I'ts been quite a time since I've had an intimate touch except my own and I feel that my lady garden needs some maintenance. .
She has been unchartered territory for many moons. We have grown, both lonelier as well as lovelier. Although she feels coarser, furrier, more prevalent. We need to start anew and agree it's time to try something different, something free-ing and bold, representative of who I am now. Naked in my own truth. Emerge from behind the curtains...We need a new beginning, a trimming away of the angst and solitude, a welcome mat and a tidy entrance.
So I expose my genitals to a stranger, on a plastic bed that feels too narrow, with a brilliant fluro light staring down at me and a strange poster of a well oiled man on the beach just within my vision.
The stranger is a friendly Irish lass who despite being 15 years younger than me calls me Pet and Darlin'. I'm nervous, but feel strangely comforted by her. She's seen a hundred vagina's. She knows what she's doing.
Then she slathers lava hot wax onto my labia and time stands still.
My mind however is screaming with pain. Many, many crosswords. She keeps lathering the burning wax onto my special, sensitive vagina and I am in shock. How could this be happening? Why would I pay for this? Should I tell her to stop? I want to scream out but I have this weird shame about being so bushy that I say nothing. Just breathe.
It seems to be over and she stands back to examine my newly sculpted vulva with the eye of an artist. I wish I could look at myself the same way she does me. So intimately. With pride. Satisfaction. Happy with the result.
I'm disturbed from this thought by her lovely voice and to my own surprise when she asks in her pleasant Irish lilt if I would "like my bum done" I say Oh, yes please. Programmed into me as a young girl - yes please. I can't dwell on this now as she instructs me to lift my legs up and wrap my arms around them. In an instant my sweet, yet slightly hairy rosebud-like anus is on fire, as she tears pieces of my soul out of me.
All done darl, she tells me and I'm left to wipe myself down with wet wipes and despite the fact my labia minora are stuck together like kissing cousins I quickly pay my dues and waddle out of there. I go straight to the bathroom and do a wee that sprays out in 7 different directions and am shocked by the pink, angry skin hidden under my stomachs sweet cushion of indulgence . My vagina is angry, and hurt, and wants me to know all about it. I don't know what to tell her.
It takes a few days, but she settles down and the results are reasonable - a little bit lighter, little bit fresher. Yet she looks so...vulnerable. Like a timid child. Not like the warrior chief she once was.
I can't offer this wounded soldier up to the world, I can't have her be the hidden part of myself, saved for special occassions. She needs more time to be alone, recover and grow stronger and wiser. Much like my heart probably does.