The Fire Has Gone Out With The Fireman

Here’s how I know that The Fireman and I will not be sustaining a long and fulfilling relationship:

Five minutes after arriving, he began telling me of his “Latina” phase. Apparently, he is now into women of the Hispanic persuasion. Hi, have we met? I’m a 19 foot tall blonde. Thanks, Jackass.

He only brought one bottle of wine.

He spent 12 minutes discussing his previous night’s date where he spent $50 at the movies and didn’t get laid yet decided that he couldn’t forgo $10 to get another bottle of vino for me…even knowing that I WOULD be putting out.

I started playing on Twitter while he was talking.

He seemed slightly annoyed when I managed to rip his belt in half while trying to get it off of him. (I don’t mess around when I’m trying to get into a man’s pants. If I feel it’s taking too long, clothes will be torn and belts broken. That’s just the risk you take)

Since he wouldn’t let me sleep at 1:30 in the morning, I made him go out to buy me more wine because I realized he was only bearable if I’m intoxicated.

He tried to order a hamburger with a side of tits at the Jack In The Box drive through on our way back from getting alcohol.

He bit me.

I found myself rolling my eyes several times when he wasn’t looking and even contemplated if it was too late to go ask the neighbors if I could borrow their duck tape. At midnight.

He tried to stick his dick into my wine glass to get my attention since I found an old episode of Criminal Minds more entertaining than his thoughts of self realization and his need to acquiesce to the demands of family and friends to settle down and find a “good” woman.

All in all, this evening I just described can best be summed up as an “I shaved for this?” kind of evening. The conversation was dull and the sex mediocre at best.

I didn’t even bother with the morning sex. I got dressed and sat on the couch to wait for him to wake up. Walking him to his car was the highlight of the whole experience.

I’d once been told that if I were a bitch, I’d be nicer. I’m inclined to agree.

The Fireman (Part 3)

My entire body aches. My legs hurt. My arms hurt. My back hurts. Even my hair hurts.

Why?

Because I had The Fireman over Saturday night, that’s why.

Remember me telling you that I wasn’t as worried about him not writing me back as I was about him actually writing me back? I was right.

The moment I saw those 87” inch biceps and broad shoulders I knew there was going to be some serious fucking going on. Considering the dry spell I’d been having I had a lot to make up for. It’s been nearly two months since I’ve had my insides tickled and frankly I had some needs that needed to be taken care of.

The Fireman arrived at my place rather late on Saturday night. He’d had to work so I excused the tardiness. I should have had him wear his uniform over. Now that would have been HOT. I did, after all, have my own fire that needed putting out.

He picked me up and we decided to go out for a few bottles of wine. The only place open was a CVS so with the rest of the late nighters and half drunk assholes coming in from the closing bars we headed to the alcohol department. It was at this time I realized one unfortunate trait owned by The Fireman.

He was a loud talker.

Up and down the aisles he proceeded to tell me about crazy nights that included himself and mass quantities of Hennessy. As if it wasn’t bad enough that we were shopping for cheap wine at 1 in the morning, we (meaning he) were actually louder than the drunken idiots in there trying to act sober. The only difference being that we were actually sober. I found myself lowering my voice and then actually not talking in hopes that he would follow my lead. No such luck. The only highlight as I tried to distance myself from Lil Wayne was getting the chance to walk behind the hot loud talker and take full stock of what I was about to see disrobed and panting within the hour.

Of course, at this time of the evening CVS only employs checkers that are incapable of ringing people up and/or reading so we had to wait 15 minutes while Mr. CVS Checkout guy rang up a pack of gum. Just enough time for The Fireman to continue his stories of debauchery and to give me a chance to hear his Transformers ringtone. Correction, give the entire store enough time to hear of his stories and ringtone.

Once out in the parking lot, I began to breathe again knowing that we wouldn’t be sharing our business with the entire town.

We got back to my place and made ourselves cozy. We talked, laughed, drank lots of wine and generally had a very nice time. With the wine finished and morning approaching we got down to business.

In those next few hours, Mr. Fireman more than made up for the loud talking. He knew how to handle his business and riding that black stallion was worthy of Penthouse Forum. Just as I’d predicted, we were quite compatible and there was nothing left to the imagination. Any dry spell that I was having was completely quenched and we quickly fell asleep in a sweaty mess on top of the covers.

We slept in the next morning and I awoke to my head on his broad chest with his huge arm around me. A little groggy from the wine and late night erotica we gave round two a go before him getting ready to leave. As much as I wanted to chain him to my bed for all of eternity I let him leave about noon so he could drive back to his hood and do the things he had left undone in the few hours he had left before heading to work again.

He may not be relationship material but then again, I’ve come to the conclusion that I may not be either. However, with the sexual chemistry we both had he has definitely made his way to the front of my little black book. I won’t be going out with him in public due to his loud talking ways but rest assured, he can make as much noise as he wants when he’s behind the closed doors of my Den of Iniquity.

The Fireman (Part 2)

Fireman Update:

Less than a day after sending The Fireman my eloquently crafted email I received a response from him. I grabbed myself a bottle of water and braced myself for what this perfect specimen of a man had to say:

“You are too funny Melisa! I just read your profile and your a woman version of me! Hey what can I say were both sagittarius! I'm pretty sure we can reak sum havok upon this world! I'm a wild child, love my hennessy and I love sex too! Give me holla back when u get this message!
-The Fireman”

Okay, he’s not going to be winning any Pulitzer Prize Awards but at least he spelled my name right. Upon reading this message I knew I was in trouble. Just as I explained in my earlier post, he and I together have the potential to be nothing short of explosive. Call it my sixth sense, call it my woman’s intuition, call it what you will but I just had the feeling that having us two fire signs in the same proximity would make it a good thing he was already a trained firefighter.

Without wasting any time, I gave him my number. If this guy was truly for real, I wanted a piece of him. He called right away. We discussed all the usual topics in this first conversation in the limited time we had since he was on his way out. Turns out he lived about 3 miles from being in a rap song so it looked as if we would be meeting in my neck of the woods. I have no desire to be some random shooting statistic. Being in school and working for the LA County Fire Dept. full time I was already getting a sense that finding a time convenient for us to meet was going be a little difficult.

After that…

I got bored.

Yep, I’ll say it again. I got bored. It’s as if the excitement of the chase was over. He was my unicorn and now he was within reach. But something about knowing he was too busy for anything substantial turned me off. I’ve played the game in the past where I had to be “fit into” somebody else’s schedule. I may not be furthering my education or rescuing kittens from trees but my time is valuable none the less.

The following Friday night at 10pm we had this little text message exchange:

Him: Hey r u out?

Me: Just got home

Him: Ok, now you gotta come to my home and see me! Lol (Yeah no, that’s not going to happen. I won’t be visiting 8 Mile anytime soon)

Him: Hey, I just got off work and I’m a lil wired! Haha

Me: I just got home and I’m a lil tired! Haha

After that, he called me. Still trying to talk me into meeting up he began to inquire more about my location. But, face washed, teeth brushed and PJ’s on there was no way I was having company. I guess nobody can accuse me of being desperate. I don’t care who you are. If I’m tired and comfortable chances are I’m not going anywhere.

This is where he lost me. Upon discussing my recent move, he let it be known that my place wasn’t fully a home unless it had been “broken in”. I happen to agree with this statement but there was going to be no breaking in done this evening. He continued to enlighten me on his sexual prowess and open mindedness. I got the full picture of how “open minded” this guy was when he mentioned a swingers club he used to frequent with his ex.

Sure, I’m a little bit of a freak and I have a very healthy appetite when it comes to sex. If it’s been longer than a month I start to go into withdrawals. I get cranky and try to hump just about anything that crosses my path. I start imagining weather forecasters in the nude. It gets really bad. But even I was a little surprised at his bravado. I was even a little intimidated which says a lot considering I certainly have no problems holding my own under the sheets.

In my last entry I made mention of keeping him all to myself in my bedroom but those were my own personal thoughts. I did not mention my plans for his captivity to him so for him to immediately jump into the deep end of this conversation left me feeling a little bored and unimpressed.

Perhaps, deep down I was hoping for something more substantial than just another notch on my bedpost. That just doesn’t excite me anymore. It’s too easy. The real turn on for me these days is to actually find somebody who can make me laugh and have something more meaningful to say other than trying to guess my bra size. But, it looks like that’s not going to happen with this fellow.

I’ll probably end up meeting him just out of curiosity. I do still have my needs but as far as him being my white knight I don’t think that’s a role he’s going to be able to fill.

The Fireman

“So, I hooked up with a fireman last night. But he had a really big head.”

“They all do, Mel.”

“No, really. He literally had a big head!”

I met “The Fireman” off of Craigslist. When it came to “The Fireman” there really were only three things that stood out about him. One of which, as you probably guessed, was his abnormally large cranium. The second was his attempt at dirty talk. At one point, being so ridiculous that I wanted to wrap his overly sized skull in duct tape just to shut him up. And last but not least, his general use of the backhand which I will explain later. But, he was hung like a horse and it was a welcome distraction from my ordinary, mundane existence and lack of a fulfilling sex life.

The idea of a 9” cock excited me. Turning down a well hung fireman was out of the question. Especially considering that I was having somewhat of a dry spell. Any ordinary booty call was not going to suffice. The arrangements were made and the plan was set into motion. We had talked at length before and I had already seen a few pictures of him and although he was no George Clooney he was far from the Elephant Man. Being as I was not all that attracted to him and was not looking for any strings, the nervousness that usually accompanied a first blind date were not there. After all, this wasn’t really a date. I couldn’t have cared less about what he thought of me and that freedom was refreshing.

“The Fireman” showed up and I ran down to the lobby to greet him. For once, here was a man that had not lied about his height. Just as promised, he was 6’1”. But, being as I was more interested in him horizontally, this refreshing bit of honesty was a moot point. After all, laying down we are all the same height. Aside from that, he reminded me of a Basset Hound. He had sad dog eyes and the most enormous head I’d ever seen. If he hadn’t been so tall and lean it probably wouldn’t have been so noticeable. Or maybe it would have. It was that big. How had I not noticed this in the pictures I’d seen?

Once inside my apartment we made ourselves some drinks. We made idle chit chat while working towards a good buzz. It was fascinating how he was able to litter our conversation about work and family with references of my naked body and his sexual prowess. I considered it truly an art form how he was able to weave my tits into every other sentence. At one point, I think I was actually getting a little jealous of my girls.

Upon “The Fireman’s” arrival, he had brought some supplies. Kudos to safe sex. I wasn’t aware that his Sav-On Bag O’ Goodies would include more than the Magnums he had promised. While working on round two of our drinks I asked for the cigarettes he had purchased on his way over. He told me they were in “the bag”. I went to survey the contents of “the bag” looking for my cancer sticks. Condoms, check. Lube, check. Cock-ring, che….Uhm, yeah. That’s right, no cigarettes.

There are only three reasons I can think of for a man to have brought a cock-ring. First being the ability to make him last longer and avoid the awkward pre coital “oops”. But from hearing him speak, that would not be a problem. Words like “several hours” and “multiple” were often used when trying to sell me the idea of us hooking up. Honestly, several hours is just too damn long for me to be pretending I’m Jenna Jameson. I top out at about 30 minutes and I like to be able to walk the next day. Call me crazy.

Secondly (and I may be wrong here), using such a device is supposed to add some girth to the male member. Considering that he was already sporting Trojan Magnums I figured that wasn’t the reason either. And thirdly, he must be gay. I certainly wasn’t getting any gay vibes so I was slightly confused. I asked him about it. His excuse? That he’d left it in that bag from a previous encounter and had just grabbed the bag to put his love gloves in on his way over. I thought it strange that he just happened to have a bag lying around his place with a cock-ring in it but I opted not to delve any further into that line of conversation. I’m all about toys (for me) and I may be considered naïve by some but something about seeing a man wearing a cock-ring reminds me of Gay porn. And frankly, that is definitely not my cup of tea.

Once he assured me he wouldn’t be wearing his nifty device “unless I wanted him to” we got back to our evening. Things steadily progressed from there because frankly, I was bored of the innuendos and was ready for him to show me how good he was with directions. We went to my bedroom and began the horizontal mambo. Aside from a desperate need to manscape, he was just as expected. I didn’t notice the curvature right away due to the size but it would become painfully obvious later that because of that curvature I wouldn’t be having any fun on my back. So, right into doggy style I went.

Things were going quite well until he tried his own version of what I can only consider reflexology. He proceeded to bend my leg so that he was holding my foot up by his side. No big deal, I’m limber. He then began to slap the arch of my foot with the back of his hand. Repeatedly. He didn’t even have the decency to switch feet. I’m not sure what my left foot did to deserve such a beating but “The Fireman” seemed to feel it necessary. Combine that with his attempt at dirty talk and I almost asked him to leave so he wouldn’t hear me laughing while he was trying to be sexy and in control.

Now, I’m all for a little dirty talk while doing the nasty. A well timed “How do you like that?”, “Does that feel good?”, “Harder, faster” and “Mmmmm” will usually suffice. Just don’t call me “momma”, “mommy”, “ma” or any form of mother because that just creeps me out. I found it amusing when he asked me “how I liked his big brown cock”. I thought it hysterical when he asked “how I liked his big brown, half Persian, half Italian cock”. All the while keeping the rhythm with his physical assault of my left foot. First off, his phrases were entirely too long. When implementing the art of dirty talk, less is more. Keep it simple. If I had wanted him to recite his dissertation I would have had him do it before we got naked. Plus, it just wasn’t sexy coming from Mr. Potato Head. I felt half inclined to ask him how he liked my “quarter English, quarter French, half Slavic, American pink pussy” but I held my tongue not wanting to get into a conversation about ethnicity.

Luckily for me, after round one, the fireman got called into work and I didn’t have to be tortured with three hours of dirty talk about his half breed penis. Since then he’s made several attempts at trying to get together again but unless he has laryngitis I’m not interested. I also still get the occasional, out of the blue, random text asking “you don’t want a big throbbing cock pounding?” Yeeeeeaaaah, No. I’m all for a big cock but a throbbing one? That’s just gross. Isn’t there something he can take for that? Penicillin perhaps? And are there any ladies that actually respond to that shit? For me, that’s JUST...NOT…SEXY!