Gestapo Moustache

Went for bikini-line maintainence yesterday. We are off to LA on Friday which means surfing, swimmers, and exposed body parts. Needed to attend to the bush as it really had turned substantially feral.

Have found the best Brazilian operator (Anna) on the planet. I'm definitely an expert in the art with vast international experience. The Eastern Europeans are definitely the best. A proclamation from extensive experimentation here, Sydney and London - thus a very broad-based study worth publishing.

Anna's operating room is far from luxurious. There is no soothing music courtesy of Anya or the whales, nor subdued and scented candle light courtesy of Henri Bendel's Home. Note to all beauticians - flickering, dulled light actually causes anxiety as I'm worried my blonde pubes are going to be missed, especially those exposed when the buttocks are pulled apart.

The room is basically bare and white. I have in the past worn sunglasses, as the glare from the mega-wattage fluro lighting above is sometimes too much for a hangover. Anna doesn't speak in hushed tones and she's not trying to push extortionately priced French sounding potions that are actually manufactured in Boise, Idaho for mere pennies.

I love this woman. I love the way she hoikes my right leg over her head and around her back. I call it the PWP - prone wrestling pose. As my leg strained against her meaty back I had a brainwave. Perhaps my fortune would come from creating my own yoga-esq movement created to allow limb positioning for maximum hair removal with minimal pain.

I was in pain, and it wasn't only due to the wax which I suspected was several degree too hot. No, having my right leg in an inverted 75 degree position, bent at the knee, my right ankle trying to hook her right breast from behind is not: graceful, elegant or serene. This of course I reminded myself is not the point of such humiliation - it's all about getting rid of the bush. The left leg doesn't get quite the same treatment. The left leg strains against the wall at an equally obtuse angle.

When it's time for getting those hairs surrounding the anus, a sharp slap on the bit of exposed right buttock and grunt tell me it's time to turn over and pull apart my bum. This is the part which I have to admit stings the most. Again I'm not sure if it's the heat of the wax or the tenderness of the skin. I'll check later for blistering which will confirm a too high a heat for the wax.

After the anal business another powerful slap on the left buttock this time - which gives me a hand mark to match the right and the signal to turn back for the finale. Extracting enough floss to floss my teeth for a month, Anna wraps it around her fingers and neck and gets down to the nity-gritty on the pesky hairs not ripped from their follicles ala wax. This for the uninitiated is called threading - usually the domain of black chicks and their eyebrows. Highly effective however for the Brazilian.

Finished, I inspected Anna's handiwork and was most pleased with the result. Prior to the waxing we had discussed the artwork I would like to sport, and was pleased to note that I did indeed have my own Gestapo moustache. Some women like lightening bolts, others hearts, but I like the tone my GP sets. It goes particularly well with my handcuffs and fuck-me boots.