by Naomi Niles
I turned my back first and started toward the slab, but then I did my share of grumbling.
“Were you saying something?” he called to me, knowing very well I was muttering beneath my breath.
“Oh, no, not saying a word. I’m here to serve.” My voice hinged on being mocking and yet my words were respectful. I was setting him up. If he didn’t like me, he could choose to make my life miserable. If he did like me, he would leave me with a little bit of energy for later. On the other hand, if he really, really liked me, he would work the piss out of me so that I would be safer at the side of the fire.
I slammed out the push-ups, although I did the girls’ version; I was allowed. He pointed at the tower and I knew the time had come once again. I took a deep breath, pushed my shoulders back, and trotted toward that maze of steps. I tried to make something pleasurable out of it by looking out over the waves the higher I got. I could see a fishing trawler just this side of the horizon. It was almost sort of romantic.
We finished my workout and Shawn gave me two thumbs up. “Okay, that’s enough for right now. The next part of your training will take place at a firehouse. I don’t mean your dad’s firehouse, either.”
I looked at him with some surprise. “You mean we’re going home?” It had never occurred to me the potency of those words. I had just referred to the place we lived in as our home. It had a nice ring to it, I had to admit.
He nodded. “See you there,” he tossed at me as he was climbing into his car.
As we let ourselves into my building, John turned around and put his hands on his hips. “I have to tell you, I’m fairly impressed with you. There’s not many girls who can keep up with me, and while you still got some muscles to build, at least you’re fit enough for your job. Why don’t you run on up and take a shower and then come back down here for the next part of your training?”
I looked at him quizzically, but he wasn’t about to divulge what that consisted of. I trotted up the steps and went into my apartment, showering quickly and putting on fresh clothes. I even took a few minutes and touched up my makeup and brushed my hair. I had to admit, I felt much better. As an afterthought, I squirted a bit of perfume on my neck. It felt good to be a woman again.
Sean was waiting for me when I went downstairs. I hadn’t noticed, but he had made a couple subtle improvements. He had managed to rustle up some kind of curtain, which separated his bed from the rest of the big, open space. I didn’t blame him; he needed some privacy. He also picked up a used area rug, something to keep his feet warm in the cold of winter. Again, I was touched by his attempts at frugal home decorating. “Looks nice,” I told him, pointing at the furnishings.
“You see that rug?” I nodded. “Lay down on it, face up.”
I shrugged, sat on the rug and laid back. I just knew there were another hundred sit-ups in store for me. I watched him coming toward me, wondering what was up next. He knelt next to me. “This is the part where I teach you how to breathe life back into someone. Have you ever done CPR or artificial resuscitation?”
I know my eyes were huge. The blue eyes were within fourteen inches of my face. I shook my head in the negative. “No, never.”
“Okay, here’s your first lesson. We’ll begin with artificial resuscitation. Now we are going to imagine that you are unconscious. You might have begun to drown, perhaps you were hit by a live powerline, maybe you got smoke into your lungs through the fire—there’s any number of reasons. The main objective here is to get you breathing on your own. The way the rescuer would do that is to first check your airway for any obstructions. Open your mouth and let me look.”
I was trying to catch my breath, although it was not due to any of the listed reasons. This was simply because those blue eyes were getting closer to mine. Obligingly, I opened my mouth and watched him as he lowered his closer to me.
“You see, I’m looking to see if you have anything blocking your airway.” He reached in with one finger and touched the inside of my cheeks. He was not at all hurried; if anything, it was slow and delicate. I felt that warmth in my tummy again and I was pretty sure he could hear my heart hammering. “No, your airways seem to be doing just fine,” he smiled. “Now this is the part where the objective is for me to push deep breaths into your lungs. So, the first thing I’m going to do is inhale and then I’m going to pinch your nose so that when I blow into your mouth, the oxygen doesn’t channel right back through your nostrils. Are you okay with that?”
What could I do but nod? I opened my mouth, preparing. His face came closer then and I felt his fingers pressing my nostrils closed. He drew in a deep breath, the kind that expands a man’s chest. His mouth lowered again to mine, reminiscent of the kiss he had given me before. He blew into my mouth and I closed my eyes an absolute delicious saturation. He lifted his head then.
“I’m going to do a little bit of lung compression now. I’ll need plenty of room to maneuver, so I hope you won’t mind when I open a button on your blouse?”
I shook my head no. Only an insane person would turn him down. His fingers lowered so slowly to the top button on my shirt. The buttons were small and he fumbled a bit, but his dexterity sent waves of passionate desire through my womanhood. I closed my eyes, imagining those fingers opening a more intimate part of my body. I shuddered with the erotic delight of my vision.
“Are you cold?”
“No, I’m not.” I shook my head and kept my mouth shut, although I tried to smile a bit.
“Unconscious people don’t smile,” he cautioned me, and I nodded in agreement.
His finger trailed down two inches to the next button. I could feel his skin through the fabric of my blouse and then inhaled quickly as he opened that button as well. He laid back the flaps of my blouse and his fingertips traced the skin from the hollow in my throat downward. Apparently, he still wasn’t satisfied and so he opened yet another button, and then again one more. There was only one more button left and I heard the resignation of his sigh as he opened it as well. He parted my blouse entirely and his lips lowered and kissed my chest, running his tongue down the cleavage of my breasts. There was a low moan coming from the back of his throat, and with one, swift movement of his hand, he lifted me enough to unsnap my bra and threw it across the room.
Then I laid semi-naked beneath him. He moved upright, looking at me in possessive, passionate absorption. His hands reached for my breasts and he cupped them on either side, bending to take my erect nipple into his mouth. I laid there in absolute erotic pleasure and had no intention of stopping him.
I reached for him, attempting to unbutton his shirt. I had this compelling desire to feel his skin against mine. He was almost unwilling to let go of my breasts, continuing to lick and suck upon them. I kept at the buttons and finally, with a sigh of resignation, he pulled his shirt completely off, sliding it over his head. He moved down upon me and now we lay man against woman, skin against skin. He wrapped his arms around me and rolled to his back, pulling me atop him. His hands trailed down the soft skin of my back into the small of my back, just above my bottom. Long strokes with his fingers were possessive and entirely welcomed.
At one point, he lifted me, spinning me around so that my back lay upon his chest. His hands reached around me and cupped my breasts, stroking them until my nipples felt as though they would burst. At the same time, his lips smoothed my back from the shoulder blades downward. He manipulated me as though I were nothing more than a doll. That was when his hands began to trail lower.
Stroking my breast with one hand, the other lowered itself and his fingers crept below the waistband of my pants. With one hand, he adeptly unsnapped and unzipped my pants and I could feel them sliding down my hips. I’m not really sure how it happened, but it wasn’t very long after that before I lay atop him completely and utterly naked, my legs spread, leaving me open to the world. His roving hand continued downward, parting the petals of my womanhood. His index finger slid inside of me, stroking my clit with a round, soft motion that caus
ed me to swell and grow. His hand took possession of me, relentless in its stroking. I could feel the heat begin to grow and I was breathing faster and faster. He moved me so that my hips were raised and I was almost sitting upon his hand, two fingers inserted inside me. He lifted his hips so that I rode those fingers. It was the most exquisite sensation I had ever experienced. As I rode his hand, the other hand stroked the length of my bare back and his finger quested down between the crack of my bottom. He inserted a finger there at the same time, and pressed inward; the result being that my entire pussy was clamped around his strong hands. I was breathing so rapidly, I think I began to hyperventilate. I was dizzy and I wanted more. Then came that sweet pain of orgasm. It began in his fingers, as though he were some sort of Greek God who had just given me life. The electricity shot through my limbs and up into my chest. I began to quiver and drove harder downward onto his hand. I believe I may have even screamed, although I was lost in a world that was far, far away from that old fire station. That’s when the spasms blew me apart. He held me like that, not moving his fingers so that the tender places could pulse against him and get their relief.
Eventually, he withdrew his hands and lifted me again, turning me so that my breasts were now resting on his chest. I clung to him, not wanting to move single inch.
“Are you okay?” he asked me in a whisper.
I nodded. “Yes,” I whispered back. “I’ve never experienced anything like that.”
“I’m glad. I’ve been wanting to do that since the first moment I saw you.”
“I don’t want to move. I want to stay like this for the rest of my life.”
“Sorry, honey, but eventually you’ll have to eat.”
Although I didn’t say it aloud, I knew I wanted to eat. I sighed deeply and reached for my clothing, but it was strewn out of reach. I attempted to sit up, and he could see the goosebumps on my skin. He reached behind himself and pulled the blanket from the cot where he slept, wrapping it about my shoulders and trunk. Then he added his arms, and his own chest, and rocked me. It was pure bliss. I turned my head and kissed him on the mouth and he answered my kiss with his questing tongue. “Be ready. The next time I’m taking you totally.”
There was nothing to say. I just nodded. He helped me to my feet and I walked over to where my clothes were lying and picked them up, dropping the blanket as I dressed. He stood up and came toward me, leaning forward and lifting one breast to insert my nipple in his mouth.
“I can’t seem to get enough of the taste of you.” He ran the side of his hand beneath my breast.
“I feel the same way.”
“Why don’t you go take a nap,” he suggested in a soft whisper. “I think you had quite the afternoon.”
I didn’t say a word; I didn’t even nod or shake my head. I simply did as he bid me, heading upstairs and climbing into my bed. As I began to fall asleep, I could hear him moving things about downstairs. He was planning what to build. He was planning our space.
Chapter 8
I slept far longer than I had expected. By the time I awakened, the city had already settled into its nighttime clothes. I opened my apartment door and looked downward into the open garage bay. No one was moving about; everything was silent. I wasn’t sure if Sean had gone out, or perhaps he had gone to bed early. With a little bit of sadness, I went back inside and flipped on the TV for some company. Rifling through my freezer, I pulled out the ingredients for some chicken stir fry and began cooking it. As it simmered, I settled on the sofa to watch the news.
To my surprise, the local station was covering a nearby fire. It was the 13th precinct; my dad’s own crew was on the scene. It seemed the fire involved a two-family flat; that meant two separate families. As I watched, I saw Sean on the scene, fully dressed in firefighting gear. A completely new feeling came over me. For the first time, I felt an angst, this thin line of fear that ran from my brain to my heart, making it pound harder. I had seen my dad on the scene several times while growing up. But he was my dad, and dads were perfect and I never seemed to worry about him. But this was Sean; it felt different.
The reporter had few facts; it was still an active scene and no one would bother to stop and talk to the media. This is one of the situations my dad hated the most. He felt like it made the family involved become a sort of carney act. People would come and stare, clustered in groups and commenting with their opinion on the body count or damage. I’d seen my dad become infuriated with this and suddenly I understood my purpose. That’s when I knew what I was born to do: my job was to be the barrier between human tragedy and human curiosity.
Every minute of every hour, there was human drama taking place down the street, or perhaps even next door. People fought, they cried, they celebrated, and they laughed. Children were conceived and lives ended when their clocks ran out of time. Because these things took place indoors, away from prying eyes, they seem normal, if not expected. However, people who suffered house fires became a lit stage. Their pain, the very fabric of their lives was suddenly thrown on the street. Despite insurance policies, few people were actually prepared in the event of a fire. Even once their loved ones were safely on the street, there was always a pet, photographs, and family treasures left behind. The early onset of adrenaline-filled survival was later replaced with a shock of upheaval. Not everyone had family where they could take shelter. Not everyone had enough money on hand to simply get through the next forty-eight hours in a hotel, eating from a restaurant. The bills still came in the mail. The children still needed to go to school, and the parents to work. Many times, losing a house meant being relocated from your neighborhood, without warning. Thus, they went from having everything normal, to having everything new and uncertain in a matter of moments. You lost your connection with your neighbors, with your church, perhaps even your school or where you’ve worked. It was as if your life had been wiped clean of everything you knew. Your life had been taken away, yet you lived.
Then came the spectators, those who felt momentary empathy and then an almost selfish arrogance that their life was still whole. At first there may be the token offer of help: the extra room, a hot meal, some outgrown clothes they hadn’t yet given to the thrift store. Inexperience was demeaning to the victims, even if it was never meant that way.
I knew then that my purpose in life was to ease the transition for those unfortunate victims. Instead of creating an audience to witness their loss, my job was to make people relate to the tragedy before them. It was not entertainment. It was not a horror movie. It was real life, and it could’ve touched them just as easily.
Somehow, I had been brought to John Warner’s office that day. He may have been the only newspaper in the entire city that had just the right setting to create this opportunity for me. It felt as though everything had been brought together by fate. Sean included.
The local television station concluded their report quickly, their cameras going on to a stabbing a few blocks away. New York City was a constant maelstrom of crime, most of which was never witnessed or reported. There I was, a young woman living totally alone, in a building that was less than secure. It felt good to know that Sean was there. I realized then that I had begun to think of him as a permanent fixture when I had absolutely no right to expect that.
I split the dinner in half, plating Sean’s portion and wrapping it with plastic for when he came home. I smiled to myself as I realized once again I had come to think of this place as his home. I watched meaningless sitcoms until the evening news came on. Sean had yet not yet come back, but I was wide awake from having taken that long nap.
I watched the clock and just as it reported that we had passed into the next day, I heard a door slam downstairs. I scampered from my apartment to the pole descending into the bay.
“Sean? Is that you?”
“It’s me. Go back to sleep.”
“No, I wasn’t sleeping. I took that long nap earlier. I’ve got dinner waiting for you. Come on up.”
“Give me a minute to
grab a shower, will you?”
“Sure.”
I went into the kitchen area, popping his plate into the microwave and as it warmed up, I threw together a quick salad and a glass of ice cold milk. He tapped on my door and I called to him to come in.
“Have a seat there on the sofa and I’ll bring you a tray.” I fixed up the tray and walked into the living area, looking at his face to assure myself that he was safe. He looked tired, his face drawn and somber. There was no welcoming smile. I set the tray before him and curled onto the sofa, just to listen. I noticed his hands were quivering and I realized what had happened. He filled in the details as he began to speak.
“There was a fire tonight. They called everyone in.”
“I know, I saw it on the evening news. Was anyone hurt?”
That was when I heard the raw, heartfelt agony of a man who had seen something no one wanted to see. He put his face down into his hands and his shoulders were shaking. I sat there next to him, not sure what to do. This was his release; this was his moment of realization. Dad had talked about this moment before. Every new recruit faced it eventually. I crawled over to sit against him and put my arm on his back, massaging his shoulders slightly. There was nothing I could say; it was my job to listen.
He finally stopped shaking and when he raised his face from his hands, I saw the trails of tears. There was a frown of pain across his forehead and he seemed to be a bit breathless. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but the words just wouldn’t come. I spoke for him. “I know, Sean. I know how you’re feeling; it’s normal.”
“There’s absolutely nothing normal about how this feels, or what I’ve seen.”
“There was loss of life, wasn’t there?”
He nodded. “A mother and three children in the upstairs flat, a young boy in the downstairs flat. By the time we got there, the building was fully engulfed. We couldn’t even get inside to try and pull them out. The floor timbers had already given way; the house had become a single, burning pyre. The remaining family members huddled outside in the cold, shaking and in complete shock. Not one of them could utter a word; they just hung onto one another and stared as their lives changed forever. There was nothing we could do but saturate the nearby houses so the fire wouldn’t spread. We think it was gas, probably a ruptured line in the lower flat. We could tell the fire had originated from an explosion. God, I don’t know, Gwyne. How do you get through something like that?”