Waxed Tag

Is that anti-feminist? “Okay on the count of three,” says the lady between my thighs “one, two…” “Arggggghhhhhh” I scream. Within the sterile room, my knees are spread wide, my vagina on show. I squeeze Kit’s hand hard, digging my nails into his palms, but he doesn’t complain. As an alternative, he kisses me on the pinnacle: “you’re doing rather well.” I just want it to be over. “And again,” says the lady. “Owwwww! Holy Mother of F….” No, this shouldn't be a flashback of childbirth. This was last month at a waxing parlour where, for the primary time, I used to be getting my pubic hair ripped out at the basis. And it was Kit’s turn...