Good

by S. Walden

  “That’s it! Forget it!” I said, and opened the car door.

  She snatched my arm just in time and held me captive in my seat.

  “Stop being a pussy,” she said.

  “Cute. That’s really cute,” I replied.

  Avery laughed. “Cadence, I promise you you’ll love it. It makes sex like a trillion times better.”

  “I’m not having sex,” I countered.

  “Oh. Well when you do, it’ll make it a trillion times better.”

  “How would I know? I’ve got nothing to compare it to,” I said, and closed the car door.

  Avery shrugged. “Say, why are you doing this then? I thought you and Mystery Man were getting it on.”

  She turned the ignition and backed out of the driveway, glimpsing me as she turned to look behind her. I was flushed a deep red.

  “Ohhh, I see. Not sex but maybe a little innocent fooling around,” Avery said. “So he hasn’t been down there yet?”

  “First of all, you’re supposed to use your mirrors, not turn your head. Second, no he hasn’t. And thanks to you, I’ve been a wreck over it. Tell me. When did hair become such a terrible thing?”

  “Since always,” Avery replied. “Luana will explain it all to you, but it’s not just about sex. It’s a hygienic thing.”

  “To not have hair?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m a young woman. Shouldn’t I have hair?”

  “No.”

  “What’s wrong with shaving?” I asked.

  Avery screwed up her face in disgust. “Are you freaking kidding me? Totally. Gross.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes, and way dangerous.”

  “Really?”

  “Cadence? Have you ever cut yourself down there?”

  I grimaced thinking about a few weeks back when I sliced into a soft fold, making it bleed heavily for a good two minutes.

  “Exactly. Not wise to shave. Cuts make you vulnerable to all kinds of stuff,” Avery said. “And razor bumps? Bleh. Just nasty.”

  “Doesn’t waxing mess up your skin?” I asked.

  “No. Not if you take care of yourself down there after you get it done. It’s called exfoliation, and lots of it.”

  “Will I bleed?”

  “No. Unless you have freakishly sensitive skin or something,” Avery said.

  “How long before the hair starts growing back?” I asked.

  “That’s the awesome part. You shave and the next day you have stubble, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I go a week to a week and a half before any hair starts growing in. And it’s softer, too.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Yes. Now can we talk about Gavin?” she asked.

  I had a million more questions for her, but I sensed I was becoming tedious. It wasn’t my fault. This was an entirely new world to me.

  “Do the strips hurt?” I asked.

  Avery huffed. “Luana doesn’t use strips. Strips are cheap.”

  “What does she use?”

  “Hard wax.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh my God, Cadence. I swear you will be fine. If you keep asking me questions you’re gonna freak yourself out more.”

  “I’m already freaked out!” I replied. “So just tell me what hard wax is.”

  Avery sighed. “Hard wax is wax that hardens on your skin. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Then it’s peeled off along with your hair. No strips.”

  “Interesting,” I replied, and Avery chuckled.

  “I like how you say that. You emphasize the “in”. Say it again.”

  “You just wanna laugh at me,” I replied.

  “Oh, just say it! It’s cute. ‘Interesting’.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Will you keep answering my questions?”

  “Yes.”

  I laughed. This girl didn’t need much in the way of entertainment. “Okay, Avery. I find this whole waxing thing very interesting.” I made it sound really good. Avery burst out laughing.

  “You’re such a weirdo,” she said. “I love it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “All right. So what else do you want to know?” she asked, and I delved right in.

  Luana was sweet, but I couldn’t understand half the things she said. She was new to the United States, and her English was weak. But she tried her hardest to console me when I told her I’d never been waxed and was scared out of my mind. I don’t think she understood a word I said, but the fear was written all over my face. Emotions are their own universal language.

  “Wax is good,” she said soothingly, stroking my arm while I sat on her table. “Now take off bottoms and I come back in.” She smiled and slipped out of the room, leaving me in the stark, bright whiteness of her workroom with the task of getting half naked.

  I wanted to cry. I wanted to kill Avery. How could I let her talk me into this? I slid out of my panties and climbed onto the table, folding my hands between my legs as I stared at the ceiling, waiting for Luana. She threw open the door when she came back in, and for a split second I was mortified. What if someone in the hallway saw?

  “Okay. Open legs,” she said.

  My heart pounded. Really? Open them just like that under these medical office lights? This was not like the visit to the gynecologist. At least I had paper wrapped around my waist so I couldn’t see the doctor going about her business.

  “You okay. Open legs,” she said, prodding my knees apart.

  I closed my eyes. I thought that might help. Plus, those lights were starting to really irritate me. My body jumped at the first contact of warm wax. She spread it all over. I don’t remember telling her exactly what I wanted. Avery said some girls just do bikini waxes. A Brazilian meant it all came off. Did I tell Luana I wanted a Brazilian?

  “Deep breath,” Luana said.

  Deep breath? Avery wasn’t joking. Oh my God, I’m about to die . . .

  One rip! and one very loud “FUCK!”

  “I know,” Luana giggled, and fanned my vagina. She fanned it. And it felt so good.

  “Two more times for the bad, and then good,” she explained.

  “Two more times for the bad” kept repeating over in my head as she ripped the hair out on the other side and then the majority of hair on my mound. She pressed her hand against my vagina and fanned me rapidly. I thought I should feel embarrassed that her hand was pressed against my open legs, but it soothed the pain, and I didn’t want her to stop. I was sweating on the paper cover. I could feel my back radiating heat like a furnace.

  “Good girl,” Luana said. “Now easy part.”

  “How long have you been doing this?” I gasped.

  She smiled. “I’m thirty-three. I give waxes at fourteen.”

  “Fourteen years old?!”

  She giggled again and went to work ripping out the rest of the errant hairs. I didn’t even feel it. She used a magnifying glass and tweezers to get a few finer hairs. All the while she worked she explained the hygienic and sexual advantages of waxing. I understood none of it. She also explained how I needed to take care of my skin. I didn’t understand that either apart from some words that sounded vaguely close to “Neosporin” and “fluffy poof.”

  After it was over she rubbed baby powder all over me. I admit that there was something strangely erotic about it, and suddenly I realized why Avery was a sexual deviant. She never really gave me details about Gavin, but every once in awhile she’d let something slip, and it was always scandalous. Now I understood. She got waxes. That’s what happens to a girl when she gets a wax. She turns . . . sexual.

  “Okay, now turn over,” Luana instructed.

  “Huh?”

  “Over over,” she said, motioning with her hands.

  Oh my God.

  “No, I’m okay,” I said.

  Luana giggled. Again. “You be fine. We get backside and make it pretty.”

  Make it pretty?

  “Um . . .”

  “Your husband l
ike,” Luana explained.

  “I’m not married.”

  “Your boyfriend like.”

  “I . . . he . . . um . . . no.”

  Luana encouraged me by pushing on my arm. I turned over because I didn’t know how to argue with someone who couldn’t speak English all that well. Violent shaking of my head didn’t seem to translate, and she didn’t look like she was letting me leave until she put some hot wax in my crack. I brought most of the paper table cover with me as I rolled over. We had fun peeling it off my sweaty body.

  “Please, Luana,” I whispered. I swear I thought I was going to cry.

  “Spread,” came the cheery reply.

  “I can’t. I can’t do this. No one has ever seen me up close and personal like this.”

  “You have cute booty! Let’s make better. Now spread.”

  Okay. The woman barely spoke English yet she knew the word “booty”?

  Aside from feeling like I shit myself, the wax wasn’t that bad. It was over in two seconds flat, and then Luana rubbed more baby powder on me.

  “You look,” she said as I sat up on the table feeling utterly violated.

  “At?”

  “Look look!”

  “My vagina?”

  Luana laughed. “You so silly. Look how pretty you are.”

  I glimpsed myself, something I was too scared to do while she was ripping out my hair. And I gasped. All gone. Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Completely bald and exposed.

  “See? Pretty,” Luana said, patting my thigh.

  I smiled weakly and let her kiss my face before telling me she’d see me in the lobby for payment.

  “So?” Avery asked on our way out.

  “You’re a bitch and a half.”

  Avery burst out laughing. “Look, if I would have told you everything, you’d never agree to come.”

  “Damn right!” I snapped.

  “You could have told her no,” Avery replied.

  “I tried. I. Tried. The woman barely speaks English. All she knows how to do is giggle.”

  Avery unlocked the car doors, and I climbed in.

  “Cadence. You’ll be happy you turned over.”

  I shook my head, yanking on the seatbelt and shoving the buckle in place.

  “Easy on my baby, please,” Avery said.

  “What does that mean? I’ll be glad I turned over?”

  Avery smiled that all-too-familiar mischievous smile.

  “Look, all I’m saying is that men in our generation are much more . . . experimental. And I’ve learned that it’s not so bad to experiment. It can be quite nice, actually.”

  “Oh. My. God. I am not hearing this,” I replied. “You’re eighteen! You’re like a baby! What are you doing having anal sex?!”

  “First of all, I’m not a baby. I’m a grown woman. Check it. Second, I never said anything about anal sex. I said I experiment,” Avery clarified.

  “Yeah, which means you’re having anal sex.”

  Avery shrugged. “All right.”

  “All right as in yes, you’re having anal sex?” I couldn’t let it go. It was fascinating and revolting and . . . fascinating. Really freaking fascinating.

  “You haven’t earned the details, sister. Sorry,” Avery replied with a smug smile.

  “Fine. Whatever. I don’t even care.”

  “You totally care.”

  “You’re right. I totally care! Please tell me, Avery. I’m dying to know,” I pleaded.

  “I feel like I’m corrupting you or something.”

  “You are, and I don’t care. I just have to know about this because my mind refuses to believe it.”

  Avery let out a long sigh and nodded. “Okay, first and most important: Lube.”

  ***

  I didn’t wear the skirt today as an invitation, but he took it as one. And a challenge. I thought he was out of his mind, but then I suspected Mr. Connelly had a way of executing recklessness in a subtle, controlled way. Impossible to anyone else, but he could do it.

  Everyone was working in pairs or small groups the last fifteen minutes of class, and the room hummed with low talk and laughter. I stayed in my seat because no one offered to work with me. Mr. Connelly circled the room a few times before walking past my desk and knocking my notebook onto the floor in front of my feet. He bent down to pick it up, squatting on the floor for the few seconds it took me to spread my legs and give him a glimpse of my panties. I blame it entirely on the Brazilian wax.

  Mr. Connelly stood up and handed me my notebook.

  “Sorry, Cadence. I’m clumsy,” he said, then moved on to the group behind me.

  I could actually feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I’d blushed a thousand times because of Mr. Connelly, but this time was excruciating. My face literally hurt, and I didn’t want to know how red it was. I concentrated on my breathing, and read the page summary in my math book over and over again until the dryness of the material drained the color from my face.

  The bell rang, and I hopped up.

  “Cadence, I have a letter for your parents,” Mr. Connelly said. “Hang back a minute.”

  I hovered near his desk until the last of the students shuffled out. He sat down and looked me over.

  “Come here,” he said. I walked over to stand in front of him. “You’ve been very naughty, you know.”

  My heartbeat sped up.

  “You show me your little pink panties in class when you know I can’t do a thing about it.”

  I can’t breathe.

  “I think you need a spanking, Cadence. For being such a bad girl.”

  “Mr. Connelly!”

  He chuckled. “Well, what will you give me then? You were naughty. I can’t just let you walk out of here unpunished.”

  I thought for a moment, then whipped my head around to look at the door. No one coming inside. No one peeking through the door window. I turned back to Mr. Connelly and took his hand. I moved it under my skirt, steering his fingers to the crotch of my panties. I’d only been touched here once before. I didn’t like it then, but I liked it now.

  He moved his fingers back and forth over me all the while he stared at my face. His touch was light at first, and it almost tickled. But then he increased the pressure, and a moan escaped my lips. I jumped back. What the hell was I doing? We were at school!

  I cleared my throat as I smoothed my skirt. “You said you had a letter?”

  Mr. Connelly smirked. “Hmm. Where did that thing go?” He folded his hands over his stomach and leaned back in his chair.

  I was embarrassed by my boldness, embarrassed that he wielded a power over me that compelled my sensuality. I wanted to slap that smug smile right off his face.

  “I’m not the naughty one. You are!” I blurted, then spun around to leave.

  Mr. Connelly laughed hard, then cleared his throat when the classroom door opened. The assistant principal walked in.

  “So make sure your parents get that letter, Cadence,” he said as I gathered my books.

  “Yes sir,” I replied.

  “Cadence, you need to hurry. The bell’s about to ring,” Mrs. Jackson said.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  I glanced at Mr. Connelly, whose face was unreadable, and hurried out of the room, making it to English just before the tardy bell. I was flushed and shaking, mortified that we’d nearly gotten caught. How stupid could I be to let him touch me at school?

  But I couldn’t deny the rush. I was terrified when that door opened, but at the same time, I liked the idea of nearly being caught—the threat of our secret being exposed. I’d have to mull that over in English and try to understand why recklessness was so attractive to me now. It was never that way with me before I started seeing Mr. Connelly. And it wasn’t like Mr. Connelly was a risk-taker. Well, that’s not entirely true. He had to be a bit of a risk-taker to secretly date me. Suddenly, I realized I was no different. I was nothing but a risk-taker. A wildly inappropriate panty-revealing risk-taker. What the hell was happening to me? And why d
id I like it?

  Me: Do you have plans this weekend?

  Mark: The usual. Why?

  Me: I want to spend the weekend with you.

  Mark: The entire weekend? How?

  Me: Avery and I are “volunteering” at a women’s shelter from Friday night to Sunday afternoon.

  Mark: Cadence.

  Me: Mark.

  Mark: That’s so wrong.

  Me: What? Volunteering? I thought that was a good thing.

  Mark: You know what I mean. Lying about volunteering at a women’s shelter? Come on.

  Me: Do you want to spend the weekend with me or not?

  Brief pause.

  Mark: When can you be here?

  ***

  “When do you think your parents will catch on to these fake community service projects?” Mark asked, sitting on the couch.

  “Never,” I replied, lying on my stomach on his living room floor. “They adore Avery. They think she’s a saint or something. Ruth or Esther from the Bible.”

  Mark said nothing as he leaned over to get a good look at the page. “‘Ten Ways to Turn up the Heat in Bed’,” he read out loud. “Scandalous.”

  “And informative. Where do you think women learn all their tricks?”

  No response.

  “Mark?”

  “Shhh. I’m reading,” he said.

  I closed the magazine.

  “Hey? What did you do that for? I was learning,” he said.

  “You really care to know about this stuff?”

  He tossed his ungraded papers on the coffee table and plopped on the floor beside me.

  “I find you utterly fascinating, Cadence. I want to learn everything about you and how your brain works and what you like to read and learn and all the stuff that makes you so very female.”

  I grinned and opened my magazine. “Feathers.”

  “Feathers?”

  “Apparently feathers are where it’s at,” I said. “Seductive and goose-bump inducing.”

  “Keep going,” Mark said. He peeled himself off the floor and walked to the kitchen. I heard the clinking of glass and the pop of a cork while I prattled on about G-spots and how to locate them. “Red okay?” he called.

  “Red what?” I called back.

  “Wine,” he clarified.