Fred Sasaki

My wife came home from the salon the other day with what looked like an angry bird between her legs. A little enraged, roseate, and dashed with baby powder, her bird winked at me in an unknown way and I suddenly realized that, after ten years together, I had never seen her so naked. She had had her first Brazilian Wax and I was soon to discover how glad I'd be about it.

Never mind fantasy and forget kink. We know Jenna Jameson and we know Lolita, but a Brazilian Wax has nothing to do with psychology and everything to do with physics. Whatever fantasies lie buried in the bush and tangle of our subconscious (or sock drawers), in the end it's a shame to shrink a head over it. Face to face with the raw source is, I'm now convinced, the only way to go--a treat for the sexual epicure in all of us.

Like many of you, I once thought reducing a woman's lovejoy to a pubescent bud something twisted and pedophilic--incriminating in a way. I also thought that it was something women only did to please their partner. I couldn't imagine that--gasp--a woman could want the slightly naughty, electric sensation that comes via a waxed bare papaya. And my righteous naivety led me so astray that I reveled in the kinky, unclipped au natural nest of unbridled pubes as if I were upholding the purest, most magnificent stance toward human beauty; that this is how we are and this is how we shall be enjoyed. The strands pasted to my tongue, the mysterious excretions napped in the fray, and the robust musk of a woman's demi-fro was, I thought, akin to godliness--or goddessness. That parting the black forest, as Moses had done the Red Sea, was my duty.

But imagine Eve kissing Adam. Back in Africa, the two of them in Eden a little sleepy from an afternoon snack, their fingers a little sticky with fruit sap, and their breath heavy with rapturous, carnal hunger. She winks at him. He says something about his anaconda. She leans in and presses herself to his throbbing blackness, their indigo skin luminescent in the young sun. She pushes her hand into his sparkling afro and they tongue each other deeply, snakelike. The inner pink of their lips glistening, his unkempt beard roughing her cheeks, tickling and pushing into her nose, ends loosened from his mustachio caught at the back of her throat. She sneezes and her nose jam clots in his curls...Now, wouldn't we have gotten off to a better start had he had a decent shave!?

But proof is in the, well, pie in this case. The bare-bottom line is that sex is just better without that unnecessary hair. A few swift rips can change your life. The cunt becomes enlivened and more sensitive. The terrain is more easily traversed with the folds and valleys right at your (or her) fingertips. Everything is softer, less viscous, and more delicious. Like an ice-cream rose bud. Doors open--or at least become more accessible.

If you've made it this far, do take my advice. Run out and get yourself a Brazilian. And if you aren't so equipped, buy a gift certificate for your valentine. If you don't know where to go, call Cleise Brazilian Day Spa at 1841 North Sheffield, (312)440-1060. She's from Recife, on Brazil's northeast Atlantic coast, and is renowned for her art. Her web site, cleisespa.com, provides all the essential tips and history for your first visit. Just do it, then do it.

(2006-02-07)

Also by Fred Sasaki

The Agony and the Ecstasy
What are you talking about? Are you talking about prostitutes? My God. Gross.
(2005-12-13)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
I have many sports cars. They are very beautiful and very fast. Perhaps I will ride you in one of my many sports cars
(2005-10-25)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
What, are you just some pony-boy? Some pretty pony-boy? What are you, a pretty pony-boy?
(2005-10-04)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
If you don't say that it's the best hand job you ever got, I'll give you your money back
(2005-09-27)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
(2005-08-23)

976-POET
(2005-07-26)

Animals of the Wild
(2005-05-24)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
(2005-04-26)

Conversation Hearts
(2005-03-15)

Mother, May I?
(2005-02-08)

Fiction Review
(2005-01-04)

Nonfiction Review
(2004-12-14)

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