How to Get a Perfectly Smooth Pussy without Waxing

I love to be silky smooth between my legs but I do not enjoy the pain and time necessary to go get my peach waxed. So I’ve found a two-step process that leaves me just as
smooth without having someone yank my pubes out by their screaming little follicles.

Yes. This is a different sort of post for me, but I just finished doing what I’m getting ready to describe and am now laying in bed, not sleepy, fingers occasionally brushing my silky skin, while I peck this out on my phone. (Forgive the possibility of more typos than usual.)

To achieve a smooth-as-waxed pussy you will need two products. One is a bottle of Nair. Yes. Nair. Yes. They still make it. Yes. It still smells… Nairish. Don’t get the fancy kinds. Stick to the basic bottle like the one below.

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The second product you’ll need is a Schick Intuition razor. These bad boys are great. No shaving cream necessary. Just zip zap and you’re done. Yes. The giant moisturizing stuff around the razor is a tad different at first, but the results are amazing. And I have removed the razor and used the end as a sex toy when traveling and in dire need of an orgasm.

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Now for the fun part—getting smooth.

Generously coat your bikini line and vajayjay with the Nair, being careful to not get it on the inner labia. I’ve done that. And trust me, you don’t want to experience the sensitive three hours that followed. A good rule of thumb is to keep the Nair about a 1/4-inch from either side of the center “slit”. Then wash your hands throughly and grab your phone and comment on blogs for the next eight minutes. Less than eight minutes and it doesn’t all come off. Go higher than ten minutes and your skin could be a tad tender later.

Once eight minutes has elapsed, wet a washcloth with lukewarm water and squeeze out excess. Then just wipe the hair away, rinsing the washcloth as needed. At this point one’s pussy should be very smooth except for the remaining hair around the center slit. So it’s time to adjourn to the shower.

Here’s where the Schick Intuition really shines. After letting warm water beat down on your nether regions to wash away every last trace of the Nair and to soften the remaining hair, separate your pussy lips and just run the razor down the lip in the direction of the hair growth. Rinse the razor and repeat on both sides until smooth. And viola! You’re done.

So why not just shave the whole thing? I’ve found that the Nair leaves me smoother for longer and I don’t end up with pesky, unattractive razor bumps when doing it this way.

So this completes my impromptu how-to guide. My smooth-as-silk pink peach and I are gonna turn in for the evening.

Cheers y’all.

Projection

I hate showing weakness. I have a very clear vision of the image I want to project: a strong, smart, confident, quick-witted, attractive, kind, attentive, sexy, powerful woman. But that’s all it is—a projection—elements of myself polished and turned to their best possible angle in the hopes that they will mask what I don’t want everyone to see.

Because what if they don’t catch the light just right and you see past all the barriers I have in place? What if you see my jealous nature? Will you see it for the shortcoming I believe it to be? And what about all the things I’m terribly insecure about? This terror I have of never being enough, my deep-seated fear that, once the surface level is breached, I won’t be desired as I long to be, my doubts that anyone can truly see past my physical imperfections… do all those insecurities scream “defective”, “inadequate”, “flawed”?

I must believe so. Or I wouldn’t work so hard on the projection, would I?

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I Met Another Blogger

Sometimes one doesn’t see always see a person clearly until they are contrasted with another. And that is what happened during my weekend visit with Ann St. Vincent. The first night I had my first impressions… physically she’s beautiful. Tall, with ungodly naturally blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, a high forehead and a nose that quirks in the cutest of ways when she smiles. Her personality is one of quick wit, extreme confidence, and an inner calm that I believe comes from her admirable self awareness. When there’s disagreement Ann tends to push her side of the argument in the attempt to convince others of her rightness and this sometimes results in extended conflict. Comparatively, I avoid conflict like the plague and will put my highly developed diplomatic skills to work to keep the peace while also (hopefully) getting my way. If nothing much is at stake I meander down the path of least resistance. I’m not sure Ann even knows where that path is. And I admire this in her.

However, we had enough similarities that it wasn’t until I met her friend Katherine on Saturday night that I truly saw Ann. Katherine, a tall leggy brunette, is in a place in her life where she is angry at men and at the exact same time desperately wants their attention. This dichotomy of emotions resulted in multiple trips to the bathroom to scope out the males as she went to and fro, long stares across bars in the attempt to lure a hapless victim her way and frustration when neither was successful.

In contrast, Ann, who wasn’t on the prowl, got plenty of appreciative looks that I’m certain could have led to more had she been receptive. I felt for Katherine. Her emotions sit barely below the surface and she envies Ann’s contentment. She doesn’t understand it. She questions it. Katherine didn’t know me well enough to compare us. I downplayed my career and life so that in no way was I her competition. She had me pegged as Ann’s quirky Southern friend and that was just fine with me. Path of least resistance, remember?

But it bothers me to see someone not having a good time. Especially when by all accounts, one should be having fun. So when the men at the über chic club were paying the cool Katherine no mind, I suggested to Ann that we find a dive bar. Dive bar men are the best for doling out lavish attention. And I adore them for it.

“Doesn’t this town have one?” I pleaded.

“Sure,” she said, “It’s got lots! But I don’t know if Katherine will want to go…” Ann had been easy going and following Katherine’s lead all night… the perfect friend.

I decided I’d put my diplomatic skills to use on Katherine. As she was finishing her drink I slipped an arm around her small waist and said, “I’m dying to go to a dive bar! Do you know of any good ones? Would you be willing to step it down a couple of notches?”

“Yes!” she cried, giving me a tight hug, “I know just the place.”

So Ann, Katherine and I departed chic-ville and headed to parts a little dirtier, a little darker and a lot more fun. As we approached the unmarked door Katherine turned to us, “Neither of you can ever tell anyone I love this place.”

With that we crossed the threshold into another world.

Music I knew blared through the dark room with a strong base beat. Lights flashed overhead giving the space the atmosphere of a 1980s skating rink with a BDSM complex. It was perfect. I bought my first and last drink of the night… vodka soda if you’re wondering, and set in to dance the night way.

There was attention a’plenty for Katherine and, once getting her fill, she caught a cab home. That left Ann and me free to completely let loose to whatever 80s rock song or 90s grunge hit played next. And let loose we did. Ann dances like she knows what she’s doing. Her legs move gracefully, right in rhythm with the beat; her arms sway and bend with elegance. Me… I just let the music move me. Watching me completely let go and dance without a care in the world can’t be too far from watching me have sex. It’s a visceral experience. One that leaves me a hot and sweaty mess.

I think it was during our time as dancing queens, one of us tall and graceful, the other shorter and gyrating, that I saw Ann in bloom. Cheeks flushed, a smile on her face, just soaking up the moment. The night wasn’t about the appreciative looks being shot her way, or how many free drinks one could score. It was about the pure joy of moving to a good song under flashing lights in the wee hours of the morning without a care in the world, knowing that some how, some way everything will work itself out. Even how to get back to the hotel at 3:30 in the morning with two useless phones and not a cab in sight.

Sitting with My Back to the Room

Right now I’m in a large restaurant, sitting alone towards the far corner with my back to the room. This is profound in ways that could seem minor, but aren’t to me. You see, I don’t sit with my back exposed, unable to see what’s going on around me.

I feel like this represents a shift inside me. My shifting, changing outlooks, positions, this is nothing new. But somehow what I’m feeling now is new. Perhaps it’s the result of the intense focus I’ve been putting on my health and body.

Last night at the track, in the dark, on lap seven I experienced what Nathan has called “the gazelle feeling.” As I rounded the corner a burst of energy exploded inside. And for a full straight, I flew. It was as if my feet weren’t touching the ground. That’s never happened to me before… an euphoria from pushing my body further and harder that I believed possible.

I called Nathan afterwards to share my joy. But he was distracted, focused on work, and the conversation left me feeling empty and alone. He tried to sound enthusiastic. He really did. But what he truly wanted was for me to stop talking so he could solve a major work issue and go to bed. And that’s okay. I don’t need to depend on him for my happiness.

Over the years with lots of trial and error I’ve become pretty good at seeking out my own happiness. And in this moment of my life I feel strong. Unbelievably strong. Things have happened that have pulled back some of the curtains in my mind. I’m not interested in free and easy sex. It leaves me emptier than I was before. I feel gross and disgusting afterwards. I don’t fault myself for seeking that out in the past, but it simply isn’t good for me anymore.

So is it this strength that causes me to choose the seat facing away? It is what’s allowing me to pick at my salad, blind to room behind me, and write this post without feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up? Perhaps. Whatever the cause, I’m so very content with who I am and more accepting of my unconventionality than I ever have been before. And my willingness to step outside the traditional, the norm, the expected, may just be what results in my contentment being long-term rather than fleeting.

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Self Examination (naked in front of the mirror)

Something woke me in the dark, wee hours of the night. A thought, a sound, I’m not sure. I lay in bed for a while, trying to get back to sleep, but to no avail. So I swung my legs over the side of the bed, got up and padded into the bathroom for a drink of water.

I flipped on the lamp and examined my face for blemishes. Other than my residual sunspots, all was clear. Backing away from the mirror I turned sideways, smoothing my gown against me. I stripped off the black fabric to better see the results of the last six weeks of healthy eating and work-out efforts. Facing toward the mirror, completely naked, I ran my hands over my flatter stomach, enjoying the strength I felt in my core.

I frowned at my thighs, smaller, but still far from my ideal and then smiled at my lower legs, firm from the hours of biking and jogging I’ve been logging. Then I turned around and looked over my shoulder at my ass. It stood out full and white, framed by the tanned skin of my legs and back, larger than I want, but firmer and slightly perkier.

Facing the mirror once again, I cupped my breasts in both hands, feeling the smoothness of the skin, the round weight of them. They too are creamy white and set off by skin I’ve allowed to brown in the sun. I stretched, holding my arms over my head, stood on tiptoe and turned from side to side, giving my body a long look from top to bottom. And I was pleased—a different feeling from the typical self-criticism I experience. I have a ways to go before I reach my goals, but seeing actual progress and feeling stronger turned my middle-of-the-night-reflecting into motivation to keep pushing… even harder.

How to Prepare for an Important Business Meeting

While there have been numerous columns and blogs written with advice for the best ways to plan and prepare for important business meetings, I’m positive this real-world, out-of-the-box example of how I helped one man get ready for the biggest meeting of his career (so far) is definitely the most enjoyable way to make sure one’s head is in the game.


Nathan had been at my house for several days and the night before his big meeting he sat at my kitchen table, notes spread about, legal pad in hand, in complete concentration. He would occasionally jot down a question he expected to be asked and then diligently research the answer. I kept his glass full of sweet iced tea and quietly cooked a simple dinner of seared sesame tuna on a bed of baby spinach and kale. Every now and then he’d ponder something out loud and I’d ask him to clarify, attempting to help him make certain he had thought through every angle.

He cleared a space on the table for us to eat while I dished up dinner and brought plates to the table. As I removed my flower-print apron Nathan looked up at me and smiled.

“This really helps, you know,” he said.

“Not having to figure out dinner?” I asked.

“Well, that too,” he chuckled, “But I really meant you bouncing ideas off of me and just being here and taking care of me.”

I preened. Nathan, for all the things I respect and admire about him, is often lacking when it comes to meeting my main love language need: words of affirmation. I don’t think I’m overly complicated. Just tell me you think I’m wonderful and I tend to be putty in your hands. Get even a little bit creative with how you tell me and… but enough about feeding my narcissism. We were talking about preparing for a meeting.

That night we went to my room, turned down the bed together, stripped of all our clothes and climbed in. The soft whir of the ceiling fan combined with the hum of air conditioner were the only sounds. Nathan’s hand rested quietly on my thigh and before long I heard his breathing even out and a soft snore escape.

Suddenly there was a freight train in the room. Or an 18-wheeler… I couldn’t be sure which. I just knew it was something loud with an incessant blaring that wouldn’t stop. I curled up on my side, pulled my pillow over my head and then felt Nathan stir and shut off the alarm. I came out from hiding under the pillow and blinked in the still darkness of the early morning. The bed shifted as he got up and walked around toward the bathroom but on the way he stopped to brush the hair from my face and bent over to kiss my forehead.

As I nuzzled against his lips, in my still-sleepy state, I realized he was still naked. And his morning salute was at full attention. I opened my mouth and, like a hungry fish going after an appealing lure, had his cock between my lips before he realized what was happening.

“Oh my gosh,” he moaned, arching his back in pleasure.

With him still in my mouth I rolled over so I was on my back, pushed the sheet off my body and began running my fingers around the edges of my nipples. My tongue circled the helmet of his cock slowly, savoring the feel, the taste of it. In no hurry I eased him down my throat, taking him that way over and over again.

“I need to be in you,” he whispered.

Pulling away, I looked up and smiled, “Darling, you were in me.”

“Yes, but I need to be here,” he said, gently touching my glisteningly wet labia.

No other words were spoken. Our bodies joined and it wasn’t long before I felt him pulsing inside me, on the verge of coming. Wrapping my legs tightly around his hips I pulled him in even deeper and reveled in the sensation of his seed pumping into me.

“You ready for that meeting?” I murmured.

“I am now,” he said.

 

 

Fortune Cookies Lie

At least how I interpreted this fortune cookie turned out to be a big let down. As I let you all know in this post, Ex Boss was coming to town. And as far as I know he did. But I didn’t see him.

We had everything set for Thursday night and then I had a conflict come up. A legitimate couldn’t-get-out-of-it conflict. I texted him to let him know and asked if we could aim for Friday instead. After all… he was supposed to be in town until Sunday.

He never texted back.

At all.

Yup… all I got was the mocking chirp of crickets.

I was tempted to text him and ask what the deal was, tempted to stew over it, to wonder what’s wrong with me that he wasn’t itching to see me even if was a day later. But I didn’t. I’ve been letting so much go lately… what’s one more thing.

So no blog fodder. No tales of hot, rough coupling. It’s just me folks. Just me.

Do Men Like It When You Aren’t a Sure Thing?

Nathan’s hand crept under the sheets to my breast and he gently twisted a nipple. I wriggled out from under his touch. Something he had said shortly before bed had irked me, sending my often-raging libido into cold hibernation. I felt him reach for my tits again and this time I firmly moved his hand before rolling over onto my stomach.

The man gets points for persistence. It wasn’t long before I felt a gentle caress on my ass. As he stroked the peaks and valleys of my body I considered spreading my legs and encouraging him to dip his fingers inside me, which would inevitably lead to sex. And then I thought, no. I am tired. Actually I’m beyond tired. He’s been here for several days and we’ve had plenty of sex. Plus, he was rude earlier and I don’t feel like opening up physically to him. In the midst of this internal debate, I felt his hard member press against my thigh.

“Nathan,” I said, deciding it would be immature to not talk it out, “It’s not happening tonight. You hurt my feelings and I’m in no mood for sex right now.”

“How did I hurt your feelings?” He said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

“You basically called me lazy,” I pouted, “And I’m not lazy. I’m just exhausted. And being so worn out that I forget to do something doesn’t make me lazy. It just means that my brain is completely shot. So you were just plain rude. And yeah, it hurt my feelings.”

“You forgot? I thought you said you just weren’t going to do it. I didn’t hear that part about you forgetting,” Nathan explained.

“Okay,” I said, the pouting diminishing, “You still can tell me you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” he said smiling, “You are anything but lazy.”

“Thank you,” I said, leaning over to kiss his full, sensuous mouth, “You’re still not getting sex. Not because I’m still mad. But because I’m just too damn tired.”

“Okay baby,” he said chuckling.

I fell asleep with him gently massaging my back and just before I entered dreamland I heard him whisper softly, “You’re kinda cute when you’re exhausted.”

The next morning daylight broke through the sliver of space between my bedroom curtains, filling the room with a soft glow. I felt Nathan move beside me and once again his hand went to my breast. I didn’t discourage him this time, but there was no encouragement either. I just lay back and let him explore.

When his meandering fingers reached my crotch, I remained motionless, letting him use all the tricks he knows to arouse me. The buildup continued, with my body only occasionally betraying my heightened awareness of him, his fingers, his expert touch. It was a good twenty minutes later before I finally allowed my hips to stir.

He responded by attaching his mouth to my nipple and began flicking it with his tongue while his fingers continued to tease my ever-moistening channel. As I reached the edge of my orgasm I jerked off my panties and pulled him on top of me, spreading my legs as he mounted. He thrust in deeply with a significant moan.

“Oh Marian,” he breathed in my ear, “You feel so good.”

The coupling was sensual, slow and tender. But when he came, it was with a groan and shudder like I’ve never heard from him before. He collapsed like a rag doll on top of me and just lay there… breathing.

After several minutes I spoke, “Nathan? Darling? Are you okay?”

“Mmmmhummm,” he murmured, “I just didn’t know if… and then you… and we… and… it was really good.”

So all this made me start thinking. Is there a heightened level of pleasure when a man succeeds in having sex that he wasn’t certain he was going to have? Does the challenge make the release more powerful? Is it more exciting when a woman isn’t a ‘sure thing’?

A Perfect Morning Quickie

“Darling,” I called into the kitchen as I perched on the antique stool at my vanity dabbing a dusty rose blush onto my cheeks, “Would you please get those boxes out of the trunk of my car?”

“But I’m making you coffee,” Nathan called back.

“Yes, I know… And thank you! But can you take care of those boxes too?”

I heard the rumblings of faux grumbling mixed with the clinking of coffee mugs and cabinet doors shutting.

“Can you believe that?” I heard Nathan say in the voice he only uses when addressing my cat, “She wants me to do both! That woman of yours… so demanding!”

The door to the garage opened and shut. And then it opened and shut a second time.

“Coffee is made and boxes are moved. What will she want next, Cat?”

He walked into the bedroom holding a steaming mug of morning’s elixir, still conversing with my large black cat that padded behind him, occasionally meowing responses to Nathan’s questions. I stood at my dresser, pretending to ignore him, and put on a necklace and gold earrings that coordinated with the simple pink lace summer dress I wore.

“Yes Cat, I do all this for her and I haven’t even had a decent blow job this visit.”

My eyes caught his in the mirror and I smiled before saying, “We’ll have to put that on the list for tonight then won’t we.” Continue reading

The Irreparable Space Between

2005-03-07 Avalanche Crk Glacier NP 1200px for Marian Green

Did the cleaving hurt? It’s still obvious how the pieces fit, how it was meant to be. But something came between. Was it a gentle eroding, done over so much time that you weren’t aware it was happening until it was too late? Or was it sudden and more violent… a splitting with an ear-shattering crack that could be heard for miles and miles?

And now, with the irreparable space between, do you look across the chasm in longing? Do you strain toward each other, trying to bridge the gap? Is there a calm acceptance that the split came, and now is a part of the landscape? Or is there quiet resentment, a stony silence louder than any shout, sadder than any cry?

No matter, the connection will forever exist, living in the very membrane of the memories that flow between, whispering and gurgling, singing of the happy times, the soaring highs, the unspeakable joy. And here, in the dancing fluid of remembrance, we find that it feeds the one element that springs eternal… hope.


 

A Words and Pictures Project

This is the icon for the upcoming new thing on Creative Noodling! The beautiful image that inspired the prose in this post was captured in Avalanche Creek Glacier National Park, Montana by Bruce “Chippy” Chipman of Concept Exposure. You can see more of his fabulous work on his website or follow him on Instagram (@conceptexposure). He and I connected on Twitter, so if you enjoyed this collaboration and have a moment, please give him a shout out there. His Twitter handle is @conceptexposure.

Drunk Blogging

I’m afraid I was that girl last night. You know the one. She gets loud and silly. And starts hugging everyone. And making new best friends. And forming plans for future good times that she won’t remember thinking up the next day. And at the end of the night her friends help her wobbling ass to the car and drive her home.

So that was me.

After my friends got me safely tucked in, the high of the night came crashing down. As I lay curled up in bed, my demons of years past came clawing to the surface. Old wounds I thought had healed began seeping.

And I must have written about it. Because I checked my phone this morning and, low and behold, I posted last night. I sort of remember reaching for my phone in the dark, the blue glow offering some semblance of connection. But I did not remember writing anything, much less posting it!

So the words that came forth last night can only be classified as drunk blogging. Reading in the bright light of day I see how many insecurities I mask daily… and I hide them so well I’m often able to fool myself.

Looks like the recipe for stripping all that away is a bottle and a half of wine on an empty stomach.

Trade Me In

Trade me in for the shiny new model. The one with that new car smell. Swap me for the better version. The one guaranteed to sell. Get the upgraded version to impress your friends. So they will know for sure you’ve “made it.”

That’s right. Trade me in. I’m just what you’re used to, what fills the space, what pays the bills.

So get what you want. I hope it satisfies because I don’t know what else I can do. No. I’m not perfect but I will keep trying because that is what you want me to do.

Oh this pain is too great. My fear is showing. Someone close the gate. I can’t go on… The unknown is too much. What you want is beyond my reach.

Or is it? Turn around and see me now. Is this what you’ve been missing?