Tame that Taint!

By Helmut the Hairless

I will never forget the first woman I slept with in Hong Kong, but not because of the romance nor because she was a tigress in the sack. Rather, the memory was etched into my brain by trauma—the trauma that I experienced when I finally made it to removing my soon-to-be lover’s sexy lingerie to reveal an unkempt, almost feral bush worthy of National Geographic. I had just discovered what others had failed to warn me about: that the wooly mammoth, thought to be extinct for over 10,000 years, was alive and well in Hong Kong.

With more experiences behind me and even more opportunities to discuss the topic of female grooming with others, I was convinced that it was more the norm than the exception for women in Hong Kong to go with shag rugs versus bare floors. But why? It is an utter paradox that in a city full of women who put in such Herculean efforts to look good and be fashionable that the same woman who wears $12k shoes and shoulders a $80k Birkin bag would also wear the fashion equivalent of a non-ironic mullet between her legs.

Perhaps there are some simple explanations for this phenomenon. Many women I know in Hong Kong don’t need to shave their legs or armpits—ever. Perhaps they never took to managing the very few places they might benefit from a trim when it is unnecessary elsewhere on their bodies. Perhaps they’re just being lazy?

Maybe there’s something cultural about it. But Hong Kong is famous for confronting “troublesome foliage” by mindlessly pouring cement over everything that grows here. Why would a woman’s overgrown bush not elicit a similar extreme response to prevent overgrowth?

Could it possibly be that most guys (or girls) like the “au naturel” look? To each their own, but I also think that most people would rather not willingly put hair in their mouth. If you find hair on a plate of food you were just served, you’re most likely to send the whole plate back. Unfortunately, it’s a lot harder to send a naked woman back than a plate of food. While I may still drop off the salami at your “organic bistro,” I’m not going to eat there.

If the effect of the uncoiffed muff is to at the very least discourage oral sex for many would-be cunning linguists, the cause seems less irrelevant. No one wins in that scenario. On the flip-side, however, a well-maintained secret garden can be a huge turn-on—perhaps a turn-on that many women are unaware of. Given the down-side to the laissez-faire approach and the potential upside to the clean-cut approach, keeping things trim seems like such a no-brainer. Why don’t more women here do it?

Unsatisfied with the answers I was able to arrive at on my own, I asked a few female friends what they thought was behind the Hong Kong wild bush epidemic. They noted that for many women, the best way to hold the bikini line is to seek professional help involving wax, and many wax virgins expect it to be extremely painful. On top of that, women can be shy to expose their nether-regions to strangers or may not want to be bothered to expend the time or effort on trimming the hedges.

Still not satisfied, and after asking “how bad could it be?” several times, my ad hoc panel of women told me to put my money where my mouth is and get a “boyzillian,” and then tell them how ridiculous I thought it was. If men expect women to get with the times and manage their bikini lines, shouldn’t men be expected to respond in kind? It’s tough to argue against that logic, and despite the image that the “money where your mouth is” idiom conjured, I hesitantly agreed to them making me a “back sack and crack” appointment the next day at Strip Ministry of Waxing on Lyndhurst Terrace.

Admittedly, I was a little nervous thinking about my upcoming appointment. The thought of covering my junk in hot wax and ripping the hair clean off in one swift swoop did cost me some sleep the night before. I was also concerned about looking like one of those red-assed monkeys from a nature show after the procedure was over. Finally, I wondered if it would be awkward or stigmatizing for me to have a gleaming grundle or managed mane—I do go to the gym, and I didn’t want to become some kind of locker room caricature. “Hey, it’s red-ass monkey man!”

When I arrived at The Strip the next day, my heart was pounding. The staff was incredibly accomodating, however, and immediately took to allaying my fears by explaining the process and what to expect. The place felt clean and clinical, yet chic, and the staff came across as very professional, experienced and discrete. So instead of running out the door like the building was on fire, I followed The Strip’s top manscaper down to the room the procedure was to take place in and got prepared.

I was surprised when we got started that the pain, though sharp, was over almost instantly and was not nearly as torturous as I expected. The wax itself was actually kind of pleasant. Perhaps more surprisingly, my wax therapist and I had a very normal conversation whilst she was tearing the hair off my pair. Who’d have thought?

Wax on, wax off—it was over before I knew it, and apart from a few split seconds of hair-tearing pain, I had not been physically or emotionally uncomfortable at all. There was some redness, which is to be expected, but there was no residual pain. My therapist had done a very clean job and hey, I have to admit, it totally made me appear bigger than before—that’s not something anyone can complain about. In fact, it’s inspiring. I was also excited about the new slip’n slide in the backyard. Shiny and sleek is just cooler and more visually appealing. I’ve never seen a Ferrari or a fighter jet covered in hair and after having been waxed, the thought of having a furry grundle again seemed almost equally as absurd.

So I myself was sold, but I couldn’t wait to put all this to the ultimate test: what’s a girl going to think about this? Now I’m not delusional—I don’t expect women to be turned on by the shininess of my taint or the smoothness of my scrotum, but I do expect those areas to now be a lot less off-putting, which might make a woman less reluctant to spend more time down there than she may have before. My informal panel of women (including my girlfriend) completely agreed and would be thankful if more men did not put them through the trauma of pube floss or nose-tickling. And yes, I’m getting a lot more oral attention now than I ever did before. Works for me!

So again, the question remains, if everyone wins when the garden is tended, why aren’t more people doing it? If you prefer the “au naturel” thing or believe Sasquatch has sex appeal, that’s one thing, but if it’s shyness, fear or laziness that’s keeping you from performing this maintenance, then GET OVER IT! It’s really not bad at all! And ladies, if you’re tired of men demanding you go Brazilian with no quid pro quo, consider holding out next time until your guys wax their sacks and tame that taint! It’s really a win-win!
 

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