• Wed, Oct 3 2012

Dating Hijinks: The P*ssy Shaver

Quit getting it waxed, girl! I'll just shave it for you!

On Wednesdays, Amanda Chatel will be sharing stories about her strange, fascinating and sometimes wonderful dating life. If it makes you want to date, check out TheGloss dating page.

Ah, men and their need to see, have or taste a hairless vagina. I realize this isn’t so for every man out there, and many actually enjoy pubic hair, but when you do run into one that doesn’t care for it, not even a landing strip is bald enough. They want it bald, bald, bald. And some of them would like to have a hand in making it bald for you.

About two months into my relationship with B, he started sharing his desire to see me get a Brazilian wax. Of course, this was never going to happen. Not only are guests not welcome in the waxing room, but I wasn’t about to have anyone outside of my beloved waxer see me writhe in such pain as I did everything within my power not to scream out something bizarre or obscene. B, however, was not dissuaded by this fact. He was sure there was someplace in New York City that would allow him to be a guest during such a private procedure and he was going to find one. And he did — in Chinatown.

I objected for a hundred different reasons; he begged and he lost. But he wasn’t done in trying to make this hair removal witnessing dream come true.

One night after dinner he told me had a surprise. I don’t like surprises, and the last couple surprises I had received from him were either books he liked but I’d never read or some sort of sexual gadget that had me standing with my hands on my hips asking him “Really?”

When we got back to his place, he pulled a home waxing kit from a Duane Reade bag. I did exactly what I had done in the past: put my hands on my hips and asked, “Really?”

“It will bring us closer,” was his argument.

“If that’s what you think will bring us closer, then I don’t want to be closer.”

There was no way in hell I was going to use a home waxing kit. Just a few months before my roommate had tried one and what it came down to was her lying on the bathroom floor screaming for me to come help. When I got in the room, she was sprawled out, pubic hair and all, begging me to pull the cloth strip because she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Do you know what it’s like to be asked such a thing? I couldn’t do it either; I knew it would hurt too much. So we ended up slowing rolling it off, without removing any hair, just so she could scrub off the wax that had made a home on her Downtown Browns.

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  • Maria

    Of all the strange men portrayed in this column this is the one I dislike the most.

  • Pants

    Of course there’s a visitor’s section in Chinatown. *eyeroll*

    I’m surprised you didn’t tell him he had to get waxed first. I think it may have shut him up. Well, after the screaming.

    I’m glad you left. The glasses would have been the last straw for me too. Good effing eff.

    (spazemailsentabitago)

  • LCT

    At first I was like, “I guess it’s not that bad, I mean, everyone has preferences.” And then I read to the end, and I was like, “Oh. My. God. Run for the hills!!”

  • Jessie

    Downtown Browns made me cackle. Out loud. In my cubicle.

    • Lindsay

      Me too! Except I’m in the bell tower, like Quasimodo, where no one can hear me.