My name is Sam. Iâm a firefighter. As the city was in the grips of an arsonist, I found my destiny. I wasnât looking for it, but I donât think anyone ever is. I knew I was gay, really understood what it meant, when I was thirteen. I remember looking through the big holiday catalogs when I was younger than that, looking for toys and finding the menâs underwear section and staring, enjoying what I saw. I didnât understand what I felt though. But when I was thirteen, it all changed. I was with a friend; we spent the summer discovering the wonders of love. But the following year, during Labor Day weekend, Jake was killed in a boating accident. He was gone and I spent the rest of my time alone. No one wanted to play like Jake did. Okay, I was afraid of rejection and ridicule.
I graduated from high school and entered college. While there I fucked for the first time. He was a slut, but I was horny. I used a condom and fucked him rough. He was loose and he had greased himself up before I got there. From that point forward, I chose to have discreet encounters. I didnât kiss and I never bottomed or forgot a condom. While in college, I became a volunteer in the fire department. When I graduated, I joined the force full time. I moved up the ranks, being known as fearless. I did my job and enjoyed it.
Unfortunately, I wasnât out to my coworkers. These men, and a few women, are your family. You must trust them with your life and accept that they trust you with theirs. But I couldnât tell them I was gay. I wasnât ashamed, but I kept it a secret. If I had been out before I started work, maybe I would have been open to them. But I donât know. I stood in the showers with them and I noticed them, but they were my coworkers, not items of desire. I had a few personal rules about whom I sleep with: no one at work, and no wedding rings. I never understood how anyone could be both gay and married. Wedding vows are sacred, even if I will never get to say them.
Only one of my coworkers did I look at twice. His name was Bill. He was thirty-three and married. He and his wife had seven kids. He was handsome, very quiet, and one of the hardest workers I have ever met. He was a friend and my mentor. I loved him like a brother and would gladly lay down my life for him. But what made me look at him was his manner with his wife. Whenever the two of them were together, it was as if everything else faded. They knew where the other was in a room. There was always a gentle touch or kiss. They looked in each otherâs eyes and you wanted to look away because it felt like you were intruding on something very personal and intimate. When I would see him, I knew he never, ever cheated on her. A few of the other guys were like that, content and happy with their wives.
I wasnât open about it, but I do get out from time to time. My hand did okay for a few weeks, a couple of months. But sometimes I needed to be with someone every once in a while. So I would head out to the lone gay bar in town. I would hang out for a bit and then make a move. I never forget a face and I never went home with the same guy twice. Once at their place, I would go at it all night if I wanted, but I would leave before dawn. One of the arsonistâs first targets was the bar I hung out at. So after a few weeks, I ended up at the bar that most of the firefighters hang out at. It was called âOâ Toolesâ and was started by a firefighter forced to retire due to burns and injuries. He left it to his nephew when he died. Unfortunately, the nephew died a few years ago, leaving it to someone who no one ever saw. I do go there for parties and celebrations with the crew, but that night, all I wanted was a few drinks.
While sitting there, drinking quietly at the bar, I saw him. He was tending bar away from me, but there was something about him. I didnât think it was his looks, maybe the way he carried himself, but I could tell he was attracted to me. We did the silent flirting that two people tend to do. I watched him pour drinks, but his eyes were seldom away from mine. I sat there and cataloged him. He was about five-eleven and had black hair. His dark eyes and luscious, full lips were always smiling. His hair was short, wavy and a little spiky. He was beautiful. His olive skin hinted at ancestors kissed by the Mediterranean sun. I kept thinking more and more erotic thoughts about him.
I decided to step up the seduction and polished off my drink and signaled for another. While fixing it, he talked to me. Turns out his nameâs Max. He owns the bar, had for the past few years, but didnât work there until recently. He was a chef and usually worked in the kitchen but was covering for the regular bartender. We chatted and talked, shared a few coy laughs. We decided to head out to his place.
I drove, following Max. We ended up at an apartment complex. It was five stories, and had twenty units to it, four per floor. Max was on four, at the end. Once inside, Max became nervous. Not enough to ask me to leave, but enough that I slowed things down. He fixed us something to eat. It was a mixture of bacon and cheese on top of crackers. It was hot and spicy and tasted delicious. He was an amazing cook obviously. I didnât want to hear the small talk; I just wanted a fuck. But, I could pull back and make nice.
I found out Max and his former partner took over the bar from his uncle. Max worked in a restaurant downtown that I had heard of, but never went to. When Maxâ partner, John, died in a car accident, Max inherited the bar. He didnât go near it for the first couple of years after he died, but he decided to go for it. I admired the courage to give up a well-liked, good paying job and devote yourself to someone elseâs dream. I told him so and he smiled, relaxed like he hadnât been able to before. Now was the time, he was ready.
