I Shaved My Vagina — And My Man Is Obsessed With It

I thought only women who were in the porn industry or had some very questionable sexual tastes would shave themselves down there. 50 Shades of no thanks, I'm good on that.

Yet, somehow my boyfriend convinced me to be a barenaked lady by not saying a word.

My first experience with a woman being shaved was when I was hanging out with a few friends of mine in college. Our mutual friend who was much bolder than the rest of us was wearing a short skirt. She was sitting on her chair with her legs open.

She was telling us some story but we couldn't hear above the sight of her buzzed beaver looking at us. I made that sign with my hands that every mom has done a time or two before: The 'close your legs for the love of chocolate and all that is good in this world' hand gesture. That moment shaped what I thought about being shaved.

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For the longest time I decided this THING I was carrying around would never been exposed to the elements like that. I watched "The Vagina Monologues" and thought about the woman whose vagina felt so naked and sad without her warm pelt.

And I thought, "I'll never be that woman." Until I was.

My boyfriend and I had been dating for a little less than a year. We were still in the stages of happy bliss where I wanted to do anything in the world to make him happy. Except, you know, anal and shaving down there.

One day he suggested that we try something different. Something that would show that we trusted each other. "Let's shave each other," he said. And since he loved his full-grown beard, I knew he didn't mean his face.

I was dead set against it. I didn't want to have anyone near my most vulnerable place with a razor. I wasn't trying to serve myself up on some pseudo-pedophilia platter. I was post-puberty and as such, had hair on my special spot. The 70s are back and they're in my pants. Deal with it.

He talked about it like it was a trust exercise. He'd be vulnerable to me, too. We could take it slow. I was still resisting having a barenaked lady under my skirt. But he didn't pressure me. He didn't push me. And that's pretty much how he convinced me to do it. He gets me.

We started with a shower together. That's not something we do very often but it's nice. And he really excels at washing my back side. Thoroughly clean, yet somehow a little dirtier than we stepped in, we stopped the running water.

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The razors were on the sink within grabbing distance. I had some shaving cream for delicate skin; I assumed that would work for pubes, too. I made him do me first. I wanted him to know that if something went awry, his turn was next.

He was very gentle and took his time. He talked to me in murmurs like he was trying to gentle a scared stray. Fortunately for me, that whispering eased my anxiety. I was nervous but it wasn't nearly as scary as I thought it would be. It was an incredibly intimate moment.

Then I had him by the short hairs, quite literally. I had been spending all this time worrying about him shaving me that I hadn't even considered this aspect of the journey. I made sure to shave with the grain of the hair. I moved as slow and smoothly as I could, trying to take deep breaths and not be shaky. Not to humblebrag or anything, but I think I pretty much rocked his casbahs.

There's something really decadent about being hairless. I was afraid it would remind me of one of those hairless cats, you know? Like, it would look kind of sinister and strange. And maybe need a tiny sweater. That wasn't the case at all.

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