Fireman Sam

A deep ocean blue, skin-tight dress clung to her curvy figure; a pair of black wedge heels dangled from her ankles and her hair was down in luscious coffee waves. She strutted through the doors of the night club into the smoky aroma of the bar and through to the garden to puff a cigarette. She took a lighter out of her purse, along with a cigarette from a full packet and fumbled to light the end. No flame flickered and the lighter only made clicking sounds in its own rhythm, following an opposite beat to the music blaring out of the speakers.

“Do you need a hand with that, Love?” came a husky, brisk voice from behind her. He stood there, tall, dark and handsome. Green eyes stared back at her with a cheeky glimmer and a smirk crossed his perfectly chiselled jaw.

“You know by the way you put out that lighter I would say you would make an excellent fire fighter, our very own Fireman Sam,” he chuckled. She rolled her eyes into the back of her skull to rake through her brain to find the patience with this arrogant man.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off cocky,” he replied, “Let me help you.”

With that he took the lighter from her impeccably manicured hand and light the ciggy effortlessly and pulled one out from behind his ear and continued to light that one too.

“I never asked your name, Love?”

“Call me Fireman Sam,” the woman replied with a small smile behind her deadly serious eyes.

“Ok Sam, do you want a drink?” with an extravagant gesture towards the ever crowding bar. He grabbed her by the shoulder and led Sam through the crowds of people piling in and ordered two rounds of double shots.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He offered to buy her some more drinks; strawberry vodka, ciders and cocktails each suggested in turn. Sam didn’t want anymore, she wanted to keep her wits about her around this man; this wonderfully enchanting man. However, her wits had already run half a marathon down the road as soon as the first shot slipped down her dry throat.

Admitting defeat, he got up and headed to the dance floor, quickly glancing back to entice Sam to join him.

Cheeky, she thought, but her wits weren’t there to tell her to stay put, great friends they are abandoning her so early, she chuckled.

Strobe lighting came blazing down on the crowded floor, bodies everywhere rubbing up against each other. Although Sam was drunk she was slow to get into the dancing mood, slightly self-conscious of moving in front of the Greek God that fluidly danced in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders and a tingle spread down her spine.

“Dance,” he breathed in her ear. So she obliged.

Her hands ran up her thighs and across her waist, circling her breasts in a tantalising motion along with hip action that rivelled Shakira. Some men barged past her to get to the DJ, obviously unsatisfied with the music choice, he quickly wrapped his arms around her, cocooning her from the oblivious, drunks. His hands were now on her waist and her arms were around his neck.

A couple of seconds went as they stared into each other’s eyes. When the beat drop escalated so did their dancing. Sam’s hands tangled little knots in his silky hair, tugging it back while his head shifted upwards causing a small groan to escape his throat. His hands, still around her waist, tightened and moved slowly downwards to hold her hips as she swayed them forwards and backwards to the music. Suddenly, he leaned into her neck and planted a few kisses, sucking her skin like it was honey suckle to his dry lips, his hands moved to caress her back and neck, while her hair twisted in his nimble fingers. The kisses spread like poison up to her lips and their tongues became perfectly acquainted as Sam’s made its home in his throat. Gripping her thigh he moved her leg up to his waist, so it was wrapped around him in a warm embrace, and they stood there, still, in the crowd of dancers.

Their eyes locked onto each other. Smiles crossed their deadly serious eyes.

The night passed on like a strobe flash and soon he offered to go back to his place. They got out into the cold; fresh air and he took Sam’s high heels and carried them over his shoulder. She looked up and made a small wheezy cough which made him smile even wider. Back at his apartment, clothes were left in a battle ground on the floor and sheets were wrapped like a burrito around their entangled bodies.

They fell asleep looking at each other.

They fell asleep deeply enticed by their new lovers.

They fell asleep never to awake again.

Her name was Caroline Hubbard. She had grown up in a small town in the suburbs, close to a mine and throughout her childhood, inhaled the fumes that plagued from the tunnels. At 21 she had developed stage 3 lung cancer and at age 22 she was given a few days to live. Caroline had spent her last day in the club to drink her sorrows away, gave into her fate and laughed in the face of death as she puffed her first cigarette. The cancer caused her lungs to fail during her slumber and she died from lack of oxygen as she lay next to her lover.

His name was Fred Richards. He had grown up in a wealthy household, his parents were never there, and his nanny would be his only friend for weeks on end. He grew to feel worthless and unwanted as his parents would stay far away from him for long periods of time. By the age of 24 he was on 4 different antidepressants and by 26 he had enough and took all the bottles at once. Fred had spent his last day in the club to waste his money like it had wasted his life. The drugs caused multiple organ failure during his slumber, and he died as he lay there next to his lover.

Those in the club believe that the star-crossed lovers lived a charmed life as they danced the night away when in reality they would tell you it was cursed.