season, and I was sporting a rocking case of "winter bush."
Ladies, we all know what that is: You wear jeans and heinie-hiding girl-brief panties all winter long, into early spring, and when you finally snap and look down at your privies in the shower, it looks like you are hobby-horsing a yeti.
Shaving your pubies is a pain in the ass -- sometimes literally -- and then you not only end up with razor burn, bumps, ingrown hairs and needle-sharp stubble, but you have to keep shaving, and shaving....Depilatory creams and gels burn like the acid-blood from the Alien movies, and they smell like omelet farts. Laser hair removal costs as much as buying a small planet. Waxing is my old stand-by for a furless noo-noo and trunkus, but even that comes with challenges like redness, swelling, a few ingrowns and prices that aren't always budget-friendly.
I was recently clued into another option: body sugaring. It's been around for a while, but isn't well-known outside of salon-centric circles here in Denver. The process is almost as beautiful as the results.
I did some internetz research before my sugaring appointment, and I discovered that body sugaring is an ancient Eqyptian/Middle Eastern form of hair removal that uses a natural sugar-water-lemon juice mixture, heated to soft-ball candy form, spread on to furry parts, then quickly removed with the direction of the hair growth -- waxing goes against. No strips needed because it's done by hand, no follicle damage, less hair breakage, and it apparently catches even the teeny-tiny nubs. Talk about going green.....
The sugaring mixture only has three ingredients -- and they're even all edible. This sounded way too good to be true.
I made an appointment at Suite 323, with owner/licensed Esthetician/ epiliator Nan Kushel and her also-licensed staff epiliator, Anna Trujillo.
The salon offers body sugaring for men, women and everyone in-between -- so, yes, gentlemen, Kushel and company will remove the curlies from your yam-sacks upon request. Kushel is sparky. She has years of experience waxing and sugaring, and some pretty interesting horror stories about both: everything from clients with seriously bad hygiene to ones who unreasonably expect hair removal not to hurt at all.
As for me, I've had quite a few Brazilians, and I actually wasn't nervous about the sugar-brazzy -- just curious and eager.
The salon is small, but neat and comfortable. I shed my britches and underpants, ambled onto the padded table, and spread 'em.
I admired Nan's resolve -- she didn't even wince at my Wookie. She calmly and precisely gave my snoodle a trim -- it needed a weed-whacker -- and then dipped into a small crock-pot, coming up with a palm-sizes globule of what looked like honey.
She worked the shiny, amber ball between her gloved fingers for a couple of minutes, and then spread it on a small section of my lower deck. It was body temperature, not unpleasant feeling. I held my breath -- she ripped. It wasn't so bad. My eyes weren't watering. Yet.
By the time she got down to that super-sensitive place between my cootie-lip and my inner thigh, I was steely, I was super-human....okay, that shit stung.
Anyone who thinks that getting hair ripped from your luncheon loaf doesn't hurt a bit needs to think differently. Of course it hurts.
The awesome visual part of this process is that Kushel uses the same sugar until it runs out of grabby-ness, and by that time that happened, the sugar was loaded with hair -- like a pube-ball.
I admired my newly-stripped peach in a hand mirror. Not bad at all. And, strangely enough, it did not appear red, swollen or disfigured in any way.
And then was the super-fun part -- sugaring my butt-crack.
There is a common myth perpetuated by men everywhere that women do not grow any fuzz around their hinder-holes. Wrong. Ours isn't akin to some of the mighty man-sprouts I've seen, but it's there. And mine was about to be gone.
I hoisted myself into the doggie-style position, and genuinely tried to relax. Boo-boo hairs are tucked into some rather delicate skin, so I fully expected this to be excruciating. Kushel slathered, and then ripped.
Huh -- not nearly as painful or uncomfortable as the waxing strips. And she was oh-so-fast. In fact, the entire procedure took about forty minutes from start to finish. Kushel even let me taste-test the mixture, and it tasted like ordinary table honey -- like the stuff in the little squirty bear bottle.
I got dressed, went home, and immediately had a look-see at my hairless crevices, with a mirror, from every angle I could contort myself into. Still no fiery redness, nothing was swollen, itchy or bruised, and there was not a speck of hair to be seen.
I spent the night of, and most of the day after, my sugaring waiting for my fragile flower and treasure trough to erupt into flames, or at the very least mutate into a magenta-hued, bumpy DMZ that needed a bag of frozen peas to treat. Nope. My precious lady meats were smooth, ivory and luscious.
Sugaring is miraculous. Kushel is a miracle-worker. And she charges $45 for the full-brazzy, which seems more than reasonable to me. Hell, I've spent that much on beer and Fruit Roll-Ups at the gas station in one visit, and had far less to show for it.
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Bring on swimsuit season: I'm a walking advertisement for body sugaring, and if I had to come up with an awesome slogan for it, it would be "Sugar-Brazilians! For lads and for lasses -- gets the hair outta your asses!"
But that's only because I couldn't think of anything that rhymes with "vulva" or "testicles."