Never Scrimp On The Alcohol

     A few years back I was lucky to get the opportunity to travel through Europe from Sweden down to the Canary Islands in a van. Being so long ago now, I can't quite remember when we started or when we finished, but I do remember it took a good couple of months in total. My journey began in Gothenburg where I reaquanted myself with Rebecca, a 21 year old Swedish girl. I'd met her only briefly about three years earlier at a party, we'd kept in touch through FaceBook ever since. It was her van. She'd purchased it a few weeks previously and had spent much of that time preparing it for this very trip. With the words BE LOVE written inside two giant love hearts across the back doors, it looked amazing.

    We weren't travelling alone. Others had been invited to come along too. Their names I don't recall, but needless to say, one was a young man of about 18, the other, a girl, was 23. They too were Swedish. The last person who certainly needs mentioning is Anna. Anna, just out of college was also very young. Unlike the others however, she was of Columbian origin. Lucky for me, an Englishman whose only Swedish was Volvo and Ikea, they all spoke embarassingly good English. Onboard also with us, was Musli, Rebecca's pet dog. An English Setter by breed, she was a very special dog indeed. It had been said that Musli had come in the top three of Sweden's version of Crufts, and it certainly showed in her behaviour. Living in a van, a small and claustrophobic environment, Musli was by far the best behaved of us all. Most noticeably she never barked, always smiled, and was often keen to help whenever she could.

    Our journey took us South through Sweden and across the Baltic Sea to Germany. From Germany, we hit France before then heading even further South to Cadiz in Spain. Along the way we'd picked up other travellers and dropped them off just as quickly.

    In the van now was just Rebecca, Anna, myself, and of course Musli. The name 'Musli', wasn't exactly correct anymore, because oddly to me at least, the moment we hit Spain, 'Musili' became 'Bonita'. The new name fitted Bonita very well indeed. She loved it. The very mention of it made her grin even wider.

    It was Cadiz where we were catching the pre-booked ferry down to the Canaries. We'd got there a day early so we found a free car park on the edge of town where we could spend the night. On our long and pleasurable drive getting there, with budgets tight, we'd avoided paying to stay in official campsites. More often than not we ended up in forests or on roadsides. It worked well, so long as nearby there was a friendly cafe where we could top up on coffee and then use their loos. Finding a good place to stop was essential. Our van, as fantastic as it is, was very basic. It didn't have a functioning kitchen and certainly not a toilet.

    Parked up, the van, a 1970s GMC Vandura (the same van the A-Team used to put the world to rights on TV years ago), stood out a country mile. Not only was it twice the size of all the other cars parked nearby, it was also painted in a multitude of acid and pysycodelic colours. It looked like a hippy, high on mushrooms, had been at it with a leaky spray gun. This suggestion was not too far from the truth. It was Rebecca who'd painted it, and sporting a mass of yellowing dredlocks reaching down to her waist, plus a bindi (Musli/Bonita had one also) dead centre of her forehead, she certainly fitted the bill as a hippy.

Note: As far as I know, Rebecca didn't take drugs.

    Having already spent weeks together in such close proximaty, we'd spoken a lot, done a lot. We'd run out of activities to occupy our minds. So to change things, we popped into a nearby shop finding something new to do. I resulting in buying a bottle small of vodka and a can of cold Diet Coke, whereas Rebecca and Anna bought themselves a bumper sized box of waxing strips. Pleased with our purchases we couldn't get back to the van quick enough.

    I immediately opened the Coke, took a long draw, then topped it up with a good measure vodka. Not remembering the last time I'd had an alcoholic drink, the first glug went down very well indeed. The 2nd glug was just as good. In the meantime the box of waxing srips had been ripped open. Anna began reading the instructions out loud. It was at about this time that Rebecca admitted she'd never waxed before. Her being so blond and fair-skinned, she said she'd never had the need to. Anna on the other hand, a brunette, had been doing it for years and was almost too keen to take the lead.

    Full body depilation, you'd guess the best place to carry out a such an intimate exercise, would be inside the van with the door firmly shut. The girls didn't think so, after all, they were free spirits, children of the earth. They virtually worshipped the Sun. Why be inside, when outside was much better? So, in the middle of the car park, a blanket was thrown down. The corners had barely been flattened, when Bonita came trotting up to investigate. Still smiling, she considered laying down on top, but after checking the Sun, still high overhead, she decided to sleep inside the van instead. It was cooler in there.

    Setting themselves down, dresses, short already, were hitched up and legs spread wide. It must be said at this point that being so proud of their bodies, neither of the girls owned any underwear. So, in full view of passing pedestrians and traffic, Anna set to work at pressing down then ripping off super sticky strips of tape from Rebecca's near naked body. Starting at ankles, she slowly worked up her legs. Rebecca, a self confessed professional hippy was immediately rattled. Normally she is a frustratingly calm and very calculating person. Nothing ever fazed her. She never raised her voice. I certainly hadn't heard her swear (not in English anyway) all the time I'd been with her. That all changed however the moment the first strip was was pulled away. Rebecca screamed louder than a banshee. The petit and normally serene young woman cursed at the very top of her voice like she was possessed. Rivers of tears immediately began raining down either side of her tiny button nose. Nearby, the few people waking past who hadn't seen us already, stopped to see what the commotion was all about. I myself, was taken aback too. Immediatly I again topped up the vodka and took another hefty swig. Rebecca's cries of pain disturbed Bonita. She briefly appeared at the van door looking bemused. On seeing that her mistress wasn't being murdered, she simply tutted, rolled her big brown eyes and then went back to bed.

    Taking pity on her tearful friend, Anna reluctantly paused for a moment. She offered to stop. Rebecca shook her head and waved her to continue on. She said it hurt, but insisted it was a nice kind hurt. It was almost as good as sex. Her comment caused me to spit my drink. What sort of sex was she used to? How do I get to find out?

    Her torture continued on, as did much of the hollering. Although, now almost out of breath, Rebecca had quietened down somewhat. Her screams had turned to yelps. I even noticed the pair of them grinning, like they were actually enjoying it. I certainly was. I'd been watching the entire time. My eyes were wide, my mouth agog at the very sight. I felt privileged just being there. After all, this was 'a girl thing', men aren't usually invited into the inner sanctums a women's bodily care.

    

    For the sake of decency, I won't go into full detail of what happened over the next 30 minutes.  Needless to say the girls twisted their lithe bodies this way and that, into some very compromising positions all to 'get better access to the little buggers'. Unlike Rebecca, Anna, an old hand at hair removal, hardly even flinched.

    At last they were both done. I could vouch that the only hair on either of their bodies was what was still growing on their heads. Everywhere else was completely fuzz free. Dropping the last of the hairy strips onto the sizable, even hairier, pile, Rebeccaa picked up the remaining half dozen of the unused ones. Stacking them together like a deck of cards, she was about to put them back into the box when something happened. Rebecca looked at Anna, Anna looked at Rebecca, they then both looked straight at me. Anna narrowed her eyes like she was hatching something. Immediately a cold chill ran down my spine. I knew exactly what they were thinking and I blankly refused. There was no way I was going to let them attack my not so hairy chest or even my legs. I'd suffered this type of punishment before and it wasn't pleasant. Years ago, purely in the name of charity, I'd agreed to have my lower legs waxed. I nearly died, I certainly bled, I might have even cried. Quite simply, it wasn't going to happen again. Fortunately the girls agreed. They said they wouldn't do such a thing. Unfortunately they had 'an even better idea'.

    Rebecca had begun wearing her most innocent smile, she'd used once before to get us out of a parking ticket. It was lethal. Her blue eyes sparkled like precious saphires in the bright Spanish sunlight. Butter couldn't possibly melt. 'Lets go inside Johnny Boy', she offered. 'Don't you trust me?'

    I didn't trust her, but with a look like that, how could I possibly refuse? So, leaving Anna to fold the blanket, I allowed Rebecca to be lead me to the van. Once inside, Bonita, who'd been laying on my bed, looked up. Our appearance had disturbed her sleep. She let out a loud yawn in protest. Being such a bright dog, she read the room in an instant. Something was going down. Not wanting to be any part of it, she sprung up and sauntered to the front of the van, where she hid herself in the drivers footwell. She had barely settled when Anna entered the van behind me. She slid closed the heavy door and locked it. I was trapped.

    True to their words, the girls had no intention on waxing my legs or chest. They had a much better idea than that. Rebecca had gone all serious all of a sudden, bossy even. In a new tone of voice she demanded that I remove my trousers (she called them pants of course, this was the continent after all) and then my boxers. With the weather so warm, already I wasn't wearing a shirt. I was now standing butt naked in front of two very attractive young ladies. Not knowing what to do with my hands, I tried folding them in front of me. It felt odd, but putting them on my hips felt even odder. I promptly went back to folding. Behind me still was Anna, on hearing her snigger, I turned around. She was blatantly looking at my manhood. Was it my imagination or did she lick her lips?

    Clearing her throat to get back my attention, Rebecca patted my bed. She told me to climb onboard. Things were suddenly looking up for me. So after finishing the last of my vodka, I duely complied. About to lay down on my back, Rebecca stopped me. She insisted I was to get onto my hands and knees instead. I was then told to arch my back downwards causing my naked butt stick up high in the air. If this wasn't humiliating enough, Anna made it ten times worse by forcing my legs wide apart. This was when the penny more than dropped. The realisation was much more like a thunder clap from hell. The two girls had decided to wax my crack and sack and all other remants of fuzz everywhere else.

    Before the invention of anesthetic, surgery and amputations were made only marginally more bareable with the liberal use of alcohol. Victims guzzled pints of ale or rum before the surgeon, who often doubled as a barber, hacked away with a blunt and rusty saw. The patient, held down by up to six strong men, screamed and bellowed and shrieked and wailed until the job was finally done. Even then they often died through infection afterwards.

    The humiliation and pain I suffered in that public car park in Cadiz was on par with that 19th century amputee, but at least I didn't die.

    Next time I think I'll buy a much bigger bottle of vodka.