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Beware~~Of Nair~~"Down There". A 's Horror.
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Beware~~Of Nair~~"Down There". A 's Horror. This is a cautionary tale, one I pass along to any ladies looking for a fast way to have a baby-smooth pussy. This is especially for us large n' lovelies, who realistically may have some trouble seeing down there, and go the blind route with the razor. We're also often shy about getting anything more than our eyebrows waxed. Personally, I think it might feel like trying to remove pine resin off of a half-filled water balloon. Along with being the prevailing trend in personal grooming, after a decade of serving Dom men, who almost all want it bare down there, I'm accustomed to keeping up the curb-appeal, but... Don't let this happen to you!~~ One day, I had a date with my long-time FWB, Roy. He's been a staple in my life since we met, because he can FUCK, and fuck, and fuck and fuckkkkk. Seriously. I cum over and over and over, and he'll hold out until the next morning and the final minute possible. At hotels, we have to ask for a late check-out, and still have had Housekeeping banging on the door. He also likes to see me with multiple men, so sometimes lines up some "guest stars". On this particular occasion, he'd told me that two other men were going to visit. Kewlllllllllll. I was preparing for the overnight at a hotel in Brandon, about an hour's drive from me. It had been awhile since we'd been able to get together, and I was excited. Knowing that others would be there too, I especially wanted to look super-perfect in the "nether-lands". Instead of doing the Braille-shave, with only fingers as my guide, I decided to try a more efficient method. I did what the directions clearly tell you NOT to do; grabbed a bottle of Nair for Legs and applied it to my moist and vulnerable genital region. Not only are you warned not to apply it to areas like that, but you're only supposed to leave it on for about 5 minutes. What can I tell ya? I'm a rebel. But in this scenario, I was a rebel without a clue. While sitting on the toilet, I took a generous amount of the icky-smelling lotion and applied it liberally to my queen-sized entertainment center. I made sure to be thorough, so I didn't leave out the inner folds, or the anal area, or the area on the outskirts of Playland. A stray hair would have no chance of survival. It would be an apocalypse. Now, keep in mind that this formula is designed to DISSOLVE your hair. Chemistry is involved, with some evil ingredients. After turning my fuzzy funhouse into what probably resembled a fat clam covered in greenish mayonnaise (I know: SO sexy!), I turned my attention to getting my suitcase packed. It was just an overnight stay, but I had to make sure I had shoes, a few choices of slutty outfits, my toiletries, and other items meant for smoking and drinking. I was hustling around between the bedroom, the living room and the laundry area of the garage, throwing things into the case. I was tingling quite a bit, but ignored the feeling that my pussy was approaching the Tropic of Cancer. After all, I have willingly submitted to men wanting to put a hurtin' down there. I was tough. "Yeah". Trying to pick out sex clothes, and not wanting to forget anything I needed, I lost track of time packing, and about 20 minutes went by. I was now parked on the Equator. I'd filled the tub awhile ago, so it would be ready for me to dive in when the time was right. Um, that was probably about 15 minutes ago. "Oh fuck me", I said, and it wasn't in a good way. My crotch was dialing 9-1-1 and I needed help badly. I sat down in the cool water of my manatee tank and began rubbing my hand over the wreckage furiously, but it was already too late. The water really didn't do much more than wash away the remains of the stubble of the past. It was now just a memory, but I'd end up having a much more dramatic one. Whining inwardly, I washed the rest of my body and got out of the tub. My pussy was starting to feel like Mount Vesuvius, right before the people of Pompeii became a part of archeological history. Oh hell's bells! Naked and in the bedroom now, I was channeling Jesus. I turned on the ceiling fan and flung myself on my back onto the bed. I lay there in classic -fashion, with legs spread wide and waving my hand to increase air flow. It looked like I was giving instructions to a plane on where to land. But, the runway was on fire. Maybe it's the maso in me, fostered by those bald pussy-loving (now)-asshole Doms , or maybe I'm really as stupid as my blonde head implies, or maybe just because I was still so focused on the fact that I had action in my near future, I continued my quest for pussy perfection and assurance it would be enticingly as aromatic as a spring garden. This horny, dumb bitch decided that it was smart to throw gasoline on the fire and sprayed the inferno with FDS. Ten seconds later....Um, I THINK there's alcohol in that. Bad decision! Like a back-draft that'd give a fireman a boner, the heat level soared. Stop, drop and roll, and get the fuck out of there. Woe is ME. I went to the freezer and grabbed a bag of frozen corn. I shall never look at the Green Giant the same way again. He has now seen my twat; and said "'Ho, 'ho, 'ho". I shivered and my thighs quivered as I tried to remedy the burn, but didn't have much time to do so. I imagined that even in that short time pressed against my overheated love machine, the corn had probably been ready to put on a plate next to the steaming mashed taters. I think I heard somewhere that you could cook a grilled cheese on a car radiator. It's probably valid. I had to get dressed, and put on my "civilian" underwear for the drive. No reason to spend an hour in the car with a torture thong sawing my ass in half like a fat ham on a logging camp conveyor belt. Maybe I should have chosen the ham route, or maybe just no undies at all, but refer back to the blonde reference. During the drive, which was achingly slow due to areas of construction and me being night-blind and trying to see where I was going, the elastic around the undie's leg holes was carving into my now super-tender outskirts region. I shifted in my seat continuously and prayed I'd get there soon. I swore a few times, too. I finally got to the hotel, and called Roy to get the room number when I approached the front office area. I drove around to the room, and he was waiting outside. I flew out of the car while he stood there smiling, and urgently said, as I almost ran to the open doorway, "Roy, my pussy is on FIRE!" Roy, like every other man on the planet, thinks with his penis, and said "Ohhhh cooool". I ripped my underwear off down my legs, flung myself onto the bed, spread my legs wide and said, "No, I'm serious! Come look at it!" He was puzzled as I panted an explanation, and proceeded to examine the wreckage. Helicopters should have been flying overhead. "Well, what's it look like?", I asked. He gently touched my labia, and said, "Well, it looks like you've got a little brown down there." "Brown??? What the hell?" For a second I thought it was remnants of hair bits, but realized that'd be impossible after a bath. I had to see what he was talking about. I went into the bathroom and turned on the tub faucet and wetted a white hotel washcloth. I wiped the area and looked at the cloth. It wasn't brown he'd seen; it was RED. Holy shit, I'm bleeding. I'd gotten chemical burns. Oh Jesusssss. My crotch burn had relegated itself into a throbbing feeling of my pulse down there. I knew I'd damaged the exercise yard, and that only the elite inner sanctum of my cunt corridor had been spared from the Holocaust. I had to tell Roy how to work with me. "Ok, look now. Just aim directly for the hole, and nowhere else. No messing around down there. AIM. Got it?" It was duly noted. Fortunately, and ironically, the substance that had added more heat to the fire, alcohol, turned out to be somewhat of a remedy. When not applied topically, and ingested instead, it had more of an opposite effect. I began power-drinking and smoked some pot in preparation for Roy having me before the first guest. Things went fairly well throughout the evening, blessedly. The Russians and the Jamaicans had combined some good medicine. But, when I woke up sober in the morning, I did have a reminder of my folly. I was especially tingling in the inner regions of Clam Central. It's with that learned information in mind, that I tell all who may be thinking of short-cutting their way to pre-pubescent glory: If you ever decide to use Nair where it does not belong, set the kitchen timer and FROST the cupcake, but do NOT fill it!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Unbelievably, I have on occasion still used this method to silkiness, although I'm more cognizant about the time allotted and the application of Satan's Solvent. If you're brave enough to try it, just keep it on the outside and pretend that the tingle is just something kinky. One other day, in prepping to go see a Dom that I was really into, I sat in my bathroom talking to Him on the phone. His words were really turning me on, and I was anxious to get there. I hadn't played with anyone in a few weeks, and knew I needed some maintenance. Again, I wanted to make sure I was sporting a pristine pussy. I reached into the cabinet under the sink next to the toilet, grabbed the bottle, squirted out thick white lotion and applied it to the kitty. For the next 15 minutes or so, I was enraptured in talking to Him, and didn't pay attention to much else. At one point, my hand glanced by my nose, and I noticed that I didn't smell the telltale unpleasant scent that every woman that's used Nair knows. "Have I developed an immunity to the scent?", I thought for a second. Then, I turned my head and grabbed the upright, flattish bottle off of the sink vanity. Oh HELLLLLLLL. It wasn't Nair. It was PANTENE conditioner. I was that distracted that I did not even notice. DUHHHHHHHHH. Another blonde moment. Oh well, trying to look at the bright side of my stupidity: While it didn't remove the hair, it did leave it silky, shiny and full of incredible volume. |
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wow!! Great post!!!
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