I feel that it's time someone stepped up and told it like it is. Someone needs to get the word out. Someone bold. Someone eloquent, yet straightforward. Someone like me. :)
I'm going to tell you a secret about shaving (waxing, lasering, depilatory-creaming, whatever) your nether regions. Because I care about you, sweeties, and have your best interests in mind.
We've come a long way since the 70s, when it was 'acceptable' to have a wild, uncontrolled, natural-looking genital region. Go pick up The Joy of Sex, or any of the iconic X-rated features of the era, and you will see pubic (and leg, and underarm, and facial..) hair *everywhere*. Aesthetically it's perhaps not the most arousing look (if you can't see what you're playing with, what's the point? oh, unless you're blindfolded, which is a totally different discussion), but really my main objection is the choking hazard. Nothing ruins the mood more quickly than that 'coughing up a hairball' sensation.
Eventually came the introduction of landscaping. Just.. trimming things up a bit, making it a tad neater, more streamlined, and increasing the chances that you'll spend less time playing the 'licking and spitting' game (or getting stubble burn). ;) Some folks take it a step further and shave the remaining hair into patterns, but I think that's a smidge too much work; just give me something to rub my cheek (or chin, or nose, or palm, or.. other things) against, and I'm happy.
Then the pendulum finished its inevitable swing in the other direction, and all of a sudden instead of being populated by persians, porn was inundated with sphynxes. I'll admit to some not-insignificant disappointment in this development, and not because I buy into the 'why do you want women to look prepubescent' argument. Rather, it's both a visual (leave me a *touch* of mystery, please) and tactile ('smooth as a baby's bottom' just doesn't have the appeal to me that the differing textures between pubic hair and slick, wet folds, or public hair and silk-covered hardness of a cock, do) issue. However, for whatever reason it's where the court of public opinion is residing at this moment, so.. ::shrug::
Thus, when the Master instructed me a couple weeks ago to shave, I was a tad nonplussed. I'll admit it, part of it is a little narcissistic on my end- I *like* the ginger-colored carpet, both in looks and feel. So, just between you and I, dear readers, I cheated a bit- just not where it would make a difference/be readily apparent in the *ahem* digital evidence I had to send indicating my compliance. Everything betwixt the legs went, but the, for lack of a better turn of phrase, mound-cover stayed neatly cropped. Win-win, right?
Not exactly.
Because there's something more insidious about the shaving thing, something that the creators/purveyors of porn don't tell you, something I'd forgotten about because it's been a ridiculously long time since I've gone further than a close landscape. Sure, anyone over the age of, say, 14 knows that shaving anywhere is a tricky job, with hazards like ingrown hairs, and razor burn/bumps, and stubble, and (god forbid) nicks and cuts. Anxiety over such hazards certainly increases when you're working so close to the truly vital, sensitive bits, but once you get used to the mechanics of it, it's not *that* bad.
I'm talking about something much more important. Something that unless 1) you're a guy, or 2) a woman who does not regularly shave.. *down there*.. you probably aren't aware of as the biggest negative side effect of shaving:
Constant, nagging, low-level arousal.
See, bits tend to rub against each other (and fabric) when they don't have a nice little cushion of hair. So every single time you take a step, or shift in your chair, or make any one of a million unconscious moves, you're vividly reminded of said bits. I move around a *lot* throughout the day.
Frustrating. Frustrating, frustrating, frustrating.
Confession time (because clearly you haven't reached your quota of 'random TMI things you know about me'): if I'm not at work, I avoid underwear like the plague. The gentleman I was in service to for my formative sub years insisted on me remaining unclothed whenever I was in his house, and unless he gave me permission (and the undergarments) I wasn't allowed to wear anything other than what the sociocultural environment would consider the 'bare minimum.' Underwear was rarely on the list of 'bare minimum,' and thus a long-standing habit was born. The undie-avoidance seems to help just a little bit with the friction problem. Not much, especially if jeans are involved, but a little. I'm still leaving wet spots on things and wondering why the hell other people aren't trying to figure out what that intoxicating smell is. ;)
Now, aren't you glad that I took it upon myself to let you in on this little secret?
Knowing is half the battle, darlings. ;)
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