GUARD YOUR LOINS
Today’s contributor gets a humiliating lesson in personal grooming
I don’t shave—at least not in the winter. It gets cold in New York and I kind of like the extra warmth—it’s cheaper than thermal underwear. And since I wasn’t seeing anyone last year, this also applied to my bush. I was comfortable with that until an old flame popped up unexpectedly.
I was getting ready for bed when he called. He said he was in the area and wanted to stop by—catch up on old times. He even brought my favorite movie. There’s no harm in that, I thought. I’ll just keep his hands above my waist. But it was already after 10 p.m. and the only thing on the agenda was Shawshank Redemption—who was I kidding?
Five minutes into the movie, articles of clothing started flying off one-by-one. It started with my top—he kissed my neck. Then my bra—he kissed my breasts. By the time he reached the drawstring of my pants, I figured what the hell, once the condom’s on he wont notice a thing. But before that could happen, he started dry-humping my vajayjay with his hands.
As his fingers made their way into my panties, the next thing I heard was: “What the fuck?!” He immediately attempted to yank his hand back out—but it got stuck! It was one thing for him to encounter a full grown Chia Pet in my pants, but for his hand to get trapped in it—I was mor-ti-fied! I didn’t know what else to do, but apologize and quickly escort him out of my apartment.
I avoided his call for weeks—trying to pretend that night never happened. Then one day he showed up at my door with a gift—one of those lady grooming razors. At first I was offended, until he explained he planned on stopping by more often and that maybe I should keep one on hand. We both laughed. A month later, that guy became my boyfriend.
