Cane enjoys my regaling him with tales of my past exploits. I'm always obliged to give him what he wants (because he then gives me what I want!). So, dear readers, today I'm going to tell you about one of his favorites ... the Fireman. Please feel free to insert all obvious jokes about hoses, etc, here. Har, har.
We've all seen the episode of "Sex and the City" where Samantha sets out to have her fantasy fulfilled of getting it on with a fireman. Personally, I've never been one to get off on vocation scenarios. The job doesn't turn me on. The "outfit" doesn't turn me on (I'm not a uniform fetishist by any means). But I suppose it's safe to assume that most men that pursue that particular profession are very physically masculine ... the job does demand a masculine edge, right? (Before anyone grows offended and thinks I am implying that women don't make good firefighters, just relax. I'm talking about archetypes here.)
I was going through a period of frustration--recently having broken up with a musician. Musicians are not the most masculine men in my book. Even when physically ripped they are such emotional creatures. They spend a lot of time looking in the mirror or wrestling with self-loathing ... or both at once. You can talk philosophy, religion, art and culture with them. They'll write you songs about how you make them feel. They feel. Deeply. Sometimes it is inspiring ... sometimes it's too much. And after the allure wears off you will occasionally find that your musician lover has managed to force you on to their own emotionally manic roller coaster. Where's the virile man who can build things with his hands and throw you over his shoulder? I'll tell you one thing ... he isn't sitting in a dark room writing a song about a girl that broke up with him when he was 17. Sheeesh.
So as you might infer, I was a bit over dating creative types. I wanted a cowboy ... someone who knew how to take care of himself ... and me. Someone who wasn't a crybaby. I think in my own bitter haze I was obsessed with dating men who I thought would never need prozac ... or wear jeans smaller than my own.
Enter the fireman. I met him on a fluke through a job. He was a few years younger than me ... and very handsome. He was of spanish descent and had golden skin ... dark wavy hair ... and rugged good looks. I had watched women throw themselves at him--and I proceeded to do what I usually do when attracted to someone. I ignored him.
I don't think he was used to being ignored. He began a campaign of seeking me out. Waiting at the coffee shop where he knew I'd get my morning coffee. Insisting on sitting with me and chatting. I was amused because he was so obvious ... there was no pretense about this man. He would beam at me and tell me how beautiful I looked, offer to lift heavy things for me, and always opened doors. I watched one afternoon as he jumped to the aid of a man having a heart attack. Turns out he was also trained as a paramedic. Hot. Upon returning to my table after the heroic deed was done, he blushed and insisted it was nothing. And I realized he didn't even KNOW how much more attractive the situation had made him.
I did the girl thing of telling myself he was too young. I enjoyed his attention and flattery and kept finding sly ways of avoiding going on an actual date with him. I forgot that being manly also meant having courage. He called me one night and essentially called me out. "You know I want to take you out." He might be young, but he was man enough to be direct. That deserved a chance in my book.
He was shy all evening. It was adorable seeing this big, muscular man peering sideways at me and grinning like a kid. His dimples were precious. But I liked him better silent. The truth is that we had very little in common and very little to talk about. He had insisted on cooking dinner for me at his apartment. Clever man. Makes it so much easier to get laid.
We ate and drank. A lot. The burden of conversation was entirely on me. But he was such an eager audience that it didn't bother me at the time. I could tell my artistic nature fascinated him--I was like some strange creature to him. He complimented me to the point that it almost became hilarious. Eventually we both realized how late it had become.
He leaned and kissed my cheek ... drifting to my ear to whisper "Please stay." It was the most interesting thing he had said all night.
His eyes were heavy from the alcohol. I leaned forward and kissed him deeply. He had successfully made me feel worshipped all evening ... my willpower was gone.
We made out like school kids on the couch. He joked that he would give me a hickey and when I laughed he took it as a challenge. We wrestled wildly as he pinned me and gave me a junior high sized suck-mark on my neck. I was laughing, but also turned on. He started kissing me hard and I kissed back. He ran his hands up and down the side of my body. I loved the way his large hands grabbed me, clenching on to my ass and upper thighs.
Suddenly, without warning, he stood up and picked me up off the couch in one move. Like a true fireman, he carried me up the stairs.
Once in his bedroom he placed me on his bed. He lay down on top of me and continued to kiss my neck. He kissed down to the space between my breasts and whispered against me "I've been lusting after you since day one. I think you are so perfect." What girl doesn't melt at a compliment like that? Well played, fireman, well played. My shirt came off in seconds. I ripped his off. I finally got to see the abs all the girls were oogling through his uniform t-shirt. They were lovely. But he didn't give me much time to admire him ... he was ripping my bra off and struggling to unbutton my jeans.
He trailed his fingers down into the top of my panties. He began to massage my clit gently. I heard him exhale deeply. I wondered what his cock was doing ... if it was growing in his boxers.
He slipped a finger in and I gasped. I struggled but he firmly held me down. "I'm not letting you get away" he laughed into my ear.
With that he slid down my panties and lowered his face to my pussy. The lights were on. He stared at it for a moment (long enough that I got self conscious--having thoughts like "Oh great. He must prefer completely bald"). He grinned up at me like a kid on Christmas. "I have to take a second and get a good look. I've been wanting this a long time." Whew ... I guess the situation down there met with approval.
He dove in with his tongue and I squealed. He didn't take his time and build momentum ... he just went at it. He lapped at me like a cat and then stiffened his tongue and used it to fuck my opening. I was screaming almost immediately. His roommate was wide awake by now.
It was too much and I begged him to stop. He resisted, but when I told him I needed his cock in my mouth he was off me in seconds. I pushed him onto his back and straddled him. His erection was already huge through his boxes. I slowly pulled them off to reveal a very healthy dick. Standing at full attention it must have been at least 8 and a half inches. His balls were tight and he lay there motionless ... I realized just a breath on him might send him over the edge. This would be fun.
I started with his balls ... lightly licking and nibbling. Swirled my tongue across his perineum. And then out of nowhere sucked the tip of his cock for a mere second. He gasped and tried to reach for me. I shoved his hands away and told him he wasn't allowed to touch me. He grinned and promised he'd try. I slowly took his entire cock into my mouth and pushed it far back into my throat. He moaned and cursed softly. I started slowly drifting up and down the length of his penis. When I would reach the head I would swirl my tongue on it for a moment before pushing his cock quickly back into the recesses of my throat. "FUCK!" he screamed.
I worked his dick for a while before I used my right hand to begin tickling his balls. He was writhing and moaning like a girl. This manly man. Occasionally I would have to push his arms forcibly away and back onto the bed. I was in control.
Suddenly he grabbed my face and took over. "I could have come 13 times by now. But I don't want to yet."
He flipped me over and onto my back. "I have to be inside of you." I was so wet at this point that I was hard pressed to disagree. I could still taste his precum as he positioned himself and pushed his way inside.
It hurt a little ... in a good way. He gasped again as he made it all the way in. I could tell he was fighting the urge to orgasm. He began thrusting ... going slow until his cock was 2/3rds in ... and then slamming into me with the last bit. I couldn't make a sound I was so overwhelmed. I realized he was gazing at me as he thrust and I felt shy. He leaned down and kissed me fervently. He whimpered against me. It felt amazing.
"I want you to do me from behind." I begged. I love being taken in that position. It feels so submissive.
He flipped me over and I found myself on all fours. I felt him gently navigating himself and demanded "GIVE IT TO ME HARD." In a flash he was pounding me. My cervix was taking a beating and I lost my breath as my entire chest exploded into tingles. He pounded away for several minutes while I screamed like a banshee. Then he proclaimed "Oh ... I'm going to come!"
I jerked away and said "No ... not yet." He looked shocked as I threw him back onto the bed and took his cock in my mouth yet again. I worked the shaft violently, echoing the rough thrusts of moments before. He made animal noises and bucked wildly while I gagged on his dick.
"Oh ... God ... Oh ... FUCK ... AHHHHHHHHHH." I ripped my head away just in time for his cum to shoot all over my chest. He wasn't expecting that. I wasn't expecting there to be so much of it. His eyes rolled up in the back of his head and I thought he had passed out.
After I cleaned myself off I lay down behind him--in a spoon. He murmured "That was a dream come true."
I whispered back teasing "What if you found out I used to be a dude?"
He replied "I'd still say that was the best fucking blow job I've ever gotten." The last thing I remember is laughing ... the rest was sleep.