My First Bare Shave: Waxing Away Innocence in Paris
In Tante Gertrude’s salon, heart hammering like a drum. Geneviève arrives with Bertrand, that sharp-dressed tailor, almost bald. They want my measurements. For Dior. To make me a queen. Gertrude nods, eyes twinkling. ‘Undress, child,’ Geneviève says, voice like velvet. Here? Fully? My cheeks burn. But no backing out. This is the path to the underworld Adèle whispered about.
Fingers fumble with buttons. Dress slips off. Brassiere clings, panties hug tight. They wait. Patient. ‘Everything off, dear,’ Geneviève insists. Bertrand sees naked women daily. Likes men, she claims. Bullshit, maybe. But I unhook the bra. Nipples perk in the cool air. Panties slide down smooth legs. Naked. Exposed. Skin prickles under their gazes. Gertrude beams. ‘Proud of you, niece. Turn for us.’ I spin slow, pulse racing. Pubic bush on display. Shame mixes with a dirty thrill.
The Approach: Trembling into the Unknown
Bertrand steps close. Tape measure cold. Arms up. He circles bust, waist, hips. Thighs spread. Measure inner. Fingers nowhere near touch, but my nipples harden traitorously. He smirks. Notes it all on his pad. Professional. Detached. But my body’s betraying me. Heat builds low. They chat like I’m art on display. Tea after. He leaves. Geneviève eyes me. ‘Now, perfume and polish. Come.’ Out we go. Paris streets buzz. War whispers in the air.
Boutique smells of wax and flowers. Simone, busty blonde boss, grins. ‘Fresh from convent?’ Internat, really. But close enough. Marie leads to cabin. ‘Undress for epilation. Pubis and pits.’ Waxing? Never heard. Heart skips. Naked again. On the table. Soft towel. Vulnerable. Simone looms over. ‘Suffer to be beautiful, girl.’ Snips my bush short. Scissors snick-snick. Goosebumps everywhere.
The Instant: Wax, Pain, and Electric Thrill
Hot wax spreads on mound. Warm, not burning. Strips harden. Rip! Fire explodes. Skin screams. I yelp. Again. Again. Each pull yanks deeper than hair. Flesh stings, raw. Mirror shows it: bald pussy, lips swollen, pink and obscene. No hiding now. She massages balm in. Circles slow. Finger dips, gloved but insistent. Presses clit hidden no more. I squirm. Breath hitches. Heat floods. Sighs escape. Not pain anymore. Pure fire. Electric. She watches, smirks. Knows.
Armpits next. Easier. Done. Two hours. Smooth everywhere. Geneviève waits. ‘Perfect,’ Simone says. ‘Ready for men.’ Back to Gertrude’s. Skin sings. Tender. Alive. No turning back. Innocence stripped bare. Like Gertrude’s tales. Whorehouse camériste to wife. I crave that skill. That power. Adèle’s world calls. Night out soon with Madame. Body primed. Heart wild. War looms, but this? My war won. Smooth, slick, woman now. No regrets. Just hunger.
