“Take it off, take it all off!” a hottie in a miniskirt shouted. There were 12 of them, all built rock hard. Were they cheaper by the dozen? “How much do you think that one costs?” I asked the girl standing at the bar gesturing as one of the bare-chested dudes, a firefighter in the 2010 FDNY calendar, paraded down the catwalk. “I’ll bid $10,” she yelled out. He’d stripped off his T-shirt and dropped to do 25. All I know is that I was too slow and another blonde nabbed him. What she was going to do with the hunk, I do not know, but I could only guess. There are 81 single men for every 100 single women in this God-forsaken town. We girls gotta do what we gotta do!
I love a man in uniform. Danger is sexy. My last boyfriend was NYPD and not terribly macho, but when he laid his gun out on the bathroom floor at night, a little thrill would go through me. Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just glad to see me? Firemen don’t carry guns, they carry hoses.
This was the third annual FDNY Charity Auction at the Turtle Bay Tavern. Publisher Katherine Kostreva, 26-years-old, masterminded the event and took the photos for the City of the Brave calendar. Kostreva herself was clad in a black mini showing off a nice pair of legs. It’s lucky she can walk at all because she was rescued in a car crash nine years ago by a blue-eyed dream of a fireman.
She’d selected 12 of New York’s finest and posed them in a variety of macho activities, not au naturel, but showing pecs, abs and biceps, their faces in shadow. My favorite is Mr. January, who’s carrying a sharp axe and wearing a firemen’s hat and a very hot gas mask.
As I made my way into the den of hooting and hollering ladies, I was thinking of ways to convince all 12 firemen to join me privately after the auction. Groups of babelicious girls were drinking, boisterousas each fireman strutted his stuff, his body up for sale. The men were donating a night on the town. What happened on the date would be between two consulting adults.
I’ll admit, the women who bid were all cute, so the firemen really can’t complain. Of course, NYFD men are in big demand as boy toys, so bidding for them makes sense. Sadly, one of the calendar boys couldn’t put his body up for auction. “My wife wouldn’t let me,” he said with a grin. “She wouldn’t even let my brother-in-law bid buy me.” He seemed a bit sad about that. “Take off your shirt,” I told him. He did, and I took a photo.
I love a man in uniform. Danger is sexy. My last boyfriend was NYPD and not terribly macho, but when he laid his gun out on the bathroom floor at night, a little thrill would go through me. Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just glad to see me? Firemen don’t carry guns, they carry hoses.
This was the third annual FDNY Charity Auction at the Turtle Bay Tavern. Publisher Katherine Kostreva, 26-years-old, masterminded the event and took the photos for the City of the Brave calendar. Kostreva herself was clad in a black mini showing off a nice pair of legs. It’s lucky she can walk at all because she was rescued in a car crash nine years ago by a blue-eyed dream of a fireman.
She’d selected 12 of New York’s finest and posed them in a variety of macho activities, not au naturel, but showing pecs, abs and biceps, their faces in shadow. My favorite is Mr. January, who’s carrying a sharp axe and wearing a firemen’s hat and a very hot gas mask.
As I made my way into the den of hooting and hollering ladies, I was thinking of ways to convince all 12 firemen to join me privately after the auction. Groups of babelicious girls were drinking, boisterousas each fireman strutted his stuff, his body up for sale. The men were donating a night on the town. What happened on the date would be between two consulting adults.
I’ll admit, the women who bid were all cute, so the firemen really can’t complain. Of course, NYFD men are in big demand as boy toys, so bidding for them makes sense. Sadly, one of the calendar boys couldn’t put his body up for auction. “My wife wouldn’t let me,” he said with a grin. “She wouldn’t even let my brother-in-law bid buy me.” He seemed a bit sad about that. “Take off your shirt,” I told him. He did, and I took a photo.
