Dumped, Actually(28)

This is ridiculous. I need to get out of this and get back to the safety of the Actual Life offices pronto.

When Laughlin McPurty comes in, I need to tell him in no uncertain terms that I will not be continuing with these beauty treatments. I will do it as gently but as firmly as I am able, so as not to offend him. I will thank him for his time, and his efforts, and promise to provide a very positive write-up of my experience on Actual Life.

Yes. These are the things I shall say when Laughlin appears. Definitely.

The door to the room swings open and in walks Mr McPurty, with Tina in tow. He’s carrying a large box of waxing strips, and she’s holding an equally large tub of what I presume is the wax.

Right. This is it. Time to end this farce before something really painful is allowed to—

‘Okay, Oliver! Let’s get you nice and bald!’

‘But—’

‘We’re going to start with your lower back, and work our way down from there!’ Laughlin wiggles his eyebrows as he says this. ‘Luckily for you, the hair only starts about where your ribcage finishes.’

‘But I don’t want—’

‘Now, you just lie back and relax, Oliver. This isn’t going to hurt a bit.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No! The wax and the strips we use are specially formulated not to hurt as much when they are removed from the body.’

He lies! He lies with the forked tongue of the lowliest demon from the pit!

‘Oh, okay.’

‘Good stuff! Are you ready for this, Oliver?’

‘Um. I suppose so.’

‘Great! Pop your head in the wee hole there, and we’ll get on with it, then.’

I rest my head into the massage table hole, cursing my inability to say no to anything.

It’s not the first time this has happened, and it surely won’t be the last. Why am I such a bloody doormat? Why can’t I just say no, and have done with it??

Tina starts to liberally smear my lower back with the cold, sticky wax, while Laughlin opens the box of strips, which look like they’re made of a very heavy-duty, thick paper.

He then starts to apply these across my back, once Tina has finished, muttering to himself again as he does so.

‘Aye, this’ll do the minute. Should have the wee hairies off in no time at all,’ he says under his breath. ‘Down she goes into the crevices and nadgies. No time lost there, no problem.’

What the hell is he on about?

‘And that’ll about do . . .’ he continues. ‘Here we go . . . In a wee jiffy . . . One, two, three . . . and . . . gissat!’





RRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPP


‘Oww!’ I exclaim . . . more in surprise than actual pain.

‘You alright there, Oliver?’ Laughlin asks, patting me on the shoulder.

‘Er . . . yes? I guess so.’

‘You see? Not all that painful, eh?’

‘No. I suppose not.’

Okay, my back feels warm and a little stingy – but it’s nowhere near as bad as I feared it was going to be.

‘Great! We’ve got another two or three here, before we move down.’

The prospect of moving down still sounds a little ominous, but my overwhelming dread has lessened considerably. Maybe this won’t be so bad, after all.

Laughlin continues to divest my lower back of its remaining hair, before pulling the sheet covering my lower half down, and exposing my pale little bottom for all the world to see.

‘Well, then,’ he says in a thoughtful voice. ‘Yer no’ too bad down here, Oliver. Just a couple of strips in the crack will do you.’

I’m hoping that ‘in the crack’ is some sort of Scottish slang for doing something quickly and painlessly . . . but it really isn’t, is it?

My eyes go wide as I feel Tina slather me in more wax.

Only she’s not slathering, is she?

Oh no.

She’s inserting.

Not deep, you understand. I’m pretty sure my rectum doesn’t require a waxing . . . but she’s definitely getting on down in there between my botty cheeks, with no apparent concern for my welfare or her personal hygiene.

I’m not going to describe what it feels like to have wax in between the cheeks of your bottom. Suffice to say, it feels like I’ve had an accident.

Then Laughlin applies the paper strips and I brace myself for the inevitable.

‘Now, Oliver, this might hurt a bit!’ Laughlin McPurty tells me cheerfully. ‘You may feel a wee sting.’

‘Eeeeuuurrrgggggghhhhh,’ is about all I can manage.

‘It’s in there and ready,’ Laughlin mutters. ‘Off we go to the races . . . ready for anythin’ and up to the wee smidgies . . . in one! Two! THREE!’





RRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPP


Of course, before this I knew – intellectually speaking – that the skin around the bottom area is more sensitive than that on the lower back. It only makes anatomical sense. I have not been aware of that fact on a visceral, purely emotional level until now, though.

‘OH JESUS!!’ I scream, probably loud enough for the bugger to hear me, whatever cloud he happens to be perched on.

My arse is on fire. My bottom is ravaged. My rear end is destroyed. My backside is ruined.