A Masochist Afraid of a Leg Wax?

At the flea, I sat in on Boymeat’s class on surviving corporal.  By the way, if you ever get a chance to sit in on his classes, I highly recommend it.  He knows his shit and is a fantastic speaker.  No I’m not just saying this because I know he reads my blog. Anyway, in his class, he lists various reasons why people chose to receive pain.  To quote from his handout:

1.  Service
2. Sexual Pleasure
3. Challenge Scene
4. Psychological/catharsis
5. Curiousness
6. To Gain Skills

All true, but there is yet another reason to receive pain that he left out: Beauty.

 

Last weekend, I found myself sitting in a salon near my house, watching a nice Chinese lady spread hot wax over my legs with a roller thingy. A small woman with a round face, wearing a nametag on her pink apron that said Alice.  She pursed her lips disapprovingly and the growing hairs on my thighs.

 

“Oh yes.  You need.  Why you no come sooner?”

 

Because much as I like the end result, and the convenience of not having to deal with shaving for a few weeks, leg waxes are intimidating.

 

This is ridiculous, I thought to myself last weekend, I let my ass get pulverized by a toybag’s worth of canes and floggers, and today I’m wincing at a few hairs getting pulled from my groin and my legs.  What the hell?

 

The lady waxing me gave a short gasp.  She had discovered the lash marks on my thighs.  Perfect diagonal bruises on the tops of my legs.  They were no longer welted or even painful, just less than attractive.

 

“I got scratched by a cat” I explained.  ”It’s really nothing.”

 

Alice nodded.

 

That’s right, a cat… that just happened to leave contiguous scratch marks down both thighs.  Whatever.  She bought it. No use scaring the woman.

 

 I drew in a quick breath as Alice adhered the cloth to the wax she had spread over my bikini line. I can’t remember if I yelped, but I definitely gave a wince as she gave the strip a quick tug, pulling both the wax and hairs off my body.

 

 ”I know.  I know.  Hurts, right?” Alice asked me.

 

“I’m ok.  I did sign up for this.” 

 

 She held the strip up afterwards to show me all the hairs sticking to the strip like flies on flypaper.

 

“You see?  I told you.  You need!”

 

In any other context, this would be a turn on. I love wax play.  It’s one of my favorite games ever…  And pain?  Well, I am a masochist, after all.   Somehow, when I’m paying a Chinese lady to rip strips off my legs, the whole experience ceases to be sexy.

 

That moment hammered the point home for me about just how important intention is in play. The relationship one has with a play partner can completely change the amount of pain one is willing to take and can  change how one registers it. Some time ago, I was speaking with someone about the power of intention. The intention of an action dictates how its perceived. I can get beaten to a pulp by Evan with canes for what seems like hours, because we have a relationship. Not only do I trust him, but I know that he is hitting me with the intention of playing, exploring limits, and getting each other off.

 When I signed up for my salon appointment, I agreed to a different level of trust; the trust that exists within a business transaction. I trust that she knows what she’s doing and that she won’t send me out on the street with errant patches of wax adhering me to my jeans.

 

Alice was very professional in the way she went about her job, even when she slid some paper through my underwear so as not to obstruct the places that needed waxing. like she was collating files.  I couldn’t help but wonder how many groins she had seen over the course of her career as a beautician.  Sex organs desexualized.  

 

 She used the same quick, efficient dexterity on my legs. One leg than the other, at  some point asking me to turn over. The hairs on my shins and calves were particularly painful.  I let out an audible yelp with each yank. And I kept thinking back to Boymeat’s  lecture.

 

Tensed muscles tend to hurt more.  This is why hitting calves are really painful. Who’s ever heard of a non tensed calf muscle? That’s for damn sure.

 

 As anyone who’s played with me can attest, even in the context of play, I’m one hell of a squirmy bottom. I’ll move around, I’ll wince, I’ll do any number of things to process the pain I’m receiving.  When a scene ends, however, I often leave flying.  

 

I did my fair share of wincing at the beauty parlor that day, and eventually was able to focus on my breathing and ride it out. Alice showed an almost motherly concern for my well being.

 

“No worry, no worry” She said, holding yet another strip up for my inspection “Almost finish.  Two, three more and then finish.” 

 

I chose to accept that pain for the end result, for the ability to feel up and down my legs and feel nothing but smoothness, and feel better about myself when I wear pretty underwear.  So I guess even though the process was not sexual in and of itself, the ramifications very much are.

 

I feel sexier knowing that my legs are smooth and my nails are done, even in these winter months. It puts a spring in my step and gives my confidence the ever so slightest boost.

 

And, at the end of the day, what’s sexier on a woman than confidence?

~ by Sascha on January 28, 2008.