Cindy's Chronicles

Those Who Shall Remain Hairless

      Spring arrived, and with it came the Catholic school decree that we would switch to our summer uniforms.  I was happy to shed the knee high socks and heavy blazers.  When I walked into class in my light blue skirt and white ankle socks, I did everything I could to try to hide my hairy 12-year-old legs.  Somehow, I’d missed the memo that all the 7^th grade girls were to start shaving over the winter months.

            Two humiliating days later, I knew what I had to do. But the thought of asking my mother if I could shave my legs filled me with dread.  At my house, anything that indicated I was growing up (like make-up, nail polish, etc.) was out of the question.  It seemed that my parents wanted to keep me in my girlhood stage for as long as possible.

            I approached the topic with my mother casually, but with caution. 

            Sitting on the couch, staring at my bare legs with a very concerned look, I called her as she was passing by me, heading towards the bedroom. “Mami?”

            She stopped walking and looked at me.  “What is it?”

            “Uh…I was just wondering…when can I start shaving my legs?” 

            She narrowed her eyes at me.  “Why? Do you want to?”

            I nodded my head.  “All of the girls in my class have already done it.”

            To my surprise, she shrugged and started walking away.  “If you want to.”

            I was elated. That was way too easy!

            Then she stopped and turned around.  I held my breath, waiting for the catch.  “But once you start, you can’t stop.  You’ll be a slave to your legs for the rest of your life.”  And she went into the bedroom.

            I exhaled and got up from the couch, practically skipping to the bathroom.  Who cared about that?  I could shave my legs!  Never again would the girls in my class point at my furry legs and giggle.  Maybe now the boys would pay attention to me!

            Of course, when I got to the bathroom, I realized I had no clue what to do.  “Mami!” I called again. “How do you do it?”

            She came into the bathroom and gave me my dad’s bottle of shaving cream, and one of her pink plastic disposable razors.  If you thought we were about to have a touching mother-daughter moment, so did I, but that’s not what happened.  With a hint of annoyance at my whiny concerns about cutting myself, she pretended to shave her own leg, showing me the correct upward motion.  “Don’t forget to rinse the razor when it gets clogged with hair,” she told me, and then walked out of the bathroom, leaving me to my own fate.

            Fortunately, shaving isn’t rocket science.  With the extreme light pressure I was using, I couldn’t have nicked myself if I’d tried.  The first few strokes revealed the soft skin lying beneath, and I marveled at its touch.  For the rest of the evening, I couldn’t stop feeling myself up.  My legs felt so smooth! 

            The next day, I rolled up my skirt like I’d seen the other girls do, and strode into class.  I was excited at the reactions I would get from the other girls in my class, but the reactions never came.  I’m sure they noticed, but they pretended not to, the little tramps.  Oh well, I told myself, as long as the boys notice, that’s all that really matters.

            Four years later, and I was still a virgin.  I’d done almost everything but the act itself.  My steady boyfriend of 6 months broached the subject of shaving down there in the same casual but cautious tone I’d used on my mother.

            We were lying in each other’s arms after some indecent fun when he said, “So, why don’t you try shaving? You know. Down there.”

            I was as innocent as they come.  I gave him a confused look.  “Why? What for?”

            “Oh, I don’t know.  I think it would look sexy.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah. I could even do it for you,” he offered.

            “Um…let me think about it.”

            As soon as I got home, I called one of my close friends. “He wants me to shave my…area.  He offered to do it himself!”

            “You mean, you haven’t yet?”

            Once again, I was late to the shaving party.  If someone could’ve given me a list with all the deadlines, that would’ve been very helpful.

            We scheduled it for one afternoon when his mom wasn’t home.  He told me I needn’t bring anything – he had all the supplies.  I showered first, and then lay on his bed in my birthday suit.  The curtains were drawn, the floor lamp was on, and there was a bowl of warm water on the floor for rinsing.  He kneeled against the bed, shaving cream and razor in hand, with the seriousness of a surgeon.  All he needed was a mask, gown, and gloves, but then that wouldn’t be very sexy would it? Unless you’re into that.  Anyway.  I digress.

            He spread the shaving cream over my area with his fingers, and proceeded to shave me.  Slowly, he stroked, then rinsed, stroked, then rinsed.  All I could do was lay there and watch.  He was very gentle, and when he was done, he looked at his masterpiece with wonder.  I felt suddenly exposed.  I’ve read that having your partner shave you is supposed to be erotic, but that wasn’t the case for me.  I just stared in amazement at the baldness, feeling like a little girl again. “Oh hello,” I wanted to say to it.  “Long time no see.” 

            And so, shaving down there became something else I added to my daily beauty regimen.

            As I got older, I understood that hair on a girl, other than the hair on top of her head, was a no-no.  Eyebrows too bushy? Make them thinner and more defined.  Hair on your upper lip?  Wax it.  And some poor girls even have hair on their chins and throats – that absolutely has to go.

            Some girls wax their arms, their stomachs, their backs.  It’s painful but it’s all in a month’s work, I suppose.  Sure, there are some women who don’t shave.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of their bravery.  They flash their hairy pits with no shame.  I wish I didn’t care, but I do. 

            However, as time goes by, I find myself keeping my shaving etiquette at “just enough to pass”.  Unless there’s some special event, I keep it to a bare minimum (no pun intended).  I try not to be overly hairy, but I’m not completely hairless either.  In the winter, my legs stay unshaven, for the most part.  And the eyebrows? They get done when there’s just no excuse not to anymore.  The armpits are the areas I’m most attentive to, but even doing that every day is getting old.  And as for my area, well, I’ll just leave that up to your imagination.  But after all these years, I discovered my mom was right.  I did become a slave, and my master has a name.  Its name is Razor Wax McTweeze.