The Fire

Every time Lucy had sex her fanny burst into flames. 

The curious thing about this was that her fanny never got burnt. There was nothing painful about it at all . . . it just tingled and fizzed. 

She wondered about that a lot.

As you would expect, her sex life spluttered like a defective firework. 

 

To begin with, she thought that perhaps it was penetration that caused it . . . her boyfriend jumping about, flapping at his flaming pubes . . . she, looking down at the flames licking painlessly out of her fanny. He was traumatised and stopped returning her messages. So she decided she needed to experiment. 

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She found to her surprise that guys were amazingly trusting and also incredibly stupid. She’d meet someone in a pub and found they always wanted to have sex. She had always just assumed guys were like her . . . sex was great but she didn’t think about it all of the time. 

So there was no shortage of experimental material. 

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Conversations would go something like this:

Lucy: “Yes, I would like to have sex with you, but I need to warn you that I have a fiery vagina.”
Man: “That’s ok. I can’t wait to do an internal inspection.”
Lucy: “No, honestly . . . fire comes out of my vagina.”
Man: “I’ve got a big extinguisher.”

He hadn’t believed her, and she had watched fascinated as Man’s moustache was scorched, his eyes watering from the blister growing on his nose. 

Another guy had half-believed her and, thoughtfully suggested having sex in the bath. A brilliant idea, she thought . . . such an obvious solution. 

It didn’t work and only made her think of a man having sex with a boiling kettle. There were lots of bubbles and steam . . . and then the usual screams.

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Despite what you might think, Lucy was not particularly promiscuous. In fact, she had been quite prudish before having her first, flammable, sexual encounter. But she was smart enough to know there was something not quite right. But you can also imagine her dilemma. Having a fanny that burns brightly (literally) every time you have sex is not something you can easily chat to your friends about. 

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Naturally she thought about going to her GP, but was hesitant for two reasons. Firstly, it wasn’t like it was a mole on her neck that she could show the doctor. And secondly, how could she prove there was fire in the hole?

She knew she had to do something . . . and smearing fire-retardant gel over a partner’s penis wasn’t what she had in mind. 

Feeling too embarrassed to go to her GP, she went to a drop-in STD clinic at the local hospital. She felt really uncomfortable . . . she didn’t have a sexually transmitted disease, and she struggled to think about how she was going to explain it.

When she finally walked into the consulting room and saw a middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform, she found she couldn’t do it and turned to go.

“You’ve done the hardest part” the nurse said, before she could leave. Lucy stood for a minute with her hand on the door, and then turned and sat down. 

“I promise you” the woman said kindly “there is nothing I haven’t seen or heard that will shock me.”

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When Lucy told her, it was clear that that was no longer true. 

After a long pause the nurse smiled . . . a sort of knowing, understanding smile and said “Ahh, I see . . . well, sometimes an orgasm can feel like that. A fire in your belly . . . but it’s nothing to worry about.” She nodded with certainty now. “Count yourself one of the lucky ones.”

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The nurse could see that Lucy remained unconvinced, so she said in a reassuring voice “hop on the bed and let me have a quick look . . . I’m sure everything is fine, but there’s no harm in just checking.”

Even though Lucy knew the nurse didn’t believe her, she was kind and sweet and Lucy didn’t want to be rude, so she took off her jeans and knickers and lay down.

After a thorough, uncomfortable examination the nurse pronounced that everything was absolutely fine and told Lucy to relax, take appropriate precautions, but not to worry about her unusual climaxes.

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Lucy wasn’t massively disheartened by this. She’d half expected it. After all, it was the sort of thing that would only happen in some stupid story, so it was hardly surprising that a medical professional wouldn’t believe her. 

Dear Reader – before you judge Lucy, you’ve got to think about what you would do faced with the same predicament. Go on . . . . what would you do??

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Exactly. She did the same thing. She ordered a number of sexual toys online. 

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Granted, you might have ordered just the one, but Lucy was the one with the real problem, and was thinking a few moves ahead. Bear in mind, this was not about sex. This was about Lucy trying to discover what the fuck was going on in her own body.

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Lucy’s bedroom was like a science lab – various shaped dildos lined up on a table, containers of water placed strategically. She found out very quickly that some of the toys were very unsafe for people with her condition. Some were quite rubbery and would become soft and floppy very quickly, others could withstand the heat for a bit longer, but they too would end up being immersed in cold water where they would hiss and shrivel to half their original size. A metal one lasted a bit longer, but it had a battery of sorts that must have expanded and popped because some slime came oozing out onto her hand that felt quite acidic.

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Like any sensible person, she had a plan, and that was to use her phone to video the firestorm that was her vagina and take that to the GP. Provide evidence . . . irrefutable proof, right?

Wrong. The GP looked at the video and typed a long message into Lucy’s medical record. The GP was no idiot . . . she knew there was some seriously smart software out there where you could overlay images and create pretty much any illusion. This girl needed help . . . but not down there . . . at the other end. The GP told her that she was being referred to a specialist. Lucy left content that at last someone believed her and was taking the problem seriously.

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On the way home she had a thought . . . at first slightly repulsive, but then the more she considered it, the more she thought “well, why not?” So she stopped at the local Tesco and bought a few courgettes and carrots.

I ought to point out that (a) Lucy was a vegetarian and (b) she was enterprising and (c) why wouldn’t you?

Remember also that Lucy experienced no burns, no pain, no discomfort of any kind, so she was able to prepare a vegetarian kebab – heated from within and then grilled to perfection – while at the same time watching telly or reading a book.

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When she received a letter from the hospital with a date to see a specialist, she didn’t even notice that it was from the mental health department. Before discarding the letter she sent a brief text to say that she wished to cancel. She had no reason to see anyone about her fiery fanny because she’d learnt to accept and embrace it . . . see it as some sort of super power. 

And she couldn’t leave that thought alone. A super power. 

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She became slightly obsessed with Marvel movies, watching the women who had the power to do extraordinary things – throw fireballs, have piercing eyes that could lift objects, super speed etc. But cooking a courgette between your legs (amazing as that was) wasn’t a particularly glamorous power to have. 

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Don’t think that Lucy was becoming a little unhinged. Far from it. As I have said, she was a smart girl and suspected that the women in the Marvel movies were comic book characters. But she also knew that if she had this weird power . . . it was more than likely that there were other individuals somewhere that had unusual powers. After all, in a world with a population of over 7 billion . . . there had to be others with strange powers.

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And so she did what you and I would do to try and find others like her . . . she hunted on the world wide web. It didn’t take long before an exceptional amount of attention and advice was being directed at her. Forums were full of people who spent a lot of time commenting about everything. None of it was helpful, so much of it, she felt, was aggressively friendly.

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Gradually it dawned on Lucy that she was one of a kind. Some might think of a fiery fanny as a disability . . . apply to the council for a blue badge, get the DWP to give you a monthly allowance. 

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But to her credit, Lucy saw it only as a super power. She set about perfecting her culinary skills, experimenting with olive oil, then coconut oil. She developed sauces that she’d inject carefully into courgettes and then cook them on low heat for an hour, then increase the tempo and brown them on the outside. She tried shallots, butternut squash, parsnips. She had friends for meals, and watching them eat her fanny-cooked cuisine gave her immense pleasure.

I know you’re probably thinking, so why bother telling us this story? 

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Well, it’s an important, true story (like the bible) that has a strong message. 

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Lucy could so easily have persisted endlessly with the medical profession, and the chances are they would have found a way to put out the fire by lobotomizing her clitoris or some such extreme technique. Or she could have played the victim and done the whole “ . . . oooh, I’ll never be able to have a baby . . . it’ll come out all brown and barbequed”. She didn’t. 

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She embraced her unusual condition and turned it to her advantage in an extraordinary way. So, in that respect she was a super hero.

You will be wondering what became of Lucy. 

Well, one night she had a dream that she was in the supermarket, walking down the aisle in the veggie section and the courgettes were pushing themselves up on their little arms, each one shouting “choose me . . . . choose me!” She’d never felt so wanted, and found it very erotic. Her fanny burst into flames. Her bedding caught fire, followed by the curtains and then the entire house. By the time the fire services put out the fire, there wasn’t much left . . . except for a vagina that was perfectly preserved and untouched by the conflagration. 

This is a true story. I managed to get pictures of Lucy's fanny and, in admiration of fiery fannies the world over, I have posted these online for all to see https://colingallow.wixsite.com/lucy

copyright Colin Gallow