Bikini Line Hair Removal For A French Cut Bikini
 

My new suit requires a french cut bikini line and consequently, I am dreading the hair removal chore a head of me. Oh, the things a girl must endure to look good in a suit!

The memory of my last visit for a waxing floods vividly into my mind. It was a pretty day, and I had no idea what I was in for as I entered the foyer of the upscale salon.

The salon was done in a Grecian theme, where pillars and urns were littered about liberally. The hostess wore a white gown, and was quite cheerful as she led me back for my appointment with destiny.

She invited me to remove my clothes, and to place a short white robe on, and to wait for my hair removal artist, Helga to appear.

Even though I was surrounded by scented candles burning slowly, and mystic music played softly, I was beginning to become quite bound up inside.

It was hitting home to me that Helga was going to expect me to spread 'em wide and then inflict unspeakable acts upon my naked body parts.

As I lay there nervously reflecting upon these unsavory matters, the door opened softly, and in walked Helga, a pretty young brunette, with a cheerful smile on her face.

"How are you today?" she asked sweetly.

"Not nervous, I hope. Don't worry, honey, it'll be over in no time." Helga continued.

I asked Helga what makes a french cut bikini line. She explained to me that it is a very low cut bikini line that includes the hair from the belly button down to the pubic area. The hair is also removed three finger widths down from the panty line on the inside of the thigh.

She further explained that the hair is removed from the lower edge of the buttocks, in other words, the area that may show under a swimsuit. The resulting shape is a dainty "V" that will comfortably allow you to wear almost any little bikini bottom.

Then Helga showed me her tools of destruction, liquid wax, cloth strips, and a box of Kleenex for my eyes.

I gritted my teeth as I spread my legs and Helga went to work. The pain was excruciating as she spread the warm wax upon my private parts.

Rrrip! Off came the cloth covered with cold wax and hair.

And again! More wax, and rip! Off came some more. The pain made me want to faint. It seemed to last a lifetime. After about 30 minutes it was over. I had survived.

Faintly, I looked down at the new me in grim satisfaction. I thanked Helga, she smiled sweetly.

"I told you, honey, it would be over in no time!" she said, seemingly oblivious to the urge to flee as quickly as possible that had overtaken me.

As I reflected uncomfortably on this memory, I decided I wasn't going to do that again. There had to be another way.

Hmmm, I thought, there must be another way to achieve bliss consciousness.

A light bulb goes off in my brain. I'll try a shaver next time, I haven't given up on my french bikini line.

What a grand idea!