Elliott and I had been seeing each other for a month and a half and I thought it was time to finally commit to doing a Brazilian wax.
He hadn’t walked away from me in disgust yet, but maybe it was only a matter of time: he was 27 and probably not used to women in their natural state.
On the other hand, though, as a woman approaching 50 and a mother of three, my bikini area might be better off overgrown than overexposed. Not for nothing, there is a booming trade in cosmetic vaginal rejuvenation for women my age.
The sight of me naked as a mole down there could turn Elliot to stone.
But from what I remembered from the last time I had a Brazilian – which was in the early 2000s, in the early days of life with my husband – the pleasure during sex, like mine, was worth it ( almost) the pain. .
I also remembered that it made me feel risqué and secretly sexy on my way to the shops.
So many young women are getting waxed these days that men their age aren’t used to the full, natural ‘Amazon Rainforest’
Fifty-something Annabel Bond (not her real name) took a Brazilian as a treat for her 27-year-old beau, but would he be impressed?
So I scoured the internet for a local salon to find a dizzying array of new options.
There was the regular old school bikini wax (where only the sides are removed). Hollywood, (where hair is removed from everywhere). and the Brazilian, which retains only a “runway” on the front.
But now I could curate my runway in the shape of a postage stamp, a martini glass, a star or a Christmas tree.
Decisively, I steered my mouse away from the Amazon rainforest option – I was already growing it – and booked with Karina for a regular Brazilian. “With a long runway,” I told her, as I stood up on the table, naked from the waist down.
Like my midwife, as Karina labored away, lifting my leg to my ear and telling me how brave I was, our physical intimacy quickly evolved into talking to each other about our lives.
“I’m still technically married, but I’m seeing someone new,” I told her.
“I’ll do a good job for you,” Karina said, raising an eyebrow and spreading hot wax over a huge area. “But do you regret leaving your husband?”
RRRIPP!
‘No!’ I said, out loud, the shock of my hair being pulled out by the roots made me cry out.
Even with my legs akimbo on the waxing table, sweat running down my forehead, getting the kind of wax that only single people put themselves in, I didn’t regret it at all.
Karina told me that she was thinking of leaving her husband too, but she couldn’t muster up the courage. I could only tell her that divorce is not right for everyone, but it was for me. And Eliot was my handsome prize after enduring many years of misery.
A dizzying array of new options are on offer these days, including the full Hollywood or ‘runway’ Brazilian that can be shaped into a star, martini glass or even a Christmas tree
At our next meeting in my brother’s empty apartment, I made a big fuss about what Elliot would be dealing with, dropping hints but not telling him the details. I was still shy around him. it was only the fourth time we had slept together.
I tried to keep my hanging neck and face out of direct sunlight, but I was excited for the big reveal below, feeling naked and sexy under my clothes.
I expected applause or his mouth would drop open in surprise and gratitude. But his handsome face showed only his usual level of excitement, which was, to be fair, still high. I was right. for him, hair removal was the norm.
At the same time, Elliott wasn’t repulsed by the spectacle either, for which I am eternally grateful. He took everything in stride.
No pain, no gain. But having a wax done professionally can be worth it, says Annabel
The foreplay continued for quite a while. He was good with his hands, but I think I enjoyed the new sensations more than he did, which was just as it should be, seeing as I could stand the pain of the waxing.
There is a certain kind of sensuality that comes with the absence of pubic hair. Although millions of women endure regular waxing, for me it was bold and fresh.
Maybe my marriage would have benefited from a Brazilian more often, but what mother of three young children would do that in her day?
“I wish I was older,” Elliott said afterward. I swallowed the thought that it was because, naked, we were mismatched. I was very happy that he was only 27.
“If I was older I would take you out,” he added.
“But you’re not, you’re young,” I said.
Suddenly I wasn’t so happy about his age. Elliot meant he was too young for me, he said in the nicest way. But I already knew that.
Meanwhile, my smooth and clean areas would await their next assignment — if there was one.
Annabel Bond is a pseudonym. All names have been changed.
