More words on waxing

The waxing adds have me yearning for the snappy little burn on the vagina that doesn't happen in my life today. My man is appalled by bald pubescent little pussy's. Waxing had become a mild substitute for life on the edge. Cheaper and less destructive then the cocaine I used to run through my veins occasionally. Or the scandalous men that stampeded through my life in days of yore.

My man of today is mostly edgeless. Round, middle class, straight in the sense of other. He likes me, he's committed to not abandoning me in the middle of trauma. He pays the rent. I like him. So whats up with this longing for WAX!

Action. Snotty, sweaty, sex with a bit of ass paddling maybe. Strangers I found in the bar. Have I taken leave of my senses? Do I not know whats good for me? I'm having a moment here. Craving self abuse. Wanting to stir the pot of insatiable desire. Its been a while. And I know it will pass.

But maybe I'll break out the wax pot and treat myself to a bit of living on the edge. Cheap thrills. God damn I'm easy today.

Redneck People Love Tattoo: Or, The Cultural Politics Of Poonanah Waxing.

I'd been meaning to get waxed for a bit now, but I've been broke. I finally got paid last night, and I thought I'd treat myself to a smooth and shiny hiney.

I have mixed feelings about this whole waxing business. I love my smooth and silky kitty after it's done, but I sometimes wonder why am I taking the time to make my puss look like it belongs to a seven year old? And while I love the special attention my man gives me after the waxing, I kind of loathe him for liking it so much.

Now the feelings get even more complex when I factor in the process of getting this baby smooth porn-star crotch. I'm broke, so I go to the waxing place for broke people, the friendly neighborhood Korean nail and wax salon. I then drop my drawers and spread my wizard sleeves for a woman who strips the hair off pussy for a living...a woman who probably is stripping the hair off of my pussy for more than just a living--she's doing it for a better life, for a chance for her kids to go to a fancy school and make her proud--so I get a little crazy. I'm glad she's got this opportunity, and I'm glad I can pay her for this service and contribute my little bit of bald eagle money to the cause...but in the end, I just feel like I'm exploiting her.

And that's just the first layer. Next, there's the fact that I'm lying there, puss all out, with another woman all up in my business. For those of you unfamiliar with the Brazilian waxing process, it involves quite a lot of contact between the fingers of the waxer and the poontang of the waxed. It involves pushing lips aside, separation of ass cheeks, clit tweaking...all types of shit that would make the most unabashed cock-slobbing road whore blush.

So there's all that percolating in my mind.

And this time, I get this kind of spunky waxer. Her English is good, but not perfect, and she wants to bust my proverbial balls.

"Why you got tattoo so evil? Redneck people love tattoo. You not look like redneck people. Why you get tattoo? Redneck people get tattoo on back, on shoulder. You no get tattoo so evil."

All this prattling on and on about my meager little tattoo on my shoulder, all while my beaver cleaver is nudely athrob in a room with a stranger who is dumping hot wax all over the place and then RIPPING IT OFF.

And what does she know about redneck people? Or tattoos?

It was strange because I think I might have liked her had she not been looking at my pussy and had she had a better grasp of my native language. It's difficult to bust balls in a second language, and I respect the effort...especially when you're faced with stranger-vag and you're trying to get a tip, it takes guts to toss out the "redneck" word. But I really, personally, could have taken my waxing without the side order of insult.

But that's just me.