In November 1991 jcm@acsu.buffalo.edu (Joe McCorquodale) asked people
on alt.romance to post their most romantic ideas for an evening in front
of a warm fire and jokingly signed his article with "President of the
Romantic Fire Association" (RFA).
Many people replied with fireplace stories and became "Secretaries",
"Vice-President" and many many other roles within the RFA thus founded.
If you want to become a member of the RFA, go to alt.romance.chat and
post your application (romantic fire story)!

Here are just two of these stories:


 From: afdenis@lims01.lerc.nasa.gov (Stephen Dennison)  @}-,-`-- @}-,-`-- @}-,-

You couldn't keep me out of this thread with a fire hose ! :-)

Well, let's see. Start off with some fine wine or hot chocolate, depending
on the taste of you and your SO. Also, the setting *outside* should
consist of suitably cold and snowy conditions and be visable through some
nearby window, just to add that "ain't it great to be in here rather than out
*there*" ambience. Music is a must. The entire Dan Fogelberg catalog comes to
mind, or, better yet, I'd drag out the old acoustic guitar and sing love
songs to her personally. This may not be an option for all of you, thus
the Fogelberg option is suggested. After the music, we'd cuddle up, backs
against some suitable cushion, on a (simulated) polar bear skin rug and
take turns reading to each other from books of favorite poetry or, better
yet, from the works of Gibran.

That should blend smoothly into a verbal sharing of our dreams of the
future, which would eventually trail off into her and I sharing the
mesmerizing sound of the crackling fire, eyes locked together in a timeless
gaze, listening intently to the sounds of our hearts beating as one. A brief
embrace and, then, it's time for the swapping of massages. Again, at the
option of the reader, either warm scented oil or perfumed powder is used
as the friction inhibitor, and no less than an hour is spent soothing and
stimulating every muscle and each square inch of skin. This must, of course,
be accompanied by playful licks and nibbles and the occasional whispered
endearment, the low, sweet vibration of the soft voice coupled with the
sensation of the warm breath in the ear driving the other to the very edge
of torturous delight.

When, finally, the skin of both people has been massaged to the brink of
tingling numbness, and the fire's warmth has been absorbed by each to
the point of saturation, you take each other's hands and, once again, share
a deep, soul stirring visual embrace, followed by a real and passionate one.
You draw back, to drink in the beauty of your SO bathed in the soft,
sensual light of the dancing flames and your love becomes a real and
tangible pain in you, driving you almost to tears. You express that love in
a minimal verbal statement, and then you seal it with a deep and passionate
kiss. The fires inside build to match the roaring flames that light your
way, and in wild abandon ...

Uhh... excuse me ... I gotta get out of the office for a minute ... :-)

ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHJHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! (Primal Scream)
[...]

Stephen "How do those Campfire Girls *stand* it? " Dennison


 From: ames@biostat.washington.edu (Diane Ames)  @}-,-`-- @}-,-`-- @}-,-`-- @}-

It's a cold, stormy night and my love is working late.  So I take advantage
of the extra time.  A little extra care fixing my hair, doing my makeup.  I
pick out "something more comfortable" to wear, both for myself and for him.
I put *my* something comfortable on, and lay his out on the couch, checking
on the fire as I do so.  I collect every pillow, large or small, from every
room, and create an island in front of the fire.  Massage oil is at hand,
wine is opened and breathing, resting on ice.  Soft jazz plays on the stereo.
And so, I wait.

Somehow, in between claps of thunder and driving rain, I hear him pull
up.  He runs in the door, shaking rain from his jacket, and nearly bowls
me over as I stand in the hall.  I see exhaustion in his eyes, but as he
looks at me, a small, inquisitive smile lights up his face.  He starts to
say something, but I gently put my fingers to his lips, and lead him to the
couch, and the warmth of the fire.  I slowly undress him, kissing the
raindrops from his face, warming his chilled flesh with gentle caresses.
The music plays softly, occasionally drown out by the thunder, or a
particularly emphatic slash of rain across the window.  The fire blazes,
and so does my heart, and the rest of the world is forgotten, as we enter
our own, private pillow oasis.

Again, he tries to speak, and this time I silence him with a kiss.  This
followed by featherlight kisses to his eyelids, and he understands.  His
eyes remain closed and he begins to relax.  The fire roars on, warming
us through and through, as I shower his body with kisses, feeling the
tension and stress of the day bleeding from him.  His breathing deepens
as he nears sleep, and a gentle, oiled massage takes him the rest of the
way.  And now I can study his beautiful face, all aglow in the firelight.
I can bask in the warmth of the fire, and the warmth of our love.  Time
enough when he awakes, refreshed, to put the fire to shame with the fire
of our passion.  I sip some wine and smile, content just to watch him sleep.
Content to wait.

Yes, forever should be time enough.