I felt dirty—and not in a good way.
I’d been posing for headshots all morning for one of my many side hustles. At first I felt great, all glammed up for the shoot, but after hours—literally hours—of grinning until my cheeks hurt, I was exhausted. Then, after a quick lunch, I had to dash off to my other gig working as a maid. My best friend was out of the country and renting out her three-bedroom apartment. Could I keep the place looking shipshape between guests while she was gone? Sure—I had rent to make and it seemed like an easy enough way to pocket a quick buck.
But that day, she’d had guests from the seventh circle of hell. I spent hours scrubbing out horrid stains from walls and baseboards and toilets (oh my). When the job was finally done, any trace of the morning’s glamour had disappeared from my face, craggy with sweat and exertion.
I was walking back to my car, dreaming of making sweet, sweet love to my shower, when I passed a dive bar. I could use a stiff drink, so I decided to duck into the darkness to shake off the day.
There wasn’t much to the watering hole, with its minimal decor and even fewer clients, but the bartender knew how to make a great, no-frills cocktail, and that was good enough for me. The old-fashioned was perfectly muddled. That first sip was heaven in a glass, and I closed my eyes in appreciation.
“Looks like that was as good as you had hoped.”
A husky voice broke my grumpy reverie. I fought off a grunt. I didn’t wanna chit-chat. I didn’t wanna be observed. I didn’t even wanna be perceived. My eyes cut over to where the comment came from and, to my surprise, the source was someone I didn’t want to immediately scare away. He was a lanky, blonde hunk of a man with the most disarming smile I had ever seen. I don’t know if it was his kind blue eyes or his easygoing demeanor, but something about him made his initially unwelcome interruption feel less like a cheap come-on and more like the new boy in school genuinely trying to make conversation.
“It’s strong,” I admitted. “That’s what I need today.”
As he took up the stool next to mine, I got a whiff of…Oh, no. Old Spice. I don’t know why, but that scent makes me feral.
“I’m Scott.* Hope you don’t mind me talking to you. My friend I’m staying with had to work tonight, and I don’t know a lot of people around here. I’m surfing my way down the coast, so I’m just in town for a few days.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Surely there are more efficient ways to travel. I hear the train’s nice if you have the time.”
This time, the smile was coupled with a hearty laugh, and it had me melting faster than the whiskey in my tumbler. He had a golden-retriever energy for which my snarl of a mood was no match. Further conversation revealed him to be not only delightfully self-effacing but also charming and whip-smart. His rants about our shared nerdy fandoms gave me time to unwind and take in his hotness without having to come up with an excuse to stare. His friendliness walked that knife-edge of “I could just be chummy, but I could be open to flirting.” I was curious to see which way he’d fall.
“So you mentioned you surf during your off-season,” I offered. “What do you do during your on-season?”
“Well…” Scott hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m a firefighter.”
“No way!” I said, testing the touch barrier as I lightly grabbed his toned forearm for emphasis. “I used to babysit for a firefighting couple back in college. They were totally badass.”
He didn’t shrink away from my touch. Good start. “Really? That’s cool. Yeah, it’s a tough gig. I only do it for part of the year, and they send me off to the big fires. This last year was crazy.”
I slid my hand off Scott’s forearm, landing it right next to his on the bar, so close I could feel the heat coming off his fingers. “Which ones did you work?”
His knuckles grazed mine. “All over the state. I’m not assigned to a station, so they just send me wherever they need me—usually out in the wilderness bordering some town.”
Distracted by my own attraction to him, I half-listened as he listed off a handful of wildfires—until he casually dropped the name of one that had ravaged my hometown, nearly destroying my childhood home.
I felt my voice hitch in my throat. “I grew up near that one.”
Scott’s face grew serious. His hand covered mine.
“My parents still live there,” I continued. “Wh-where did you hold the line?”
I gulped as he mentioned a nature preserve with a very specific, unmistakable name.
“That’s not even a mile from my home.”
He paused. “I was stationed there for three weeks before we got that front fully contained.”
I leaned forward and kissed him. Without thought, without decorum, without a hint of a backup plan. I could smell the shaving cream on his skin. His pillow lips kissed back, and his breath was warm on my cheek.
I pulled back, remembering myself. “Sorry, I—sorry. Thank you. Thank you for saving my home.”
He smiled, and his fingers entwined in mine. “You’re welcome.”
I don’t remember what else we talked about. Frankly, it didn’t matter. What I do remember was that we kept inching closer to each other, knees touching, conversations punctuated by kisses, and hands roving. Then I remembered: I had just made a bed within stumbling distance.
“You wanna get out of here?” I whispered.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
A million and a half thoughts careened through my brain as we walked out of the bar and into the dusky night, the lamplight pooling on the sidewalks. Was I really about to do this? Would my bestie be pissed? Could I pull this off without leaving a trace? Was he even really into me? I looked tore up from the floor up in the bathroom mirror before I left…
“Hey.” Scott’s baritone voice cut through my thoughts. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m great.” I rested against a brick wall, looking past him at the streetlights. “Maybe a little nervous.”
There was that smile again. He moved in closer. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Hmmm. Well, you see—” And he kissed me, deeply and with such passion it felt like a bolt of lightning shot straight down to my crotch. I wrapped a leg around him, not caring that we were out in public, and felt his erection pulsate against me.
Scott cupped my face. “I’ve wanted to kiss you like that since the moment I saw you.”
“Even looking like this? I’ve been cleaning toilet bowls all afternoon.”
He shook his head. “You looked gorgeous. Maybe tousled. But closed-off. Not that you’re, like, intimidating, but that I was intimidated, and that’s my own thing to work on, but I was…‘captivated,’ I guess, is the right word…?”
Guess he was nervous too. It was endearing. And hot as fuck.
“Scott?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and kiss me again.”
Moments later, I was fumbling with keys to the front door, trying to concentrate while Scott nuzzled my neck, doing his best to make my knees buckle. As soon as the door gave way, he hurled me over his shoulder in a fireman lift and we went barreling into the apartment, laughing. I do love a man who can toss me around like a rag doll.
He threw me down onto the bed. Within seconds, we stripped down to underwear and started exploring—lips finding lips, moans cut off by kisses, hands traversing over new landscapes of skin and delighting in everything they found.
Scott stripped off his boxers and, well, the bulge I’d felt out in the street was as gorgeous as I’d imagined it. He really was an Adonis, from head to toe.
“Hey.” He looked up at me as he rolled on a condom. “Are you open to doing something a little kinky?”
“What did you have in mind?”
He settled back down between my legs, ready to enter me but waiting. I pushed back some of his blonde hair from his forehead. “How do you feel about breath play?” he asked.
My eyebrows shot up. “You want me to choke you?”
“Just a little.” He pulled my hand up to his mouth and kissed every finger pad, then gently guided it to his stubbly throat and placed it in a certain position. “Close in with your finger pads, not pushing with your palm. Just a little. It feels incredible. I’ll tap your shoulder twice if it’s too much. Sound good?”
Was this really happening? Was I really about to choke out this stranger, this man who had saved my childhood home?
“Tell me when you’re ready,” I said.
He pushed in to the hilt and I gasped at his girth. I brought my other hand down to rub my clit while he thrusted, our eyes locked. I felt the familiar build within my body, climbing and climbing.
“Now,” Scott murmured. “Squeeze. Gently.”
I did as he commanded, feeling the slight resistance and pulse of the arteries under my fingers. He groaned—not out of pain but pure pleasure. It shocked me how aroused I felt, this newfound power coursing through my body like a thin flame. I felt almost dizzy with it.
With a buck, I flipped us over so I was on top, my torso still close to him, my other hand still hard at work on my clit. I released my fingers for a moment so he could have a break, then applied them again, a hair harder this time. Scott’s hands grabbed my ass and pushed him deeper into me with every thrust. I felt giddy watching his eyes roll back into his head, smiling with reckless abandon.
“Fuck,” he uttered. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
I bore down and rode him harder, the bed shaking, his face getting redder and redder until it seized and a howl of joy escaped him. I let go of his throat, and the sight of his orgasm sent me over the edge. I came so hard, my thighs were shaking.
As I collapsed into the firefighter’s arms—slick with sweat, satisfied, every nerve ending aflame with bliss—I felt just the right kind of dirty.
*Name has been changed.
This story features a sexual encounter that includes choking—a form of breath play, which, like all sex acts, carries certain risks. You can read more about the specific risks of breath play here.
Jennie Roberson is a comedic actor and screenwriter currently living in Los Angeles. She also writes and conducts interviews for Bisexual.org. When she’s not busy writing the next Great Queer American Novel, you can find her bingeing Star Trek, kicking ass at her local axe-throwing league, or dreaming of her future cat army.
