Chief had first noticed him when they did the Smithson 4th of July parade. The young man was Hispanic with a dark complexion and jet black hair and dashing eyes, also, with an easy smile and a "gosh-died-and-gone-to-heaven" look as the fire trucks rolled by with the firemen all decked out in their firefighting equipment and hanging off the sides of the hook and ladder truck.
The next day Chief saw him again, standing outside the firehouse, waiting patiently for a call that would bring the trucks out. An hour later, Chief looked again, and the young man was still there, sitting on the curb. Chief was the only one around for the next couple of hours, as the rest of the day crew was off at a practice tower performing an exercise.
The young man looked familiar. It was only after searching his brain that Chief realized he'd seen him out at the Loredo Ranch—a place where men went to meet other men and maybe to get a little action. Most of the guys at the firehouse liked to go out there. They were comfortable with each other—having the same interest bonded the men into a good firefighting team. They were considered the best in the region. They all kept in good shape, which encouraged appreciating the bodies of other men, and they backed each other well—and you could say they backed each other up real close. But there was no particular need for the other firehouses to know why they jelled as well as they did.
For the life of him, however, Chief couldn't remember in what capacity he'd seen the young Hispanic man at the ranch. Chief certainly hadn't paid for time with the guy there. Although he would have been happy to. He was a real sweet piece of tail. And those doe eyes of his. Chief ducked back into the firehouse and continued the inventory he was taking of the equipment—a job he performed every three days to make sure that everything was right there where it might be needed in an emergency.
Chief fantasized about latching his eyes onto those of the young Hispanic's while he was fucking him—watching the change of expression on the guy's face when he realized that he was being mined deeper than usual and that the man riding him had the stamina to fuck him into the ground. Firefighting made a MAN of a man. Chief liked to watch for the point at which the guy he was fucking realized that—and realized that he was in for one royal fucking.
An hour later and the guy was still there. Chief thought that showed a remarkable stamina itself, as the day was scorching hot and the Hispanic guy had been out in the sun for hours just from the time Chief had first seen him.
So Chief went out into the drive and approached him.
"I'm just watching," the young man said as Chief came closer. "I make no trouble. I just like to watch."
"No problem," Chief said.
"Really, I stay to sidewalk. I make no trouble."
Again Chief said, "No problem. Really. I'm just afraid you'll fry out here. You want to come in and get a drink of water?"
"Me? Come into the firehouse?" The young man was incredulous.
"Yes, come in and get out of the hot sun for a bit. Do you like firehouses, firefighting equipment? What's your name?"
"They call me Ricky. Ricardo, but Ricky for short is OK to call me."
"I'm Chief," Chief said. "That means I'm in charge here, and if I ask you in for a drink of water, there's no one to tell me I can't."
"You are kind. Yes, please. Thank you."
They started to walk toward the door next to the bay truck windows that were now closed. Chief guided the young man with a hand on his upper arm, and he could feel Ricky trembling at the touch.
"I think I've seen you . . . out at the Loredo Ranch." Chief said it to try to make the young man less skittish, more comfortable. He could feel he was intimidating the young man. Chief was a man and a half himself. All of the firemen were. Most of the time they weren't out on call, they were working out in the gym at the back of the truck bays. They had to be strong and agile to do what they had to do.
But the young man was still trembling. "Maybe. You go to the Loredo Ranch?"
"Yes, we all do here. It's part of keeping our edge—keeping in shape and calming our nerves. It's a tense job, you know."
The youth said nothing. But Chief could see he was processing it. And Chief didn't want to withdraw his hand even when they entered the cool interior. Ricky was turning him on. He liked the little guys, and although Ricky was a good third the size of Chief, he was a very nice little piece. And those eyes alone were making Chief go hard.
"You like firehouses, Ricky?" he asked as the Hispanic youth drank first one glass of water and then another and then another.
He hadn't looked like he was sweltering out there, but Chief could see that he was having a lot of trouble quenching his thirst.
"I don't know. Maybe. We don't have them where I come from."
"I saw you at the parade yesterday. You looked like you liked the equipment—the hook and ladder truck and the red water truck."
"Yes, maybe. They were nice."
Chief was perplexed. Ricky had looked like what he was seeing was way beyond just "nice."
"It was the firefighting equipment you came to see, wasn't it, Ricky?"
Ricky hesitated. And then he hung his head low and said, "It was more the men—in their fire suits. If you go to Loredo Ranch, I think you must understand."
"You like seeing the men in their uniform?" Chief asked.
"Si." Given a bit reluctantly. "Out at the ranch, on the stage, some of the men dance in fire suits. I like watching that best." And then. "Thank you for the water. I guess today not a good fire day. I hoped to see men racing to fire. My friend Miguel, he tells me men come running out of firehouse still dressing in their uniforms."
