"Playing with Fire" (MF, humor, pyro) (1/1)
                       IMPORTANT LEGAL INFORMATION


	There is nothing in the world quite like a brush fire.  If you've ever 
experienced one, you know what I mean.  If you haven't, try this: Take the
smell of a good pine fire in your fireplace, the first one of the season, 
when you're still baking out six or eight months of accumulated dust and 
cobwebs, take that first smell of the wood, when it's just starting to 
crackle and smoke.  Take that and intensify it about five or ten times, then
imagine yourself bathed in it, surrounded in it as the smoke blots out the
sky, creating a sunset at noon, as bits of ash and soot drift down around 
you.  That may approximate the experience, if you have a good imagination.
	Some people like to say that L.A. doesn't have any seasons, but that 
isn't quite true.  We just have different ones.  Instead of spring, summer,
winter, and fall, we have rainy, dry, windy, and brushfire.  Sometimes we 
even get two or three of them at once.
	Brushfire season this year started with a bang--literally.  A summer 
thunderstorm whipped up out of nowhere late in the afternoon on August 31,
dropped a load of hail, spat out lightning in every direction, and spawned
half a dozen brushfires across the Southland.  I woke up September 1 to that
familiar, pungent aroma, an orange-gray haze in the sky, and ash all over my
backyard.
	I stood there, watching the ash fall like snow over the neighborhood.  
I inhaled the smell of burning chaparral and scrub oak deeply into my 
nostrils.  Two seconds later, I ejaculated into my pajamas.

                                 II.

	I don't remember when I first realized my attraction to fire.  As far 
back as I can remember, I've been fascinated with it.  I scorched ants and
leaves with a magnifying glass.  I threw things into the fireplace and 
backyard barbecues to watch them burn.  No matter how many times my parents
yelled at me about it, as soon as I got the chance, I was back playing in the
fire.
 	When I got older and more scientifically savvy, my "experiments" got 
more complicated.  I would set fire to plastic models and watch the hard 
forms soften and bubble.  I would dig little holes behind the garage and 
create tiny campfires, then toss different chemicals into them to see what
effect they had.  Once I collected my finger and toenail parings for several
months just to see if they would burn (they did--and the fire was a bizarre
green I've never seen before or since).  
	I was sixteen when I first discovered that fire got me off--and I can 
give you a good psychobabble explanation for it, too.  I lost my virginity to
my cousin on a family campout.  She snuck into my sleeping bag that night 
while everyone else was asleep.  We had been up late toasting marshmallows
and burning sticks in the fire, and she smelled of wood smoke and soot.  Her
aromatic hair was in my face through the whole episode, and I've never been
able to disassociate that smell from the experience.  
	How can I describe this in a way to make you understand?  The dancing 
flame, the hypnotic yellow-orange-red patterns are part of it.  I get 
something out of watching the fuel burn, watching paper crinkle and blacken,
watching wood sizzle, snap, and deform. There's also the destructive element
of it--the ability to turn something into a pile of ash with just a match.
	I don't smoke, in case you're wondering.  Cigarette smoke has no appeal 
for me.  I like the pungent aroma of cigars, but smoking them yourself 
doesn't give you quite the same effect--because it's the smell that really
does it for me.  When I smell wood smoke, I think of sex.  That's why I love
brushfires.

                                  III.

	I live in a canyon, near a regional park.  I and the rest of Southern 
California had suffered through a particularly scorching August, with 
temperatures consistently in the 90's and 100's the entire month.  Many days,
the mercury wouldn't drop below 90 until after 8 o'clock.  The winds had been
up too, achingly dry Santa Anas that wrung the last bit of moisture out of
the thick vegetation El Niņo had left behind this Spring.  Add it all up, and
we were due for some serious brushfires this fall.
	When I got off work that afternoon, the fire had spread to about a 
hundred acres.  The news on the car radio said no homes were threatened--yet.
The county fire department was still trying to contain it, but thus far it
was not yet under control.
	When I got home, I discovered that the fire department had turned my 
street into a base of operations, which didn't surprise me.  The end of the
street turns into a fire road/hiking trail when it gets to the park, and I
saw three fire trucks and several other vehicles parked along the street.
Several fire fighters milled around, but most of them seemed to be up in the
hills fighting the fire.
	I opened a beer and walked onto the deck off my bedroom.  Thick gray 
smoke filled the sky, and ash and soot covered every square inch of my deck.
I brushed off the railing and leaned out.
	I couldn't see the fire, but I could see where it was burning.  The 
smoke rose from the far side of the ridge behind my house, about a mile away
maybe.  The smell of burning chaparral was so intense that I could soon taste
it.  I got an erection, but I was able to keep from coming in my pants.

	A little while later, I took two bottles of water out of my pantry and 
walked down to the end of the street.  Three fire fighters were sitting on
the curb resting, and I held out the bottles as I walked up.
	"I thought you guys might be thirsty."
	The one nearest me reached out and took a bottle.
	"Thanks."
	He opened it up and took a long swig, then passed it to his partner.
	Another fire fighter came around the truck, and I held out the other 
bottle.
	"Hey, thanks."
	I realized it was a woman, a tall, athletic blonde.  Her face was 
sweaty, covered with soot and reddened from the sun, but she had that fresh-
faced blonde beauty that we seem to breed in profusion out here.
	She took a long drink from the bottle, then took off her helmet and 
wiped her forehead.
	"Where's your house?"
	I pointed back down the street.
	"Are we in trouble?"
	"Not yet.  If the wind picks up, though, you may have to evacuate.  You 
might want to pack up just in case."
	"Huh.  Okay."
	I wasn't too worried about my house.  I lived in a new development 
community built under the latest fire regulations.  I had a concrete tile 
roof and a stucco exterior, and I didn't see how my house could possibly 
catch on fire.  I probably don't have to tell you that I found the 
possibility arousing, though.
	She took off her jacket and stretched out her arms above her head.  I 
tried not to stare, but it was difficult, as she had revealed a firm pair of
well-shaped breasts stretching out the front of her blue T-shirt.  She also
had broad shoulders and well-defined biceps, clearly someone who kept in good
shape--a necessity, I supposed, given her occupation.
	I glanced at the three other fire fighters sitting on the curb, but 
they seemed too tired to pay any attention to us.
	"This is a nice neighborhood," she said.  "We'll try to keep it from 
burning down."
	I grinned.
	"I'd appreciate that."
	"I worked the Laguna Canyon fire a few years back.  That was pretty 
nasty.  But as long as the wind keeps down the way it has, we should get this
out in a day or so."
	"I don't know.  As long as it's not threatening any houses, I kind of 
like it.  I like the smell, you know?"
	I was smiling when I said that, sort of a yes-I'm-being-sarcastic look, 
but something passed across her eyes, and she stared at me for a few seconds.
	"Yeah.  I know what you mean.  It's a neat smell."
	Another group of fire fighters came walking back down the fire road, 
and she turned away from me.
	"I've got to get back to work.  Thanks for the water."
	"No problem."

                                  IV.

	The winds picked up that night, and the fire fighters still did not 
have the fire under control.  The wind was blowing the fire toward an 
uninhabited area, though, so no one showed up to evacuate me.  I stood on my
deck watching the reddish-orange glow over the hill, illuminating the columns
of smoke as they rose to the sky.  
	With the wind blowing away from me, the smell of the fire had subsided, 
so I was able to get to sleep without having to masturbate.

	The fire was still going the next night, though the wind had died down 
again.  I found another shower of ash over my yard when I got home from work,
and the smell of the fire was back.
	I wasn't in the mood to cook, and I had nothing interesting in my 
refrigerator, so I drove down the hill to Taco Bell for dinner.  I had just
sat down with a tray of tacos when I looked up to see the same fire fighter I
had talked to the previous night.  She still wore her fire-fighting pants and
the same blue T-shirt.  Her blonde hair was back in a ponytail, and she was
as sweaty and soot-stained as she had been before.
	"Hey."
	"Hey.  How's the fire?"
	"We're getting it under control.  I just got off duty.  I've been 
working all day, about twelve hours."
	"Think my house will be all right?"
	"It should be, unless the wind really starts blowing again.  Mind if I 
have a seat?"
	"Be my guest."
	She sat down opposite me.  I was in a four-person booth, so we weren't 
particularly intimate.
	"I never caught your name."
	"Hannah."
	"I'm Peter."
	"Nice to meet you, Peter."
	"You, too."
	I took a bite of my taco.
	"How do you like fighting fires?"
	"I love it.  It's a great job.  Rarely a dull moment, even when we're 
just sitting around the station house."
	"How is it being a woman and a fire fighter?  I mean, you hear so much 
about harassment of female fire fighters, since it's traditionally been seen
as such a masculine job."
	"I've never had any problems.  The guys I work with are really nice.  
But I guess it's partly because they aren't concerned that I can do the job.
I have better scores on the yearly requals than a lot of them do."
	"That's impressive."
	We ate in silence for a minute or so.  Then she sat back, wiping her 
mouth.
	"You know, I'm intrigued by something you said last night."
	"What?"
	"When I told you about getting the fire out, you said 'don't bother, I 
like the smell.'  Normally people whose houses are threatened by brushfires
don't say things like that.  They want the fire out as soon as possible."
	"Um, well, I was kidding."
	"You didn't sound like you were.  In fact, it sounded like you were 
trying to make me think you were kidding, but you really weren't."
	"Well, what can I say?  I like the smell."
	She stared at me for a moment.
	"But just brushfires, right?  Wood smoke, not things like plastic or 
chemicals."
	"Uh.  Yeah."
	"You don't get that aroma from other things."
	"No."
	I realized I was getting an erection.
	"Do you?" I asked.
	"Do I what?"
	"Like the smell."
	"Sure.  It's not really like anything else."
	I stared at her.  I could smell the fire on her, the fading scent of 
burning chaparral.
	"Do you mind if I ask why you became a fire fighter?"
	She glanced down at the table, then her eyes came back up, looking up 
at me from under her eyebrows.
	"What if I told you smell of wood smoke had something to do with it?"
	"I don't know.  You hear things sometimes, about people becoming fire 
fighters because they like fire."	
	She leaned back, taking a long breath.
	"You know what the textbook definition of pyromania is, don't you?"
	I didn't answer her right away.
	"It's being sexually aroused by the sight of something burning."
	"Right."
	Neither of us said anything for a few moments.  We stared at each 
other, understanding dawning on us.
	"So," I finally said softly.  "I guess the question is, does fighting 
fires get you off?"
	"What do you think?"
	"I think . . . I'd like to find out."
	She closed her eyes, fighting a grin.
	"You have to understand that this is a very sensitive issue for me.  
The department takes stuff like this very seriously.  Too many firefighters
have gotten caught setting fires because they were closet pyros."
	"I'm not talking about setting fires."
	"Neither am I.  I would never do that.  I've seen too many people die 
in fires to ever do it."
	"I wouldn't either.  But  . . . we've got a fire going up there right 
now."
	"I know."
	She exhaled, opening her eyes, looking at me.
	"This is insane."
	"Do you care?"
	"Do you?"
	"No."
	"Neither do I.  Let's go."

                                  V.

	She had walked across the street from the station house, and we drove 
back up the hill to my house.  The trucks on my street were gone, since the
fire had shifted down the canyon.  I parked in front of my house, and she led
me up the street.
	"The fire is about a mile up the road.  Is that a problem?"
	"No.  I go hiking up here all the time."
	The sun had set, but the fire lit the area in a dim orange glow.  We 
trudged up the fire road in silence.  Gradually, the glow of the fire and the
smell of the smoke intensified.  We followed the ridge for about ten minutes.
	The air was much hotter up here.  Cinders and burning bits of ash were 
beginning to fall softly around us.  The smoke completely blotted out the 
glow of the moon, and the only light was the orange luminescence of the fire.
I like to play computer games, and the view from the hilltop reminded me of
nothing more than a scene from "Doom."
	"Is this good?"
	"Great."
	"Okay."
	She turned to me, and we were kissing roughly a second later.  We 
groped frantically at each other, pulling off our clothes.  I could smell her
scent as our tongues wrestled in her mouth, a mixture of sweat and stale wood
smoke.  Then the wind would blow across us, drowning it out with fresh smoke.
	I shoved down her suspenders, letting her pants fall to the ground.  I 
shoved my hands up her T-shirt, gripping both breasts at once.  Then I opened
the front hook on her bra, and I was fondling her hot, sweaty flesh.
	The wind had shifted, and the fire was growing closer.  The smoke was 
all around us now as we sank to the ground.  I shoved up Hannah's T-shirt,
exposing her breasts.  Her nipples were hot and hard, throbbing little embers
that I sucked into my mouth.  She groaned, hands gone to fists in my hair as
she dry-humped me.  She pulled my shirt up over my head and began clawing at
my back.
	I slid lower, taking her shorts and panties down in one motion.  I 
found her wetness with my mouth, the only moisture on this parched hillside.
I could see the flames approaching us now, and the pungent smoke filled the
air, mixing with Hannah's musky aroma.
	I attacked her with my tongue, lost in the fog of fire and sex.  
Hannah's nails dug into my shoulders, drawing blood as she groaned out loud.
She began to thrash under me, the powerful muscles of her thighs drumming 
against my ears.  She came just as a gust of wind blew the fire up around us,
momentarily bathing the hilltop in blazing orange and red.
	She pulled me up on top of her, frantically unbuttoning my jeans.  She 
pulled my cock to her mouth, forcing most of it into her.  I closed my eyes
as she sucked on me, letting the wonderful sensations wash over me as the 
scent of burning wood filled my head.
	Then I withdrew, dropping back between her thighs and slipping into her 
one quick motion.  She was even hotter than the air around us now, and pulled
me down to kiss her.  I thrust into her from two directions as she wrapped
herself around me.  We rolled over, and she leaned back, impaling herself.  I
looked up, seeing her surrounded by swirling smoke, backlit by the leaping
flames.  I grabbed her hips as she rode me, hands back on my knees, grinding
herself down as ash and burning embers filled the air around us.
	The wind redoubled, sending a towering tornado of flames shooting up 
the hillside. Hannah screamed in release as it peaked, the blazing 
incandescence scorching both of us.  I sat up, pushing her back and climbing
on top of her again.  I let myself go, hammering into her as her arms and 
legs flailed wildly around me, her nails leaving bloody tracks on my back.
	I came with a bellow, sucking in great drafts of pungent smoke, hosing 
down the fire inside her with everything I had.  I kept thrusting long after
my orgasm subsided, finally collapsing on top of her firm breasts.
	The fire was all around us now, the only clear escape back down the 
fire road.  Hannah gasped, trying to catch her breath.
	"We have to get out of here."
	"I know.  Let's go."
	We struggled to our feet, gathering our clothes, and somehow made it 
back down the hill.

                                  VI.

	Hannah and I have to be careful about being seen together, lest someone 
suspect something.  The brushfire season this year promises to be sustained,
so it looks like we're going to be quite busy.  We haven't talked about what
we'll do when the rains come in the winter, when we no longer have convenient
fires to visit.  I think it's because we both know what's likely to happen.
We keep saying, "We'd never deliberately set a fire," but that mantra is 
beginning to sound like "the check is in the mail," to me.
	Who knows?  Maybe a good fire in the fireplace will be enough.  But I 
doubt it.  All I can say is, I hope you check the batteries in your smoke 
detectors.  Frequently.