Description Jackson is fed up with his volunteer firefighter dad spending so much time at the firehouse, seeing as how there were never any fires in Pinefield. Finally he psychs himself up to go down there and see for himself what’s really going on.
|Updated||27 Oct 2017|
Today looked like a day like all the others. Cold and boring. The holidays had come and gone. Cheery decorations were taken down. Everyone resumed their boring, dull lives. Today seemed like another boring day in the endless calendar of life. That’s how I felt when I pounded on my alarm clock this morning.
But today was no ordinary day. Oh no. Well, I should really say the afternoon was no ordinary day. Well, that sounds weird, but you get what I mean.
My father was a volunteer firefighter, and you could say that that was cool and dangerous. And it was, but you would be surprised by how few fires happened in our small Pennsylvania town. He also had a regular, boring job as an accountant when he wasn’t putting out fires—but there are never any fires. I always wondered what he did at the firehouse. He never talked about the other firemen, and he never let me inside when he made a stop there with me in the car.
Other times, I think that he lied when he said he was going to the station to “check in.” I began having my doubts about whether or not he actually went there when he says that he did. I don’t know. Ever since Mom died, we have been getting further apart.
I guess I was kind of a loner anyway. I did have some friends, but outside of school, we mostly talked online. The house was usually quiet, and I was always stuck feeding the cat. But that was okay, we had wifi.
So, back to the boring day that turned out to be one of the craziest days of my life. I was a senior at Wells High. After last period, I got a text from my dad, which was very normal. He always liked to check in after school, because he was never home when I got there.
“I’m gonna be at station tonite—don’t wait up. Pizza in fridge. If you need anything call me,” the text said. Mostly, that was what he would text me most days, so it was no surprise that he was going to stay late tonight at the station. I don’t know what made today different, but I decided that I would pay him a visit. I didn’t care if he told me that it wasn’t my place to go to the firehouse. I wanted to prove to myself that he was there. Or maybe to discover that he was indeed lying to me for months on end. Either way, come to think of it. I felt indifferent. The whole day seemed like a blur, like watching a freight train speed past.
It was decided. Nothing would stop me from going to the station. And I would be home in time to feed the cat.
As I exited the western stairwell of my gloomy, prison-like high school—where creativity goes to die—an artic gust blew in my face and went right through my coat. Chill passed up my spine that I couldn’t seem to get rid of. Not until I got to my car, which unfortunately was parked on the outskirts of the campus.
After almost getting run over by fellow students a few times, I made it to my 1998 Toyota Corolla. Fancy, I know. All of the other jerks at school often told me how my car was the ugliest piece of metal in the parking lot. Oh, high school.
So after finally making it out of the parking lot (the traffic was horrendous), I made my way over to the station, which was maybe 10 minutes away. The high school was on the opposite side of town from my father’s station.
The forecast had said snow, and the streets were dyed white from the rock salt laid down. It was probably a waste of time for the sanitation folks—it always rained in our town while the surrounding areas got buried in snow. I enjoyed not having to shovel our driveway and sidewalk at home. Our house was pretty far from the road, so you know what that means—a sore back and countless hours wasted shoveling snow. Still, getting out of school because of snow, even for a day, was a pretty nice treat. But the last that had happened must have been when I was in elementary school. Like I said, it simply doesn’t snow in Pinefield, PA.
Heavy, gray clouds began to invade the clear, blue sky above, blocking out sunlight. That only made it feel later in the day than it actually was. And colder, too.
When I finally arrived at the firehouse, I pulled into the parking lot. I was surprised to see a handful of cars parked there. Nearly all of them were older looking cars, rusted, worn in. And there was my dad’s car, parked closest to the door. Huh. Well, since I’d driven all the way there, I figured that I might as well see what he is up to. How much trouble would I get in anyway?
I took the key out of the ignition and prepared myself for the bitter cold. And I was not prepared. It had actually gotten colder outside just in the drive over. I raced to the side door of the station. This was it—my first time inside the fire house. I’d had dreams of this moment, and frankly, I was surprised that it had taken me this long to actually go and see it for myself.
I pulled open the heavy glass side door and entered a foyer. I sighed, thankful to be anywhere but in that bitter wind. The foyer was surrounded by windows on three sides—with the inclusion of the glass door I had just gone through—and, opposite me, a sturdy red door. Which was locked. Figures. I came all that way, only to be stopped by a locked door.
I stood there, thinking of how the answers to multiple questions that I’ve had were in there, on the opposite side of that red door.
I decided that I would try another door. One had to be unlocked, right? No. I went arounf the building, making a complete circuit. They were all locked. And I’d just wasted 10 minutes.
I knew that texting my dad to let me in was a bad idea—for one thing, I wanted to catch him in action, aside from wanting to see inside the station. If I texted him, he would just meet me outside and yell at me to go home.
The pizza in the fridge seemed like an inviting offer to quit and go home defeated, but… something told me to check the red door again. After entering the porch again, I gave myself a minute to shake off the cold.
I tried the door again, and of course, it was still locked. But, there was a mat. I thought that it was stupid to check under it, but my curiosity won. I lifted the mat off the concrete floor—and almost like fate, there was a golden key. Score
My fingers fumbled with the key, still pretty stiff from being exposed in the hostile cold for too long. And just like that, the lock was unlatched, and I was free to go inside.
I got a massive rush of anxiety from the thought that I was breaking and entering, but my dad worked there, so if anything, it was sort of like my second home. And I guess in another world, it could have been.
I quickly returned the key under the mat and slipped inside, closing the door behind me. I stood on the other side of the door—just happy to feel the heat, welcoming me inside. It was pretty dark in the main hallway. I reached for the light switch to flip the lights, but nothing happened. Guess the blubs were dead.
After standing in that hallway for a few seconds, I found myself shaking—but not from the cold. It was quite warm in there. I was shaking because I was nervous—nervous about the reason why dad didn’t want me here. What was he hiding?
Taking off my coat and putting it on one of the coat hooks by the door, I slowly walked down the darkened hallway, taking a quick glance at the pictures hung on the wall. Most of them were of the station, back when it was first built. Some others were of the annual fair that they sponsor during the summer. All featured people smiling at the camera. They almost seemed fake to me.
The hallway forked, and I decided to follow the faint noise of a TV and the smell of pizza. The hallway led me to the main garage where the fire engines were parked. The room was large and drafty, so I quickly decided to move along. Nothing really new to see in here. Just the lockers and the trucks.
On the other side of the garage, I could see another shorter hallway, along with a staircase that led to the second floor. I wasn’t sure where my dad’s office would be—he was one of the station’s top chiefs, so I’d imagine that he would spend most of his time there in his office.
I don’t know why, but the dark garage gave me the spooks, so I hurried along to the opposite hallway. I decided to try the door that led to the sound of the TV. I put my ear to the door to attempt to hear my father’s voice, or any other voices, but I could only really hear the sports announcer.
Taking a deep breath, I turned the handle and swung open the door. Light spilled out into the dark hallway and I stepped inside. I was shocked at what greeted me when I walked in. It was the ultimate man cave.
To my left was a small kitchenette with a bar. There was an open box of pepperoni pizza sitting on the counter, along with some half-drunk bottles of beer and some empty, oil stained paper plates. There was a bar that stretched the length of the kitchen with a few classic, red bar stools.
There was a pool table on the right, with balls left randomly on the top, as if whoever was playing stopped halfway into the game. Along the wall, there was a red metal staircase, which led to a second level that overlooked the entire room. From what I could see, there were a few doors up there that led to who knows where. More offices maybe.
As my eyes went to the other half of the large room, I saw a large, worn out tan couch facing a flat screen TV mounted on the wall. And there were about four guys lounging on that couch, their backs to me. They appeared to be oblivious to my presence, and I felt awkward—unsure at what to say or do. I decided to play the oblivious son card.
“Hey guys. I’m Peter Knoll’s son, Jackson,” I said as I approached the couch. All four turned and directed their attention at me. “Do you know where he is?”
“Yo! Jackson! We’ve heard so much about you! What’s going on?” one of the men said, standing up. Well, they all stood up after the first one, and all walked around the couch. As I got closer, my heart almost melted—they were so hot. They were all hot as fire.
I shook hands with all four men, all volunteer firemen that worked at the station, along with my dad. And they were, I’ll say it again, hot.
The first guy’s name was Isaac, and he appeared to be the dominant one of the group and the one who who did most of the talking. He wasn’t wearing a shirt—only a large pair of those fire repellent turn-out pants, with those two thick suspenders pulled tight over his broad shoulders. His abs were so defined and rock hard, they were distracting. If I had to be saved from a fire, I would want him to rescue me. Hands down. He probably weighed over 275 pounds easy. And his face was gorgeous. Perfectly angled with sharp jawline, and sexy eyes that always looked at me seductively.
He introduced me to the other guys. First John, but everyone called him Muddy. I would only assume that he got that nickname when he was younger. Well, maybe it was because his arms were covered in in thick hair. Muddy was a larger guy—hefty, though still very muscular. He was wearing a tight black tee shirt with a pair of fire pants. From what I could make out, his chest was perfectly sculpted too, with massive pecs that were like mountains, not to mention his amazing “v” shape of a torso. He also sported a thick, short beard and mustache, which complimented his square, masculine face.
The next guy’s name was Foreman. I assumed that was his last name. His figure was leaner than the other guys’. I wouldn’t say he wasn’t a muscle hunk, but I’d say his strengths were in speed and precision. Like Isaac, he wasn’t wearing his shirt either, which revealed his perfectly cut chest. His face was narrow, and he had a five o’clock shadow. He was probably the tallest one.
The last guy was definitely the youngest—pretty close to my age, maybe in his early 20s. His name was Jefferson. I wondered if he was single—he would make a sexy boyfriend for my single ass. He was only wearing a pair of tan shorts. His muscles were almost as large as Isaac’s, with a prominent, chiseled chest that made me want to be just like him. Actually, I felt a wave of jealousy for a moment, seeing what I could have looked like. If I weren’t so lazy, I could have looked just like him, a superhot muscle hunk. I could also tell that he was hiding a large, fat snake between his legs. Another thing that he had that I didn’t.
It made sense that most of them were shirtless. I started getting very hot in this room, but I wouldn’t dare take off my shirt in front of these guys. I was just happy to not have my coat still on. It also amazed me that these four hunks just had pizza and beer.
After he introduced everyone, Isaac said, “Knoll is upstairs, on the phone with one of our contractors for the roof. We’ve been having a leak for a few months, so we’re glad to finally get it fixed.” He patted me on the back and continued, “Why don’t you hang with us until he’s free? We don’t bite—except for Muddy. I would watch him.” Everyone, with the excepting of Muddy, broke out laughing. Muddy rolled his eyes and grabbed his beer from the coffee table.
“Sure, why not.” I said, shrugging my shoulders. We all returned to the couch and I ended up sitting next to Isaac and Muddy. Muddy offered me some lukewarm pizza and some beer, but I politely declined. I wondered why my dad hadn’t talked about these guys before.
I felt somewhat uncomfortable, the only guy who wasn’t in the 200-pound club or something. Anyway, they told me funny stories that they all were in, like how Muddy got his name. It was when he first started at the station. It was down pouring and he fell, face first into one of the mud puddles. That was before he met everyone at the station. Someone called him Muddy, and the name stuck. He didn’t seem too upset.
They also talked about their workouts. That was kind of interesting. Jefferson made jokes about Foreman’s workout, calling it amateur work compared to everyone else’s. Foreman laughed it off—probably used to it. This ultimately led to an arm wrestle, which was pretty hot to watch. I got to see Jefferson flex his bicep like crazy, and of course, he won. Besides Isaac, Jefferson was the strongest one in the room.
It was going well, these guys welcomed me to the station with warm, buff arms. But then, well, it turned somewhat awkward for a few minutes.
It was after we’d been talking about my high school—apparently, they all went there in their high school days. So, Jefferson was talking about how he was on the varsity football team, and then the dreaded words escaped his mouth—he was sincere, but they almost hurt: “So, do you play any sports? How much do you lift?”
Yeah, a total confidence killer. I didn’t play any sports—or any physical activity really. Unless you counted internet surfing. The question took me off guard, and I guess he could tell, so he quickly asked another follow up question about what my favorite sport was. So, I responded with football—I watch it sometimes.
Almost wishing that I could be anywhere but there, I glanced at the upstairs offices, hoping for my dad to come out and save me from the awkward conversation.
As I looked back, I caught Isaac giving Jefferson a glare. Jefferson couldn’t help but look away.
Isaac leaned over, wrapping his buffed-up arm around my neck. I could feel his body heat irradiating from his chest. “What do you guys say we give Jackson, here, the firemen’s special?”
Muddy and Jackson seemed to be on board with whatever that was. A drink maybe? Foreman, however, wasn’t. “What do you mean?” Foreman said in a hesitant tone. “He isn’t a fireman, let alone a volunteer. We can’t give it out to just anyone who walks by.” He wasn’t trying to be mean, but he just looked concerned. Apparently, whatever it was, it was sacred to these guys.
“Come on. This isn’t just anyone, this is Knoll’s son. He’s blood,” Isaac said. That shut Foreman up, and he leaned back in defeat. “Come on, Jackson, follow me.” He stood up and motioned me along. He led me to the lockers in the drafty garage.
Once we arrived at his locker, he turned to me and said, “You’ll have to excuse Foreman—he can be kinda… uptight.” I nodded my head, unsure of what to say. It also amazed me that he wasn’t cold. The garage was very drafty, and I was practically shivering. It felt as if someone left one of the garage doors open.
He turned on the overhead lights over the lockers, illuminating part of the large garage. It was still pretty early, but it looked dark outside. Not too much light was coming from the line of windows on the garage doors.
He placed his hands on my insignificant shoulders, his eyes peering into mine. “I know this is gonna sound weird, but I saw the way you were looking at us when we first met.” His expression was serious. I wondered if I was in trouble—and what he was going to do to me. He saw the worry in my facial expression. “Just listen. Now, at the station, we got something that would help us be better firemen. Normally, we only share it with fellow brothers, but since you are blood, we’re going to make an exception.” I slowly nod my head, but my eye brows scrunch up. He sighs, “Okay, no more beating around the bush. Would you prefer a body like mine or like Foreman’s? Or somewhere in the middle?” He flexed his pecs a little when he referenced himself.
Not sure why he was asking, I nonetheless couldn’t help but consider his question, as I’d been thinking about their bodies a lot the last little while. Isaac’s body was a dream come true—amazingly sculpted like a statue. But for me, he was a little too buffed up. It made sense that he was like that though—he was a fireman. But for me, well, I would want something toned down.
“Well, somewhere in the middle, I guess. But, I don’t see how this is relevant.” I said. He put up a finger and walked over to his locker, or what I assumed to be his locker.
I felt another cold draft pass through my body, penetrating my bones. I couldn’t help but to cross my arms and hold myself tight.
After Isaac opened his locker, he pulled out a very large fire jacket and pants from a row of them hanging inside. “I think these are the right ones. Try them on for size.”
I didn’t see how this was related to anything we were just talking about. But, thankfully, it was something warm for this bitterly cold garage. I took it from Isaac’s firm grasp gladly. The jacket and pants were both very heavy, which made sense. Fire jackets and pants had two layers, an inner one to deter moisture, and an outer one to repel heat. They must have both weighed 30 pounds or so, and they were both XXL.
I slipped on the large pair of fire pants—they were large enough that I didn’t have to take off my shoes. I pulled up the suspenders and put them around my shoulders. The pants were really baggy, but the elastic rested around my waist. They were heavy and I especially felt their weight pulling down on the suspenders. I felt courageous in the yellow and orange firemen’s pants—almost like a town hero. I felt proud of what they did for the town, and for my dad too. I haven’t felt like that in a long time.
Next, I slipped my arms into each of the sleeves of the jacket, pulling the it up my back. It felt similar to carrying a backpack filled with textbooks. If only I could have seen myself in a mirror. It was definitely oversized and I was practically swimming in it. Isaac was just watching me put it on, as if he was waiting for something to happen. His expression was similar to someone who was looking to see if the clothes were a good fit. And of course, they were huge on me.
Raising my arms, I said, “Pretty cool,” unsure of how to react. Isaac had an anxious look on his face.
“Dude, you need to zip it up,” Isaac said, resting his chin on his fist. Because it was a heavier jacket, I needed to align each end of the zipper. After a few tries, the zipper caught and I pull up. I welcomed the heavy jacket—it warmed me right up. After completely zipping up the jacket, Isaac said to me, “Sorry about this, Jackson.”
Looking up, I caught him shoving me with his two powerful arms—and it wasn’t that hard—I only weigh maybe 150.
I fell in slow motion, and when I hit the concrete, the thick collar of the oversized jacket protected my head from the floor. My vision darkened, but not completely. After a few seconds, everything returned to normal, but my head was still pounding. I felt betrayed. Confused. Angry. And I wanted to know his deal.
When I leaned up, I saw no sign of Isaac. “Fucking asshole!” I said under my breath. When I stood up, something felt weird. My center of gravity was off. Maybe it was from my fall, but I didn’t know. I was nice and toasty under the fire jacket, but I figured I should put the gear back before this got any worse.
Unzipping the jacket, I almost fell again. It was as if the fire jacket and pants acted as a cocoon of some sort. Underneath the jacket, I was packed with new muscle—muscle that I hadn’t had before.
My head was going a mile a minute, but my mouth was open and speechless.
The shirt I was wearing was stretched out—a lot. The suspenders were hanging onto my melon sized shoulders and I couldn’t help but to run my fingers along the straps, stretching them up. My chest was huge—two iron pecs pushed out and away from where they would normally be, and I placed both hands on each, feeling the curved muscle—as well as my newly sensitive nipples. My hands slid down to my skinny waist, touching the six pack that I had just gotten. Normally my belly was soft and squishy—but now it’s rock solid.
I held out my arms, feeling my wider body—a new feeling for me. Not to mention, my arms were practically as big and defined as Isaac’s, but not quite. I made a few poses, feeling each bicep and tricep. Who knew what my back looked like. There were no mirrors around.
I felt my cock getting harder and I could tell that it, too, was larger than before. I pulled off the suspenders, letting the pants fall to the floor. And yes, my cock barely fit into my boxers. My jeans were pretty tight, but not too bad. My thighs were also very defined and perfectly sculpted. So were my monstrous calves.
I had to get back to the other guys, especially Isaac, and show them. Well, I had to thank them too. I put the fire jacket and pants back in the locker—they were not nearly as heavy as before, and rushed back to the room. I practically fell again before I reached the hallway.
As I pushed the door, the heat that I felt before, the pizza that I smelt, the TV noise that I heard—it was all gone. It was almost as if it was a different room. The overhead lights were off, but light still crept in illuminating the room in a white light.
The situation nearly sent my mind spinning, wondering if I choose the wrong door. The kitchenette looked like it hadn’t been used in months. Dusty boxes lined the bar. The pizza box and the beer cans were gone, and the bar stools were worn and a few were even ripped, not pristine and gleaming like they had looked before.
The pool table had a dusty cover on it and the sides had long, deep scratches carved into the woodwork. The red paint on the staircase was chipped and some parts were even dyed brown from a combination of rust and dirt.
The TV was no longer on the wall, but resting on the floor, unhooked from its wiring. Everything was different—except the couch, which looked about the same, old and lumpy.
I took a few steps forward, accidently pounding my heavier legs to the floor with each step I took. I don’t think my cock ever got soft—I was still aroused due to my buffed body. With every breath I took, I felt my pecs expand outward, and my shoulders slightly raise. I felt heavy—definitely a new feeling. I must have gained a hundred pounds in muscle or something. I would have killed for a mirror.
“Uh, hello?” I said, my voice echoing slightly off the empty walls. I walked further into the room—it felt cold and smelt of must. I took a few more steps, approaching the tan couch, and put my hands on my narrow hips, wondering what was happening.
Just then, I heard a door open from the upstairs loft. I thought that it could have been the other guys—maybe this was some elaborate prank, but surprisingly, it was my dad, holding a small, wooden clipboard. A blue pen rested on his ear. Guess he was working.
He scanned the dim room, spotting me. “Jackson, what are you doing here? What’s wrong?” He was more concerned than angry. I guess he thought that I was here because of an emergency.
I waved my newly buff arm, and said, “I came to see you, but you were on a call, so I hung out with some of the other guys.” I looked around and said quieter, mostly to myself, “I don’t know where they went, though.”
Dad looked at me funny. “Other guys? There hasn’t been anyone here for hours.” He walked down the stairs, and turned on the room lights, flooding the room in of white light. I thought he would freak out over my size, but so far, he hadn’t.
“Yeah, Isaac and the others, they were just here. I even saw their cars outside when I pulled in.” I said. I couldn’t tell if he was messing with me. He just stared at me, so I continued. “And they showed me the ‘firemen’s special’ and look at what they gave me!” I raised my arms, displaying my powerful new body—he had to know what the firemen’s special was.
He looked me over, unimpressed. “So, a tight shirt and a pair of skinny jeans?” He asked. “And anyway, who told you about Isaac?” His eyes turned forlorn, as if remembering a sad memory.
“He was just here, along with uh… Muddy, Foreman, and Jefferson.” I was proud that I remembered all of their names correctly. Normally, I was terrible at remembering names.
Dad shook his head. “Jackson, they all died in the Pinefield Fire of ’99. What are you talking about?” We stood there for a few seconds in silence. A shiver ran down my spine, making me subconsciously flex and constrict my abs. I couldn’t get a word out—I just ended up shaking my head. He had to be wrong. They were just here—”
The room lights flickered once, and then went out completely.
“Huh, the wind must be affecting the power lines. Good thing I already talked to the contractor,” Dad said. He started to sniff the air. “Hey, do you smell that, Jackson?” My dad said, sniffing. He even moved his head around to see where the smell was originating from. “It smells amazing—and I haven’t even thought about eating yet. I don’t think I ate all day.”
“I smell… ” I said, smelling the air. I smiled. “Pizza.”