Mount Vesuvius

My pet has a blessing. She has the finest leg and arm hairs of anyone I’ve ever met. It’s true. You would think she shaves them daily, but her secret… she never does. Her hair is thin and light colored and soft to the touch as if it isn’t even there…

So of course with such a blessing comes such a curse. She is very self-conscious about her dark “pubies” as she calls them. She shaves and plucks rigorously and proudly lets me know at random intervals that she has done this. “I’m plucking!” I’ll hear shouted across the house… well not lately. I’m already on the road these days. I miss those silly morning moments with her badly.

Anyway not to get side-tracked… her plucking comes with a downside. Hair plucking occasionally comes with the worst of nature’s curses…ingrown hairs or as she calls them “pussy pimples”

Once every few months I will see Kit freeze up suddenly. Like, you’d think she fed the dogs chocolate three hours ago and just realized the mistake. Totally stops what she is doing.

“Oh no…”

And then after the initial shock… I already know the reality of it.

“Pussy pimple?”

She nods… gravely. And then the song and dance begins. “Can you see it? Is it a white head? Can you pop it?!”

As I stare trying to see something that can only be felt… mostly only by her and she frets and groans. I’ll have some fun and squeeze at it and have her freak out and screech “Sensitive!!”

After a few taunting squeezes, I will shrug and give up. She always asks if it’s a white head and if I popped it. I smile and say not at all and that she is stuck with it for a while. She does not like this answer.

These stories end a number of ways and over a number of lengths of time. But we always will remember the one time about 3 years ago. The event that ended in an explosion we will never forget. The Mount Vesuvius incident…

Kit had been suffering for nearly 2 weeks from one pimple. She would moan about it before her shower for days. I just couldn’t pop it or lacked the time to try seriously. It became irritated and the mound continued to grow in size. After 2 weeks we had a real monster on our hands and had to go in for a serious popping…

And at long last… Kit found her release. It exploded like a stockpile of tnt buried beneath a mound of earth. The entire white head launching from her like a satellite entering orbit. She screamed “ooooouchie!!!” for a moment but then was free.

In our minds we knew the comparison that has to be made. It was, without a doubt, a real Mount Vesuvius. From that day on we would nickname any serious pussy pimple after a famous volcano, judging relative explosive power and size of famous eruptions against each other in an ever evolving inside joke.

“How is it?”

“A real Mount St. Helen on our hands.”

“Is it real bad?”

“Like Kilauea.”

“It hurts!!!”

“You need to endure. We might have a Yellow Stone under the surface!”

Somehow this exercise triggers a mild feeling of sadistic glee in me. She is trusting me to squeeze and pop the most sensitive part of her body. And as I do, she squirms and squeals and struggles in pain and shock. And I push on to give her the relief she needed. It’s one of the strangest and most easily obtained masochistic high I get from playing with her. How weird is that?

I’ll honestly be surprised if Kit lets me publish this, but even if this is only read by her, I had a lot of fun writing it. Love you for all your silliness Kit!

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