by Billie Dale
“Hiya,” Molly cheers, “So, is this your first time?”
“Y-yes,” I stutter.
“No worries. We use this great wax that has a numbing agent in it. You won’t feel a thing,” she winks. “Now, let’s see what we’re working with.”
I lay back on the table and she spreads my legs as wide as they will go, wider than they are meant to go as my hips scream in protest. No one has ever scrutinized my lady parts this much.
“Oh,” Molly says tilting her head to the side, still analyzing my lady bits.
“What does ‘oh’ mean?”
“You do know how to use a razor, right?”
Snorting, I reply, “Of course I know how to use a razor. I just never use one down there.” I’m mortified at my untamed hairy bush staring her in the face.
Patting my leg, she says with a smile, “We’ll just have to use more wax.”
She mixes up the wax, grabs a tongue depressor like stick and begins to slather my vagina with warm goo. It’s warm, tingling and kind of nice, leading me to believe this won’t be as bad as I have made it in my head until she leads the wax back to my anus.
“Um, Molly? Whatcha putting wax all the way back there for?” I stammer, a slight tremor in my voice.
Applying a white strip to the wax trail she has placed, “You scheduled a Brazilian Wax, right?” she asks ripping the first white strip away taking hair and I swear half of lower lips with her.
Holy shit, there is not enough vodka, painkillers or weed to deaden this pain.
“Good Golly, Miss Molly,” I shout, spots appearing before my eyes and I swear I’m on the verge of passing out.
Numbing wax, my ass. She lied; holy Beelzebub did she lie, this fucking hurts.
Before I can protest, she lines the next strip up.
Rip! Son of a. . . . fffuuuuuccckkk.
“Oh. My. God. Oh my God,” I scream.
“Almost done,” Molly chants in a sing-song voice.
Of course, she’s chipper, her labia s still attached to her body and not laying on one of those hairy pieces of wax paper she keeps throwing off to the side.
She continues to apply more wax, rubbing the paper on and ripping away all vestiges of my womanhood. I swear there will be nothing left of my pussy when she’s done and if there is it will surely never work again. My vagina will hate me for the rest of my life.
“Last one,” she chimes while she pulls the last strip away.
“Holy cunt hairs on a gorilla,” I shout with tears leaking from my eyes.
“Now, I need you to get up on all fours so I can make sure I have gotten all the straggling hairs,” she chirps.
Humiliation fills my body when I roll over and assume the downward dog position.
This woman has seen more of me than my gynecologist. I wonder if she’ll buy me drink when we’re done?
Slathering on soothing lotion, Molly smiles. Patting my leg once again, she says, “All done. You can get dressed and head to the nail station down the hall.”
“Molly? Can I have my vagina back before you dispose of those wax sheets?”
Laughing in a tone that screams ‘silly girl’, “You’ll be thanking me later when you experience the joy a bare vagina can bring,” she says and leaves the room.
Moving slowly, mumbling to myself, “Joy? What fucking joy? No one ever sees it; it’s not like Kohl is going to see it. It probably looks like a crime scene now, anyway. Stupid Ronnie and her Brazilian wax. Fire, all I have accomplished is starting a raging fire between my legs and not the good kind.”
Exiting the room, walking like there is a corn cob stuck up my ass, I try to prevent anything from rubbing the construction zone that used to be my pussy. I make my way to the nail technician. I ease myself into the chair, cringing when my crotch meets the hard-plastic seat, the receptionist offers me a bag of frozen peas.
Sensing my confusion, “Place it down there,” she instructs nodding her head toward my lap. “It gets easier each time but I remember my first time and frozen vegetables always helped ease the burn. Well, and copious amounts of booze, but you’re not old enough for that,” she snickers with a wink turning back to her podium.
I stuff the peas in the valley between my legs, “Oh, sweet Jesus,” I breathe when the cool meets the burning fire trapped in my pants. Thank the Lord for thin yoga pants, I think when Ronnie slides into the station next to me.
“Don’t give me the evil eye, Tensanne,” she says. “It’s worth it, I promise,” she reassures.
Once the nails tips are in place, painted in a dazzling French manicure style with melon colored, bejeweled tips, I make my way to the self-tanning area.
Fuck my life if anything can go right.
The tanning tech advises me to rub a lotion on any areas that I don’t want the spray to adhere to. My palms and the bottoms of my feet is the most important. She says that the booth will spray the front then I’m to count to five, turn and it will spray the back. When I finish, I’m to wipe away any dripping that has occurred on my skin.
Sounds easy enough.
Stripping down, I slather lotion all over my palms and the bottoms of my feet, taking care not to get it anywhere I want a tan.
The booth is a bright blue box with dual opening doors. I pull open the doors and peek inside. Inside are four sprayers at waist level with metal bars off to the sides.
Stepping in, I raise my arms and grab the bars. I reach over to flip the switch that alerts the technician that I’m ready to be sprayed. Closing my eyes and holding my breath, the first cold burst hits my skin. When the spray stops, count to five, turn and wait. Nothing happens. I count to five again, still nothing. I turn back around to see what is wrong and the spray hits my front side again, making it twice as dark on the front and still white on the back.
Exiting the booth, I blot the drops as instructed, to stop any running lines. I know I can’t stay like this, I poke my head out of the door to get the tech’s attention. When she comes to the door I explain what has happened, she instructs me that I need to get back in the booth with only my back facing the sprayers and let both cycles hit my backside so that it will be the same shade as my front side.
I get back in the booth and do as instructed, allowing both sprays to get my back. When I’m finished I’m twice as dark as I wanted to be but there is nothing I can do about it now. I flap my arms and move around the room to dry my skin.
Once it’s dry, I analyze myself in the mirror. Wow. With the melon color on my nails and my seriously dark skin, I look exotic, like I have been living in the tropics.
I like it.
Dressing and exiting the booth, I walk to the next station. Hair and make-up.
My stylist is named Michael and he is wonderful. He explains how fabulous my hair will be with some red low lights and dark blonde highlights. How adding layers will add texture and dimension to frame and show off my symmetrical face and tan.
He drapes a cape over the mirrors within my view claiming he wants to do a big reveal when he’s done. I feel like I’m on an episode of Extreme Makeover, the Tensanne Edition.
Ronnie, who is seated next to me, gives me a thumb’s up. With a fresh bag of frozen veggies shoved in between my legs, I say, “What the hell; give it your best, Michael.”
He foils my entire head, applying hair dye which makes my eyes burn, while my hair is coloring he begins to apply my makeup.
After checking to make sure my hair is the color he wants it, he directs me to the washing chairs. Removing the foils and massaging shampoo into my hair, I relax for the first time since entering the spa.
Once I’m seated back in his stylish chair he begins cutting away at my long, thick locks. Giving me a blowout, he teases and pulls, straightens and curls different sections of my hair.
When he’s done, he removes the coverings from the mirrors and spins my chair around.
“Oh, my God,” I gasp. Standing and getting closer to my reflection, “Is that me?”
The
person staring back at me has a sultry smoky eye, lined in jet black. The coloring making the green come to life in my eyes. Contoured cheeks that make my cheekbones stand out and my hair is up with half pulled back and the other half in ringlet curls draping down my back.
“You are stunning,” Michael says, clapping with glee.
Tears brim in my eyes.
“No, no waterworks. You’ll ruin my masterpiece,” Michael warns.
Forcing back the tears, “Thank you. You made me beautiful.”
“No, honey. You were already stellar. I only highlighted it.”
Now we have been waxed, nailed, curled and tanned, Ronnie pays for our day and we drive back to the dorm to finish getting dressed.
She drops me off at the door, telling me she will see me soon.
Nerves are eating away at my insides, Kohl will be picking me up in less than an hour, I race upstairs to put on my dress. I have never felt so much like a woman as I do right now. My life has been about learning and studying. It feels good to take some pride in myself for once and discover there is a splendid woman under the layers of genius.
Shimmying my dress over my hips, it dawns on me that I like the person I am. All of me. Not only the one I see in the mirror right now but also the one that likes to study in her yoga pants, the one who rambles random thoughts and the one who will never be thin. Each version is me and altogether ‘me’ is magnificent.
Chapter Eighteen
Men may be from Mars but women are impossible
—Kohl’s inner thoughts
Kohl
AFTER PICKING UP my tux I Uber back to the dorm. My nerves have me pacing all over the place while my heart beats a steady tune from the bottom of my stomach.
Tonight is the night. Tonight, I will tell her how I feel.
Slipping on my pants and shirt, perfecting my tie, I tell the bats dancing on my insides to calm down and I leave my dorm. Waiting in the lot outside the door is a black Lincoln Town Car with a man in a suit standing by the door.
Glancing to him, I grab my phone to open the Uber app realizing, for the first time, what a pain in the ass it is to not have a car on campus.
“Mr. Black?” the man by the car calls.
“Yes,” I respond watching him open the back door of the car.
“Your chariot awaits,” he informs me. “Compliments of Mayor Leeland.”
“Well, alright then. Let’s go get my date,” I grin sliding into the backseat enjoying the lush feel of the seats.
Once we reach her dorm, my nerves are at an all-time high. Sweat beads on my forehead and I keep having to dry my palms on my pants, hell I’m not this anxious before I play in front of a stadium full of people.
Raising my sweaty palm, I knock; the door pulls open. Revealing the most stunning woman I have ever laid eyes on.
‘Her feet are covered in jeweled encrusted heels; her legs are dark and smooth. Her dress is a bright melon color, reminding me of a summer sunset, it drapes down her calves in the back and rises above her knees in the front, a tucked line of gems up the center spreading out across her chest, sparkling in the light right above her cleavage. Ruffles drape her upper arms, leaving her shoulders bare. Her skin glows reflecting off the color of her dress. Her gleaming hair is partially swept up with spiral curls draping down her exposed back. Her makeup has her eyes glowing a mix of green and brown like a leaf changing color in the fall. Her curves are fucking everywhere making my head spin. She’s radiant, she’s marvelous, she’s soon to be mine.
I’m speechless, standing before her, raking my eyes over her body. A breeze blows across my face, I hear the jingle of chimes in my ears. She has a glow of light surrounding her in a halo so bright it hurts my eyes but I don’t want to look anywhere else. She’s wrapped me in her spell, caught me in her web. There are no words to explain the depth of my feelings at this moment.
“Kohl, wow, you . . .” she pants, licking her lips, “You look amazing,” she coos, her eyes becoming gooey pools as she scans my body.
“No, Tensanne. You, you. . . . your beauty is taking my breath away.”
Blushing, she toys with the tulle of her dress, “S-should we go?”
I can’t take my eyes off her, I’m afraid to blink for fear she might disappear. I don’t want to leave, I want to stay, lay her down and peel away her dress, to know intimately what she’s hiding underneath. I want to run my tongue along the exposed column of her neck, spend hours worshiping her body, tasting her, possessing her.
“Kohl?”
“Wha . . . Yes, yes. I’m ready to go,” I sputter shaking the lust from my head, grabbing her hand I lead her down the hall to the waiting car.
“You got us a car?” she asks.
“I wish I would have thought of it, but it’s a gift from Ronnie’s dad.”
She slides in with me behind her.
“Where to, Mr. Black?” the driver asks.
“Oh, Ronnie wants us to join them for dinner,” she beams.
“Sounds perfect. To the Mayor’s Mansion,” I tell him.
I hadn’t planned a spectacular dinner. I was hoping to pick up something from a drive-thru and have a picnic. I know, you’re thinking it’s not romantic but hey, a kid on a scholarship, here.
I’m glad that Ronnie wants us for dinner, it saves me the embarrassment of not being able to take this ravishing beauty beside me to someplace spectacular.
Her scent fills the car, a fruity sweet cucumber melon fragrance that makes my mouth water to taste her skin. Her eyes sparkle in the head lights of each passing car. My body is electrified, my skin sizzling with a current, aching with a need.
I need to touch her.
Reaching out, I run a finger down the tan skin of her shoulder, goosebumps rising along her flesh where my finger moves. Electricity sparks where our skins touch. Her breath becomes heavy while her eyes watch my hand travel down to clasp her hand in mine.
A long lane leads to the Mansion; it’s lined with snow covered trees. We wind our way through curves under a canopy of darkness opening to a glorious home.
Multicolored flood lights shine against the white-sided front of the Tudor style home. We pull up to a brick walkway leading to stained glass, ornate double doors, a large chimney billowing white smoke can be seen at the end of the house.
Exiting the car, I reach a hand in to help Tensanne. She scoots to the edge of the seat, her legs gap, giving a peek of the peach colored scrap of lace between her legs. When she leans to get out, I have an excellent view of her luscious cleavage spilling out the top of her jewel encrusted dress. All the blood in my body pools at my dick. Taking a big gulp of air, I will my body to calm.
Taking her hand, I lead her to the doors; a member of the Leeland staff greets us. Standing in the foyer you hear a screech of glee.
“You’re here,” Ronnie exclaims rushing to Tensanne and wrapping her in a hug. Stepping back, she takes her hands holding them out to admire Tens dress, “You’re glowing. You’re a gorgeous girl. This dress is splendid on you.” Turning to me she says, “Doesn’t she look like a princess, Kohl?”
“No, she doesn’t look like a princess,” I answer. Garnering me a death glare from Ronnie. “She is more beautiful than any princess or any woman on the planet,” I continue. Standing next to me Tensanne blushes a bright pink that takes her stunning beauty to a whole new level.
“Awe, that is the sweetest thing. You’re not too shabby yourself, Kohl,” Ronnie declares.
Stepping between us she loops her hands through our elbows and leads us into the living room.
We step into a large open room, 17th century English paneled walls with a forty-foot cathedral ceiling with the beams exposed and decorated with white twinkling lights, in the center of one wall is an imposing walk in fireplace with a fire roaring, warming the room. All the furniture has been removed, round tables and chairs are scattered throughout. In one corner is a member of the wait staff preparing the open bar, along one wall a band is setting up, doing sou
nd checks.
“Come on, Momma and Daddy are waiting for us in the dining room,” she states, leading us through the living room.
Entering the dining room, the walls are the same late century paneling with a crystal chandelier hanging over the table. Family pictures adorn the walls giving the room a warm feeling of home.
“Momma, Daddy. Ten and Kohl are here,” Ronnie announces. “Kohl, this is my Daddy, Phillip, and my Momma, Madge.”
“Very nice to you meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Leeland,” I say.
“Kohl, welcome to our home. I’m very impressed with you on the court this year, Son,” the Mayor says shaking my hand, filling me with a sense of pride.
Moving to Ten, he embraces her in a hug, “You’re a radiating beauty tonight, young lady.”
“Move, move, Phillip,” Madge says, shoving him out of the way, wrapping Ten in a hug. “Yes, my dear. You are stunning. Such captivating eyes without those thick lenses and black frames. My goodness, what a beauty you are with some makeup and a great dress. All this was hiding under all those frumpy clothes.”
Tens face flames red pulling back from Madge, Ronnie gasps at her mother’s rudeness.
“Mother,” Ronnie exclaims.
“What?” she responds. Clueless of the insult she threw.
“Did you know that it actually takes 142 licks to get to the center of a tootsie pop? Not the three like the owl in the commercial says. Plus, a duck’s quack doesn’t echo; did you know that?” Ten rambles.
I fight the laugh that bubbles up at her nervousness and the wide eyes of Ronnie’s mom. Another one of the many things I love about this woman. She is full of wild information that comes out when she’s uncomfortable.
Laughing, gesturing to the table, Mayor Phillip insists we eat, “Very interesting, Tensanne. Madge, kids, how about we eat some of this food?”
I hear Ronnie’s mom whisper to her husband, “Did I say something wrong, Phillip?” as we move to sit at the table.
A buffet style spread of food sits atop a thick, long, oval oak table surrounded by thirteen chairs. The Mayor and his wife take their spots at either end of the table, Ronnie moves to sit on the left side while I pull out Ten’s chair on the right.
