So these were to be the instruments of her torture. Six inch cloth strips. A flat wooden spatula. A bubbling pot of molten wax – all waiting to do the bidding of the grim faced Jamaican woman clothed in a white lab coat. In a few minutes – fewer if she was lucky – the beautician would wrench the hair from Frema’s dewy, exposed vagina. Pomaa found a corner in the waxing room and didn’t budge. She pled with Frema one last time, begging her to reconsider.
“Is this really necessary? Isn’t there some other way?”
“There is no other way! If there was, I would have done it by now!”
“How about if I try to shave it for you? Maybe I could get a little closer…”
Frema shook her head. “It’s no use. I tried that already. It just doesn’t have the same effect.”
The Jamaican woman, who had not yet introduced herself, watched the exchange with amusement. She had to be a sadist, Pomaa thought. Why else would she stoop to doing such a thing to another woman…and charge a fee for it too! A final thought occurred to Pomaa; one last ditch effort to save her friend from the torment that was soon to be upon her.
“We could try Nair! Mama has some left from when my cousins came to visit! It will wipe the hair away clean!”
Frema struggled to her elbows and shot Pomaa a side eye. How could she suggest that she put corrosive chemicals near her precious pearl? Didn’t she know how dangerous that was?
“Ah ah, Frema! And this is not dangerous? And is wax not a chemical?”
“No. This is all natural wax. And I have come to a professional to make sure there are no mistakes,” Frema replied determinedly. “Remember that post we read on Adventures? The one Nnenna wrote about the girl who tried to wax herself and scared her man off with her battered pussy? That will not be me.”
Frema nodded to the Jamaican.
“Shall we begin?”
Her skin was the color of toasted almost. Her hair, coal black and tied up in a sock bun sat at the crown of her head like a perfectly built raven’s nest. Her hands, slender, quick and sure gathered wood, wax and cotton and began to layer them methodically over Frema’s tender flesh. Pomaa could not help but notice the woman’s mouth, which was painted a seductive shade of red and puckered as though she had just sucked a fresh lime. How could someone so beautiful be so wicked?
“Arrrggghhhh!!! Yesu! Jesus, help me!!!! She’s crucifying me!!!”
RIIIIPPP, RRIIIIPPP, RIIIIIPPPPPPP!!!!!
“Oh God our help in ages past! Pomaa, Pomaa she’s killing me! Pomaa, help me!”
Someone huffed in exasperation, cutting through Frema’s forlorn wails and cries for deliverance.
“Ma’am, I t’ought you say you wan’ dis to be a ‘zen hexperience’?” Jamaica scolded coldly. “Ya shoutin’ n’ carryin’ on n’ so forth ain’t makin’ dis ‘zen’, ya know.”
“Sorry,” Frema sniffed. “Please finish.”
Jamaica instructed her to get on all fours, doggy style. She was going to have to wax from the back. Pomaa watched in horror as a docile and contrite Frema complied. Where was her defiance? Why didn’t she just get off the table and run? Just run for God’s sake!
The beautician slathered the outer parts of the exposed labia and liberated every follicle from its pore in three quick strokes. It was over. It was finally over.
“You can pay de receptionis’ outside,” Jamaica said, nodding towards the door. “Take ya time getting’ dressed. You ladies ‘ave a blessed day.”
Frema wiped a tear from her left eye but didn’t return the greeting. Was that a grin on the Jamaican woman’s face? It was hard to tell…she had left so quickly.
A silver framed full length mirror hung just by the door. Frema approached it gingerly, like a child bringing a gift to the altar. Pomaa walked behind her, arms extended in case Frema buckled. She was smiling. Why was Frema smiling?
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she sighed.
Pomaa stared at the hairless mound of flesh between her friend’s legs and nodded. It was still a bit red, but she had to agree.
“Yes…it is, Frema. It’s lovely. Dennis is a very lucky man.”
“He said he has never been with a waxed woman before. He said he’s always wondered what it was like…I just want to give him everything, Pomaa.”
Pomaa nodded and patted her friend on the shoulder. They had had this conversation several times before. There was no point in rehashing the fine points. Frema always gave, and gave and gave until there was nothing left to offer. Telling her to slow down would only compel her to do and give more. If Dennis wanted to go to the moon, Frema would set about ordering parts for the rocket ship that afternoon. That’s how it was when she was in love…and for her to endure this level of pain meant she loved him very much. Pomaa reached for the clothes hung beside a bamboo screen and handed them to her friend.
“Here’s your skirt. Let’s go. I think you deserve a drink.”
“Thank you. I don’t need my panties though. Okofo needs to breathe. She’s been through a lot this afternoon.”
Frema clapped her hands and ran them down the front of her thighs. “I’ve given her a new name, because she is a fighter!”
Pomaa stuffed the unwanted panties into Frema’s purse and burst out laughing. Frema rechristened her vagina with a new experience. Thunder Storm, Fire Brand, Machete, Ananse…but Okofo had to take cake.
“Yes,ooo. She fought very well today indeed.”
Maybe her senses were still numbed by the shock of the ordeal, or perhaps the cocktails at The View Bar & Grill were actually that strong. Whatever the reason, Pomaa delivered a very tipsy Frema to the front gate of her house and waited until the gateman saw her safely inside. She would have seen her in herself, but Auntie Sinticlaire might have had members from the Council round for a visit, and she couldn’t risk another round of interrogation so soon after the last one.
It was still early in the evening – nearly sunset – and the sky had just begun its scheduled transformation into a canvass of brilliant color. No matter how many times Pomaa witnessed the setting of that glowing orb against a pink, blue and orange sky she was still struck by its splendor. She had been leaning against the side of her car, watching the spectacle when a thought occurred to her. She still had not toured the grounds of the Children’s Park.
I bet it has an even better view, she mused.
Electrified by the though, she put her car in gear and roared in the direction of the park. When she arrived, she stepped carefully over the pothole that had claimed her pump and looked around for hornets. Her thoughts quickly turned to Akoto. Would he come to her rescue again if she broke another shoe so quickly? She had to confess that she was impressed by his handiwork…and he was very handsome wasn’t he? In a non-traditional sort of way, of course.
Pomaa was surprised to discover she was smiling as she thought about her shoe repair man, and even more taken aback by the warmth that touched the tips of her ears at the mental mention of his name. She forced her lips downward into a frown. Nothing could come of this. He was a shoemaker, not a businessman like Femi, or even an engineer like Dennis. He was just a guy who fixed shoes for a few cedis when he could find a customer.
There was a wooden bench not too far from the long-abandoned pavilion in the center of the park. Pomaa tested it with her foot before settling her weight on it. By now the sky had turned to royal blue and purple, and the first stars were beginning to twinkle in the heavens. What a beautiful spot this would make for an evening wedding, she thought. And the pavilion would make an excellent reception hall. All it needed was some new walls, some paint, and…
“Herh. What are you doing here?”
Pomaa spun around and clutched her chest. The man who had asked the question was naked, save for a pair of tattered khaki shorts and a pair of new sandals. She let her eyes wander over him before she chose her next words. His eyes were wild, dark and clouded with confusion. When he twitched and snarled at her she immediately knew what she was up against. He was a mad man.
“I came here to watch the sunset,” she said honestly. “But I’m going to leave now. Good night.”
She hopped off the bench and hoped that her explanation would suffice and end their interaction. She apologized and reached for her keys.
The man was not having it.
“You are not leaving!” he shouted. “You are coming with me!”
“No. I am NOT,” Pomaa said firmly with more poise than she felt. “I already said I’m sorry and I’m going home now!”
That’s when he slapped her…and slapped her again and again until her ears rang. When Pomaa began to scream, he produced a small knife and held it to her throat.
“Scream again and see what I will do to you!” he threatened. “Come on! We are going into the house!”
Grabbing a fistful of her locks, the deranged man dragged her towards the pavilion warning her not to say another word with every stumble. Twisting in his brutal grip, Pomaa stared at her purse now quickly disappearing from view. Her phone, her keys, and all hope lay just a few feet from her on the ground, but they may as well have been on the other side of the moon.
“Tonight, you will do what you have been refusing to do every day,” the man cackled maniacally. “Tonight I will show you where the power lies!”
There was no mistaking what his words and the ponderous erection that poked through his shorts meant. This animal was going to rape her.