ManScaping

Manscaping is an accepted practice these days. If we men expect a woman to be "neatly groomed," surely we must return the favor. Most of us start with scissors, get a little deeper with an electric razor, then move on to a regular razor.  Every so often, we get lazy and look for hair removal supplements. 

Whatever your method, shaving your man bits is a common...and appreciated...courtesy. 

Does anyone else see the irony in growing older and getting hair where you don't want it, but losing it where you do want it?  I sure do. 

I decided to take the plunge and buy some Veet, as previous shaving attempts had only been mildly successful and I nearly put my back out trying to reach the more difficult bits. Being a bit of a romantic, I thought I would do the deed on my lady's birthday as a bit of a treat. 

I waited until the other half was tucked up in bed and after giving some vague hints about a special surprise, I went to the bathroom. Initially, all went well and I applied the gel and stood waiting for something to happen. I didn’t have long to wait. 

 

At first, there was a gentle warmth which, in a matter of seconds, was replaced by an intense burning and a feeling I can only describe as if I were  being given a barbed wire wedgie by two people intent on sawing me in half.  Religion hadn't featured much in my life until that night, but I suddenly became willing to convert to any religion to stop the violent burning around my colonic canal and what seemed like the the destruction of my frank and beans.  

Struggling not to bite through my bottom lip I tried to wash the gel off in the sink and only succeeded in blocking the plughole with a mat of hair. 

Through the haze of tears I struggled out of the bathroom across the hall into the kitchen, by this time walking was not really possible and I crawled the final yard to the fridge in the hope of some form of cold relief. I yanked the freezer drawer out and found a tub of vanilla ice cream, tore the lid off and positioned it under me. For those who know me, all sorts of sick jokes about making my own fudge sundae were running through my head, but the pain was replaced by genuine fear that I might live out a slightly darker version of a Seinfeld episode (the one with the guy who "fell" onto Fusili Jerry). 

But my attention soon turned back to the task at hand. 

 The relief was fantastic but only temporary, as it melted fairly quickly and the fiery stabbing returned. 

Due to the shape of the ice cream tub, I hadn’t managed to give my starfish any treatment and I groped around in the drawer for something else, as I was sure my vision was going to fail fairly soon. I grabbed a bag of what I later found out was frozen sprouts and tore it open trying to be quiet as I did so. I took a handful of them and an tried in vain to clench some between the cheeks of my arse. This was not doing the trick, as some of the gel had found its way up the chutney channel and it felt like I had a rocket booster in my butt.

This was probably and hopefully the only time in my life I was going to wish there was a gay snowman in the kitchen, which should give you some idea of the depths to which  I was willing to sink in order to ease the pain. The only solution my pain-crazed mind could come up with was to gently ease one of the sprouts where no veg had gone before.

Unfortunately, alerted by the strange grunts coming from the kitchen,  my lady chose that exact moment to come and investigate.  She was greeted by the sight of me, butt cheeks in the air, vanilla ice cream dripping from my bell end, pushing a sprout between my cheeks, while muttering “ooooohhh, that's the spot.”

Understandably, this was a surprise to her, but more surprising was her blurting out "you started without me?"  

Since I hadn’t heard her come in, it caused an involuntary spasm of shock to me, which resulted in the sprout being ejected at quite some speed in her direction. She quickly realized I wasn't being kinky. 

I can understand that having a sprout fired against your leg at high velocity at 3am  wasn’t the special surprise she was expecting.  Having to explain to her the next day what the strange hollow in the ice cream was, didn’t improve my status. 

Fortunately, she was in the medical field and promptly rendered treatment. In between her laughs, she politely said to me, "you know, you didn't have much to trim in the first place. Why did you bother?" 

To sum it up, VEET removes hair effectively, but your sex life...and dignity...will suffer a blow.  And not in a good way.