My back is arched as I come, whimpering, lost in the sensations and in watching the fireworks going off.  And no, that’s not an euphemism. I see fireworks when I orgasm…my world turns into bright white flashes that are cut through with primary reds, yellows, and blues. I have synesthesia, and it’s amazing.

Synesthesia “is a neurologically-based condition in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway.” What that translates to, is that people will see/feel/taste vivid scents, colours, mental images from anything from numbers, to colours (Lime green leaves me with an odd aftertaste in my mouth), or even songs. Ever wonder what Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ tastes like? I have a friend who is a fellow synesthete who swears she tastes baklava every time she hears it played.

My particular version of synesthesia seems to revolve almost exclusively around sensation. I first started noticing it when I was about 8. Stubbed toes left after-colours in my head that lasted longer than the pain did. Having my baby sister pet my bare skin, left gorgeous ripples of yellow on me. Swimming in the lake at nighttime, gave me such an overwhelming feeling/mental image of moving through piles of velvet that I was always shocked when I actually got wet as I dove in.

I never brought it up to my family, because I didn’t want to seem ‘weird’ or be accused of making it up for attention. I wasn’t diagnosed as having synesthesia until I was 15 and had broken a bone in my foot. I was describing the pain as being a ‘throbby orange mixed with olive green’, which is when I noticed my doctor was looking at me oddly. Oops. Right, pain generally isn’t a colour. She asked how long I’d been seeing colours, and if there was any other unusual sensations/tastes, and explained to me what synesthesia was. Having a doctor who didn’t act like I was crazy or making things up was really wonderful. I have never been made to feel as though the crossed wires in my brain are something to be ashamed of or hidden. Because, really, it isn’t. I consider it a gift, and a gorgeous one at that.

The first time I had sex, I thought I was going to cry from how beautiful it all was. Kisses, touches…everything had it’s own colour, occasionally a taste to go along with it. Deep kisses that feel like your partner is trying to devour you, taste of black cherries. Oral sex…dear gods, oral sex is gorgeous when it’s done well. It’s blue. Blue waves that twist and spiral over me, then fade into white as I come.

I discovered the wonderful world of kink and BDSM at 19, and my little technicoloured world was stood on it’s head. So many new sensations to explore…I felt, and still feel like a kid in a candy story. I want to try *everything*. Now. Over and over again, until I’ve discovered what each type of sensation feels/looks/tastes/smells like.

To me, being flogged ‘looks’ like ripples of deep greens and blues. The first strike of a paddle on my ass is a deep blue/black, that fades out into lighter shades of blue/grey as the initial sting eases. Knives against my flesh leave behind ribbons of bright arterial-blood-red, while needles placed under my skin bloom into flowers of deeper reds and golds. Rope digs into my skin in negative-image lines of peacock-green and gold, flashing bright behind my eyes. It pushes me down into subspace, where there’s nothing but blackness and faint ripples of colours and sensations around the edges.

I love being a synesthete. My world is brighter than most, and while it’s occasionally odd (vanilla ice cream should *not* feel orange! Ever! It’s just wrong), I wouldn’t trade it for anything.