Voyeur Extraordinaire(13)

I coughed. “So you're waxed. Completely?” I tried not to let a picture of Amy’s vagina pop up in my head and almost broke into a sweat from the effort.

She laughed again and looked at me like I was the cutest little thing she’d ever seen. I had to admit that it made me feel really dumb. “Yes. Jared loves it. Have you never done it?”

I bit my lip nervously. “No. There was never the need for me to...since I never really had a long-term relationship…”

“Nothing is better than waxing. No hair is a must, really. And you don’t have to be in a relationship to take care of yourself. I think we women should do more things for ourselves,” she said with a grin. When I thought of things I could do for myself, ripping my hair out, root and all, somehow didn’t cross my mind. I’d always filed that under torture and not so much wellness.

“At first I always got the Brazilian Landing strip, but then I decided to get the Brazilian Hollywood Cut, and Jared positively adores it. Nothing is more perturbing than having hair in your mouth all the time.”

I stared at her with wide eyes, not having the slightest clue what she'd just talked about. “Brazilian what?” I was either the dumbest person on the planet, or Amy was simply weird. So far I’d associated Brazil with carnival, the Copacabana and the Amazon.

She giggled, definitely amused by my cluelessness. “I guess we need to deal with the basics first.” She sat up straighter and folded her hands. “Landing strip means that a thin strip of pubic hair remains. Hollywood Cut means that every single hair gets removed. There's also the option of having a Brazilian Triangle, but I've never had it.”

My face felt like it was burning up but I couldn't take my eyes from Amy. She didn't seem embarrassed at all by the topic. She talked about it as though it was the most normal thing in the world, but maybe it was, and I was just a freak.

“So men like it?”

Amy nodded her head vehemently. “Most men don't like their women all bushy.” She paused, scrutinizing me. “I've got an idea. It's Saturday and we both don't have anything better to do. So why don't we go to my favorite waxing studio and get a waxing. I'm due anyway.”

I swallowed, a bit nervous but also very excited. “Sure, why not.”

I yelped in surprise when Amy grabbed my thigh and pushed my trouser leg up. She took a look at my calf and ran a hand over it. I blushed furiously, knowing that I hadn't gotten around to shaving for a few days. Could my mortification get any worse?

Amy tilted her head in contemplation. “I’m not sure if your hair is long enough. We’ll have to ask if we can have your legs waxed as well.”

I nodded numbly, gulping down the rest of my coffee.

Amy jumped up from her chair, startling Bruno who'd been sleeping on his back, snoring loudly. He rolled onto his stomach and watched us. I stood and patted his head in apology.

“Come on, Nora. Let's go. The sooner we get rid of your body hair, the better,” Amy shouted loud enough for probably the entire neighborhood to hear.

My face was as red as a tomato as I followed Amy out of my apartment and down the stairs toward her Mini Cooper.

Amy was a fast driver, even worse than most Cab drivers, and a few times I actually feared for my life but luckily we arrived safely at our destination. The waxing studio Amy led me into was held in white and light green tones and there were bright orange sofas and armchairs everywhere. The woman behind the counter recognized Amy immediately and greeted us very friendly, which probably should have set me at ease. She was even taller than me and had a waist to kill for. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tidy ponytail. Despite her smile, I was a bit intimidated. This place looked expensive, and even Amy’s words couldn’t get me excited about spending a little fortune on someone torturing me.

“So what can I do for you and your friend?” the woman asked.

Amy smiled. “Armpits, Legs, Brazilian Hollywood Cut,” the words shot out of her mouth without hesitation and I didn't dare to object, though I wondered if the Hollywood Cut was the right thing for me. Maybe I should start small, with a Triangle or something like that. Then an image of Adrian with his women shot through my head and I decided that I could do it. I’d survived two years in Jack’s bar. How bad could this really be?

A woman who looked to be in her late twenties with curly, brown hair introduced herself as Marie, my Depiladora. Apparently, that was the correct term for someone who removed people's hair. There was so much I needed to learn. The word sounded glamorous. Maybe I should consider changing jobs. But the thought of ripping someone’s hair from their lady parts somehow sounded even worse than serving beer to drunk assholes. Oh well…