Numbing my Netherlands

I didn’t deliberately set out to cause myself excruciating pain.

For those of you that know me, my alter ego is a dirtbag.

I don’t wear makeup. I have Asian hair, so I don’t even have to brush it in the morning. Now that I work from home, it’s pretty much all jammers, all day. I take #WokeUpLikeThis to a whole new level.

So the decision to get laser hair removal was an economical decision rather than a cosmetic one for me.

Money wise: no more razors, gels, before creams, after creams, soothing creams, electric depilatory contraptions, waxing appointments (tied it once, NEVER again), sugar wax, wax wax… whatever.

Time wise: no more standing in the warm shower waiting for the stubbies to soften for a cleaner cut, no more cursing that I ran out of shaving cream and am getting an arm cramp trying to work up enough lather from the soap to compensate, no more last minute scramble because I got invited to a party and want to wear the little black dress but haven’t shaved the ‘winter coat’ in weeks, and no more mirror / bathroom yoga as trying to get to those awkward spots because tonight is a hot date and ‘you never knooooooow’ what will happen…

So I did it. Zapped it all. Upper lip, pits, lower legs and of course, the ‘bikini’ area.

Logically, I thought the bikini area meant the part that the bikini covers – I just needed a little trimming around the Bermuda Triangle to stop the rogue pubes from escaping. Everything else was under control. But guess what?  The bikini area is the part that the bikini doesn’t cover – like your legs and groin area. Who even has hair there???

(My apologies to any Sasquatches I may have offended)

So anyways, I’ve paid for this session and I don’t have any hair that she can zap. So she says, “Well why don’t we just trade up your bikini for a Brazilian?” I’m like, “Ok, but do I get to take him home with me?”

For those of you that don’t know, a Brazilian is the removal of all the hair in the area covered by your bikini bottoms. It comes from the Latin word “Brazili” meaning holy fuck that burns like a sonofabitch you motherfucker didn’t tell me it would hurt this much.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

First you have to clear the area. You know in the movies when the barber puts the nice warm towel on the face then takes the straight razor to the neck and you can hear the razor scraping against the skin and you’re on the edge of your seat because you know one slip can nick an artery and blood will spew all over the place? Well getting your chocha shaved is just like that, except there’s no warm towel, your lady petals are being manhandled like they’re cold cut slices and all you can hear is the bristling of a dry shave. She’s using giant Popsicle sticks and fingers to move stuff out of the way and when she’s done? She uses a lint roller to pick up all the shavings.

I look at the paper gown I’m wearing and the pits are soaked. There are nail marks in the plastic foam cushions from me digging in for fear of a ‘clit clip’. I would sooner never have sex again from an overgrown bush than go through that again.

Next is the ‘numbing cream’. The laser feels like an elastic snapping on your skin repeatedly and due to the sensitive nature of the area, this helps to soothe the upcoming pain. The gel goes on with a giant Popsicle stick and it’s so cold she might as well have put an icicle in my vajayjay. Then I wait for 20 minutes.

When it’s time, the adrenaline from the shaving adventure has worn off and I need to pee. You know when you go to the dentist and he freezes your gums and then you can’t move your face and you eat ice cream and it’s dripping down the side of your face? Well then you can imagine how my bathroom visit went.

So I’m back on the table and the nurse has her vagina killing zapper. I start sweating again.

She starts zapping and it looks like the numbing cream is my saving grace. I can feel the little snaps and I think it’s not going to be so bad. Then she hits a spot where there must have been a bunch of hair follicles hanging out. It feels like a fire cracker exploded in my groin. I almost punch Mariella in the face.

‘It’s going to be ok’, she says. This is what people tell themselves when they are standing at the gates of Hell.

She continues to Taser my hotbox and I wonder why I am doing this because after this I will probably never have sex again.  I have to stop her from time to time and together we practice Lamaze breathing and tell each other we can make it through this.

She is finally finished. I touch my chocha tentatively, expecting to feel charred remains.

“Ok, please flip over”, she says.

“I beg your pardon??”

“Yes, it’s time to do your anus”.

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So now I’m holding my butt cheeks apart and it’s lather, rinse repeat with the dry shave, Popsicle sticks and lint brush. She’s not so adept with her stick handling and she managed to really stick it where the sun don’t shine a couple of times. I don’t think I’m ever going to eat a Fudgesicle again.

She comes at me with the zapper again. I bury my face and bite the pillow expecting the worst.

It’s not nearly as bad as the front. So either I don’t have a lot of hair or I am literally a ‘hardass’.

She says, “Ok, all done. Make sure you don’t apply any heat to the area for 24 hours, no sex, bla bla bla.” I’m not listening – as far as I’m concerned I don’t even want to put my pants and undies back on and am wondering if I can just streak into an Uber.

She leaves and I wipe as much of the gel off my numb vagina and asshole as I can, then walk out like I have a beach ball between my legs and a cucumber in my butt.