“No hospital,” I screeched, just picturing the likes of the hottie Doctor Chris inspecting my new wax feature. “I just need you to get it off me.”
“What about if we put you in the shower?” Beau asked hopefully. “We’ll get some dish soap, and you can just wash it off.”
“I don’t think that’ll work,” Bonnie whispered, looking at the screen of her phone. “There’s a lot of negative reviews for this one saying that it doesn’t wash off and that the only thing people found that got rid of the excess was hydrogen peroxide.”
How the hell does that cut through wax? I wasn’t a scientist or anything medical, but hydrogen peroxide on cooter wax?
Rubbing the back of her neck, Beau looked nervously at the three of us. “We’re going to have to pull it off.” Then, settling on Ari, who was sitting just above my head, she ordered, “Swap places with me, you do it.”
“Why me? I don’t know anything about stuff like this.”
Before they could get into a debate, though, Bonnie, God love her, threw a pair of gloves at Ari. “Just follow the instructions on the tub. The longer it’s on there, the more anxious she’s getting, and you two arguing isn’t going to help. It’s also probably going to get the men's attention—” men? “—and that’s the last thing she needs. Put yourself in Sadie’s shoes right now.”
Reaching up weakly, I patted the side of her face. “Bless you, Bonnie, bless you.”
There was some shuffling and rustling beside me, but I figured that because it worked better for me when I had an injection or blood test not to look at the person doing it, that’s what I’d do now.
“Here, take the box and read me the instructions,” Ari huffed.
The sound of snapping was hopefully her putting on gloves and not chunks of my cooch coming off.
“Okay, it says to spread the wax with the spatula in a fine line. Then you need to leave it for sixty seconds, test it, blah, blah, blah,” Beau muttered. “Ah, okay, so go to the bottom of the strip, pick at the end to raise enough of it to pinch, then pull the skin taught with your other hand, and pull the wax up quickly toward it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ari look down at my crotch and frown. “It’s all one big piece, though. I don’t know if I can get an edge.”
“I’ve got a manicure kit in my purse that has small nail scissors in it,” Bonnie offered. “You could carefully make a line through the wax and split it into sections.”
So, that’s what they did, painstakingly using the sharpest point of the smallest scissors I’d ever seen to get through the wax and separate it into strips. When they got to the thigh that was still stuck against it, Beau frowned down at me.
“I wouldn’t have thought normally it would be that hard to separate your leg from…” she broke off and nodded at the area. “I don’t think you should use this one again.”
“Unless it does a good job. I mean, beauty isn’t pain-free,” Ari shrugged.
Then I felt a gentle hand hold my thigh as a weird tugging sensation started in the area itself. “I’ll just cut through the wax to separate them,” Bonnie explained.
And she did. It only took about five minutes, and then my leg was free. It was an emotional moment, but definitely not as emotional as what followed.
Holding my hands tightly, Beau smiled down at me. “It’ll only take a couple of seconds, and you’ll be free. Ready?”
I wasn’t ready. There was no countdown, no warning, just a tugging sensation again, followed by an almighty burning rip.
“What the shit was that? Are you cutting the skin off my—”
Fortunately, Bonnie was wise because she covered my mouth so whoever was in the living room wouldn’t hear.
Unfortunately, using my distraction, Ari pulled a couple more of the chunks off. I swear I saw dots and bursts of light with the pain. It made being shot seem like a cat scratch, Dobby’s evilness seem like kisses, and period pains seem laughable.
What psychopath invented this kit?
Blinking out the tears that were making my eyes burn—although not even close to as much as my poor poonani—I looked up at Bonnie pleadingly.
When she lifted her hand, I panted, “Is it over?”
The wince said it all.
“We’ve just got to get the… uh… part slightly farther back to get off now,” Beau whispered, not meeting my eyes.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Ari croaked. “I’m basically going to be picking her choochie, you guys. There’s friendship, and then there’s friendship. Maybe we should get a professional to do this part? What if I pull a lip off or something vital?”
“Ugh,” Bonnie growled, reaching over for the second set of gloves that’d come in the kit. “I’ll do this part.”
Then, with the gloves on, she just ripped with no warning.
The noise that came out of me was like the love child of a seal and a crow, and if Ari hadn’t held my torso down, I probably would’ve been up and running for my front door as fast as my waxed vagina would let me.
In the end, I had to endure a total of twenty-five minutes of this agony while I lost a vital piece of my anatomy, wax chunk, by wax chunk. By the end of it, I swear I saw the pearly gates to heaven.
“Oh, shit, that looks angry,” Beau hissed. “But it did a great job.”
Ari, who was closer to it, had covered her eyes ten minutes ago with a hand and still hadn’t lifted it. “Just be grateful it didn’t drip down to your butthole.”
Bonnie’s eyes flew up to meet mine worriedly, so I shifted as much as I could to see if I’d sealed my arse cheeks together as well. Fortunately, I hadn’t, so I gave her a discrete head shake to let her know that both of our traumas had ended.
“From what I could see,” she said softly, back to the gentle woman she was, instead of the vagina ripping masochist, “you have some areas… uhh, even farther back that might need to be shaved.”
“Unless you want to try again?” Ari suggested, getting glares from all of us.
“I’m good, ta. If there are patches in the woods, there are patches in the woods, and my helpful razor—which I should’ve appreciated more—will deal with them.”
“You’re going to need to wash the area with some hydrogen peroxide to get the residue off,” Beau reminded me, looking at the box. Not mine, the one the wax had come in. “I’d suggest getting in the shower and not using a perfumed soap on it after that, then maybe putting some Neosporin or something over it.”
“Did I lose a lot of skin?”
All three shook their heads, but I still had more concerns.
“Did I lose anything vital?”
Again, three head shakes.
“Am I bleeding?”
This time they all looked at each other and winced.
Not wanting to know any more, I rolled onto my side and tried to get up onto my feet. It was like a turtle—a waxed one—trying to right itself, though, so all three of them helped me up and then spotted me as I stumbled toward my bathroom.
And that’s where the third stage of my trauma happened: the hydrogen peroxide. Instead of reading the instructions again, I figured that just pouring it over the area would help more.