Radhika Sanghani - Virgin

I started trying to pull the hairs together in clumps so I could trim them in mini sections. I channelled my inner hairdresser, sectioning the hair in between my fingers and cutting the ends of it. I snipped away as best I could, struggling as I did the lips. The hair fell away into the loo bowl and eventually I was left with a relatively evenly trimmed vagina. I leaned over so my head was in between my legs. Then the door swung open.

‘Jesus, Ellie, what are you doing?’

I snapped my head up and pulled my dress back down. ‘What happened to knocking? I was checking for stray hairs but I’m tempted to give up on them now.’

‘Yeah, you can just get them with this,’ she said, as she triumphantly waved a tube of hair removal cream and a bag of M&M’s. As I reached for the chocolate she threw the cream at me.

‘I figured we’d need extra chocolate for this. We can eat them while we’re waiting for the cream to de-hair you.’

I rolled my eyes but dutifully pulled my dress up. Lara groaned, ‘Ellie, I seriously wish you wouldn’t just whip all your clothes off without some kind of warning.’

‘What? I went to an all-girls school.’

‘We went to the same school.’

‘Exactly, so you should be fine with it. How much of this stuff do I put on?’

She examined the packet. ‘Right, you need to make sure all the hairs are covered, so I’d just put loads on if I were you. And then we leave it for ten minutes but you’ll probably need fifteen because it says leave it on for two minutes longer for tough hairs.’

‘Twelve minutes, then.’

‘You’re standing in front of me with your vagina out. Trust me, you need fifteen.’

I slathered the white cream, which stank worryingly of chemicals, over my pubes. Then I sat on the loo with my legs spread wide open so the cream wouldn’t wear off against my thighs. Lara was lying in the empty bath, passing me M&M’s.

‘I don’t understand how a cream can be as effective as a wax wrenching the hairs out. How can this stuff do the same thing?’ I asked.

‘Judging by the strong smell coming from between your legs, there are enough chemicals in there to burn them off.’

‘Ohmigod, do you think that if I leave it on for too long it will burn me?’

‘Nah, probably not. Shall I check the instructions, though?’

I tried to reach for them to chuck over to her but I couldn’t without getting off the loo. Instead I held my hand out for more M&M’s.

‘What does the timer say?’

Lara glanced at her iPhone and announced, ‘You officially have forty-five seconds and then you’re free to wash it off.’

I jumped up in excitement and gestured for her to get out of the bath.

Gingerly, I switched the shower on and did a silent prayer. I moved the shower head down and waited for the hairs to wash away.

Two minutes later, I was still waiting. Panicking, I started to rub them, and a few came off in my hand. The rest stayed, so I rubbed harder. A few more came away, but after five minutes of frantic rubbing, I was left with a vagina scattered with small patches of pubes. It looked like a sad, bald potato sprouting hairs.

WE SPENT TWO HOURS and a bottle of wine consoling me. But by the time we tottered out of my room, we were both snorting with laughter.

‘It looks like one of those Mr Potato Head toys,’ sniggered Lara. ‘With a receding hairline.’

‘Here’s hoping some lucky man in Mahiki is into the sparse-pubes look.’

‘Yeah, you never know, it could be some kind of fetish.’ She giggled.

‘Poor vagina,’ I said, as we hobbled to the bus stop on our high heels. It was cold so we wore coats but left our legs bare for sex appeal. I wished I hadn’t relied on alcohol to keep me warm.

‘If we were rich, we could get a cab,’ said Lara as we finally sat on the 390 towards Green Park.

‘But you can’t down vodka-lems in a cab,’ I reminded her.

‘You aren’t allowed to drink alcohol on public transport either, Ellie.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yes, you idiot.’ She rolled her eyes at me as I handed her the plastic water bottle we had filled up with vodka and a tiny bit of lemonade. She glugged then gagged and I obediently repeated the procedure. We carried on like this until we got to the club and wobbled inside, where we showed them our university cards and were only charged a fiver each.

‘Oh my God, have you ever seen so many designer clothes? I feel like I’ve just walked into an Abercrombie catalogue.’ Lara looked around in disgust at the mass of blond people surrounding us.

‘I know. If I cared enough this would definitely give me an eating disorder. How am I going to find my devirginiser when I’m surrounded by this inbred gene pool?’

‘Alcohol?’

The club was packed with Oxbridge graduates tanned from weekend trips to St Tropez. We headed over to the bar and within seconds, a couple of men were buying us drinks. They were old, slightly balding, and were tucking a bit more than their shirts into their trousers, but as they were happy to splurge their cash on us, we ignored the natural layers bulging out of their waistbands. They bought us whatever we wanted, but drew the line at twenty-quid piña coladas that came in real pineapples. Lara and I spent the next few hours rolling our eyes and getting drunker, while the men carried on chatting and skirting around the topic of their families.

‘So, Ellie,’ asked the fatter of the two, pulling me out of my daydreams, ‘do you want to dance?’

I widened my eyes at Lara and before I had time to mouth ‘help’ at her, she grabbed my arm and dragged me away. ‘Just off to the loo.’ She smiled sweetly at the disappointed men.

‘Oh my fucking God, I can’t handle them any more,’ I groaned as I collapsed onto an armchair in the bathroom.

‘Tell me about it,’ she cried. ‘I swear I can see the hair on their bellies through their shirts. And have you seen Mike’s sweat patches? I actually thought his shirt was grey until I saw the collars.’

I stared at her blankly. ‘Which one’s Mike?’

‘Are you kidding me? The one who just asked you to dance, Ellie.’

‘Oh, the fat one,’ I said. ‘What’s the receding hairline one called?’

‘Andy,’ she said, as she layered more mascara onto her lashes. ‘Have you been listening at all?’

‘Um, I know they work in real estate, or finance, and probably have two depressed wives at home,’ I replied.

‘Ugh, this is so miserable,’ she moaned. ‘Let’s just get one more drink out of them, and then go dance. If I have to hear one more thing about Andy’s BMW Z4 Roadster I’m going to drown myself in my vodka-lem.’

‘Yeah, I don’t care about video games at all,’ I agreed.

There was a moment’s silence as Lara turned to face me. ‘You know he was talking about his car, right?’

‘Oh fuck. I thought it was some kind of PS4,’ I admitted.

She snorted with laughter and pulled my arm, shaking her head. ‘This night is ridiculous. Fuck it, one more drink and then we’re off to find some actual fitties. Deal?’

I nodded reluctantly and let her lead me back to the balding forty-year-olds.

‘Girls, you’re back,’ cried the fatter one. ‘We bought another round, and some tequila shots.’

Lara and I glanced at each other and shrugged. ‘To us,’ she announced before we downed our glasses. I grabbed the lemon and started sucking it dry when I felt someone staring at me. He was wearing chinos, a blue denim shirt, and had the most symmetrical face I had ever seen. I choked on the lemon skin. I had found the perfect person to deflower me.

I fluffed up my hair, wiped away any smudged mascara from beneath my eyes and gave him my best smile. He smiled back, and I clutched the edge of the table to support myself. I turned to Lara to share my excitement with her, and then slowly, my smile dropped off my face as I realised she was smiling at him, too, and—oh, look, he was smiling back at her , not me.