Lasering my Genitals: A TMI Saga

I think the title of this post should warn you sufficiently about what oversharing is in these here waters. I’m going to talk about my full Brazilian laser hair removal treatment. Blog readers, I’ve taken you into some TMI territory, between my MS Paint recap of the Geeky Kink Event and my never-ending posts about sex toys, so I hope you’re ready for whatever’s coming.

I want to preface this with my philosophical opinions about body hair. I don’t have a preference on my partners, and I think everyone should make the decision that’s best for them. I like to have it removed. I go whole winters without shaving my legs, and I once went a whole summer (really, summer!) without shaving anything, but in general, I remove my body hair. I started shaving my pubic area when I was in college, and I discovered I liked it. Without hair, it was easier for me to feel sensation in the tucked-away places. Shaving sucked, though, and so I started waxing a few years later. I have done a full Brazilian wax almost every month for the past ten years, and if I total up the amount of money I spent on paying someone to rip hair out of my body, it’s… well, it’s a lot of money. A “send a family of four on a week-long cruise through the Caribbean” amount of money. My husband doesn’t have any hair preference for me, but respects my decisions, and I wanted the hair gone without this monthly expense.

I finally decided to undertake more permanent hair removal, so in January, I had my last waxing and booked an end-of-March appointment for my first laser Brazilian. I had laser hair removal done on my upper lip a few years ago, but I figured this would be a very different animal. In the meantime, I let the hair grow in, became annoyed with it, and finally returned to shaving about a week ago in the process of laser prep. Let me tell you, shaving after ten years of waxing is like returning to the dark ages. I’m a bit fatter than the last time I was shaving, and trying to reach all the important bits was like a sad Olympic sport. I was ready to be done.

This brings us to yesterday.

First, I’m escorted to the room by two wonderful young women who ask if I’m comfortable having them in the room with me, since they’re trainees. I say sure. I’ve had a lot of gynecologist’s appointments, ten years of genital waxing, and a hood piercing. Lots of people have seen my nether regions, so what are two more? Three more, counting the aesthetician…. actually four, because the dermatologist needs to be present for consult. Awesome. Let’s start the show.

I change into a hospital gown and sit on the medical-papered chair and the Chux medical pad, and in comes the aesthetician and assistants to check everything out. She has to photograph things to start. Fantastic. These are not the genital pictures I appreciate having taken, but what are you going to do? We need a baseline. She snaps a few shots and analyzes the skin, figuring out where it’s darker and where she’ll need to use a different pulse. She explains the pricing, and how it’ll take at least three sessions. I lie there just relaxing, but then come the questions.

“Have you taken an anti-inflammatory in preparation?”

“Um… no?” I start to feel a bit concerned. “I didn’t think about it.”

Look of sympathy. “That’s fine. I know you want to pay for three appointments now to save 15%, but we’re not going to charge you until afterward, and you can decide then if you want to commit to all three. Some people decide not to go through with more. Or they stop in the middle.”

Okay, that’s reassuring.

As she examines, I tell her, “I have a piercing,” in case she didn’t notice it, because she really isn’t moving anything aside at this point.

“A piercing? You have metal down there?” She’s shocked, which I find hilarious, since I’d think she has seen these before. Nope, this was new to her.

She calls in the dermatologist, and he strolls in a few minutes later.

“She’s got metal down there,” she tells him. “Is that a problem?”

“Really?” He looks. “Huh. Can you show it to me? I want to make sure it won’t be in the way.”

I move things out of the way and show him.

“Can you take it out?”

“Nope.” Maybe i could, but I don’t want to deal with trying to put it back in.

“We can work around that. No problem. It’s small.” He explains to the aesthetician how to angle the wand so it doesn’t zap my hood piercing, which is something I definitely appreciate. Then he asks me, “Have you applied a topical anesthetic?”

“Um… no?” That is also not very reassuring.

He gives me a look of profound sympathy and says, and I quote, “Oh. This is gonna be rough for you.” He pats my leg. “We can write you a prescription for a topical anesthetic for next time, if you do a second session.” Then he advises her on pulse intensity and time before heading out.

Between the time she sets up and the time I’m actually ready to start, I’m warned an additional few times that this will be incredibly painful, and to let them know if I’m okay or not and if I need to stop. Holy hell, how bad can this be? I’ve got tattoos. I’m pierced. I get waxed. Is this really apocalyptic?

Short answer, no. It’s not apocalyptic. It’s painful, but in small sharp pulses, very localized, as opposed to a broad pain. The sensation reminds me of the finger-jabber machine the doctor uses to stick you and get a drop of blood to test your iron levels, only the sharp stab is hot. And it’s on your genitals. And it’s a series of them all across the area in a straight line, and then again, and then again.

My body’s reaction to conflicting sensations is to laugh, so I laughed a lot. It was such a weird sensation that despite the pain, I was giggling almost nonstop. (Apparently, husband told me I do this during BDSM scenes, too, but I don’t always realize it.) It wasn’t pleasurable, mind you; it was just strange. A few spots, running up the inner edge of the labia, those made me make a few “oof” noises, but no screaming and running away. The people working on me were quite impressed with my stamina and pain tolerance, I guess.

The whole process took about a half hour to forty-five minutes. Most of that was moving the machine around and getting everything in place. My piercing remained un-zapped, thank goodness. Afterward, my pink bits felt like they had received a terrible sunburn, and I was pretty sore, but it wasn’t excruciating and I definitely will go back for my other sessions. I suppose once you’ve had a needle through your clitoral hood, the other types of sharp pain pale in comparison.

Today, the day after, things look pretty horrific down there. It’s a laser. It burns the hair in the follicles, and that’s apparent. Nothing’s sore anymore, though, and in another day or two, the burnt hair will be gone and the area will be back to normal. The hair will come back lighter and finer, and after another couple of sessions, most if it won’t come back at all.

Would I recommend this to everyone? Hell no. It’s expensive, it’s permanent, and most people are just fine shaving or waxing if they want hair removal. It’s also painful, and while I found it quite bearable, many people wouldn’t. Husband reminds me, “Well, you like to get hit for fun,” so that’s something to consider as well in my report. But honestly, I’m so glad I started the process, and I can’t wait for it all to be finished.

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