The Perfect Pussy?

There are certain times when I find myself cursing our ape-like ancestors, and bikini season is one of them. We pluck, shave, kill with smelly chemicals, rip out with hot wax for 48 hours of pure hairless bliss (or in my friend Antonia's case, 3.5 hours) before the fuckers begin planning their reunion tour.

I try to explain this to Xen Li, the stranger who usually performs this bizarre form of torture, and for which I tip her 20%. But Xen Li hasn't really mastered our native tongue and isn't one for much broken-English chit-chat. I do admire Xen Li for her courageous choice of profession, since I'm fairly certain what we do may be considered illegal or highly suspect in her communist country. We go into a room, I get completely naked from the waist down (Xen Li does not have time for such frivolous things as underwear) and she proceeds to wax me within an inch of my life. I sweat, I moan, sometimes I even cry. Xen Li flashes me a condescending look and says, "hey, not so bad!" I want to slap her, but she's got a vat of hot molten lava close by. And besides, I signed up for this S& M treatment, and will obediently make my next appointment after she pats me down with baby powder and cheerfully hands me my thong. All in the name of a smoove punani.