Masochism and a tub of hot wax

I was right - not having the regular after dinner cigarette is driving me crazy. I went for a long walk to try and get rid of the cravings but all it did was increase the itchniness. How on earth *did* I manage to quit last time? I certainly know how I managed to cut down (hint, it involves keeping the mouth too busy to smoke). Since the walk didn’t work and neither is sucking on ice cubes, I figure I’ll bash out a few words here to keep at least mental cravings at bay for awhile.

Warning, content behind the cut is of a rather adult nature so if you’re easily offended, don’t read it. If you DO read it, don’t come crying to me!

I’ve always had a bit of a masochistic streak, ever since I was younger and had a lover who explored this and the whole domination/submission powerplay element of sex with me. Now, before your minds go RACING for the gutter, mind that it’s just a bit of a streak - I’m not into the crazy nipple clamps and electric shocks, whips and gimp masks, it’s more the mental aspect of things that gets my gears whirring…

Actually, I’ll take a break from that story to talk about the first time I ever saw a gimp mask in person - it was a few years ago during O-week at uni, for some unknown reason, the organizers thought it’d be great to have a Sexpo-style sexuality tent in the middle of campus. Now, while I couldn’t be arsed going into the tent (I was more interested in parking my keester at the uni bistro with an alcoholic beverage or three), I had a friend who ventured in and told me about seeing a woman with her breasts covered in clothes pegs (clothes pegs?!), another with nipple clamps, the most mind-bogglingly dazzling array of dildos, vibrators and cockrings ever displayed on a university campus, as well as a variety of other sights that I’ve since forgotten. Frankly, I was pretty surprised that the university admin had allowed such a display on the grounds, but I guess the logic was that since it was in a covered tent and admission was only given upon proof of being 18+, that anyone whose eyeballs fell out of their head only had themselves to blame. After having a good laugh with my mates about the whole thing and sobering up after my drink, I moseyed out and headed to class, only to freeze halfway across the courtyard. Why did I freeze? Because something happened that I never imagined would have - a woman in a shiny black PVC dominatrix get-up was leading an older (well, I judge this by the greying mass amounts of body hair), obese male around on a collar and leash, with an almost full gimp mask (with eye and nose holes and a zip across the mouth), a leather studded suspender type thing with a black leather g-string.

For the rest of my life, that image is burned into my retinas. Talk about an education, *shudders* that much of one I DIDN’T need!

So back to my masochistic streak. I think that everyone has it to some degree…well, perhaps saying everyone is a bit of a stretch, maybe at least half the population. It’s one of the reasons that people become addicted to piercings and tattoos - as well as the aesthetic value (to them), there’s the pain/pleasure of the actual process that can be euphoric and even addictive.

This ties in with my obsession with waxing. And yes, I’m talking about the decidedly unsexy hair removal process (though playing with melted candles can be quite fun), which has become a slowly increasing obsession of mine. I’ve waxed my own legs for a few years now, and been getting Brazilian waxes on and off from my beautician for even longer. However, after they closed their doors two years ago, I’ve tried going to a few other beauty parlours and just haven’t been happy with the job they’ve done, which has resulted in a lack of waxing and mostly just some very careful trimming with scissors for quite awhile.

However, last year at a Strangly function, I was talking with the other E of our group (also a short little Asian girl, funny that!) who confessed that she enjoyed waxing her bikini line. I automatically winced. I mean, I’d had other people wax me down there plenty of times, but the thought to attempt it myself had frankly never even crossed my mind! I asked her how she could do it, and she explained that after you got over the pain, that it felt really productive, which in turn made her feel good.

I have to admit that my curiosity was perked then and there. I’d recently progressed to going from waxing just my legs to waxing my armpits as well, and I quite enjoyed it! There was something in the application of the hot wax that bordered almost on uncomfortable, feeling it cool and tighten on the skin, then the sudden (but slight) bloom of pain in the removal, followed by the rush of adrenalin (and possibly endorphin) right after it, and being greeted with the sight and sensation of smooth, soft, hairless skin underneath.

Now, you can’t tell me that even just reading that last paragraph doesn’t sound the tiniest bit…intruiging!

The next time I waxed my legs, I did my armpits then my gaze slowly went southward…could I? Would I? I had to make up my mind fairly quickly as while the wax was hot, it had already started to cool and become viscous, so I exhaled and pulled down my pants. I spread the wax into thin purple strips along my bikini line, then wondered what the hell I was doing as it cooled down. After waiting for a few seconds, I gritted my teeth and tugged hard on the firm wax, letting out a yelp as it (and the hair) separated from my skin. The pain was much more intense than I’d experienced in waxing any other body part, but the rush of adrenalin that followed far surpassed it as well.

While I only did my bikini line at first, every time that I waxed I became more daring, going further and taking more off, till this weekend when I managed to take it almost all off.

The worrying thing is that now I’ve progressed this far, the thrill from waxing down there is beginning to fade, yet I’ve not really got anywhere else to wax!

Right, well that rant managed to kill an hour, what am I going to do between now and bedtime to keep me distracted and from having my bloody night time cigarette?