Not in relationships - heavens, no! For a start, I dislike eating out with people I can't go hog-wild and stuff my face in front of (and that list only comprises of my mum, my sister, and 2 close friends who've seen me eat entire tubs of ice-cream in one sitting) and I feel awfully guilty about people ever spending any money on me, or pampering me in anyway, or putting me on too high a pedestal. (Though I do like cups of tea brought to me with some regularity, and plenty of kisses.)
No. I mean literally, high-maintenance.
As in, it takes a lot of maintenance to keep me looking half-way groomed.
I have the kind of exuberant body hair that likes to be noticed.
And the kind of aesthetic sense that utterly despises it.
(And unfortunately the kind of skin that reacts badly to being parted with its follicles.)
Regular brazilian waxes have been de rigueur for me since I was 15. And I was shaving long before that. I have been waging an on-going battle with fluff since I was about 11. Too much hair on my hoo-haa has been something that freaked me out since it first appeared. I was way ahead of the porn-like shaving trends. Just a landing patch is quite enough fluff for me, thanks. And as previously discussed here, nothing jazzes up the remainder of your pubes once you've neatened them up like red hair dye.
I have rarely ever had sex without having purposefully shaved my legs and a given a smooth fuzz-free finish to the lady-garden for the occasion. Nothing turns me off quicker than the thought that I might be feeling
So, when I decided to go on the recent sex-strike, I decided au-naturel would be the best way to enforce my re-instated virginity.
I've heard it said many times that for couples, children are the best contraception. They tend to get in the way/knacker you out when it comes to romantic encounters (or, just the fear you might make another one...)
For single ladies, it's having hairy legs hidden away under your sexy date clothes that'll have you saying no quicker than any other reason. I'd agree with that.
I'm bad at saying no. Like, really bad. Even if I swear blind I'm absolutely going to be good and well-behaved, my resolve always crumbles, and I end up a little better acquainted with certain parts of my date's anatomy than I meant to - but knowing i have furry bits may as well be concrete knickers for me - ain't nothing getting in.
So, furry bits it was. And with my lady garden newly liberated, this inspired offering from Amanda Fucking Palmer was bang on time in appearing. It's awesome.
It made me consider things. Like, fuck it. Why can't I try and be proud of my natural state? After all, I take pride in having insane hair on top of my head, why not love the rest of it, and not worry so much about the waxing-bleaching-shaving-plucking-worrying-regime I usually stick to?
So, the next beautician visit involved just a regular low bikini-line tidy up.
I mean, come on. I'm not a total philistine (and, plus, left entirely to it's own devices, I feel sure the hair on my nether regions would make a bid for freedom (and world domination) and attempt to form a blanket from navel to kneecaps.
And for a while I
got used to it.
And, I figured the natural way forwards to re-enforce the idea that I could accept and love my body the way it was, would be to advertise as an artist's model. Go the full monty. Literally. In a room filled with strangers and bright lights. I decided that once I could prove to myself I could cope with that level of scrutiny and be proud of every flaw, I'd work on the ability to be totally naked and unabashed in candlelight in front of a lover.
I always have liked doing things backwards....
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