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Posts Tagged ‘Heather Cole Sex Blogger’

  1. Lending a Hand, a masturbating one

    June 6, 2017 by Heather Cole

     

    May was International Masturbation Month, and I hope everyone celebrated appropriately. I certainly did, and I meant to have a post up to talk about why I love masturbating for others and with them. In fact, it’s part of my duties at the dungeon. I guess you could say that I end up masturbating quite a bit, so of course I should be writing about it. And now I’m thinking about it… dammit!

    Even though we’re into June, there’s no reason why we all can’t continue the party. I was asked by the lovelies at Unbound to write about the topic of mutual masturbation, a subject near and dear to my heart. Mutual masturbation ranks pretty high on my list of fetishes. Frankly, the only way masturbating could become even more amazing is if you add friends.

    Unbound is a women’s sexual wellness and empowerment NYC-based start up with an overarching theme of women’s sexual liberation, to quote them specifically. And to read about my latest adventure with Guy and the last time I saw him, click on over there. I haven’t seen him since which is par for the course, and I’m not complaining. It just seems to be the way my life is going lately. The men breeze in and breeze out, and somehow, I’m really OK with that.


  2. Circumcised or Uncircumcised, that is the question… On ASK HEATHER

    May 19, 2017 by Heather Cole

     

    Dear Heather,

    I had two questions for you:

    1. How important is circumcision status of sexual partners to you when choosing an erotic and enjoying (pleasurable/enjoyable) sexual relations?
    2. In your personal life, do you prefer men to have been circumcised?

    Thanks for writing a great blog. I look forward to reading your reply.

    Sincerely,

    J.F.

     

    Dear J.F.

    Thanks for writing! Before I launched into my personal opinion, I decided to do some quick research on the internet about circumcision.

    “Circumcision removes a substantial part of the penis, which is not just ‘a piece of skin.’ The foreskin is a specialized, retractable sleeve of erogenous tissue that protects the head of the penis, can be manipulated during sex and masturbation, and amounts to about 50 square centimeters in the adult male.”

    To read the entire Huffington Post article by a Danish doctor in favor of leaving penises intact, click here.

    “…circumcision rate in newborns has declined from 83 percent in the 1960s to 77 percent in 2010. (The overall rate among U.S. males age 14 to 59 is 81 percent, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.)

    Additionally, the data suggests there is a racial disparity driven primarily by access to procedure and cultural and educational factors. Circumcision rates over the last decade reached 91 percent in white men, 76 percent in black men and only 44 percent in Hispanic men.”

    To read the entire CBS News article promoting male circumcision, click here.

    What I gleaned from an hour of perfunctory research on the internet was that there are supporters on both sides, the circumcised and the uncircumcised. There were doctors who claimed that circumcisions should be as accepted as vaccines for infants and others who claimed that those health benefits were overblown and that the procedure was painful and unnecessary. But none of that really answered my reader’s questions, now did it.

    I’ve had sexual experiences with both types of penises, and honestly, I never formed a preference. When I lived in South America during my senior year of college, only one of the men I had slept with was circumcised. All of my college boyfriends in the US had been up until that point, even the African exchange student that I had deflowered. So I was surprised when I encountered my first uncircumcised penis but not alarmed. And after we began fucking, it didn’t seem to affect anything one way or another as far as my pleasure was concerned.

    Flash forward to the years after my divorce, and I had serious relationships with two uncircumcised men. It was the first time I really took note of the joys of an intact penis. This probably was due to the fact that I was beginning to hit my stride with oral sex and blowjobs. I finally had gained an appreciation for how a penis tasted and felt in my mouth. It was also around this time that I realized that penises possessed their own unique scent as well.

    I loved B very much. He cooked incredible Brazilian dishes, and he played with my toddler daughter in gleeful abandon. During our nights alone we drank caipirinhas and had sex all over the house. Before we got down and dirty, however, he would slip away to the bathroom for a quick penis cleanup. He was the first man to explain to me that he preferred to freshen up his uncircumcised penis before sex. I told him that it didn’t matter to me, but I respected that he felt more confident doing so. At any rate, my attraction to him and the pleasure I received/gave during sex never suffered for it.

    The other uncircumcised boyfriend who happened after B was a different story. Generally speaking, his penis was large and he knew how to use it. I loved having sex with him. Blowjobs, not so much. My sensitive sense of smell did not jive with his penis scent. I didn’t know that there was anything he could have done to change it. It was biology or pheromones or whatever, and just like some guys didn’t cotton to some vaginas, the same thing happened with women and penises.

    In my experience, being circumcised or uncircumcised didn’t impact my sexual experience significantly. The most important aspects of sex to me were the chemical, physical reaction between us and our sexual, energetic connection. Sight, taste, touch, and smell all fed into that. Looking back, I don’t know for certain that the funky penis smell had anything to do with being uncircumcised. The boyfriend in question and I had way bigger problems than that, and sometimes I think that our clash of biological differences was the first sign that we were incompatible. At any rate, the part most important thing to me was, and still is, the quality of man who’s connected to the penis, be it circumcised or uncircumcised.

    I hope that satisfies your curiosity, J.F. Thanks again for your question!

    *boob smoosh*

    Heather


  3. The Fallout of a Breakup

    April 27, 2017 by Heather Cole

    This post has spent a long time in utero. The seed of it took root during the weeks after I ended things with LH. I dissolved our contract around the holidays, and in the first weeks of that freedom after our breakup, I felt reborn. A weight had been lifted, and I could be myself without rules or restrictions. I knew in my heart that I had done the right thing even though re-reading our entries on this blog brought me to tears. The LH/Heather duo that we had been was nothing like where we ended up. I remembered those events, but they felt far removed from the people we were now—almost as if they happened to someone else entirely. The breakup, though, was new territory in the breadth and depth of its pain. I had never experienced a D/s breakup so gut-wrenching.

    LH and I didn’t stop talking right away, and as the strands of our relationship began to further unravel, I saw exactly how entwined we had been. Our communication became strained as we debated until each call and text felt like an exercise in breakup masochism—deliberate cuts to my heart with each word we spoke. But I was reluctant to cut him off. All my old protocols were there waiting to leap into action. It was ironic that a long-distance D/s dynamic had such a hold on me. The tendrils of our power dynamic had sunk deep into my psyche until it was a part of my emotional make-up. There were few parts of my life where I didn’t take him into consideration in some way.

    I spent a lot of time on this blog talking about my independence as a facet of my submission. I had a list of things that showed how independent I was, but when I emerged from the role of lifestyle submissive, I couldn’t help but feel how dependent I was on LH and our roles. For a long time after the breakup I was in denial about it. After the rush of freedom wore off, I turned once again to the man I had called “Daddy.” It was more than a habit that had worn its grooves into me over the years of our togetherness. The Little part of me, that girl that desperately wanted to believe that her daddy would take care of her, wanted to run back into his arms for reassurance.

    It killed me to know that I was afraid to be without him. I woke up in a panic every morning that our shared photos and files would be gone, that I would be blocked from his social media accounts, and I couldn’t bear to look at Fet to see if he had deleted me from his profile.  And those were only surface things. The real hold was that I had bought into the idea of being “his” so wholeheartedly, that I couldn’t imagine myself as anything but his submissive.

    What a galling position to find myself in. I played a role so well, and consented to play it, that it became my identity. And I wanted it. It felt good to me. I was naturally submissive, and with all my heart I wanted to be his. For years I had decided that no matter what happened I was determined to make things work. The man moved halfway around the world, and I insisted that we could continue a healthy dynamic. I convinced myself that a visit every three or four months was enough, and when those visits plummeted in quality and intimacy, I made myself be OK with it. It took me over a year to admit that I was miserable and then longer to muster the courage to change it.

    I spent a lot of time since our breakup questioning my reactions and memories. Didn’t we agree that his needs came first as the Dominant? Wasn’t it my place to serve? When I signed our contract, didn’t I agree to give him control? And I know what you’re thinking. That contract wasn’t anything legally binding. I could have protested and stood up for myself at any time. You would be right, but I wanted so much to be cherished, loved, and taken care of. I thought that if I gave enough of myself to him, that he would reciprocate in equal measure. When he didn’t, I told myself that I could make it enough.

    That’s when I had the big wake up call. With 2016 coming to an end, I took a trip down memory lane and leafed back through my journal. I wrote about the same heartache, the same emotional challenges, the same bullshit over and over again. Then I looked back even further at my serious relationships over the years and saw this string of selfish, manipulative partners. And then I said to myself, holy fuck Heather, DO NOT MAKE THIS YOUR LIFE STORY. I didn’t want to be on my deathbed and think, “Damn, I wasted a lot of time trying to convince emotionally unavailable people to love me.”

    The scales fell from my eyes. It eventually clicked in my brain that when someone said to me, “this is the best I can do,” without changing a blessed thing about their behavior, it meant that it was time for me to get out. It was just another way to let the entire emotional responsibility of a relationship slide off one person and on to another while pretending that it wasn’t a cop out. And when that same person chose to stay out all night drinking with random strangers rather than come home to me waiting in bed, it was a bigger more definite sign. All those signs and it felt like it took forever for me to do something about it.

    Now I’m doing all the things you’re supposed to do after a major split. I got back into therapy. I’m taking better care of my physical self, sleeping more, reading, and allowing myself the space to be alone. The thing is… it takes so much fucking time to recover. That whole annoying analogy of peeling away layers like an onion is irritatingly apt. Odd things will trigger a barrage of emotions, even after thinking that I had processed it and was feeling solid with whatever piece of our past I had dissected. Those patterns of thought where LH was the center of everything… I have to change them. I catch myself ruminating along the well-worn paths, and I have to consciously stop myself. Yet they creep up like insidious friends with false reassurances. Habit does not equal love.

    I do go on the occasional date, and I’ve had some tentative negotiations about playing with various people. None of it feels right to me yet. I probably see Guy the most and that’s sporadic at best. He has his own shit to work out, and we established early on that there are no expectations between us except honesty and authenticity.

    There was also a guy who wanted to explore my confessional fetish, but he failed to get the approval of his wife even though he said he had it. Even after several attempts to make a potential scene work between them, I had to say no. He did me a favor though. I now have a personal rule of no more married poly men or married men in an “open” relationship (unless I’m unicorn-ing, and they’re dear friends first). Then there was a primal guy who wanted a (human girl) pet while on his quest for the love of his life. Plus the super-intense vanilla guy who wanted three dates in a week, so he could judge my “level of engagement.” Not bad men necessarily, but they didn’t fit. I want more than what they offered, and as awesome as I am in and out of the bedroom, I deserve to get what I want.

    I know I’m not the only one in the history of D/s to hurt after a D/s dynamic has ended. I know that dominants hurt too and can find themselves just as fucked up. I guess what I’m trying to say in all of this is that what you’re feeling is real, and it’s a challenge to sort through the wreckage of your heart and head to find a place to begin healing. It’s possible, though, and that last person you fell in love with doesn’t have to be the pattern of the person you love in the future. Be patient with yourself and forgiving. Allow yourself lots of time to feel stuff and listen to what your gut is saying. How you did D/s the last time, doesn’t have to be the way you do D/s down the road. You’re going to be OK, and so am I.


  4. Do’s and Don’ts of Unicorn Hunting

    April 9, 2017 by Heather Cole

    The label of “unicorn” brings up a lot of feelings for people, and I’m not referring to the magical horse-with-a-horn that poops rainbows. I mean the magical creature, male or female, who enjoys joining a couple to make a sexual threesome. I like the label personally, but everyone has different expectations of what it means to be one. There are challenges on both sides, for those couples searching for their mythical third and for those of us who are searching for a suitable couple to fuck.

    Not so long ago I was interviewed for a a New York Post article about being a unicorn: The Search for the Elusive Threesome Unicorn  Thank you, EJ Dickson, for the great conversation! (Yes, she gave me a top secret fake name to protect my identity.) The article is great, because she interviewed three women with different experiences being a unicorn. Like I said, everyone has their own personal expectations about it.

    So, if you are considering a unicorn quest of your own, or would like to be a third for a couple, here are my top tips to start you off on the right hoof:

    (I crack myself up.)

    For the Unicorn Hunters

    Choose the appropriate site – I mention in the article that as soon as you put on your dating profile that you’re into open relationships and are bisexual, the couple emails start to arrive. But guess what! You can be a single, bisexual person who’s into open relationships and NOT want to unicorn. Slow your roll, unicorn hunters. Consider the website you’re searching. Is it a database focused on alternative lifestyles? Is there a search option for threesomes? Joining a site like SwingTowns will exponentially improve your odds of a successful search.

    Read the profile – Regardless of whether the unicorn of your naughty dreams is listed on FetLife or SwingTowns, don’t skim over her profile. Read. Every. Fucking. Word. Does she say specifically that she’s open to threesomes? If not, is there some clue in her profile that invites your interest? If it specifically states at the top of her profile in italics that she is “not looking to be anyone’s unicorn,” don’t ignore her statement and message her anyway certain that you will be the one to change her mind. *eye roll*

    Don’t copy/paste – Look, people aren’t stupid and most can tell a copy/paste message from the get-go. Unicorns know how bait-casting works, but even though she’s not the only one you’re fishing for, you need to make her feel as though she is. Theoretically we unicorns know that you’ve probably been messaging lots of women, but please don’t be obvious about it. Mention something that you read in her profile and liked, and tailor your message to that woman specifically. Otherwise, if you’re not willing to make any effort at all, why should she even bother to answer?

    Prepare for rejection – It happens, and in this case, silence speaks volumes. If days pass and she hasn’t replied to your message, she’s not going to, so don’t send another asking if she’s given any thought to a sweaty meeting. Don’t ask for her email, her phone number, or anything else highly personal. Just move along down the road.

    Timing – Unicorns need time to prepare for a sexy romp with a couple–they need to feel safe knowing their limits will be respected. Don’t make plans to meet for an introductory drink with the assumption she will get naked with you an hour later. It rarely works that way.

    Most importantly, be respectful, be patient, and don’t be a douche.

    From the Unicorn Perspective

    Yup, I like complementing a couple as a willing third in the threesome. True, I was *this close* to being the filling of a man-meat sandwich, but that was unusual for me. I’m most comfortable in a supportive role to the main couple. And this brings me to my first piece of advice:

    There are Different Breeds of Unicorn – We all have our different definitions of the label ‘unicorn,’ which typically corresponds to the qualities one is hunting for. “I’m dreaming of a unicorn who is ____ and has _____ and who is totally into _____.” The trick is finding that unicorn who also desires the qualities that you possess. The mythical part of the equation is that the unicorn will always give/contribute to the threesome without asking for anything in return, like emotional or physical gratification. Sweeties, that is a myth. Unicorns want to get off too. The truth is that we come in all genders and sexual tastes, and guess what, we unicorns have our own personal preferences about who we cavort with. A guy I used to date told me that I wasn’t really a unicorn because I wasn’t sleeping with ALL the couples I knew. Riiiiiiight. I think someone was mad that I wouldn’t do him and his wife. Sometimes you luck out and can find a tasty third to your twosome on a hookup site. Everything can look perfect, but understand that the unicorn may be scrutinizing you as much as you’re checking out them.

    Just Because You Found A Unicorn, It Doesn’t Mean They Have to Fuck You – Hey, Mr. Married Guy Who Wants a Chick to Seduce His Wife, I’m talking to you. And everyone else. But mostly to you. You may have a boatload of unspoken expectations regarding the unicorn you found, Mr. MGWWaCtSHW, but that doesn’t mean she has to comply with your irritating unspoken/sort of articulated plans for her and your wife. CONSENT is a huge, important part of unicorning. It’s an important facet of relationships in general, but in this specific scenario—and I can’t say this enough—unicorns don’t have to fuck you if they don’t want to. Even if I slept with you and your partner just last week, there is no written rule that says I have to do so again. And if you attempt to manipulate me into complying based on the fact that I ‘did it before,’ I will knee you in the balls on my way out of the door. No means no, and if it seems like I’m teetering on the edge of a rant, it’s because this has actually happened to me and it PISSES ME OFF.

    Communicate and Be Safe – I talk about this in the article. If you’ve started a dialogue with a unicorn regarding the possibility of a threesome, be clear about your expectations and what you want from the encounter. Everyone should discuss their limits, the things that are OK to do and those that are out of bounds. It’s really important for unicorns, regardless of gender, to feel safe in a situation. They may be saying positive things leading up to the big night, but if for any reason they don’t feel safe or don’t want to continue, they should bail. (see #2) There are ways to do this politely, and the sooner you, the unicorn, know it’s not going to work, the faster you should notify the other party. But there is never any time when it’s acceptable to coerce or threaten someone into compliance.

    A Gentle Approach – Why do you think medieval literature insisted that only a virgin could lure a unicorn out of the woods? Because we are special! If you go clomping through the forest with your armor, a pack of dogs, and 30 knights from the round table, I can promise you that every unicorn within miles will be hiding from your loud ass. In other words, if you are a M/F couple looking for a F-unicorn, for the love of all that’s holy, DO NOT have the M of your couple approach the F-unicorn first. Even dudes with the best of intentions come off as sleazeballs. And your message shouldn’t be titled: “I’m looking for a playmate for my wife.” Bring your computer over here, because I’m gonna barf on it. Your rates of success will increase if the female part of your couple reaches out to the female unicorn first. Even if the woman doesn’t really know what she wants, or if it’s her first time with another woman, her saying exactly that will be better received than a man reporting it second-hand.

    Sometimes Things Don’t Work Out Like You Thought They Would – Oh group sex… you are such a wily and capricious activity. The more people you add to a sexual situation, the more chances you have of things going differently than planned. Sometimes this is totally awesome. Other times, not so much. Just keep in mind that your “unicorn” is actually a human being of flesh and blood. They’re there to participate in your fun, but that’s no guarantee that everything will be rainbows and cupcakes. Sometimes it doesn’t work out that way. But if everyone communicates about what they want and how they want it, your rate of success will be even better

    Remember: be safe, communicate like crazy, and keep an open mind. Some day, your unicorn will come. Er, you’ll come with a unicorn. Wait…


  5. The Question of Submission

    May 11, 2016 by Heather Cole

     

    Credit: Depositphotos

    Credit: Deposit Photos

     

    I’ve been doing a lot of inner excavating lately, and one doesn’t go digging into the darkest part of their heart to find rainbows and fluffy kitties. I’m a seeker. I want to see what lies beneath even if it scares the ever living shit out of me. And let me tell you, I’ve found the opposite of kitties in the darkness of my soul. Even though the digging has been painful and dark, the earth I’ve turned over has been rich. Which is the whole point of working on oneself, right? You go through the pain to grow. At least, that’s what my therapist had told me.

    My personal seismic shift began last spring. The catalyst took the form of a visit from sir’s wife to stay with him for a month. I’m not going to go into detailing the series of events, because ultimately the specifics are irrelevant. The resulting actions, the reverberations of their time together and how it indirectly and directly involved me, shook the foundation of my relationship to sir and to myself. It was the latter part that pushed me into a tailspin. By the end of January 2016 (my last trip to see sir), I questioned everything, especially my relationship to BDSM, submission, and my role as a lifestyle submissive in a D/s dynamic. It felt like nothing fit anymore, and no matter how I had tried, I couldn’t make myself feel OK again. Something had to change. I had to change.

    As a result of the catalyst, I began examining my motivations for being in a D/s relationship with a man halfway around the world. We didn’t start that far apart, but that’s where we ended up. I discovered the hard way that the dependency we fostered as a submissive babygirl with a Daddy Dominant when we lived together couldn’t continue in the same way via a long distance relationship. All our protocols and expectations that we created and nurtured when he lived in the States could not withstand the time and distance that now existed between us. I think logically I knew that would happen, but I didn’t feel like it should. Up until last spring, I desperately clung to what our dynamic used to be, and the intimacy we had fostered, as we tried to cobble a semblance of it through text, email, and Skype. And then it blew apart.

    I was devastated. I felt like everything I had believed about submission, about being a submissive to this man in particular, was mostly one-sided. It wasn’t that sir didn’t love or want me, but he was busy creating a new life in a foreign land. And there I was at home, devoting much of my time and energy trying to keep a dynamic in place that was unsustainable given our new circumstances. It felt like I was clinging to a ghost, while everyone else moved forward into a new life.  I’ve called it a game before, but that submissive role was central to my way of life and how I viewed myself as a person. I never clearly saw my dependency on him or how central my sexual submission was to my identity before their visit. Or maybe I didn’t want to admit that I was in deep.

    I grieved for our loss and for the people we were. It was the summer of tears, but eventually I had to gather myself again and figure out how I was going to proceed. Once I began digging into the reasons behind my upset and bewilderment, I saw more clearly my motivations behind my affinity for D/s and BDSM. I took a long, hard look at why I loved the kinky things I did. Some of it was because I was wired this way and kinky shit got me off, and some of it was because I had daddy issues. The most difficult thing to admit was that I was cruel to myself, so that when a Dominant humiliated and degraded myself during play, I felt like I deserved it. Like deep down inside deserved it and should be punished for it.

    Up until that point, I hadn’t realized how I had spent most of my life feeling bad about who I was and how I looked. The changes in our relationship were on one level, but below that lay some core beliefs about myself that needed to shift as well. Getting in touch with those feelings… well, I had some really dark days. I was raised a feminist, and I firmly believed in equality regardless of gender, race, and sexual orientation. I would never shame another human being for their kinks or body type yet I didn’t hesitate to judge my own. Living that kind of dichotomy of beliefs yet remaining unconscious of it—I had to ask myself, why had it taken me so long to see it? Why did I think it was acceptable to treat myself poorly with such little regard? Who was I if I wasn’t a submissive pain slut who deserved degradation and humiliation?

    These musings brought me to the doorstep of what I enjoyed most in my kinky life. In the moments of a BDSM scene when I was the subject of humiliation or degradation, play that I loved, there was a part of me that believed it to be a reflection of my true self. I was a slut, dirty and shamed. And I reveled in those moments—desired it more than anything. Often times a scene was literally my inner critic coming to life, an external force that matched my internal one. In that glorious storm of physical and mental, I was made completely whole, because my internal beliefs had manifested outside of me. The inner critic had been embodied in my dominant, and my body was punished on the exterior in the same way that I punished myself on the inside. (Although sir had always been kinder to me than I was to myself.)  It usually culminated in a crescendo of endorphins that left me in grateful tears, while sir picked me up and helped me come back to myself.

    In those moments, I wanted to be a dependent babygirl who was rescued by her wonderful daddy. I also wanted to be the 24/7 sex slave who only existed to satisfy her dominant. The aspects of me, the most difficult for me to accept—the girl who needed saving and the shameless whore who wanted nothing but sex, were valued in this BDSM-D/s context. I suppose, to the average human being, this was obviously fantasy. But to me, in my heart of hearts, I so wanted them to be real. The feeling of alignment that I gained from a scene was such a relief, that I thought to have more of it was the key to happiness. I convinced myself that if I tried hard enough, my insecurities could find a home between me and sir. I had blurred fantasy with reality to the point that it had become detrimental to my well-being. When you’re waiting for daddy to rescue you, you’re not really addressing your own patterns of behavior or responsibilities. My submission was holding me back from one of my most important roles: being a caretaker of my own life.

    The catalyst in the spring brought me three truths: 1. Sir couldn’t save me. He had to take care of himself, his career, and his home first. 2. In order to save myself, I had to start truly loving myself—the whole way to my core. I had to banish my inner bully and love those pieces of me that were twisted and perverse. I needed to learn how to love myself in the moment, just as I was. 3. I had to stop serving everyone else’s needs before my own and make myself a priority.

    That’s where I am—standing amidst the rubble of the after effects of an earthquake and trying to figure out what to do next. I’m still in a D/s contract with sir, and we’ll be spending most of July together. Honestly, though, I’m not feeling all that submissive. It’s freeing and scary as hell all at the same time. I’m changing as I rearrange my priorities, and I think both sir and I are wondering where we’ll be after the dust has settled. I’m still sifting through the strands of what is fantasy and what is actually plausible in reality and adjusting my expectations of our D/s. I love him dearly, but I’m not the same girl I was. I’m also saying “no” a lot more. Do you have any idea how liberating that is? I say no in order to conserve my time and resources for things that are really important to me.  Most of all, I’m learning to be kind to myself and loving as I’m pushed out of my comfortable labels of “lifestyle submissive” to be something different. Every day I attempt to write a love letter to myself by making healthier choices and allowing space for my needs to be met. I no longer think of myself last thing on the ‘to do’ list.

    I had a dream last night that I was sitting in a college classroom. I had on a small, Hello Kitty backpack, and I leaned forward in my seat to talk to my friend seated in front of me. The professor, a tall man, walked up and down the aisles talking about a secret code that we needed to enter in order to take the test. He asked if anyone needed a pencil, and I raised my hand, feeling sheepish because I hadn’t been listening and was unprepared for class. Then I opened my folder and found three pencils inside. I had remembered them after all. They were short but sharpened. The professor gave me a pencil and made a joke with my friend. Something about if I ever got my act together, I’d be a force to be reckoned with.

    I’m taking that as a good sign. I may not know the secret code yet, but dammit, I have pencils. It’s a start.


  6. She’s just a girl on fire

    August 15, 2015 by Heather Cole

    woman with candle

    Fire brings up all sorts of emotions when you play with it. Even before the flames kiss your skin, there’s the rush of anticipation blowing through you, accompanied by a flicker of fear. It’s elemental. Primal. And when my friend texted me about joining her and her partner for some fire play, I was all for it.

    My introduction to fire play began with a text:

    “Can I light you on fire?”

    It was sent from my friend, Stormy, who is the queen of no-context texts. I replied, of course, with a similar cheeky attitude.

    “Literally on fire? No. I like these shorts too much.”

    S: “Oh, I’d need you naked first.”

    Me: “Then yes! You can absolutely set me on fire!”

    Before you think that I let any ‘ol person light me on fire, I already knew that Stormy’s partner, D, was experienced with fire play. She wanted to learn too, and she needed a demo bottom to experiment with. Add to that the fact that I adore them both and trust them implicitly, so I knew that I was in good hands for my first foray into fire.

    D created torches from fondue forks, cotton batting, and cotton finger bandages. He then dipped them in rubbing alcohol and set them on fire. I know there are a lot of details in the process that I’m missing, but my focus wasn’t on how it all worked. I was more interested in how it would feel. (Hey, if you want to play with fire, for heaven’s sake, do your research and go to a demonstration first.)

    Even with my full consent, I felt a spike of anxiety as I lay on the massage table in their bedroom and waited to feel the first burst of warmth across my body. We started out with me on my stomach on the massage table. D explained to Stormy the different techniques he enjoyed as the torches hovered over my body in various places. The gentle warmth was soothing as I closed my eyes, and some of the tension in my body drained away. Sometimes he drew a path of alcohol first, followed by a lighted torch that would burn the trail of rubbing alcohol. He often brushed behind the flames with his palm to ensure that all the fire was out. The point was to burn the alcohol and feel the fire without doing any damage to the skin. I appreciated that.

    The experimentation began, and Stormy lit lines of fire over my back. D watched from the bed with a blanket beside him in case we needed to smother an out-of-control flame. Even though we were consenting adults, we were playing with fire–literally. And it was better to have safety precautions in place beforehand instead of hoping for the best that there would be no accidents.

    Stormy’s light touch and the racing fire gave me all sorts of ideas. Her excitement about learning a new skill lent itself to my building arousal, and I couldn’t help but squirm beneath her ministrations. The way she manipulated the flames made me wish that she’d do even more with her hands. I felt a keen edge of danger that accompanied the heat, even though I knew logically that I was mostly safe. And all of it fed into a wanton throbbing between my legs.

    I didn’t act upon my desires, mainly because I hadn’t cleared any of that beforehand with my sir, and secondly, I can be a complete wimp when it comes to making the first move on a woman. At the end of the night I gave D and stormy friendly hugs and gratitude, and went straight home to work out my raging libido with my vibrator. I reported everything to sir, and enjoyed myself so much that when sir arrived stateside for his month-long vacation, he asked to learn fire play too.

    My second fire play scene began with me, once again, face-down on the massage table. Even though I couldn’t see the three people circling me, I could identify the individuals from their different fire styles. Stormy had an even rhythm:  fire, sweep of the hand, fire, sweep of the hand. She could have lulled me into a meditative, relaxed state, even when she traced the flame along the soles of my feet. D placed the alcohol and torch with more force. His movements incited a visceral reaction, something I felt in my gut. There was the staccato rush of intense heat, and then it was gone a split-second later that made me writhe. Sir’s effect on me was different.

    His flame was sneaky, and he enjoyed watching it burn along the dips and curves of my flesh. He didn’t have a particular rhythm or pattern, and he didn’t always sweep behind the trailing alcohol with his hand. As a result, the heat grew more intense depending on where he placed its path, and there were several times I squealed in protest, worried that it was burning too long.

    Daddy knows how to play with my mind like no other, and when he told me to turn over so that my front was exposed, I knew he was going to twist my feelings into the fire that played over my tenderest bits. Blue flame danced over my breasts and nipples, and he made me watch, chuckling when I begged to be allowed to close my eyes again. Seeing the fire made the sensations on my skin ratchet up in intensity, which fought against my will to remain as motionless as possible. Stormy came to sit between my legs, her hands stroking my calves and thighs.

    Again the desire built inside me. The stimulus was intense, and my instincts warred against one another. I wanted to kiss Stormy and arch against sir’s hand on my breast. I could have brushed against the front of D’s body when he bent over me or stroked the growing wetness at the juncture of my thighs. But I had to remain still as the fire bound me in place more effectively than any rope. Their attentions and the rioting sensations made the entire scene an intense roller coaster ride. To be honest, I can’t even remember if Daddy gave me an orgasm or not—everything began to run together in a long series of intense stimulus. I had no sense of time, but when they finally wound down, I was spent.

    D cleaned up while I clumsily got back into my clothes. After many thank yous to Stormy and D for the amazing experience, I asked Daddy to drive because I was spacey. He surprised me, and instead of going directly home, he took a detour to our favorite burger joint to feed me cheeseburgers at midnight. Later we snuggled in bed as my endorphin high gradually faded, and I reflected on the different sensations of fire play vs the impact play that I typically enjoy. Both are dangerous, and I’m lucky to have relationships where I skirt that danger safely yet still experience a thrill. I got to be that girl on fire.