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.
No, fuck no, it did not.
Once again, the feeling of my soul being sucked out of the area by napalm engulfed me, and I screamed my arse off before I collapsed back in a ball on the floor.
Never, ever again. I doubted I had a vagina ever to wax again—and on the off chance that I did, I doubt the hair would ever come back—but I was never putting wax below my neck. In fact, I was probably going to have to move to threading on my eyebrows, too, just in case. I was even going to go as far as throwing out every single candle in my apartment and banning birthday ones for the rest of my life.
Not that I’d ever celebrate my birthday. I doubt I could ever face any of these lot ever again.
The next day…