About 10
black hairs grow around my nipples and for years I have plucked them. However,
I along with my thick, Italian hair I have very thin, fragile skin. What that
means is that for years I have fought this vicious cycle of plucking ugly hairs
only to have them become ingrown and then uglier marks were left after my
attempts to dig them out. Gross, right! And all of this happening on paid-for
ta-tas that I have been told are some of the nicest (insert professional person
who sees boobs all day) has seen.
The thing about body hair on a woman is that it is considered unladylike and something we are expected to remove consistently. We shave,
wax and pluck every inch of ourselves and as we become more open about such
delicate topics, stories about hoo-ha waxing become comedic fodder. But for all
the stories involving pain worse than childbirth, glued shut nethers and my
personal story with a Papa Smurf reference (blue wax makes it funnier than the
other stories, dammit!) I have never heard anyone else admit to nipple hair.
Well… here I am doing what I do best, turning the filter most ‘grown ups’ have
in place into a microphone…
The only person I knew well enough to disclose they had done laser
hair removal was a long-time friend with benefits from back in Texas. He had
been so body-hair obsessed that he used to pluck his balls smooth. Seriously.
He was an X-Tube star of sorts with videos showcasing his *ahem* talent for
making a delicious mess of himself and on occasion, others. He was so in love
with his own penis that he had a routine that involved supplements, oils, a
penis pump and masturbation without release that I’m sure even the best paid
porn stars don’t adhere to. Seriously, he’ll be a bachelor forever because
he’ll never find a woman he loves as much as he loves his own penis. One day I
went to visit and he told me that his most recent round of laser treatments had
not gone well. They had turned the laser up too high and burned his junk. This
not only shortened the battery life in my vibrator for a bit, but caused a
level of fear involving lasers on tender parts. I love my boobs almost as much
as he loved his penis and the idea of burning them was horrifying.
That said- I’d experienced some particularly bad ingrown hairs that
left an ugly scar on one of my boobs. I needed to do something about the hairs
before I marked my ta-tas up anymore. On top of the fear of burning my boobies,
the cost of laser hair removal had kept me from seriously considering it. However,
the Mister being the master of Google offers and Groupon deals found a really
great deal for laser hair removal. After seeing what my poor ta-tas had been
going through he purchased a 6 treatment package for me.
Last month I finally went in for my first appointment. The lady
doing the treatment wore a white lab coat and was all kinds of professional. I
was led into a back room at the spa where she talked to me about what to expect
before leaving me to disrobe. I was wearing one of my loose wraps over my top
because of the weather, and she remarked that I could leave that on but that my
breasts needed to be exposed. When she returned I was covered, not out of
modesty but from the chill in the room.
My instinct whenever I am exposed like
that is to make small talk and chit chat. Sometimes I go a bit overboard and
have been known to cause a gynecologist or two to belly-laugh with a speculum
in hand. That certainly makes the exam more pleasant!
This lady, however, seemed like she needed to remove more than just
a hair from her own butt. When I remarked that I was concerned about marks
because I had a photo shoot that weekend, she froze up on me and got a tone
about her.
“Are you a photographer?”
“No…”
“Oh. So you model... And… expose… your
breasts…?” It was a mixed tone of shock, scolding and shaming.
I downplayed her remark and just said, “Yep!”
Here it is a month later and
I just came home from my second treatment. I didn’t see the same uptight lady
coming and going between rooms and was happy when another aesthetician called
my name. She was a petite woman that looked Middle-Eastern and had a hint of an
accent. We went into a different room as she opened my folder.
“You’re doing your vulva today?”
“Nope… Areolas.”
“Ah, okay… Get naked!” There was none of the sterile hesitation that the previous lady had
and I loved it!
“I see balls all day around here!”
To which I replied that I knew a guy once that had his balls and
shaft lasered and he got his junk burnt.
“Holy shit! Sorry… “
“Holy shit, nothing. I’m topless and we’re talking about balls. Don’t
worry about offending me!”
And so the rest of the appointment went. She talked about this
skinny white guy she worked on that has the biggest dick she’d ever seen and
how she didn’t expect that from a white guy. I replied with a brief explanation
about my 6’9” ex-boyfriend who was nicknamed “Moose.”
“Good thing he’s an Ex, right!”
“Yeah… there’s a line and he was on the wrong side of it.”
From there we talked about my boobs. She started to backpedal as
though she was worried I would think she was checking me out. I told her that
I’m the only straight person in my house and I love boobs. It was the usual
conversation where she said she thought they were all mine and I said that I
just wanted the top to match the bottom. She asked where I got them done and
then was bummed to hear it was in Colorado so I couldn’t refer her. I talked
about being at my personal heaviest weight and she remarked that I had a great
shape. The visit ended with her rushing out to drop my folder at the desk while
I put my necklace on and walked out to schedule my next appointment then her
calling me by name telling me to have a good day.
She had asked me, while rubbing the gel on my boobs, “So, is life
good?”
What an understatement!
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