The reason I do this is pretty simple. I equate my pubic hair with sex and pleasure—both mine and my partner’s. It’s a symbol of my sexuality, and it acts as another way for me to turn my partner on—like lingerie, mood lighting, or a new toy. I see asking my partner how they prefer my pubic hair akin to asking them how they like to receive oral sex. Plus, it helps with my pleasure, too. Nothing turns me on more than when I’m naked with my partner, and I can see in their eyes how much they desire me. Grooming myself to their ideal is a part of that process.

That said, I’ve been a little ashamed by my role as a pubic hair chameleon, because of what that discussion represents. As a sex writer, I’m someone who has encouraged women to reject the male gaze and embrace their own beauty standards. So it seems a little hypocritical that I’m asking a man to make decisions about my pubic hair, and then dumping hot wax on my body to achieve his desired aesthetic—not mine.

There’s an argument to be made that my personal dissociation from my pubic hair is born of my internalization of patriarchal beauty standards. I can practically hear the eyebrows raising among my fellow feminists in reading this, because something about handing over my pubic hair decisions to my partner is pretty much the definition of objectification. I hear all of this, and I’ve sat with the implications of my decision.

But I truly believe that asking this question is an empowering act, because it’s a discussion—not a demand. If a partner were to just tell me that he wanted me to shave without my bringing up the topic, I’d kick him out of bed and tell him that he should trim his bush before he was allowed to tell me what to do with mine. (As a matter of fact, asking a dude about my pubes typically means that he’ll return the question—so then we can have a discussion about trimming his ball hair, which is always a win.) It opens up a communication about sexual preferences, which is something we can all stand to do more often. And if I was ever uncomfortable with a suggestion, I’d let my partner know, and we’d adjust. But for the most part, I’m down with their preference.

I’ve also never had a strong opinion about my pubic hair. When I’m not in a sexual relationship with someone, I vary how I groom myself. My pubic hair has always existed in a space that’s directly tied to sex for me. I’m not someone who embraces other types of body hair myself, even though I support women who choose to keep theirs natural. I’m also all about women who, like myself, prefer to shave. Choose your own body hair adventure, folks!

But my pubic hair is an expression of my sexuality. And my sexuality is at its peak when my partner and I are fully consumed in and keyed up on one another’s bodies. This little bit of submission is a turn on for me, so I don’t plan to stop any time soon. It’s a power play that I feel comfortable with—a kind of sexual roleplaying that enhances partnership with me. Like discussions of kink or other intimate sex acts, I only reserve the pubic hair chat with partners who I have a level of intimacy with. I’m not just polling any ‘ol bobo about what they want my hair down there to look like.

I’m not advocating this path for everyone, because each woman should make her own decision about how she treats her body hair. It may seem like I’m giving away my bodily autonomy by doing this, but I see it as a calculated form of play. The same way a sub in a consensual BDSM relationship relinquishes control to their partner because it turns them on, I relinquish control of my pubic hair decisions to my partner because it’s a turn on, too. The decision is still mine—and to me, that’s an empowering (and incredibly sexy) thing.