Introducing Number 4 – The Fireman…

I mention Number 4 – The Fireman in my last post – The Girl I Can’t Forget. I feel that its only fair I talk about him. He was my boyfriend for a year or two, I can never remember. I think we were ‘actually’ dating for a year, but we were doing a lot more for a lot longer – more like two years.

At the time I thought he was the love of my life but when I see him now, I know I had a lucky escape. He got bigger. I did too but I’ve lost the weight now and I look good. He looks like a thug. He’s too short to be that broad and he always has the most inappropriate hair styles for his face shape. His long-term girlfriend now is someone he doesn’t know whether or not he wants to marry. Well, that’s what he told me last year anyway. He was the guy I mention in So, I Got Turned Down.

I was still dating Number 20 when our love thing started. Nothing really happened between The Fireman and I until after Number 20 broke up, but things certainly weren’t platonic, you know?

I remember us being wasted drunk one night – my 17th birthday. That was the night, for me, that we got together. I was besotted with him that night. We didn’t sleep together but we did everything but. It was at this point I learned that he had a truly monster sized cock. Huge. Massive. Like 8 inches long and with more girth than I could handle… quite literally. I couldn’t give him head. I had another shot at it a few years back in a bar toilet (so classy) after slipping my underwear into his pocket (again, I’m so classy) and I still couldn’t quite get my mouth around it.

Back to that night – I was wearing a tartan mini skirt. I was a tiny dot back then with long blonde hair so I could get away with a lot of shit. I had a black halter-neck bikini top on, with a red fishnet vest on over the top. I had pink frilly panties on, they said ‘princess’ on the front. I lost those at some point throughout the night. I’m pretty sure I was on the podium dancing with them missing too. Jesus, I’m a fucking cliche. I was just 17 to be fair… Is that any excuse?

In the early hours of the morning, we made our way back to his place. I had fought with Number 20 about our recent breakup and I remember being a bit upset. The Fireman consoled me. Oh hell, he consoled the shit outta me.

I remember us being on his couch, me on top of him, gyrating and dry-humping like the horny teenagers we were. Lots of kissing, lots of boob-grabbing; it was all so young and immature. He helped me to experiment with sex over the couple of years we were sleeping together. Oh so much.

I waited a few weeks before I slept with him if I remember rightly, but we did everything but that beforehand. He was very playful in the bedroom and I think that’s one of the things I loved the most about him. I know I broke his heart in the end and I regret that in some ways. Back then the sex we had just blew my mind. I miss that now.

We had sex on the pool table in the fire station one night. Then there was the night of his Mum’s 40th. He tied me up with his tie to the bed and did the most unspeakable things to my body. I’m pretty sure he lubricated me up (he was so big there was always lubricant) and inserted the bottle of lube at one point. He shoved my own panties inside me and pulled them out slowly. He used ice poles and licked chocolate out of me. He drank boozy drinks from places you shouldn’t put boozy drinks.

He liked white corsets and white stockings, and one day we even went shopping for them. There was so much sexual tension in that changing room, he couldn’t wait to get me home. That was the thing with us – we loved each other’s bodies so much that we literally couldn’t get out of bed. He lost his job because of it. I was staying at his so much that we were fucking all night and he wasn’t waking up in time for work in the morning. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Where does lust and passion like that go? No one else has ever shoved my own panties inside me and pulled them out since! 🙁

I cheated on him with Number 20 and he found out. I’ve always had a journal and he found it, read it, and found out all about my lusty night in the back of the car. He literally threw me outta his house that day. He threw me out of his house and then he threw all of my stuff out after me. I had to grab everything from the floor outside his house and it was so humiliating. I deserved it though. I truly broke his heart.

A couple of nights later, he appeared at my front door in the middle of the night. I sneaked him in that night and we had violent sex. I wouldn’t go as far as to say he raped me, but to be honest, I’m not sure it was even that far off. He had rage in his heart and I could see it in his eyes and that was the first night I was ever truly scared of him. He crawled his drunken ass beside my sober body in the bed, and I remember wanting to be so far away from him. I didn’t stand a chance that night, and he wanted to hurt me for what I did. He did hurt me. He had such rough and violent sex with me that I felt completely worthless to him. It was one of the most passionate, animalistic nights of my life and in any other circumstances, it would have been insanely hot. At that moment, it was tainted with my betrayal and his anger. It didn’t feel great.

He kept turning up to my house late at night, drunk after that and I ended up calling the police. He went a little nuts and I don’t blame him. That can’t have felt good for him at all.

We slept together a lot after we eventually broke up. My parents broke up and I introduced my Papa to The Fireman’s mum. They ended up sleeping together briefly and that meant the end for me and my love. I was heartbroken for a long time, and I always let him sleep with me when he called me up drunk in the middle of the night. It was during these on-off spells that I accidentally slept with his sister.

The final straw came in the shape of a disastrous explosion outside my house. He had called me up in the middle of the night on the way home from a club. I’d had a couple of drinks myself and felt a bit feisty. I went outside and told him where to shove it. I was sick of him calling me up and expecting sex. I’m a person, not a fucking sex doll. We both said some nasty things. He called my Mama a whore and I called his Mama a whore right back. I blurted out that I had slept with his sister and he lashed out, punching me square in the face. I went down with a thud and he hit me three times more. At this point my Bestie had run out into the street and grabbed The Fireman. I was sure he was going to kill him and I just picked myself up off the floor, turned away and walked back towards my front door.

That wasn’t the first time he had gotten a bit hands-on, and he’d always been a bit controlling. Back then at 17 years old, I’d never heard of abusive relationships. Looking back now, it wasn’t good… His mother had even had a word with him on one occasion when he got a bit handsy with me when other people were around.

We had a lot of good times when we were together, and we had a lot of great sex both too. It’s easy for me to look back at him and smile. Yeah, him punching me probably wasn’t the best idea and I can understand why Bestie finds it hard to understand why I’ve forgiven him. We’ve met for drinks on a couple of occasions since I’ve returned from the other side of the world. It’s fine. We were young. Whatever.

So there’s the story behind Number 4- The Fireman. He wasn’t the love of my life that I thought he was. He was a little phase in the bigger scheme of things. He was fun but I don’t regret our parting.

Sure do wonder what it would be like now though… 😉