A friend, we’ll call her Dee, called me, saying, “I need you help!” So, I scurried over to her place, finding her on the couch, legs propped high in the air. She told me, “I waxed.”
Something you should know about my friend–she recently divorced and decided to go from hair-down-there to bare.
Apparently, as she was slathering on the wax, her doorbell rang. She grabbed a robe and rushed to find out who was outside. The UPS man. She received the shipment of something she’d been waiting on. Minutes later, she remembered she still had wax on a very important part of her body. However, the wax had gotten cold and hard. Her vagina sealed shut. She started to panic and pulled and tugged, but the wax wouldn’t give an inch.
Here’s where I come in…
I ran hot water in the tub. My assumption was that the water would melt the wax. Hahahahahaha. Boy was I wrong! She got stuck to the bottom of the tub.
In comes friend two. We’ll call her Joyce. After she helped me pull Dee from the tub, which wasn’t easy, we contemplated our next move. Joyce had worked in a salon for a few years so we figured she’d know what we should do. But, she didn’t have a solution, except giggling behind her hand and suggesting we drink a glass of wine. Dee was all for the alcohol.
In comes the third friend. We’ll call her Sandy. She is a nurse. She shook her head and was speechless. Dee was in pain, her lips were glued together and she slightly suspected she would never use those parts again. Now, she’s on her second glass of wine, muttering, ‘I needed wax for dummies.”
Finally, I grabbed a bottle of olive oil, handed it over and told Dee to apply liberally. And guess what? It worked! The hair still remained, but she decided she’d stick with a razor.
Have any horror stories with wax?
Buy link: Under Pressure
Secret Pressure, Book 4 of Rhinestone Cowgirls is available for pre-order. Releasing July 29th.
Here is an excerpt:
Their bodies were close—so close his body heat warmed her. She should step back, but every feminine urge screamed for her to stay right there, accept the gift of passion. The bulge rubbing her stomach made her look down. He was naked! Awareness trickled through her and desire pooled into her loins. “Jobe…” his name fell from her lips, an invitation to put his erection to good use.
He gathered her into his arms, clutching her against the warmth of his warm, broad chest. She could stay right here forever, close to him, hearing the beat of his heart. He carried her effortlessly to the couch and placed her on the leather cushion. She kept her gaze steady on him, watching him as he stood above her, thankful that the moon offered some light so she could admire him.
All logic told her she should push him away, run like hell, but a bigger part of her liked knowing he was ready for her. She reached for his hand and kissed his knuckles, inhaling his fresh soap scent and a trace of leather. How could she ever deny herself the one man who promised such pleasure?
She looked up through the veil of her lashes, moistening her dry lips. “Please, Jobe,” she urged. “No thinking. Just feeling.”
Buy here: Secret Pressure