I used to be a normal healthy human being, right up until the age of fifteen or so. What happened at fifteen? What happened at fifteen was, I sprouted hair, and I'm not talking about on my head either! I mean as if I didn't have enough to worry about, like which of the Osmond's I really wanted to go on a dream date with, I sprouted hair. Where it came from I have no idea, or at least I didn't back then.

It just grew and I just sort of wondered what the hell it was for. It didn't serve a purpose, did it? All I could think of was it was to protect me from all the bad boys that I'd heard about. The ones who were always trying to get a peek under my skirt. The ones my Mother warned me about but never really told me why I should worry about them.

Once it started, it just seemed to grow of it's own accord. I couldn't control it anymore than I could my hormones at that age. Like most teenage girls I read magazines. The teen magazines that tell you sex is great, but it's dirty unless it's with someone who really loves you. Playing with yourself is ok, just don't do it in public! I searched those magazines looking for the article that would transform my life and answer all my questions.

All that research eventually paid off. I found the article I was seeking, the article that told me I was in fact normal and so was all this hair. Hair on my legs, under my arms and on those mysterious parts that were located between my thighs. I began to read, I began to feel normal. Then I turned over the page and almost had a heart attack. On one page it told me all this hair was normal, an essential part of becoming a real woman, on the next it described this hair as "Unwanted"

What the hell? If it was unwanted, why did it grow? Who didn't want it? Okay, so I didn't want it but that lead to many other questions, like, how to get rid of it? The article answered all those questions as well and scared the hell out of me.

The hair under my arms was undesirable, no boy would ever love me if I left all that hair there. The hair on my legs would have to go as well. That just left the hair down there, you know down there, the unmentionable hair. Funny thing was they never mentioned it either!

I decided to be brave and after much gritting of the teeth and a liberal dose of my fathers shaving foam, began to follow the instructions for removing all this "unwanted" hair. Shaving my legs wasn't so bad. The article said I should buy my own razor but paper rounds didn't pay too well in those days so I kind of stole my Dad's for the exercise. Bullied on by the ease of removing this ugly hair from my legs I decided to go for the kill and get rid of the underarm stuff as well.

This, I soon discovered was no easy task but I managed somehow to wield the potentially deadly razor over my delicate skin without so much of a nick. I was so proud of my new look. I was a woman, more than that, I was a hairless women, well almost! I admit I missed a few bits that first time but...

I went through those teenage years perfecting my shaving techniques and experimenting with creams and potions, I was either told or read about. Then when I was in my twenties, I read an article in a magazine that finally broached the subject of the unmentionable hair that still nestled silently between my thighs. I read this article a few times. The idea of shaving my other pubic hair was a radical one, at least to me, back then. But I liked radical, I liked the idea of being radical and to me this was about as radical as it got!

I read and reread the article. So many decisions to make, should I just shave it off? The thought of a razor down there scared me more than anything else. What if I cut off the delicate parts? How would I be able to go to the hospital and say excuse me but ... was my biggest concern. Then again I wasn't to keen on the other options that were offered either. Waxing looked painful. Just the description of the process made my eyes water. Creams seemed a bit iffy, I would go to the chemist and read the instructions, warnings abounded, do a skin patch test in case of allergic reactions. Do not apply to sensitive areas! I figured you don't get much more sensitive than that area, so shelved the idea.

Eventually I decided to go radical and shave down there! So there I was stood in the bath, razor in one hand and shaving foam plastered all over my nether regions. This is when I got really scared, I mean, I couldn't even see the damn thing through the mass of hair and foam but I was determined. I just wish someone had told me to trim the bush that had sprouted with a pair of scissors before I started to shave. None of the articles I read give this handy little hint. Whether it was an oversight on their part, I guess I'll never know but Jesus, if only they had I could have saved myself from an hour of torture. I began to shave the best way I knew how, which on reflection wasn't a very good way.

I soon discovered pubic hair is longer than it looks. It just seemed to go on for ever, each time I washed the razor and looked down expecting to see a bald patch I was disappointed. Still never one to be beaten I persevered. A fresh razor blade later and finally a small bald patch appeared.

There was no turning back now. An hour or so later and suddenly I could see my not so smooth, white skin beginning to appear where once there had been only hair. I stood in front of the mirror and admired my new look. It was then I noticed the bits I'd missed, during the process. I set to work with renewed vigor. Gently, carefully, very carefully removing the few hairs that remained inside my outer lips. One more rinse, a quick feel and I was surprising pleased with how I felt about my new found baldness as I stood admiring myself in the mirror.

It looked different but more than that it made me feel different. Not an easy feeling to explain, but it was like going to the hairdressers unsure of how you actually want you hair to look and then being pleasantly surprised by the results. That strange mixture of feeling good about yourself and yet strange because you look so different. Only difference was this felt more liberating than going to the hairdressers, as far as I was concerned this was positively daring than having my hair dyed blue, could ever be.

The next big step was to allow my partner in on the secret. I worried, I fretted. Would he like my new look? Would he run away in horror? It was worse than having a new hairdo! I soon discovered that any worries I might have had on that score was unfounded. He loved it, the feel, the look. He said it was like having sex with a new woman. I wasn't sure about that comment but I let it pass, because it was like having sex with a new man for me.

Two days later and I didn't feel quite the same way though! That was when it started to itch, and I mean itch. The more I scratched, discreetly of course, the more it seemed to itch. I consulted the mag and a couple of trusted girlfriends, who after much merriment informed me that I had to keep shaving! Once you start you can't stop, I was informed. Okay, so I started to shave every couple of days and the itching stopped.

Nowadays shaving is part of my daily routine, to me it's like washing my hair or brushing my teeth. Despite those anxieties I experienced as I was growing up, and discovering, I'm glad I took the plunge.

My main reason for writing this article was to show any women that are unsure, that we all suffer the same anxieties and worries when we start to experiment. Mainly because life is never as simple as those damn magazines tell us it will be...