Sexuality Happens

I love fire play.

If I had to choose, I’d say my favorite sexual things are fire play, electricity play, knives/vampire gloves/wartenburg wheels, and orgasm control/forced orgasm. But fire? mmmm.

There is just something about having fire run all over you, or having designs created, and then lit on fire. It’s interesting, because so many people consider it “edge play” or “hardcore,” when I think that it is far less intense than a full caning scene. To me, fire is warm, and caring, and calming.

The other night at a play party, Ms. S introduced me to a guy who is mentoring under her in fire play.  I was kind of hesitant; I don’t play with many cisgender men in the scene (a few, but not many), and the ones I’ve played with are ones I’ve known for a while, etc. I was planning on just saying hi, and then scampering off.  But then he asked to light me on fire, and I mean, who am I to say no to that?  Especially because I’d been having such a god awful day, and fire always puts me in a better mood.

I took off everything but my underwear, and started out on my stomach (with a damp cloth over my hair, and a spotter with another damp cloth).  I was lit up, first with just wands o’ fire run over my body, then with designs made in rubbing alcohol that were lit ablaze, and then with hand sanitizer, and with spritzes of rubbing alcohol.  As he lit up my sides, it tickled a lot, and I laughed.  People were quite amused to see someone on fire laughing, but it really did tickle, and besides, we know how much I like laughing.

There were some good quotes from the fire session like “you do realize your nipples are on fire, right? Because if so, why the hell are you laughing?” and me saying “I’m a pop tart.” Everyone looked at me oddly. “Cause I like to be toasted!”

But after the tickling, and the laughing, and having my scene interrupted once (grrrr!), and having a very cute kitty/little girl stroking my arm, I started to slide into my space. It wasn’t really sub space, as I wasn’t really submitting to the guy who was lighting me up. I was just flying high.  

Fire relaxes me. It comforts me. And as I continued to be lit up (the scene lasted almost an hour – apparently, my skin can handle a lot of heat of the non-sun variety before it burns), I felt myself relaxing into it, like a massage almost. I felt some of my stress melt away. I became a puddle there on the table, a limp noodle as I lay back on my stomach and felt the fire on my shoulders, my back, my legs, even my feet. I was just mushy, lying there, breathing in deeply and calmly.

I like fire. Apparently, this makes sense since I’m a fire sign (however, I also really love water, so I don’t know what that has to do with it). It’s pretty, it makes me really horny, I like the smell of fire and matches and all of that. But what I like most about it is the effect is has on me.  I don’t go into these kind of tracey/mushy/gooey/limp noodle spaces for very many things…but light me up for a while, and it’s like I’m high on something. Being lit on fire in my version of being held and loved and cuddled and all that, rolled into one hot little scene.

Mmm. Fire.

Most excitingly, last week, I went to a fire play class, so that now I have the basics in order to light OTHER people on fire. I mean, nothing beats the feeling of being lit up, but I love fire, and am having fun learning to share it with others…I even have my own fire wands now.  Hopefully, Q will let me practice on her :)  Muahahah!

-Essin’ Em