Nervously sitting in the parking lot with my car parked and running, I rummaged through my giant Mary Poppin's purse in desperate search of some sort of wipe; no such luck. Anxiously hitting my glove compartment with my fist, it flew open spilling out a mass amount of junk; car payments, toothbrush, insurance card, dog toy, make-up,but no wipes, not even a used tissue. I grabbed the anti-bacterial hand gel I had found and my purse and used that to get the job at hand done. Silently agonizing over the sting it cause, I didn't bother to take the time to clean up the mess I had made. I turned off the car, took a deep breath and hesitantly walked towards the door.
Smiling faces and gleaming eyes greeted me as I scurried through the doorway. Walking up to the counter, I could feel the heat from my neck turning scarlet red due to embarrassment.
"I have an appointment at 3:00 p.m" I quietly told the tiny lady behind the granite counter, "My name is Jennifer Porter".
"What you here for" the little Chinese lady questions as she skimmed through her notepad, "I can't find you on here!"
Her mild hostility made me start to sweat. I could feel the perspiration under my arms in full force and the tiny beads forming on the back of my neck. I noticed a few people begin to look up from their activities to eaves drop on the conversation that had quickly turned interesting. Leaning over the counter, I motioned to her to with my hand to come closer and discreetly whispered my request into her ear.
"What kind you want?" the lady loudly and impatiently asked me as she stood eye-level with my chest.
Trying to find the words to express my request, I hesitated before I spoke, "Ummmm, I would like, ummmm, the, you know...private job?"
Tilting her head to the side, she lifted the Bic pen to her mouth and began to ponder on my request. As the light-bulb went off in her head, her eager hands shot up in the air, "OHHHH, I know, I know. You come to have your Choo-Choo waxed!" Grabbing my arm she began to lead me hastily through the busy salon, loudly chirping, "Come with me, I take to you to the back to get your wax job done. You want bikini wax or you want whole thing gone. You want whole thing gone? I only charge you 20 dollas mo. It's real nice. You so pretty, you going to love it. White men love it. You want manicure and pedicure when done? Only 30 dollas mo".
Slamming the door behind me, I took a deep breath and threw myself against the back of the door. I had been taken to a seclude room, or rather a broom closet, in the back of the salon. The room was bare except for the long massage table with disposable paper covering the top and the wax and strips of cloth that sat neatly on the small metal table beside it. Shuddering at the image of my grim surroundings, I began to question the choice I was making, "So what's wrong with a little hair slipping out of your bikini? Everyone has it. It's not that big of a deal."
Before, I could reason myself out of the room, back into my car and home simply to shave, the petite Chinese lady from the counter entered the room, gloved hands in front of her body like a surgeon about to perform a triple bi-pass.
"Okay, you ready?" she asked as she walked past me to turn up the heat on the bowl of yellow wax.
The buttons on my pants seemed to stick more and more with each attempt I made. My fingers were like jello and it seemed an eternity before my pants were on the floor. Sliding up onto the table, the wax er shook her finger to the soon to be waxee and instructed me to remove my underwear.
Panties on the floor, now I felt violated. Was it not bad enough to be forced into once a year allowing a basic stranger to poke and prod at my boobs, make me pee in a cup and stick a long Q-tip up my vagina? But now by my own admission, I exposed myself again only for pure vanity.
Following her instructions, I layed down on table and cringed and the feel and the sound of the paper crinkling beneath me. Spreading my legs, and closing my eyes, I gripped onto the side of the table for dear life. At first, she was very gentle as initially applied the warm wax. For that moment in time, it was almost soothing and I thought they should put some lavender candles in the room to ease the nerves of first timers.
Laying the strip of cloth over the hot wax, she glanced up to me and grinned. "Okay, you ready now?" she said with her innocent smile on her face, "This going to hurt reaalllll bad".
Before I knew what hit me, I was gasping for air, shocked by the pain that pulsated through my entire body, "SHIITTTTTTTTT!!" I screamed as I threw myself into a sitting position and began blowing with all my might on the red patch of hair free skin on my left inner thigh. Giant roars of laughter exploded out of the small-framed woman and I sensed the shear pleasure she was having on my inflicted pain.
Patting my leg, she told me to calm down stating eventually I would just go numb. "Only 39 mo times!" she yelled to me and she continued to torture me with every strip she ripped from me.
Dripping with sweat, I waddled out of the salon 30 minutes later looking like a plucked chicken and feeling like I spent an evening in Guantanamo Bay. I baffled at the price women will pay for beauty and was shocked that I had scummed to the temptation. Although, I swore I would never return, the benefit of not having to shave for an entire summer provided me with a worry free bikini season. The very next summer, I was back in the salon, ready for my "choo-choo" wax. It's like women who have children over and over again. Yes, the pain was unbearable, but the results make you forget.