"Experiment". The real story of the life of one guy.
After they told me that my eggs resembled the old rastaman, I decided to take a decisive step and buy this gel, because previous shaving attempts were not particularly successful, and besides, I didn’t kill my back, trying to get to hard to reach places.
I'm a little romantic, so I decided to make it for my wife's birthday - like another gift.
I ordered it in advance.
Since I work on the North Sea, I considered myself a tough guy.
I waited until my other half went to bed, and, hinting at a special surprise, I went to the toilet.
At first everything went fine. I applied the gel to the right places and waited. And very quickly waited. At first, I felt a warmth, which after a few seconds was replaced by a strong burning sensation and a feeling that I can only compare with the feeling when barbed-wire pants sharply pull over you, while trying to throw you to the ceiling.
Until this evening, I was not too religious, but at that moment I could believe in any god, if only he would save me from the terrible burning sensation around the sralnik and the complete destruction of the sausage and two eggs.
Trying not to bite through my bottom lip, I tried to wash off the gel in the sink, but I managed only to push a bit of hair into the hole.
Through a veil of tears, I got out of the closet and went to the kitchen. I couldn’t go to the kitchen anymore, so the last meters to the refrigerator I was already crawling.
Rolling out the lower chamber from the refrigerator, I found an ice cream tub there, tore the lid off it and put it under me. The relief was fantastic, but not for long, because the ice cream melted quickly and the hellish burning sensation returned. The bath was rather small, so I could not help the zhopny hole. I began to fumble around the box, hoping to find at least something — there were already so many tears in my eyes that I saw little. I grabbed a bag in which, as I found out later, lay frozen bean sprouts, and tore it up, trying to make it as quiet as possible. I grabbed a few shoots and unsuccessfully tried to clamp them between the buttocks. It did not help - the gel, along the way, penetrated into the rectum, and now it looks like a jet engine was working there.
I hope I will never again dream of having a gay snowman in the kitchen - do you understand how low I was ready to fall to ease the pain?
The only solution my brain-crazed thought came up with was to carefully shove one sprout in a place where no plant had yet grown.
Unfortunately, having heard strange groans from the kitchen, my wife decided to get up and find out what was wrong.
She was greeted by a stunning view: I was lying on the floor, otklyuchal ass, with which the strawberry ice cream flows down, and shove in a bean with the words "Oh, how good."
This, of course, shocked her, and she screamed in horror. I did not hear how she entered, so that he himself was frightened, my bowels squeezed a spasm, and the sprout at a considerable speed flew in her direction.
Yes, I understand that the bean sprout, which they fart at her side at twelve at night, is not quite the surprise that she expected, and the next day the children had to explain for a long time what happened to the ice cream ... well, thanks to Veet can lose not only body hair, but also dignity and self-esteem.))