so I could lay on the bed and be comfortable. Everything was set up nicely, the heater was on a small stand, the popsicle sticks that are used to spread the hot wax, a towel, and the two bottles of pre- and post- rip.
We put on some nice music and started out with candlelight, but it wasn’t bright enough to really see anything, so we had to turn on the over head light. Not flattering to anyone, but when you’re laying there spread eagle trying to figure out the direction of hair growth between your legs, it’s even less flattering.
So the wax was hot, we had figured out which way the red fern grows, and it was time to get started. The videos all showed people laying there relaxed and serene, then the waxer would spread the wax, flip up the end, and pull. There was no screaming or crying. They said over and over again how it didn’t hurt at all. I was ready.
We decided to start on the bikini area, as the video said that is the least intense spot. A nice thick layer of wax was applied, (it was stringy and drippy and we got it all over the floor and thank goodness I put a towel down on the bed first) we let it get tacky, then Scot tried to flick up the edge. Holy fuck. There was hair in the end that pulled out when he did it and trying to get enough end to grip was excruciating. Finally he had it, and I held the skin taut and on the count of three, he pulled. And it ripped apart. Scot then had to pull off three different smaller pieces. There may have been a few tears. This was not off to a good start.
We regrouped, changed the strategy and tried again, this time a little closer to the middle. You’re supposed to rip the wax off against the grain of growth. Imagine pulling your bottom lip over your forehead. Yeah. It didn’t get better either. With every strip, my pain threshold lowered.
Though I did not scream out Kelly Clarkson’s name, I did scream. I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t call 911 to report a horrific murderous attack at the house next door. (They are probably used to the screaming quite honestly. God help us if we ever really do get attacked in the middle of the night!) Scot kept asking if I wanted him to stop, and I would shake my head, glare at him and say, “just keep going” through tightly clenched teeth.
We made it through most of it and decided to do the backside before tackling that last strip right in the middle that the video mentioned it “might cause some discomfort.” In my mind I heard “this is going to fucking hurt like the fires of hell are shooting out your vagina” and needed to prepare a bit longer. I got on my hands and knees and held my cheeks open while he spread the wax. (Yes, at this point there was much commentary going on by the waxer. I’m not sure that professional waxers talk that much or put their fingers in that place before they spread the wax. Then again, I’ve never had this professionally done. They might.)
I will say, it wasn’t nearly as painful back there. And the resulting smoothness impressed even me. There is only so many ways to hold a razor while shaving that area, and its inevitable that spots get missed. Not so much with the wax. Weeks later it’s still nice and smooth.
I rolled back over and took a few cleansing breaths. I’d come this far, and it was a point of pride now not to cry uncle. Scot spread a nice thick layer of wax right down the middle and flicked the end up before it had time to set. So far so good. The wax got tacky. I thought about changing my mind. It was too late. Yes, definitely changed my mind. “Pull it” I ground out. “Are you ready?” Scot asked. “Just pull the fucking wax off so I can roll over and cry already!”
I held the skin tight, he braced his hand, then pulled. I might have levitated off the bed for a second. Then I screamed. Then I heard Scot say, “Oh crap.” For one terror filled moment, I thought he ripped my clit off. “There’s still some wax there.” The five most dreaded words in the human language. (Okay, maybe just in mine.) For the next five minutes, which felt like a hundred years, he proceeded to pick off tiny spots of wax attached to deeply embedded hairs.
As he did, I thought about all the ways I could kill him, as painfully as possible.
This whole process took about an hour and a half. At one point, I looked at Scot and said in my best Spongebob announcer voice, “Six hours later.” You have to be a Spongebob fan to get that. We both laughed.
My closing thoughts are short. Don’t believe everything as advertised. THEY LIE. At home Brazilian waxing is not as easy as rolling a pie crust. It’s not as pain-free as getting a manicure. It’s not fucking simple at all. It hurts. Like nothing else on this great green earth could hurt. Like a million bees stinging a third degree sunburn hurts. I personally think the model on the video was on huge doses of Valium. I can’t imagine just laying there smiling serenely while your crotch hair is ripped out by the roots.
If I decide to do this again, I am paying someone professional to do it. My modesty has a price, and apparently it’s called excruciating pain.
Eta: I got my revenge. Oh yes, I did. Scot said if I did it, he would do it. At one point, there was a two-handed rip that resulted in a scream of pain. This time, it was not me who was screaming. Revenge. Oh yes. So sweet served with a side of sadistic pleasure. 😉
Scot again. Yes, I did. I got a full Sphinx at the hands of the bloodlusting, revenge thirsting Leigh. What she neglected to mention in her account is that, when she pulled the first strip off me that the end peeled up easily and the wax did not stick to my skin. It seems that someone with a penis put on the recommended quantity of the prep oil, which you can imagine made her even more upset that her Spongebobesque bulldozing of the red fern was more than likely much of her own fault.
But yes, one particularly memorable moment was her asking me…
Who am I kidding? Warning me that if I wanted to retain possession of my boys I better make my skin as taut as possible with both hands.
I made my skin as taut as possible with both hands.
With two hands (TWO HANDS) she removed a swatch of wax the size of a small hairy pancake. We put it next to the one of hers that looked like an either an upside down fur V or a porcupine roadkill.
Apparently the oil dried or soaked in by the time she got there. Yes, I screamed.
My first thoughts when it was all over?
“They look like a boiled chicken.”
But as Leigh alluded to its been two weeks and the stubble is finally starting to reappear. We’ve had a lot of smooth fun in that time. And more to come (heh)