Brazilian Wax Model
The best one wins my Crown!!
(Warning, some descriptive stuff about my lady bits)
Just how does one learn to do a Brazilian wax? That’s the whole load off down there if you don’t know, leading to, in my mind, a look of a plucked chicken of a minge. Not my bag. I’m a short, back and sides only girl. For whatever you want, there are any number of, some amazing, some brutal, estheticians. But just how do they learn to do it?
I’ll tell you how; they go to a beauty school class where they get a talk complete with drawings of the anatomy of growth of pubic hair, the name of all the respective bits to be waxed, and the best technique to remove this hair, including which type of wax to use where – it’s a bit of a science as well as an art you know. But, really, you can only explain so much through theory. To get the certificate you need practice, and to get the practice you need to advertise on craigslist for a couple of willing models. Yes! Free Brazilian and I get paid $50.
To achieve the full works the esthetician places the client in two positions – the traditional on-the-back one for the front half, and the on-all-fours bum-in-air one for the back half. I confess, as bodily feelings go, having all of the hairs simultaneously ripped from around your bum hole is a weird as hell one; not (for me) too painful, just a singularly bizarre tingle. I really would encourage you all to go and experience this; it’s an interesting feeling.
A good esthetician will have you on all fours like this for maybe two minutes while she slaps the wax on and rips it off with skill and speed. Five trainees however required at least about 30 minutes of me propped up on my rapidly jellying elbows with my bum in the air. “Are you doing ok Eleanor?” “Yep, sure, why wouldn’t I be?” I’m just looking up and down, recording details such as how all ceiling tiles in all commercial buildings in California seem to be the same (see Anal Probe), and occasionally glancing over to the other model who is, by this time on her back with her legs spread open and a 10-yard, equally bored, stare. Why doesn’t this bother me? Probably because when I was a hospital care-assistant I got to wash a lot of people’s intimate bits so it just became another part of the body. Still, I’m not going to flash it in the middle of a bar or anything, I never joined the boys on that one.
When I get to turn over I realize that from the protestations of the other model I’ve kind of pulled the long straw. My trainee waxers are far better. Well, most of them, for the three good ones I got, I was also assigned The Bad One. She has trouble with the most essential part of waxing - the pulling action. I know this because in times of poverty I’ve had to do self-waxing and I’ve got pretty good at it. You have to hold the skin taunt, pull the wax in one strip close to the skin, and press your hand on the waxed part afterward to help stop bruising or something. This one barely places a hand on me, rips the strip upwards, repeatedly, and does the equivalent of a drippy handshake pressure application afterwards. I don’t want her near me again, please go away – look, over there, some really interesting thing is happening to the other model involving purple glitter – shoo.
While examining my hair growth pattern (there are a number of different ones) they talk about what parts are most painful to wax and I come to learn that the bit where the pubic bone ends, just above the best part of my anatomy, is called The Crown. I’ll remember that for when I’m on Jeopardy. To counteract The Bad One, I also have The Best One. I nod enthusiastically and encouragingly when she asks to do The Crown, I’m amazed The Bad One cannot hear me growling and hissing at here when she disputes this, but The Best One wins and she is wonderful and I want to kiss her when she triumphantly holds up a big piece of wax with a frightening number of hairs complete with roots on them. What a sight.
That was the worst over, but there are still plenty of unwaxed parts for The Bad One to piss about over, (note: piss about, not actually piss over)causing me all sorts of wincing pain and my threshold of such to slide lower when she even approaches me. But I am calm and stoic and I do not complain. Unlike the other model who is whining away and being a really moany bitch, repeatedly exclaiming “you guys are really torturing me” and I just want to gag and slap her and tell her she should be encouraging them to do better like I am because I am The Best One of the models.
Good news though is that the trainees took so long I got an extra $25 and an invite back when I next need a waxing. It’s a tough call, I need the money at the moment, but I’m mentally tormented by the fact that I now look like either a very old woman who’s lost all of her pubes, or a pre-pubescent girl. Either is not good in my mind, and a week later when the hairs start reappearing I am so pleased to be returning to the grown woman I really am that I swear I’ll be making enough money through writing by the time I have to do it again. Wish me luck.