Home of Portland's premier Unicycle Gang: the Unicycle Bastards > Articles > The art of the pull
Yes Dear Reader;
Five of us, four of whom are nameless (I’m the other one if you’re having trouble keeping up,) in this update wandered our hairy taints down to Portland Waxing this Sunday (Yes! Sunday!) for a bastardly waxing party. The other four are welcome to come forward upon their own free will – it’s for them to decide.
This all started at least one and possibly two years ago while a group of us were out on a Security Patrol. For those who are new to the list, a Security Patrol consists of taking Max up to the Zoo and riding back into NW PDX via some not necessarily sanctioned unicycle trails for beer and general loud intrusivness. At night. Usually during the winter months. Headlight use optional. During one Security Patrol, somehow the subject of taint health and welfare crept into our conversation for the 10th or millionth time that night. I was feeling safe with the group and let on that I had been a shaver of my person-unicycle interface for several years and how I thought it was a big help in reducing saddle borne irritation due to abrasion. I thought I had a good scientific point that should have sparked additional conversation about friction, cohesion and force but, alas, no. It became a conversation about the viability of getting our scrotums waxed. At some point prior to this conversation, I had looked into getting a wax because shaving absolutely sucks but was petrified to move forward because I couldn’t find another guy who had gone through it. Scrotal waxation would seem to be a specialty but I had no idea how to unwind the local offerings.
Fast forward to about a month ago. Another member of the Bastard Five sent an email out to those of us who were on that trip, along with several others, looking to see who might be interested in total naked taint technology. He had found Lisa Huppe at
Portland Waxing
who was open to a group party, had no problem with cameras and specialized in doing to men’s groins what they couldn’t get at home. Lisa is a Professional Taint Waxer.
There was a short volley of email in which I elected myself the first up and then nothing. Not a peep. Finally last Thursday or Friday, I sent an email out to the group to make sure we were all still in for the treatment. I got a couple of one-word replies back but it was fairly subdued.
This Sunday, the appointed hour came, four of us were on time and the fifth came a little later, we trooped upstairs with beer, snacks and Tequila along with several bags of other stuff and stumbled into a small room with a very ominous table, two pots of boiling wax (not really but it makes for a good visual) and two chairs. Lisa has a very informative web site that I read before heading out. She wrote the whole thing so by the time I met her, I was already comfortable. I was comfortable right up to the moment she uttered, “Drop your pants and get up on the table on your hands and knees. Knees here. Elbows here. Act like a girl about to get it from behind.
Fucking GULP.
“Really?”
“Yep. Get up there.”
Reality has an interesting way of clarifying one’s situation in briefest of time periods.
I either mumbled something to sweet baby Jesus or simply drooled, I really don’t know. All I do know is I now found myself on my hands and knees – Jenna Jamison style, listening to three bastards squealing with delight just beyond my line of sight but well within my HOLY-SHIT-THEY’RE-LOOKING-RIGHT-UP-MY-ASSHOLE radar.
Sounds bad right? It gets worse.
While I’m in my crouching-tiger down-dog first-night-in-prison pose, Lisa started pointing out all the parts of me she was going to work on and how she was going to go about doing it. By ‘pointing out’ I don’t mean to imply it was strictly a simple talk with reference points along the way. No, she was touching and flopping BOTH my boy parts and we-all-have-one winkie hole while lecturing the band of shrieking chimps crowded in glee behind me.
More laughter, more drinking, more….ooooo…wow…that’s kind of…warm….this waxing thing is nice…Talk talk talk…laugh laugh laugh…camera flash…nice…jiggle jiggle…RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP…Whitness…calm peaceful bright white light…light is fading…profuse sweat…a reassuring hand cupping my balls for a second…RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP…Here we go again…I can see the clouds but the light isn’t as present…still, I’m going to my happy place…. RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP…happy place…happy place…happy place. In the meantime, all I can hear is the chimps screaming, “HOLY SHIT LOOK AT THAT”.
Those were the first couple of pulls and it went from there. The last one was my taint. Instantly, I was the first Bastard with a waxed taint. I looked up to share this amazing moment in our history with my brothers of the wheel only to find them in a three way tie of Rock, Paper, Scissors. All three scissors incidentally; a detail I’m still not completely comfortable with. I had just had all the hair – and yes there was a lot of it – ripped out of my most precious and delicate parts and they were pulling lots to see who went next, third and last. Bastards.
Then it was over. It was nice that it was over. I guess I thought it was over. I was still on my hands and knees and Winky was beginning to wake up but seemed to still be intact. Whew. How bad was that? “A couple more and we’ll be about half way.” Panic.
Pictures do exist and will be published at some point so I won’t go into a lot of detail as to the procedure. Lisa could not have been a better partner for that particular journey. She knows her stuff and handled my tools as if they where her own. However; in a word, Ouch. Not a bad and certainly not an unbearable Ouch by any means, for some of us anyway, but an Ouch nonetheless. A very pleasing side affect was the euphoric state it eventually put me in. I found myself slipping back and forth across a pain / pleasure boundary several times while she battled away against my ever oncoming tide of hair.
It’s best I not go into details here but a note to wives and girlfriends who may be introduced to the idea through this email: You’ve got nothing to worry about. Five wienies; zero erections. Send questions offline if you need more info.
Epilog: I couldn’t be happier with the results. We rode a little bit afterwards to buy more beer and protein then several blocks to where we cooked. The only way I could explain the sensation is that it felt like there was actually a layer of isolation where hair had previously existed. Rather than feeling closer to the saddle, I felt more that there was a wisp of a cushion between me and my saddle. (Bonus Launderers – my shorts were clean when I took them off after work today.)
Would I do it again? Absolutely. I’ve wanted to for a while and now am glad to have been spoon-fed the opportunity to go through with it. Maintenance visits are mandatory but I understand the whiteness and euphoria fade with a few visits.
-Gunt
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