Read Sam Cruz's Infallible Guide to Getting Girls for Free Online Page A

but also the total opposite of the Pubizon jungle I’ve got going.
    I’ve always been proud of my “natural woman” self but if I’m to believe the media, I should be naked as the day I was born down there.
    Are all girls getting clear-cut or is it just media hype and a few annoyingly visible celebrities?
    Are guys going to take one look at me and start laughing? I don’t think I could take that.
    I wash my hands then lean over for a better look. Not too bad. I mean, I do trim. And I could again before it becomes open to the public.
    I poke the spongy mass. It’s cool for it to look this way, right? Although, inspecting it a little closer, I realize that even from my up here angle, something doesn’t look right.
    “What’cha doing?” Sam calls out from the hallway.
    “Just a sec,” I mumble, horror setting in as the overall shape becomes clear. The front is way too short. And then as it gets closer to my body, it gets longer.
    I’ve seen this style before.
    “Oh my God!” I wail. “I’ve got a vullet!”
    I pull up my pants and fling the door open.
    “A what?” he asks.
    “A vullet. A vaginal mullet. Party in the back, business in the front.”
    “No. Don’t want that visual.”
    He hurries away, me following hot on his heels.
    “You have to help me.”
    “Waaaay beyond the bounds of friendship, Brain.”
    “Shut up. Do I need a Brazilian?”
    “That’s between you and your lady parts.”
    “But you’ve seen more of them than I have. What’s normal?”
    “I’m not having this conversation with you.”
    He tries to barricade himself in his room but I jam my shoulder in so he can’t shut the door.
    “Because if it’s going to save me from full frontal humiliation, then I guess I’ll get one. But I’d rather my garden of delights not look like a smooth kiddie playground.”
    I shove the door open and wait.
    Sam scowls at me. “Then role play. Jailbait and the pedo.”
    “So inappropriate.” I head back to the living room, Sam keeping pace.
    “But forcing me up against your…” he waggles his fingers, “is cool?”
    “Yes, Obi Wan. If you’re going to help a girl out, then you need to man up and tell me if I need to wax.”
    “You don’t need to wax.” He puts on a yokel accent. “Cause them there boys at the gator rasslin’ farm, love themselves a good ole vullet.”
    “I hate you.”
    “Course if you do wax,” he says, “and you ever forget your ID, you can just let them count the rings on your vagina. Like a tree.” Sam cracks up.
    I smack him with a couch cushion. “I don’t want to suck at this.”
    He flings it aside and says to me in a serious tone, “You’re overthinking things. As usual. The state of your…”
    I want to laugh watching him figure out exactly what to call it.
    “Honeypot?” I suggest.
    “…is not going to be a deal breaker. If you’re doing things right, he shouldn’t even be in a headspace to notice.”
    “Okay.” I grab my coat to head home.
    “Tomorrow,” Sam says. “Don’t wuss out.”
    “Fine, Dr. Fuckenstein,” I reply. “I won’t.”
    “That’s my good little monster.”
    All I can think as I head to the bus stop is how I can’t fail. I won’t fail. I’ve never failed at anything in my life. I’m the perfect grades girl who dated her first crush for two years, will probably be voted valedictorian, and will definitely get into all the universities of her choosing.
    Fine, so I failed at Jeremy. Are guys my Achilles heel? Am I going to self-destruct in a stinking blaze of loserdom?
    This may have been the worst idea of my life.
    But I won’t go back to being the girl who gets left.

Chapter nine
     
    After two hours in a girly salon without any chicks in my desired age range to distract me, the pink walls, blaring girl power pop, and endless outdated celebrity gossip magazines may have caused me to sprout a vag.
    I’m dying to get out of there by the time Ally finally comes out sporting her new ‘do. For a second I