Maybe I should begin with Pat, my best friend since forever. We attended high school and college together.

We got married within a year of each other, and our husbands have become good friends, playing cards and golfing together. We live about a mile apart. Our children go to the same school and often have sleepovers. Pat and I are both 34 years old, and she is the sister I never had. We can tell each other anything, and confide in each other whenever we need someone to talk to.

About two months ago my husband Dave and I wanted to take the kids to Disney World and escape the winter weather for a while. As part of my planning, I decided to buy a new swimsuit. Even after two children, I¹ve managed to maintain my figure. Pat and I work out at the gym two or three afternoons a week while the kids play in the pool. Dave really likes it when I wear sexy lingerie or a swimsuit that turns heads at the pool, so I wanted to find something nice that he would like.

I came upon a cute little one-piece at a boutique in the mall. Its shiny metallic-red fabric fit nice and snug, like latex. The leg openings were French-cut and the front was so narrow that I would have to shave my pubic area to wear it. The only time I had ever shaved before (Dave thought it would be sexy), the razor really irritated my skin and I had a rash for a week.

So I asked Pat if she knew of anything that I could do to lessen the discomfort. She smiled and said she knew just the thing. She told me about a beauty salon that she went to a couple times a month for a bikini waxing. You’d have to know Pat, but she’s about the last person I would have ever thought of having a regular bikini waxing. She’s sort of the librarian or schoolgirl type. Pat dug the business card for the shop out of her purse and gave it to me. She told me to call and make an appointment with Karen, the girl whose name was written on the back of the card.

The earliest appointment I could get with Karen was the following Wednesday, two days before Dave and the kids and I were to leave for our vacation. This made me a little concerned, because I wasn’t sure what I would do if the waxing didn’t work.

I arrived at the shop a few minutes early. It was a small place near downtown, and in all the years I’ve lived here, I’d never noticed it before. They do nails, tanning, permanent makeup, and waxing. The chairs in the reception area were large and comfortable, and there was a scent of coconut in the air with lots of big plants all around and soca music on the sound system. I felt as if I were already on vacation.

A young woman came out of the back and, smiling, asked if I was Cathy. She was tall, maybe five-seven, with long brown hair that hung down past her shoulders. She was wearing a light blue smock over a white T-shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. I told her yes, I was Cathy, her 1 p.m. appointment. She introduced herself as Karen and ushered me behind the curtain to the back of the shop, where there were three small private rooms.

The one she led me to was not at all what I’d expected. Fearing something clinical along the lines of my gynecologist’s office, I was relieved to find a cozy little chamber with dim lights and an adjustable bed covered with towels instead of paper. There were footrests at the lower end. Karen asked if this was my first waxing, and I admitted it was. She assured me there was nothing to worry about, and stepped out of the room while I undressed and put on one of the terry-cloth robes hanging on the back of the door. I changed quickly, put my clothes on a shelf, and sat on the bed waiting for Karen to return.

She knocked softly on the door and came in carrying a basket of bottles and jars. She sat on the stool by the bed and said, “Okay, let’s get comfortable. The hardest part is always the first 30 seconds.”

I lay back on the bed and put my feet on the footpads. Karen opened my robe a bit and fiddled with the footrests to spread my legs a little wider. There was a small lamp attached to the wall; she turned it on and aimed its light between my legs.

Karen showed me the wax in a jar that was wrapped in a towel to keep the wax warm. She let me touch the wax with my fingers and then explained how it was applied, was allowed to cool for a moment, and was then pulled off with a cloth strip, taking the hair with it in one swift motion. “It’s almost painless,” she said. “Relax. I was scared the first time too.” She smiled and handed me a mirror so I could watch exactly what was happening.

It felt really odd having a complete stranger so close to my most personal zone while I watched what was going on in a mirror. Karen put on a pair of rubber gloves and looked up at me. “Ready?”

I nodded, too nervous to say anything. She dipped her fingers in the warm wax and started to smear a small amount on the edge of my pubic hair. She pressed a cloth strip on the waxed area, waited about 20 seconds, whispered, “Here goes,” pulled off the cloth strip — and zip, the hair was gone. I heard myself gasp a little, but it was more from anticipation than anything else. It really didn’t hurt much at all. I looked at my crotch with the mirror just as Karen started to put some wax on the other side to make it even. I was shocked to see that she’d taken about a third of my total triangle with the first swipe. I didn’t say anything, just watched her fingers do their work. I took a deep breath and waited. The next zip was just as easy.

Looking at the mirror again, the sight of my near naked vagina was really exciting. A small strip of hair, maybe an inch wide, seemed to point to it like an arrow. “Well, what do you think?” Karen had obviously removed enough hair for me to be able to wear the bathing suit, and something about my new look gave me courage.

“A little more,” I said with a smile. Karen smiled too. Two minutes later, little more than an exclamation point remained at the top of my pussy. Feeling pretty bold, I told Karen to take more.

“All of it?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “All of it.”

She quickly removed the tiny remaining strip of hair, then said that there was just a little housekeeping to be done to take care of everything, adding that she thought I would really be pleased with the results. “Housekeeping” apparently means removing the hair around the anus and a few strays. This was accomplished by two quick zips, and then I was completely bald.

Just as I was about to take another look in the mirror at the final product, a phone rang in the reception area. Karen got up, removed her gloves, and said she’d be right back. She left the room, closing the door behind her. I was alone with my new “hair style,” and I sat up on the bed to get a good look. Spreading my legs wide, I held the mirror close and, with trembling fingers, gently touched myself. My pussy was ultrasensitive. It tingled as I ran my fingertips across the bare skin. I marveled at how good this felt and at how wonderfully exciting everything looked, so totally exposed and sexy. I knew that Dave would love my new look as much as I did.

The feeling of my bare pussy against my hand was hypnotizing, and I guess I let my fingers linger just a little too long. I could feel a telltale wetness as, staring at the mirror, I gently tugged back and forth. I leaned forward to look more closely and, as my excitement started to build, I got a whiff of my sex. I could feel my nipples tingling, and I looked under the robe to find them puckered and hard. God, I thought, if she doesn’t come back soon I’m going to make myself come. With that, there was a soft tapping on the door and Karen re-entered the room.

Trying to act as if nothing were wrong, I could feel that my face was flushed. Karen didn’t seem to pay any attention. She put on another pair of gloves and sat back down on the stool. She took a small bottle from the basket and turned to look at her handiwork. I’m certain that my wetness was visible, but Karen pretended not to notice, at least for a moment. She looked me right in the eye. “Now,” she said, almost whispering, “this moisturizer is the best thing that you can use to keep from having any discomfort.” She poured a thick drop of honey-colored liquid onto the small patch of my skin that had only a few minutes earlier been covered with tiny blonde curls. My tummy muscles tightened and I gasped quietly when the oil hit my skin.

Using just the tip of her index finger, she began to make slow little circles in the cream. The feel of her finger so close to my bare pussy almost made me gasp. Karen again looked directly into my eyes as her finger massaged my tender skin. The circles became a little larger, and she increased the pressure of her finger, all the time watching my face for any reaction. “You’ll have to use this lotion every day,” she murmured. I started to squirm under her touch. I tried to answer, but had long ago lost my composure. No woman had ever touched me like this before, but I was past caring. I propped myself up on my elbows and looked back into her eyes, telling Karen with my gaze that she could do anything she wanted to me. I was beyond the point of no return and powerless to stop her anyway.

Still smiling, she looked down at my pussy and applied a second finger to the massage. I spread my legs wide and shimmied toward her, trying to get her to be more aggressive. I wanted this girl to make me come. She laughed and told me to take it easy. “Your skin is really sensitive now, and you don’t want to do anything to cause it pain. You have to be gentle. You have to take your time.” As her fingers continued to rub lotion into my skin, I felt the tip of her thumb gently brush against the lips of my pussy. The first time, it was barely noticeable. The second time it strayed between those lips, and the third time, it slipped inside me about halfway.

My head fell back and I moaned. Karen gently advanced her thumb until it was buried inside me, and her fingers began to really work me over. She eased my legs a little farther apart with her other hand, and her fingers started to pick up speed. I pulled my robe open and grabbed my breasts, squeezing them and pinching my tiny nipples. Over the sound of my ragged breathing, I could hear Karen whisper, “Yeah, baby. That’s it. That’s it. Let go.” Well, I had no choice. That’s exactly what I did. I let go.

My hips bucked like crazy and I called her name over and over. I heard myself crying, “Oh, so sweet!” and I collapsed, quivering and moaning. With her hand still on my throbbing pussy, Karen slid the stool over and kissed me gently on the mouth. My lips parted instinctively and my tongue sought hers as we shared the loveliest, most sensuous kiss of my life. I wrapped my arms around her and held on tightly as the waves of my orgasm slowly subsided.

After a few moments, hearing no sound except my own breathing, I looked into her eyes and smiled.

“Nice?” she whispered.

“Nice,” was all I could say. She got up to leave the room and looked back over her shoulder. “Go ahead and get dressed,” she said. “You’re going to be a knockout on vacation.” Oh, yes, the vacation. I had forgotten all about it.

I stood up on very shaky legs and dressed quickly. At the front of the shop, Karen stood by the counter, looking like the cat who’d licked the cream. “One bikini waxing, $21,” she said.

I opened my wallet, took out a twenty and a five, and handed the money to her. “Are you allowed to take tips?” I asked.

“Only if you are 100 percent satisfied.” was the young woman’s smart-alecky response. I handed her two more twenties and kissed her again. She walked me to the door and unlocked it, then turned the lights back on in the darkened reception area. I now realized she had locked up when she went to answer the phone, assuring that we would have privacy. I wonder how she knew. “When you get back from vacation,” she called after me, “come in for a touch-up.”

All the way home I replayed in my head what had happened. I couldn’t believe what I had just done. And I couldn’t believe how much I’d enjoyed it. I also couldn’t believe that I had every intention of making an appointment for that “touch-up” sometime soon.

There was a message on the answering machine when I got home. I was not the least bit surprised to hear that it was Pat. “Hi, Cathy, it’s me,” she said. “I just wanted to see how your appointment went with Karen. Did she take good care of you?” Then there was a giggle on her end. That little sneak! I can’t wait to take “revenge,” perhaps with a threesome. I’m hoping Karen will be willing to help me out.