Heat Index

Gail Galloway's face was even redder than her hair. She had accidentally hit an extra 0 on the microwave, setting the popcorn to 30 minutes, before rushing back to finish her article on the new summer-movie season for Apple magazine. Had it not been for Angela Morris seeing the flames shoot out of the Sanyo, the entirety of Apple's Brooklyn offices would have been done for.

The microwave was ruined-and Gail would be responsible for replacing it-but the New York Fire Department gave Apple's staff the all-clear to return after an hour, determining that the fire had not spread, and that the fumes didn't pose a severe risk. Gail went to thank the firefighters personally, and apologized for causing the problem in the first place.

The firefighters seemed annoyed, except for one. "Ah, don't worry about it, ma'am," said Kenneth Griffin of Engine 16, Ladder 1. "It's what we do."

"And you do it so well!"

"What?"

Gail's face got red again. Her thick Glasgow accent was hard enough to understand, but when she spoke excitedly, it was virtually impossible to make out what she was saying. Oh shit, she thought. He probably thought I told him that he can go to hell!

Gail repeated her words slowly, and Kenneth smiled. Gail smiled back. How ironic, she thought. I'm writing about movies, and I meet a guy who looks like Idris Elba's twin brother.

"We appreciate all that you do," Gail said very slowly.

"Well, thanks, ma'am, and have a nice day."

Gail couldn't get Kenneth out of her mind. She had been living in New York for about five years, and had never met a man, black or white, who was as handsome. Was he single, she thought? What if he's with someone? Is he happy with her?

Gail's thoughts kept drifting back to the firefighter for over a week. She came up with the idea of thanking him again personally at his firehouse. Yet she had second thoughts; wouldn't it be awkward if she showed up there?

Her mind went back and forth. He wouldn't be interested in me, would he? I'm 42 and I don't think he's anywhere close to 30. What if he's not into women, or white women?

Gail finally pushed the doubts out of her mind. It wouldn't be that difficult to find out where he lived, would it? she thought. I'll just go to where he lives and thank him. I've got to see that gorgeous guy again.

Gail found out that Kenneth had received a special honor from the mayor two years before for rescuing three children from a fire. He was just 26 when he received it-a fact that made Gail a little depressed. She decided that shaving a few years off her age wasn't all that bad-guys do it all the time, right? Some dates had assumed she was in her mid-30s, so she decided she would tell him she was 35 if he asked.

Gail finally tracked down Kenneth's address, and was surprised to learn that he also lived in Brooklyn, in an apartment just a few blocks away from hers. On a Sunday afternoon two weeks after the popcorn fire, she paid him a visit. Before she did, she stepped into a CVS to buy a thank-you card.

Kenneth was surprised to hear her voice on his intercom, and buzzed her in. She knocked on the door of apartment 308 and greeted him with a huge smile.

"I just wanted to thank you again," she said, handing him the card. "You really saved my life."

"Ah, don't mention it," he replied, his warm brown eyes connecting with her pale blue ones. "Hey, come on in!"

As Gail walked into Kenneth's apartment, she was surprised to see how plain it was. It was neat-far neater than the residences of the other American men she had met-but the walls were completely bare, except for two mirrors and a flat-screen TV.

"You could use some decorating," she said.

"If I only had time!"

"Good point!"

Gail walked into his bedroom and asked him how long he had been a firefighter. Kenneth said he had been with the FDNY for four years, and that his dad had been a firefighter as well. Gail smiled and noted that she, too, was continuing a family tradition, as her parents were both journalists in Glasgow.

Gail felt a little depressed again when Kenneth mentioned that he had talked to Angela before he left the day of the fire, and that Angela had mentioned her age in passing. So much for that, she thought, trying to figure out a way to leave.

Then, Kenneth told her that she didn't look 42 at all-that she looked much younger, in fact. "I'm sure you still get carded!"

"Uh, yeah, I do, once or twice!"

"Gail, I guess I shouldn't mention this, but you look terrific-you must have some great Scottish genes!"

"Ah, well..."

Kenneth suddenly stood up. He was fully erect. A different sort of hose, Gail thought, trying to keep a smile from her face.

"Look, I know you're probably married, but if you weren't I'd ask you out."

Did he just say that? Gail thought.

"I'm-I'm not married."

"No boyfriend?"

"No."

"Would you like to have one?"

Kenneth smiled and removed his shirt. He was unbelievably muscular, with his smooth dark skin covering his luscious abs. Gail looked at his shortly-cropped black hair, his bright smile, his shiny earring. Oh my God, Gail thought, he really wants to fuck me.

Gail quietly removed her blouse and bra, exposing her small breasts and erect nipples to him. Kenneth aggressively marched over to her and kissed her tits.

"Love these fuckin' redheads, man," Kenneth muttered. "So fuckin' beautiful!"

Gail put her pale, freckled arms around Kenneth's black, broad back and kissed him. She removed his pants to caress his rigid cock before reaching into her purse for a pack of extra-large condoms, which she had purchased at CVS along with the card.

It took a bit of effort for Gail and Kenneth to get the condom around his oak cock, but once she did so she fucked him furiously. She loved being on top of him and feeling his big cock filling her little pussy to capacity as his dark hand felt on her fair breast. Kenneth seemed to get more aroused the longer they fucked; he lustily bent her over to fuck her ass, licked her pussy with insane fervor, and groped as much of her pale flesh as he could. He couldn't stop complementing her hair, her eyes, her face, her freckles, her neck, her shoulders; he kept telling her she looked like a movie star and a model, and that wanted to keep fucking her until his dick was numb.

By the time they were done, Gail was thoroughly exhausted, and knew she would not make it into work the next day. She woke up at 3am the next morning to find Kenneth still horny as hell, masturbating furiously on the floor, his cum splashing onto her white bra and pink panties. As he kissed and smelled her semen-stained underwear, his dick seemed to swell yet again.

"Oh God," he whispered, now looking directly at her pale, prone form on the bed. "I fucking love you. All right? I fucking love you."

"Me too," she replied, not knowing if he meant that he truly loved her, or just loved fucking her.

"Look, can I ask you to..."

"What?" she whispered.

Kenneth darted over to a drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. "Can you...can you cut off a lock of your hair for me?"

Gail sat up. "Wait, what?"

"Please!" Kenneth begged. "Look, your hair is fucking beautiful. I love redheads-my first girlfriend was a redhead. You remind me of Julianne Moore-but you're fucking hotter than Julianne Moore! I always want to remember tonight, and your hair looks so beautiful-it smells so beautiful. Please! I'll get down on my knees and beg if I have to!"

Gail thought that Kenneth's request was a little weird. Then, she thought of what it would be like to have this big-dicked black man-the man who had spent himself pleasing her the night before-beating off with a lock of her red Scottish hair in his free hand, smelling it, kissing it, caressing it, groaning as he came...and she figured it wouldn't be so bad. She gestured for the scissors and gave him another big smile.