A Little Off the Sides and Top and That's It

Be warned. This blog entry will surely fall under the category of T.M.I. (Too Much Information) and I apologize right up front. But damn it, I've had it with all the waxing and shaving of my nether regions. In a month I'll be 50. I've earned the right to be comfortable in my underpants!

Now before you go off, spreading the rumor that I am a hairy, unkempt mess, understand--I am not talking about keeping things trim and tidy. Good grooming does include keeping up the bikini lines (as well as shaved legs and underarms). There is nothing sexy about wearing gorgeous panties or a fab bathing suit and having unsightly tufts of hair escaping from the sides. I mean, not everything looks great fur trimmed.

No, I'm talking about the pain and stress (and not to mention the annoying itch)of running a sharp razor over your most delicate body party or applying hot wax to one's tender privates and ripping the hair out by its root. Ouch. I'm in pain just thinking about it.

For years I have, like many of you I'm sure, been victim to the cultural phenomena and model mentality of nary-a-hair-down-there. I don't know who started the drum beat demanding that grown women's genitals should be as smooth and clean as the babie's behinds they were changing. I'm pretty sure it began with those damn Brazilian supermodels and the industry that spawns them. (You know, models seem to be the root of a lot of our unrealistic body image issues and beauty rituals (hemorrhoid creme for under eye swelling, toothpaste on pimples, cocaine and cigarettes for weight loss, but that's a whole other blog.)

When I look back, I think I bought into the whole Brazilian look because it made me feel sexually daring in a private, I've-got-a-secret kind of way. Only my husband and I (and my gynecologist, poor man) knew and for the first few weeks after getting it done, I did walk around with panties full of sensations. But then, the dreaded new growth began to rear it's ugly, itchy head and my sexy strut melted into a uncoordinated, idiotic, slow motion gallop while I attempted to relieve the unbearable itch with my inner thighs. And God knows, any private moment became a monumental scratch-fest. It was like carrying a porcupine in my underpants, and not in a good way. And the only immediate relief? To pay good money to one of the sisters to spread my legs, pour hot wax between them and let 'er rip.

To be truthful, I only got waxed twice. But I shaved nearly clean for years and between the nicks, ingrown hairs, and cactus coochie I just can't take it any more. My husband is disappointed.

Did I mention my husband loved it? Did I mention that the first time I did it was because he'd been hinting about it for months? Initially, I did it to please him. Yeah, just like a man. Now if I asked him to go in and have his berries waxed because I found it to be a huge turn on, what do you think he'd say? Exactly. Hell frickin' no! I can't even get him to clean up his bathroom sink, and can I tell you how hot that would make me!

My scissor trims are keeping me neat and tidy and you know what I learned? I still feel sexy because I've reached a point in my sensual/sexual life where I've learned that what I think has much more to do with what I feel and how I behave, than what I wear (or don't). I'm not sorry I investigated the naked nookie, it pleased my lover but more importantly it made me feel scandalous and naughty without any kind of public acknowledgment. And those feelings are what now drive my sense of sexual daring. Now that's true power, and so, so much more comfortable!

What do you think?