About a year ago, I made a significant career change by joining the fire department. I was previously stuck in a dead-end job and growing increasingly frustrated. My best friend, who was already working at the fire department and loving it, encouraged me to make the switch. While I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy the high-stakes environment of a big city fire department, our rural setting offered a different experience. We don’t have towering skyscrapers or industrial parks filled with hazardous chemicals; the tallest building around is a five-story Holiday Inn near the interstate. The risks are lower, and the camaraderie is strong—we often find excuses to gather as a station for morale-building events about once a month.
My friend invited me to a Super Bowl party at the station, and luckily, there were no emergency calls that night. It felt like being back in a college frat house, with about 20 guys hanging out, watching the game, and getting rowdy. Some of the guys even drew straws to stay sober in case of a real emergency. The next day, I signed up for firefighter training, and before I knew it, I was officially a smoke eater.
The job isn’t always easy. We take risks and witness heartbreaking scenes, like families losing their homes to fires. But we’re there to help as much as we can. A public service announcement: always keep a fire extinguisher in your kitchen! Most of our calls involve stereotypical scenarios like rescuing cats from trees. Just the other day, we had to cut a kid’s head out of a bannister after he got stuck. The dad was furious, but seriously, teach your kids some common sense!
The best calls, though, are what we jokingly refer to as “Lonely Housewife Visits.” It’s a bit of a fire department secret, but what happens in the firehouse stays in the firehouse. Sometimes these calls involve genuine fears or actual problems, but often, they’re just women left alone at night, their imaginations running wild. You’d be surprised how often we’re greeted at the door by a MILF in a negligee. It sounds like something out of a Pornhub video, but I swear it happens.
When these calls come in, we draw straws. The winner takes the captain’s truck to check things out. If there’s a real emergency, he calls for backup; otherwise, he has an hour to “sort things out” before returning. At worst, it’s a chance to get out of the firehouse, take a drive, and maybe grab a free donut. At best, it’s an opportunity to, well, you get the idea.
The thing is, I usually hope I lose the draw. None of the guys know this, but I’m gay. My high school “sweetheart” and I have an arrangement—she wears my engagement ring to keep people from asking questions. Being engaged doesn’t stop the lonely housewives, though, especially our repeat customers. A few days ago, I “won” the lottery.
The caller was a young guy staying at a B&B across town. For once, all the guys were hoping to lose, and I thought I’d lost when I won. I didn’t expect to find a cute twink in a terry cloth robe claiming he “smelled smoke,” when there was clearly a leaf fire burning in the backyard across the street. Obviously, he was new to the game. But who was I to complain? I had an hour to enjoy some tight twink action, and those chances don’t come around often in our small town.
He gave me the look, and I was clearly the first responder he was hoping for. After a quick gesture of “looking around,” he lay back on the bed and said, “You don’t have to go… if you don’t want to.” Well, I sure as hell didn’t want to go. Next thing I knew, I had him lying on the bed, his head hanging off the edge as I throat-fucked him. It was like something straight out of a porn movie. I rolled him over, ate out his furry hole, and slid my cock in. He was tight and hot, but this was one five-alarm fire I could handle on my own.
Fun Size Boys
DEX Chapter 3 – Surprise Visit
About a year ago, I made a significant career change by joining the fire department. I was previously stuck in a dead-end job and growing increasingly frustrated. My best friend, who was already working at the fire department and loving it, encouraged me to make the switch. While I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy the high-stakes environment of a big city fire department, our rural setting offered a different experience. We don’t have towering skyscrapers or industrial parks filled with hazardous chemicals; the tallest building around is a five-story Holiday Inn near the interstate. The risks are lower, and the camaraderie is strong—we often find excuses to gather as a station for morale-building events about once a month.
My friend invited me to a Super Bowl party at the station, and luckily, there were no emergency calls that night. It felt like being back in a college frat house, with about 20 guys hanging out, watching the game, and getting rowdy. Some of the guys even drew straws to stay sober in case of a real emergency. The next day, I signed up for firefighter training, and before I knew it, I was officially a smoke eater.
The job isn’t always easy. We take risks and witness heartbreaking scenes, like families losing their homes to fires. But we’re there to help as much as we can. A public service announcement: always keep a fire extinguisher in your kitchen! Most of our calls involve stereotypical scenarios like rescuing cats from trees. Just the other day, we had to cut a kid’s head out of a bannister after he got stuck. The dad was furious, but seriously, teach your kids some common sense!
The best calls, though, are what we jokingly refer to as “Lonely Housewife Visits.” It’s a bit of a fire department secret, but what happens in the firehouse stays in the firehouse. Sometimes these calls involve genuine fears or actual problems, but often, they’re just women left alone at night, their imaginations running wild. You’d be surprised how often we’re greeted at the door by a MILF in a negligee. It sounds like something out of a Pornhub video, but I swear it happens.
When these calls come in, we draw straws. The winner takes the captain’s truck to check things out. If there’s a real emergency, he calls for backup; otherwise, he has an hour to “sort things out” before returning. At worst, it’s a chance to get out of the firehouse, take a drive, and maybe grab a free donut. At best, it’s an opportunity to, well, you get the idea.
The thing is, I usually hope I lose the draw. None of the guys know this, but I’m gay. My high school “sweetheart” and I have an arrangement—she wears my engagement ring to keep people from asking questions. Being engaged doesn’t stop the lonely housewives, though, especially our repeat customers. A few days ago, I “won” the lottery.
The caller was a young guy staying at a B&B across town. For once, all the guys were hoping to lose, and I thought I’d lost when I won. I didn’t expect to find a cute twink in a terry cloth robe claiming he “smelled smoke,” when there was clearly a leaf fire burning in the backyard across the street. Obviously, he was new to the game. But who was I to complain? I had an hour to enjoy some tight twink action, and those chances don’t come around often in our small town.
He gave me the look, and I was clearly the first responder he was hoping for. After a quick gesture of “looking around,” he lay back on the bed and said, “You don’t have to go… if you don’t want to.” Well, I sure as hell didn’t want to go. Next thing I knew, I had him lying on the bed, his head hanging off the edge as I throat-fucked him. It was like something straight out of a porn movie. I rolled him over, ate out his furry hole, and slid my cock in. He was tight and hot, but this was one five-alarm fire I could handle on my own.