From the time I became sexually active, I insisted on rocking a bald eagle. My vagina had no choice but to be bare. I spent hours in the bathroom making sure I got every single hair that crept up in-between my legs until I was sure there were none left to see, feel, or accidentally swallow. I wanted whoever I was sleeping with to view me as a hairless goddess.
Meanwhile, my pubes would literally start to sprout within the next few days of shaving and there I was again with my leg up on the bathroom counter trying to get rid of the threadlike monsters who were constantly trying to f--k up my sex life! Ladies, you know the struggle.
That was until I switched to waxing. Waxing was the more “sophisticated" way of stripping my p*ssy-lawn every six to eight weeks. Instead of breaking a sweat trying to shave the hairs towards the rear of my vag, I had someone else do it, and her name was Apollonia. (Btw, I recommend Bliss Spa on 57th Street in NYC for anyone who's interested.) The first time I got waxed, I didn't intend on having sex, but I was so mesmerized by how smooth my pearl was that I had to give it a try.
From that moment on, I was hooked.
I was spending $75+ on the most painful experience every month, all to keep my vajayjay smooth like butter. I continued with this waxing spree even through a tough year of celibacy. Sometime in November 2015, my wax lady went back to Poland for vacation. That tragedy caused me to skip a month of waxing, which ended up becoming eight months, including this July.
But let's take it back to February 2016. Back then, I was without a wax for about two months. I bumped into an “old friend", had a few drinks, and the next thing you know we were in a hotel room ready to let loose. At that moment in time, I snapped back into reality and remembered that my vagina was a hairy mess. There was no way I was going to strip naked or let this man touch me while a mulberry bush was actively growing in my pants.
Keep in mind this was the guy who got to experience my very first wax years prior. In his mind, I was this beautiful, feisty, well-kept Prima Donna. As a matter of fact, I was and still am a beautiful, feisty, well-kept Prima Donna… Just with a hairy puss.
Anyhow, when I voiced my hairy insecurities, he chuckled and said, “Do you really think that would stop me?"
That night, I had the best carefree sex in my life. I felt so liberated flexing my shaggy ass all throughout the hotel room. Although I don't mind keeping a groomed cooch, if I don't get to it, that will no longer stop me from enjoying the company of any man.
Long story short, our bodies are meant to grow hair. Don't feel the need to get rid of yours for the satisfaction of a man who probably has inches of hair growing from his balls.
Any man who has a problem with little or a lot of human nature, is a man you Definitely. Shouldn't. Be. Fucking.
Do you rock a bush? Why or why not? Share with us in the comments below.
Miabelle NYC is a New York-based writer with a feminist flare and a free spirit! Her day job consists of digital producing for a number one radio station, while the rest of her time is spent writing and producing content of her O W N! For more of Miabelle, you can find her at MiabelleNYC.com.
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