Shout out to Tsambika, the world’s best electrolysis technician.
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There were a bunch of places I called trying to find an electrolysist that was willing to take a trans client prepping for bottom surgery, and I was kind of stunned to learn tons of places weren’t down with that, even salons that listed themselves as LGBTQIA+ friendly.
There’s something to be said here about the trans experience, but I’d rather focus on something positive.
I don’t know exactly what makes one technician better than another, but I have to assume that one of the most vital elements is client comfort. At no point in time has Tsambika ever made me feel awkward, ashamed, or anything even remotely less than positive during our sessions.
Each appointment is basically me hanging out and chatting with a friend. That friend just happens to be repeatedly stabbing and electrocuting my genitals.
…ok so I just made electrolysis sound like it’s a nightmare, but with good prep it really hasn’t been too rough for me. Some lidocaine and acetaminophen an hour beforehand seems to do the trick, though your mileage may vary!
Whatever prep it is you do, the most important prep of all is finding the right electrolysist. Tsambika is absolutely the right electrolysist for me.
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If you are in Australia I will remove your hair. This is not a drill. This is a threat. You will become girl. If you are already girl, you will become girl with less facial hair.
Just a reminder for all you trans femmes out there: you have mad brain worms about your facial hair.
Even though I have spent so much time and money on laser and electrolysis, I still feel like I you can see my mustache from space. I forget how much progress I have made and I feel compelled to put on way too much makeup. It doesn't help that I get freckles on my chin and upper lip, lol.
But like, look at this picture. I hastily shaved this morning and didn't put on any foundation or concealer. This picture was taken closer than anyone would be standing and you can't really see anything. Sure, you can zoom in and see some hairs, but oh well.
It's never as bad as you think it is. You might very well look way more conspicuous if you caking on foundation to cover up any trace of hair.
Last Friday, for the first time, I got electrolysis hair removal done on part of my face. Now, my facial hair grows back really quickly, like, I’ll start having a light beard within the day. It’s Tuesday, that part of my face is bare.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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the room is pleasant pastels and soft lighting. you expected her to leave for some reason, to give you privacy while you undress. the thought embarasses you now--why would she? she'll be staring at you, directly at you, for the next hour.
you turn to the wall anyways, drop your sweats and panties before hanging them on the door, cover yourself with your hands while you mount the massage table as gracefully as possible.
she turns, notices your moment of hesitation before you drop your hands to your side. "...comfortable?"
"m-hmm," you manage, nodding. please just start, you think. an intrusive thought you immediately push away. what, between getting shocked and burned? you blush about it anyway.
"good, okay... you're really fair, i can see why you didn't do laser," she muses, and then she's touching you, pulling and pushing with her gloved fingers. "the good news is there's not a lot--have you done some electrolysis already?" and she looks up, makes eye contact.
her hand still there--
"uh no, not for--just on my face. a little."
"just a lucky girl then, huh?" and you swear there's a taunt there, but her eyes are down again. inspecting you. "i was kinda like that. made it a lot easier."
you stare at the ceiling, try not to picture how she might've laid out in the same pose you're in now, a palimpsest of your transitions.
without a word, she presses a cold round of alcohol-soaked cotton into your skin, swipes it down. the air feels cold as the liquid evaporates, leaves you feeling exposed, clean. you move your hands up against your chest, amid the swells you've grown proud of. you fidget a little.
"...it's gonna be okay."
"...wha...?" you tilt your head to her, find her staring back at you.
"you seem a bit nervous, but it's gonna be okay. try to relax." her tone drops down a rung. "you're a tough girl--you can be tough for me for an hour, right?" she's waiting for a response, holding her gaze.
"i--s-sure, yeah..."
"good." girlll--
fucking relax, fuck--but she's working now. you pick a spot on the ceiling, try to breathe deeply, matching her pace so the shocking burns arrive on your out-breath. your self-consciousness fades--you focus on metabolizing pain into a neutral sensation.
it's slow, slow enough each time that you can feel her process without seeing her--brace, probe, pulsepulsepulse, clear, shift, brace again. the minutes pass, blend.
she stops a moment, swipes you again with the cotton; cool air, warm hands through latex. she gently pulls you, fingers bracing to hold you in place, pulsepulsepulse, clear, shif--unh, oh--why is that--?--pulsepulsepulse--she repositions, pushes in--fuck, she--isn't this--is she--fucking muffing me?--pulsepulsepulse
you focus on not reacting, try to return to the breathing. she's still working that area, only slightly shifting, latex fingers probing you, slowly pulling you over, open.
"you're taking this really well." pulsepulsepulse--
you bite your lip. the praise feels good--you have been taking this well, haven't you?--pulsepulsepulse--try not to move, it's a game now, a challenge, she's watching you--pulsepulsepulse--don't twitch, try to stop twitching--pulsepulsepulse
tension swells in your core each time the shocks land--no, right before, you're anticipating--and releases slowly until the next wave hits. she shifts again, this time cupping you, pressing the edge of her hand against you.
your breath catches sharply, and the trough of sensation mingles with a familiar hollowness between your hips--
"you okay babe?"
"uhyeah! sorry--"
"sounded like that one got to you. i can stop, if you can't handle it."
"i don't--" you cringe at the whine in your voice, thankful for the thickness your hoodie covering the stiffness peaking under your bra "sorry, it caught me off gaurd, 'sall."
"the probe, or my hand?"
"what??"
"my hand," she repeats, unflinching, "sometimes i have to move you around a little, put my hand in some... intimate spots." she sits back, sets down her equipment, looks you over.
"you're okay with that, right? it's kinda part of it."
a hot rush of color floods your cheeks. you look up and away, and--without meaning to--scoff a little, the way you do when you're too embarassed to admit what you really want.
she turns her stool to face you head on, a shark scenting blood.
"you don't have to be okay with it. it's weird, having a stranger's hands in places you aren't used to, right?" she returns to the same position, this time without the probe, just warm hands, some kind of gel "aloe, for your skin." she glides over you, cool relief after so much intensity.
you stay completely still. this is the end of the session, you know, and you try not to embarass yourself any further.
she keeps gliding.
you don't move. you focus on not reacting. don't fucking twitch.
her hands drift, sidle to areas just beside where she was working.
breathe.
you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to hold still.
her fingers begin to prod, push into the softness of you. shrugging off pretense like a silk slip.
she's fucking you.
she presses in, up and over, the way you crave, the way so few people know. one finger, then two.
she circles inside you, gentle, warm. the heel of her palm rests firmly on the bone just above, starts circling in rhythm.
your hips tilt forward without you meaning to, arching your back just slightly. you want to take her, picture taking her fingers, her whole hand--
your back is returned to the massage table with a small thud; she's holding you in place with one forearm, still working you with her other hand--
"don't fucking move." she doesn't look at you when she says it. she's working.
and she's fucking you now, tucking up and into you, curling under the folds of you, sliding back and forth, slick gel and sweat--
your dick is starting to stiffen, and she slide down around the base, circles you with her fingers, again, and again, and again--
barely cupping you, so fucking sensitive, working your shaft, deftly shifting her grip as you begin to fill her hand--
you close your eyes, the tension in your stomach rioting, threatening to make you shake, don't fuckingmovedon'tfuckingmove
she pulses her grip from base to tip, drawing you up, up, up--
your mind fills the quiet, her voice in your head:
lucky girl...
it's gonna be okay. try to relax.
you're a tough girl--you can be tough for me...right?
good.
you're taking this really well.
you okay babe?
sounded like that one got to you. i can stop, if you can't handle it.
you're okay...right?
you don't have to be okay...
don't fucking move.
don't fucking move.
don'tfuckingmovedon'tfuckingmovedon'tfuckingmove
her touch is light, reaches a fever pitch. you can't fucking take it. the pressure builds, threatens to break you.
first video i click to learn more about electrolysis and she starts the video saying a five o'clock shadow "isn't cute for a trans girl."
i am going to shoot myself and i dont even have a noticeable five o'clock shadow - just patchy stubble. during my fem days, i feel so much shame over my facial hair, especially when i can't get a clean shave and you can see my stubble.
gender dysphoric people already feel enough shame. you don't need to make it worse by insulting features people are dysphoric about. you shouldn't do that, under any circumstance, ever. i dont care if it's a "joke." if it's a joke, say it to people who won't be hurt by it, not strangers online.
to trans & intersex ppl with facial hair: ily and i hope your day goes great. there is nothing wrong with being a woman with facial hair. there is nothing wrong with having patchy facial hair. there is nothing wrong with you ok?
dysphoria is awful but it's not who you are and the traits you're dysphoric about do not make you ugly. i promise.
