THE SEX DIARIES: After a rejuvenation downstairs, foreplay went on for a deliciously long time. But did I enjoy the new sensations more than him?
Eliot and I had been seeing each other for a month and a half and I thought it was time to commit, finally commit, to having a Brazilian wax.
He hadn’t reared away from me with disgust yet, but perhaps it was only a matter of time: he was 27 and probably unused to women in their natural state.
On the other hand, though, as a woman approaching 50 and a mother of three, my bikini area might well be better off overgrown than over-exposed. Not for nothing is there a booming trade in cosmetic vaginal rejuvenation for women my age.
To see me naked as a mole‑rat down there might turn Eliot to stone.
But from what I remembered from the last time I got a Brazilian — which was in the early 2000s, during the early heady days of life with my husband — the pleasure during sex, mine as well as his, was (almost) worth the pain.
I remembered, too, that it made me feel risque and secretly sexy on my way to the shops.
So many young women are waxed these days that men their own age are not used to the full, natural 'Amazonian rainforest'
Fiftysomething Annabel Bond (not her real name) got a Brazilian as a treat for her 27-year-old lover, but would he be impressed?
So I looked up a local salon online to find a dizzying array of new choices.
There was the regular old school bikini wax (where hair is removed from only the sides); the Hollywood, (where hair is removed from everywhere); and the Brazilian, which preserves only a ‘landing strip’ at the front.
But I could also now curate my landing strip into the shape of a postage stamp, a martini glass, a star, or a Christmas tree.
Resolutely, I steered my mouse away from the Amazon rainforest option — I was growing that already — and booked in with Karina for a regular Brazilian. ‘With a large landing strip,’ I told her, as I hopped up on the table, naked from the waist down.
Much like my midwife, as Karina worked away, hoicking my leg up towards my ear and telling me how brave I was, our physical intimacy quickly progressed into telling each other about our lives.
‘I’m still technically married, but I’m seeing someone new,’ I told her.
‘I will do a good job for you,’ said Karina, furrowing her brow and spreading hot wax over an enormous area. ‘But do you regret leaving your husband?’
RRRIIP!
‘No!’ I said, loudly, the shock of my hairs being torn from their roots making me shout.
Even with my legs akimbo on the waxing table, sweat popping from my brow, getting the kind of wax that only the un-married put themselves through, I didn’t regret it at all.
Karina told me she was thinking of leaving her husband, too, but couldn’t get up the courage. I could only tell her that divorce is not right for everyone, but it was for me. And Eliot was my beautiful prize, after enduring the long years of unhappiness.
A dizzying array of new choices is on offer these days, including the full Hollywood or 'landing strip' Brazilian which can be shaped into a star, Martini glass or even a Christmas tree
At our next meeting in my brother’s vacant flat, I made a big deal of the thrill that Eliot would encounter, dropping hints but not telling him the specifics. I was still shy around him; it was only the fourth time we had slept together.
I tried to keep my sagging neck and face out of direct sunlight, but I was excited for the big reveal below, which felt naked and sexy underneath my clothes.
I expected a round of applause, or his mouth to fall open with amazement and gratitude. But his handsome face showed only the usual excitement level, which was, to be fair, still high. I’d been right; for him, waxing was the norm.
At the same time, Eliot was not repelled by the sight either, for which I am eternally grateful. He took it all in his stride.
No pain no gain. But having a wax done professionally can be worth it, says Annabel
Foreplay went on for a deliciously long time. He was good with his hands, but I think I enjoyed the new sensations more than him, which was exactly as it should be, seeing as I endured the waxing pain.
There is a particular kind of sensuousness that comes with having no pubic hair. Although millions of women endure regular waxing, to me it felt daring and fresh.
Perhaps my marriage would have benefited from a Brazilian more often, but what mother of three small children would do that in her me-time?
‘I wish I was older,’ Eliot said afterwards. I swallowed the thought that it was because, naked, we were a mismatch. I was very happy he was only 27.
‘If I was older I’d snap you up,’ he added.
‘But you’re not, you’re young,’ I said.
Suddenly I wasn’t so happy about his age. Eliot meant that he was too young for me, said in the nicest possible way. But I knew that already.
In the meantime, my smooth and clean nether regions would await their next assignment — if there was to be one.
Annabel Bond is a pseudonym. All names have been changed.
