There is something so embarrassing about me I don't know what to do. First of all, I look very young for my age. Although I'm fourteen-and-a-half, I look like a twelve-year-old, I swear. It makes me feel so shy sometimes. And I need confidence if I ever want to try out for American Idol -- you know, stage presence and all that.
My voice coach is the only person who doesn't treat me like a little kid. He talks to me like an adult. In fact, he keeps treating me like an adult even when his wife isn't there, so it's more than that he's just trying to be inclusive. And unlike most folks, he doesn't act like I'm some kind of delicate, breakable doll -- when he needs to put his hand on my lower back to adjust my posture, or places his palm on my abdomen to check my diaphragm work during a breathing exercise, he's not shy. If he thinks I'm not trying hard enough, he'll goose me! He doesn't know this of course, but since it's usually just him and me alone in their studio during my lessons, I get funny feelings -- good feelings -- when he is touching me (especially "down there."). Stepdaddy, afterwards, at home, I sometimes play with myself thinking about him. I like feeling like an adult.
But here's what's embarrassing. I don't have any pubic hair, I never will, and it's all my own fault.
Oh, I'm physically mature enough -- I've been getting my period for two years now. But several years ago, when I was about nine, my mother read an article about "virgin waxing." This is where a girl that age waxes her legs, long before she really needs it. The idea is that once she goes through puberty, she'll never really grow any leg hair and won't have to wax or shave, because the follicles somehow get trained that way by the process.
So my mom showed me how to do it -- wax that is -- and I can promise you, it works. Even today, two years into puberty, I have no hair on my legs. I mean none, not even tiny blond ones, like I used to have. I also have no hair under my arms, because after I started doing my legs, my mother came up with that idea and said I'd thank her some day for thinking of that, too. But Stepdaddy, I did something foolish. On my own, I decided to wax my pre-pubescent legs a few more times, without my mother's help, and I got a bit carried away. Over time, section by section, I ended up waxing my body entirely from the neck down, including my crotch -- and even my butthole area a few times! I was just a silly girl then and didn't even know anything about sex parts, really-- I was just having fun with the waxing, and anywhere I could spot a tiny hair, wooosh! off it had to come!
But now that I'm so much older, it's terribly embarrassing. For example, in the shower room after gym class: here I am, already a very young looking girl (I don't even have A-cup breasts) sporting a completely hairless body, having to shower among a bunch of girls who actually look like fourteen-years-olds, or even older -- they have bigger boobs, and pubic areas that grow out into a bush or, if they shave or wax, you can at least still see the shadow or bumpy texture that proves that they are old enough that they can have pubes if they want them.
How am I ever supposed to get self-confidence when I have to endure that humiliating comparison three days a week? This embarrassment isn't going to help me command the stage, now or ever.
Wish I was "Carefree in Colorado"
You dear, dear little thing. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I am quite familiar with the "virgin wax" concept. I myself have never directed its use, basically because I do not associate with girls when they are eight or nine (why would I bother with them until later?). However, I have encountered a situation not entirely unlike yours before.
One of my investments is in a trailer park -- I'm a part-time landlord and I occasionally find myself on-site, chasing down a rent check or to doing some minor repair to the plumbing or electrical hook-up of one of the units.
Three summers back I had the pleasure of dropping by one of these units for the overdue rent, only to find that the single-mother who rented the place was out, and her fifteen-year-old daughter was home alone, naked and as hairless as you describe yourself to be. (And by the same process -- I later learned that her mother, a stripper by trade, had virgin-waxed the girl some six years earlier, at the age of nine. Unlike in your case, her mother had done this as an investment in the girl's future, akin to how some parents invest money in their kids' music lessons or invest their time in some developmental activity like the cub scouts). Having entered the trailer using my own key, I surprised her in the act of languorously petting her bald little kitty as she sat on the couch in front of the TV watching Rikki Lake, or some such show.
I know this may not sound like it has anything to do with you, Hairfree, but take note of how this sweet little thing, barely older then than you are now, reacted to the potential embarrassment of being seen naked and permanently free of body hair by someone who was to her a complete stranger -- and a large, male, much older complete stranger at that. Was she mortified? Humiliated? Not at all. She smiled, withdrew her hand from her crotch, spread her knees a bit further apart, and said "would you like to take over?"
Naturally, as my adult readers understand and as you will appreciate yourself someday - hopefully someday soon -- when confronted with such a flawlessly smooth pudenda, my first order of business is to take a taste. Let me tell you, the texture of that hairless, stubble-free, never-been-anything-but-smooth little cuntpuff was a delight. Eating her sweet pussy went from being my first order of business to also being my second through seventh orders of business! If she hadn't eventually sobbingly begged me to stop eating her to yet another orgasm and to finally fuck her, I might be between those thighs to this very day!
So, what's the point? Well, that girl, to whom her mother had already thoughtfully given the birth name of "Vixen", is today fulfilling her ambitions. She is stripping five nights a week on various local stages, and has the fan following she always hoped for. Luckily for her career, in all my numerous subsequent visits, I never marked her flawless belly with the stretch marks concomitant to a Stepdaddy breeding (at least not yet, although now that she's eighteen, I have higher-priority, younger tummies to try to swell, so maybe she'll never have the pleasure).
So you see, what you consider an embarrassment-- a handicap! -- can actually be instrumental to following one's dreams. Vixen chose not to be embarrassed by her hairlessness, nor by the slutty tattoos and body piercings her mother had also so kindly provided her with. Instead, she chose to use her condition to help her reach her full potential.
You can do the same. Instead of worrying about what the other eighth grade girls think about your body, why not find out what your (apparently straight) male voice coach thinks about it? I suspect that if he becomes aware of your permanently unfledged condition, he will redouble his efforts, and spend even more time mentoring his little songbird of a student. He'll feel obsessively compelled to attempt certain "big girl exercises" far earlier than he had previously intended. He'll insist on extra lesson time, at no additional expense to your parents. You might even get some more voice coaching in. I'm certain you'll get plenty of new throat exercises. Not to mention breathing training as your diaphragm accommodates unaccustomed bludgeoning stresses from below.
In order to make all of these good things happen, I suggest you attend your next lesson in a short skirt, going "commando." That means without undies. When he puts his palm on your tummy to check your "deep breathing ability," gently push his wrist down until his hand slips under your skirt hem, saying something like "don't you want to check my "heavy breathing ability?" I promise you, one feel of your smooth, hairless, and probably quite slick little vulva, and you will immediately become your voice coach's number one student.
With that kind of attentive coaching, before long, you'll be lighting up the airwaves on American Idol, with all the body-image confidence and accompanying stage presence you could desire. Or, if that fails, you can always fall back on an alternative show business career. By then, Vixen's following will probably be tiring of her then-twenty-one-year-old offering and eager for someone a little "fresher" to adore.