I used to think firemen were sexy

firefighterI used to think firefighting was such a hot profession. No pun intended.

Ok, pun intended.

Firefighters are heroic figures. They rush into danger against an ancient foe.

Fire is so powerful we created a mythology around how humans learned to harness its power. Prometheus the fire-bringer, punished by Zeus for sharing a divine gift without permission.

Flames attract and repel. Who hasn’t stared mesmerized into a fire, gotten as close as you could to its heat? Waved your finger through a candle’s flame? Fantasized about walking on hot coals?

Is it any wonder that firefighters command an almost universal awe?

Decked out in their heavy gear, in the Darth Vader-esque breathing mask, the oxygen tanks, the axe, the boots, they stride – no, they rush – bravely into danger.

Then my cousin joined the ranks of volunteer fire fighters.

Wait, no, not my cousin! Not the little snot who used to beat me up. Who pulled my hair, tattled on me, and refused to let me be the seeker in hide-and-seek. If he could be a fireman, maybe they weren’t so hot after all.

I used to think firemen were so hot. For a while, my illusions were shattered. And then, I met his new best friend, Gordon, at a fundraiser.

Gordon had been the cover model for their “Men of Fire” calendar two years in a row. Rock hard abs. Biceps with those veins that pop out… Ohhh, that always makes my toes curl. I wanted to do chin ups on his outstretched arm, peek at him over those muscular hillocks and flutter my eyelashes.

He was single. Wonderfully, blessedly single. I got the story from my cousin. Gordon’s girlfriend had dumped him two months before. For a policeman.

Her loss, my gain.

We hit it off right away. How could we not? Me, all a-twitter. Him, hungry for a bit of feminine solace. We burned up the sheets that night, and several nights thereafter. Knowing he could be called out for a fire at any time made our sex hotter.

Eventually, we fizzled. Fire does, when left to its own devices. Even the biggest blaze dies when starved of fuel. Gordon had a full-time job as a plumber, and a nearly full-time job as a volunteer fire fighter. We also had little in common, other than the magical combustion that occurred with proximity.

A good man, Gordon. And a sexy firefighter. A man with the need to save others – whether their clogged pipes, or their lives.  I wish him well.

I used to think fire fighters were hot. I still do.

I used to think firemen were sexy © 2016 by Devi Ansevi.

Written in response to writing prompt 100 from http://creativewritingprompts.com/. The prompt: Write for 10 minutes, using “I used to think that…” as a starter. True confession: I wrote for 25 minutes. Then spent a few minutes finding an image and editing. Still, only 37 minutes from “challenge accepted” to “publish post.” Comments welcome!

Featured image courtesy of potowizard at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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