Naughty Bits

Never mind that the bits don't feel much these days, they are still naughty. Why else would I hesitate to write about them?

I remember in Spain, back some thirty years ago, one could get legs waxed all the way up to the bikini line for about 10 buck ( in pesetas, of course). The victim simply stood on a table and the waxer slopped the stuff on in four dollops per leg and (after setting up two more victims) came back to rip it off the same way.

I declined, as did my more hirsute American friend. Too close to home, she'd say.

Fast forward to the 1980's. The GP gave me a hormone to ease the symptoms of what they now call Peri-Menopause, or whatever the latest term is. I began to grow hair where the Good Lord had previously spared me. Luckily for me, a group of friends were exploring/training in electrolysis, and needed a guinea pig. For free, no less!

The works, babeee! It was a few years before my first exacerbation and hurt like the dickens, but in those dinkie little bikinis we wore then, well, I looked like a Barbie doll. My GP even gave me a prescription for pain pills, although one of the co-conspirators was a doctorate in psychology who successfully used hypnosis and other mental tricks.

Those people were so anti-hair that they shaved their entire bodies, too. The leader of the band was a militant naturist, and the rest of us followed in varying degrees. My first encounters with nudists were in the 60's and 70's with communes and a few family friends. My own folks were never horribly body-conscious, so I was really open minded.

Now for the kicker. Hey, you knew there had to be one, right?

The last time I went for electrolysis, I was doing the stray facial hairs that accumulate after age 50. The now-totally licensed and very experienced electrologist was reluctant to work on me because of the MS. She was right.

The stray facial hairs were weird enough, with me twitching all the time at each shock, or rather, each pulsation. I was happy to undergo the torture to avoide shaving, so I directed her to a stray hair on the "happy line" that points to those important "bits." She gave it a quick zap.

My whole body convulsed, bringing my knees involuntarily almost up to where she was working. She never worked on me again. I believed she was completely unnerved.

So now I shave everything.

More later.

pb
Little Pond