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This fun, one-shot revists our dear Mr. December and the love of his life, Liz. Written for Lucky 13's First book birthday, it is a collaborative piece with friends Pamela Lynne and Zoe Burton and the first time it is posting here on Vanity & Pride Press. We hope you enjoy it as we enter Lucky 13th's THIRD Anniversary! Woot.

“What the heck do you mean you’re not participating in this year’s calendar? Your fans have been dying for your audition ever since BADCO and the foundation made the announcement!” 

“You never told me about any announcement. You said maybe an FDNY calendar for 2016… Liz, I’m over it. You and Rick have milked the last bit of generosity out of me these last two years of fundraising – and half of it, half-naked I might add.” Will replied leaning against the kitchen island. “I’m a married man for Christ sake, not anyone other than yours and the kids’ plaything. I’m not some lucky rabbit’s foot for women like Caroline to rub on! Launch parties, dinner cruises, clingy women, date auctions! What’s next? I’m the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow for St. Patrick’s Day. No way! That whole Jones Beach muscle man competition nearly sucked the life out of me.”

Liz saucily sauntered up to him with baby bottle in hand. “Yeah, but you looked so good doing it.” Running her finger down his chest, she tried to tempt him. “You could be the cover—or better yet, the centerfold. You’re such a natural in front of the camera.”

“What! You’re having a centerfold layout in the calendar? No way. I’m not on the ladder truck any longer. I’m disqualified!”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” She laughed, stepping between his legs. “You can’t disqualify yourself, Will.”

“I just did.”

A lingering kiss to his protesting lips did nothing to persuade him.

“Why, oh why, did I think it was a good idea when you went back to work for BADCO from home so soon after Annabelle was born? If I knew you were serious about doing a calendar again this year, I would have taken away your computer.”

She left his embrace and stepped to the sink. A glance over her shoulder brought home the playful petulance he expected. “No matter, I would have used my iPad. You should realize by now that you can’t control me.”

“Yeah. I learned that the day I kicked that coked-up jerk’s backside at the bowling alley.”

“That was so gallant of you.” She grinned, attempting to win him over, but he saw through her ruse.

“Besides, you know as well as I do that I needed a creative outlet. I was starting to talk baby talk to myself on a daily basis—and understanding! That whole slip of the tongue when I asked you if you needed to be burped was insane!” she said.

Will’s vision settled on the 2014 calendar—the one that started it all—still pinned to the bulletin board beside the refrigerator. God he hated that thing staring back at him. It had been December 2014 for the last 22 months!  His gaze came back to his wife’s pouty, pink mouth.

“Please, Caveman…It’s for the foundation.”

How could he deny that look, those lips, that seductive arch to her eyebrow? She was the mother of his children; he’d give her anything! And…he had learned very early on that the Black Widow wasn’t restricted to the kickboxing ring. He’d survived two deliveries to attest to it, but considered himself the luckiest of men.

“Would I have to humiliate myself again with an audition?”

“Of course, silly, that’s the fun of it. That little Elvis show you did two years ago is legendary—even if it was at my expense.”

“Then I refuse to do it. I didn’t audition last year. My answer is no.”

“Too late. The casting call already went out for Thursday, and the invitations are in the mail!” She patted his belly. “Better do some sit-ups, sport. You’ll be strutting your stuff at the Copacabana big guy.”

She danced around his feet, singing and raising the bottle in the air, “At the Copa, Copacabana … The hottest spot north of Havana…” Her bottom swiveled enticingly.

Will’s arm snaked around her twisting waist and he pulled her onto his body. He kissed her neck once, then again. Two could play at her game. “You are very naughty to trick me.”

“Well, I had to do something, didn’t I? You’re the star attraction, and I’m determined to make this an even better calendar than the last two. Mr. December has brought in millions.”

“Apart from raising money for the Foundation, what’s in it for me {kiss} personally?”

Liz chortled and he knew exactly what she implied.

“I get that anyway, vixen.”

“True. Okay, you’re off diaper duty for six months.”

“That’s very tempting. Deal.”

She kissed him soundly on the lips, her hand threading up into his hair. It was one of those kisses that always left him breathless.

“Thank you, baby,” she cooed, obviously so self-satisfied by her manipulation “But you better not try anything funny like you did last time.”

“Funny?  Whatever do you mean?”

“Hm.. Just remember that whatever you’re thinking of doing —payback is a bitch, especially now that I started training again at the gym.”



In the VIP lounge above the ballroom of the Copacabana in Times Square, Will pumped iron doing seated bicep curls. With every lift of his forearm, the blood rushed with the same intensity as the pounding music on the floor below. Just like two years earlier, dozens of other firefighters were doing the same thing as he—getting ready to give a show. Smiling, he shook his head at how easily he had caved wanting, once again, to do whatever it took to make Liz happy. Listening to Donna Summer shake the building with “Hot Stuff” was par for the course.

He was expecting that his shrewd wife had put the fix in. No doubt, she’d use her “influence” at sticking it to him with the centerfold spread, especially since he demanded that the diaper duty reprieve begin this morning. Hey, he had spent an hour sitting on the bathroom floor, attempting to coax the crap out of his son by singing his potty training song, “Little William’s Poo Poo Train.” Liz stood at the threshold of the bathroom laughing when she said, “Annabelle just dropped a stink bomb, Mr. December. She’s waiting for you.”

Now he had to dance half-naked for hundreds of screaming women. They too, pounded the walls. At one point, he thought he heard them chanting his name.

For a moment, he considered blowing his audition but knew he’d find himself on diaper duty and toilet training for the next two and a half years straight. How much shit could one man take? He’d have to suck this up.

Thankfully, his aunt and Anne were babysitting tonight because some of these guys, new faces to the Brotherhood, were intending to go literally balls out. He shuddered at the thought, recalling Hose Monster’s salacious audition in 2013.

His vision drew to the newbie from Ladder Company 42, Kasey Krane. The guy was wearing some jacked-up FDNY bunker suit. Clearly, he was a southern boy and enthusiastic about this audition because right there beside the Department patch was a NASCAR emblem. Damn, this year these guys were going all out. Even Joe, Mr. October from the previous two calendar had something up his sleeve. Will shook his head when the guy removed a pair of chaps from his gym bag. No doubt every firefighter was vying for the centerfold.

“Yo, Darcy what are you plannin’ this time?” his buddy Thorpe from the West End Cave asked. The man, too, was determined to get in the calendar, having been passed over last time.

“Revenge on my lovely wife.”

“Didn’t you do that last awdition?”

“Yeah, and it worked perfectly. I ended up marrying her in under two months afterward.”

“Dat was afta she kicked your ass to the curb, right? You betta go light tonight or you’ll be on da couch.”

“Or on permanent diaper duty.”

“I don’t know nuttin’ bout that, but shit is shit, and that Black Widow of yours’ll ef you up!”

“Still. It’s worth it to see my girl’s face tonight. Payback’s a bitch.”

“Is Miss July judging again?”

Will placed the dumbbell down on the carpet. “Hey, that’s my sister-in-law. Don’t let Liz hear you refer to her as that, and yes, she is judging.”

“Cool. I gotz special undaweaz on fa her.”

Good Lord, tonight was going to be a night to remember. He reminded himself, it was all for the FD Burn Foundation, so it was worth it in the end.

Rick sauntered in without a care in the world. As usual, he looked fastidious and preppy—apart from that gold earring he was now sporting. His cousin had gone mad loco since marrying Charlotte. The guy was even riding a Harley down to the office – suit and all!

“You look like shit,” Rick stated. “Do you need a drink?”

“Gee, nice to see you, too. How was Brazil?”

“Fabulous. We went zip lining in the jungle.” He gazed around the crowded room. “Man, the testosterone in here is seeping out the door down to those women.  You gotta see them. Punky is having a field day taking photographs. Will, you should know, someone brought a life-size stand up cutout of you in your underwear.”

Will groaned. “That’s what I get for doing that Jockey fundraising gig! I might need that drink, after all!”

“Liz’ll kill you.”

“Not if I kill her first.” He picked up the baby oil, repeating his modis operandi at every one of these events. “If my parents could see me now.”

“They’d be happy. Hell, I’m happy. Better you than me.”

“Yeah. You’re lookin’ a little chunky there, Preppy.”

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen! It’s showtime,” Candy Moore, ABC Eyewitness News star reporter announced, clapping her hands when she entered the room. She was the master of ceremony of this sideshow act, guaranteed press coverage to bring the guests in. “Mr. Darcy! Please thank your wife for agreeing on your exclusive interview following the photoshoot next week. Oh! and don’t worry, I’ve personally seen to the details of your audition music.” She winked.

Will barely had time to wave to the reporter—or object to Liz’s “commitment”—before Candy clapped her hands again.

“You know the drill, contestants. You have your numbers, just line up in twos, and you’ll enter the ballroom using that swagger I taught you. When the yellow spotlight sweeps across the line, that’s when you’ll hip roll in unison. Number 32, please raise your hand.”

Both men turned their attention to a beefy guy in the corner. He was toying with a cowboy hat on his head and flexing his bicep.

Candy’s hand went to her heart, obviously stunned by the cowboy appearance he made. “Er, um, the DJ doesn’t have the song you requested, but would you settle for “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy?" I think it would be extremely appropriate and the ladies, I have no doubt, will respond.” She licked her lip.

Will sighed then stood before taking his place in line, repeating, “I love my wife. I love my wife.”

“Go get ‘em, Mr. December,” Rick laughed. “Think of the reward you’ll get when you get home.”

Blue eyes bore into his cousin as Will shirked into his black bunker jacket.

The purple double doors opened to what one would only refer to as girls gone wild pervy horde. The screaming combined with “Disco Inferno” reverberated within Will’s chest cavity. Number thirteen in the line, he stood beside Thorpe and that disturbing zombie tattoo on his neck, and in front of him stood, Pat an EMT with Rescue Company 3. No doubt, Liz would pick him for Mr. March with that huge green shamrock, which read “Get Lucky” tatted on his back.

The DJ pumped the crowd up to the fast intro beat of “Disco Inferno” as red strobes flashed and circled the room as if ambulance and truck lights.


“And here they are ladies and gentleman! New York’s bravest all vying for that centerfold calendar spot! Forty nine hot firefighters, but only 13 will be chosen!  Let’s give it up for the men and women of Heroes of FDNY – 2016 Inferno!”


Dressed in full uniform and hard hats, two-by-two they entered into the screaming mass. Will felt the wood dance floor vibrate below his heavy boots. The ballroom looked as though it was a four-alarm fire with simulated flames dancing upon the four walls and floor to ceiling pillars. The spinning disco balls overhead picked up the red and yellow kaleidoscope strobe lights, flickering flame all over the room. Through it, Will’s eyes locked with the one woman’s he sought behind her eyeglasses. Liz grinned at him like a woman in love and he couldn’t help smiling back at her. Yup, he’d do anything for her—even this—sap that he was.

Lined up, facing the DJ and the judges sitting beneath the Copacabana sign, the firefighters stood at attention waiting for the lyrics to begin, and the yellow light to scan their bodies. Smoke thickened at their feet, and damn if Will wasn’t already perspiring under the hot lights. He could feel the sweat glistening on his bare chest below the heavy bunker coat.

In a flash, the yellow beacon caused all the men to rotate their hips at once and quickly drop their jackets down their shoulders to their back, baring their suspender-clad chests. They seductively continued to move but more slowly, hands pressed against their abdomens, until a final one-two thrust before they were mobile, grandstanding just as the choreographer had instructed. One-by-one, they strode out before the audience, making sure to remove their jacket then drape it over one shoulder.

Will felt like a contestant on the Miss America pageant, only no one ever sang “burn baby burn" during their catwalk. From the corner of his eye, he noted the life-sized, cardboard cutout of him in those white boxer briefs. Yes, he was humiliated now.

“Mr. December!! Take it off,” one woman screamed from deep in the crowd. It sounded like Caroline and Will chanced a quick glance to gorgeous Jane. She was whispering into Liz’s ear and the two of them laughed raucously.  

“I love my wife,” he muttered under his breath hidden by that million-watt smile he had become proficient at plastering upon his face.

Again, his eyes met Liz’s laughing ones and he mouthed, “Just you wait.”


“And there you have it ladies,” the DJ announced, 2016’s calendar candidates!  Hold onto your panties because one at a time, they’re going to try to separate you from them!”


The firefighters paraded out through the double door as the music faded away and the women chanted, “Bring it on! Bring it on!” 



(Zoe Burton’s Firefighter)


Before the assembled calendar contestants gave the women a taste of what was to come, firefighter Kasey Krane, nicknamed The Closer for his ability to “close the deal” with every woman he met, stood outside the door with fifty other of New York’s bravest awaiting their cue to strut their stuff.

Kasey was a newbie to the department as well as New York, though he had been a fireman for years in his native North Carolina. He had moved to the Big Apple just a few months ago, and all his new buddies could talk about was the annual firefighter’s beefcake calendar. When he heard about the FD Burn Foundation and met Will Darcy himself, he knew he had to be a part of it.

After talking with some of the guys who had participated in the past and finding out how they dressed for it, he decided to honor his favorite sport—racing. One isn’t raised in Charlotte, North Carolina without being steeped in stock car racing and its traditions. Not only did Kasey know the history of the sport, he was also a racer himself, with several ARCA series wins and a championship under his belt. Now here he stood in a modified racing fire suit and helmet ready to take it all off…or as much as he could in two minutes.

The Copacabana’s ballroom floor was packed full of screaming women. Suddenly, the room lights dimmed as strobe lights began circling, bouncing and dancing off anything shiny. Within moments, they were joined by beams of red and orange, and the women, who were crammed elbow to elbow, screamed in anticipation. The first of the men made his way through the doorway when the fake smoke filled the room and simulated flames licked at the walls. Within moments, two rows of hard-bodied men had lined up across one end of the ballroom.

Kasey watched as the women applauded and cheered every synchronized movement the firefighters made.

Before he knew it, the group performance was over, and individual auditions would begin. Kasey was eager for this part. He worked out daily, lifting weights and running. He had an eight-pack stomach and a tight backside.

Women swooned to see him jogging with or without a shirt. He had even been known to stop traffic, which was a huge stroke to his ego.

The firefighters paraded out through the double door, and the women chanted, “Bring it on! Bring it on!” 

From inside he heard Candy Moore over the speakers and he took a deep breath, his time had come. He intended to make some woman’s day today; maybe she’d then make his night. A guy could hope, in any case.


Candy pressed a few buttons on the remote in her hand, changing the lights. The ballroom filled with the sound of a racecar revving up its engine. “Our first audition is new to the city. So let’s give #1, Kasey Krane a real New York greeting. Ladies, start your engines because he feels the need for speed.”


The hungry pack of she wolves went ballistic.

Signifying his turn, “Burn It Down” began to play and Kasey strode to the spot marked on the floor. Dressed as he was and with his helmet on, at first it was just his hips gyrating slowly to one of his favorite country songs. He could hear the roar of the ladies even with his ears covered. Keeping his lower body in motion, he raised his hands and removed the helmet, tossing it to the side. He brought his arms up, hands behind his head and thrust his pelvis at the women, and when their screams increased, he smiled. He could see one particular lady, a brown-haired cutie dressed conservatively at the front of the crowd, and decided to play to her.

Next to come off was the top of his bunker suit. Normally, the thing would be all one piece and he’d be wearing what amounted to long underwear beneath it, but for this event, he’d had a special suit made that came off easily, with only a Speedo on underneath. One hand left his head and crossed his body, grabbing the seam and ripping it back across his chest and tossing it away. As the crowd yelled encouragement, he ran both hands sensuously over his slick pecs and abs before thrusting his hips directly at the brunette. When she blushed, he winked at her and then turned around to give the girls an eyeful of his pant-covered backside. Knowing he only had two minutes and figuring he had probably used one already, he ripped the pants off his swiveling hips. He slowly moved so that he once again faced the room, his lower body in constant motion.

He looked at “his” girl, and the slack-jawed, glazed-eye look on her face made this event worth every sweaty second. With his last few seconds of time, Kasey slinked his way around the edge of the roped-off area, just out of arm’s reach of the crowd, until he stopped in front of her. He thrust his hips at her a couple times, enjoying the blush that overtook her cheeks. As the last lines of the song faded away and the ending bars began, he reached out a hand to grab the back of her head, leaning in to kiss her hard and quick. Letting her go, he winked and turned, and made his way out the door. After that delicious kiss, he fully intended to get a date with that woman. He really wanted the calendar spot, but if he came out of this interview with her on his arm, it would be more than adequate compensation. He wasn’t called “The Closer” for nothing!



(Pamela Lynne’s Firefighter)


The men waited their turn for their solo audition and judging, their chance to win one of the thirteen coveted spots in the calendar. They resumed their bodybuilding, flexing, and oiling. Some talked about the women they saw in the audience when they strutted out with the flames and lights. Others drank to quell the nerves of being in the spotlight. Right now, that newbie from North Carolina was getting them warmed up with his racecar driver shtick, but they hadn’t seen anything yet.

Mr. October stared in the full-length mirror, watching his own hand glide up and down his left arm, rubbing in the oil that would glisten under the lights of the Copacabana. His gaze remained fixed ahead, but he could hear the giggles and soft words of girlfriends and wives who had come to perform this task for many of the other would be models. His upper lip curled in discontent. He’d had enough experience with oil and his right hand lately, and needed no further reminders that he was alone. He reached out to push a button on his iPhone, hoping the music coming from it would serve as a shield from the sounds of happiness coming from all around him. He needed to focus. He had been Mr. October two years in a row, but failed to win the cover. This year the stakes were even higher, as a centerfold had been added to the calendar.

He returned to his task, this time spreading the oil over his chest, pausing for a moment at the image on his left pec, just above his heart. He sighed as his shoulders drooped slightly and the corners of his lips turned town. He hardly remembered getting the ink of his Tennessee girl, having been wasted at the time, but could not bring himself to have it removed. Nearly a year since she left New York to return to her home, he still pined for her. The words she had said to him the day she departed still ran through his mind. “Joe, baby, there’s only so much anaconda a girl take. I need to find someone who just wants to talk for a while.” He had tried to speak to her then, but she just placed a finger over his lips and said, “Shh.”  

Joe snorted at the memory. She said she wanted conversation, but he saw the men that graced her Facebook page. She obviously never got over her cowboy fetish. What kind of girl prefers a bull to a snake? His shoulders slumped further. His girl. He wiped his hands on a towel then picked up his outfit for the audition. If he could get the centerfold, perhaps he could convince her to come back. He failed to take the grand prize after showing his body, so this time he would show his heart. Joe remembered how much she liked poetry, and in his Jersey boy mind, only one band stood out in his mind that could achieve poetic perfection—Bon Jovi. He tied on his assless, pull away chaps, placed the cowboy hat on top of his black curls, and headed toward the stage entrance to await his turn. With his jaw set in grim determination, he patted his left pec twice. “This one’s for you, baby.”



(Cat Gardiner’s Firefighter)


When the last strains of “Wanted Dead or Alive” carried up to the VIP lounge where Will impatiently awaited his turn, he knew his time had come. He was sure those revealing chaps of Joe’s were a hit. Thus far, there had been two cowboys, a racecar driver, a Latin king, a soldier, and only a handful of guys who had actually dressed as a firefighter for their audition in the firefighter calendar. He wasn’t vying for the centerfold or even Mr. December this year. He only wanted to make one point, and one point alone.

“Mr. Darcy, it’s your turn!  Everything is in place,” Candy said. “Good luck, Mrs. Darcy is going to love it.”

Joe passed Will with a self-satisfied smug upon his face. Yeah, he was sure the guy thought he’d get the centerfold. If “Anaconda” wasn’t such a strong hoseman for his Ladder Company, he’d turn to him and say, “Hey jackass, you put your chaps on backwards,” but Joe wasn’t known for his brains only his brawn and the poor guy was still suffering from a broken heart.

“Are you ready for this, Will?” Rick asked.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Should I go home and ready the guest room?”

“No, it’s not what you think. She won’t be mad, just embarrassed—just like I have felt for the last two years.”


Standing at the threshold, Will took a deep breath.  He hadn’t changed clothes.  There was no shtick, no gimmick, or fake person. He wore what started it all – his firefighting image for a calendar that changed both their lives: his black turnout gear: bunker pants, suspenders, gear coat, and his helmet. His body was probably a little more greased and his nerves a little more frayed, because if he was going to do this, he was going to go all out. Liz was counting on him to deliver the goods for both her career and the foundation that she had come to love so much.

He waited for the end of Candy’s announcement, which carried up the stairs.


“Ladies, you know him as the FDNY fire inspector, Lieutenant William Darcy, the face and body that started it all in 2014!  But to some of us, he’ll always be known as Mr. December, every year.  Give it up for the hottest, sexiest, firefighter in America!”


Liz’s heart slammed against her chest. After almost two years of marriage and two babies, she still felt like she did the day of the photo shoot whenever she gazed (or gaped) at her husband.  She couldn’t love him more than at this moment because she knew he was doing this solely for her.  She’d give him so much more than diaper duty reprieve. He was the best of men.

Charlotte winked at her just before he came through those doors. The room suddenly went black and the crowd silenced. There was no music, no lead in.  What the hell is going on?

“Lizzy what’s happening?” Jane whispered.

“I have no idea.  He must be up to something.  He threatened payback.”

“Uh oh.”

On the floor two tiers of strobe emergency lights flashed, filling the room with bursts of red and yellow.  Smoke crept across the floor.

Familiar guitar riffs to Elvis’s “Burning Love” began and the women went absolutely insane.

At the drum beat, Will burst through the door and Liz thought the disco balls would shatter from the escalated screams. The flashing stopped and two spotlights came on.

One on him and the other directly on her. He winked before he took off his helmet and tossed it toward the doors. She laughed and shook her head, noting the black headset microphone before his lips.

It wasn’t Elvis’s voice that came through the speakers, it was Will’s. “Lord Almighty, I feel my temperature rising,” he sang perfectly, never removing his gaze from her. 

God, he looked hot enough to burn the sun, and she was blown away that he would sing publicly for strangers—while stripping.

At the lyrics “burning straight to my soul,” Will slowly removed his jacket, raising it above his head and circling it before tossing it with a flick of his wrist to the judges table. It landed at her feet under the dais.

The man of her heart moved across the dance floor like she hadn’t seen before—well except that one time last Valentine’s Day.  Good God! Is he unbuttoning his bunkers? She could feel the blush rise to her cheeks. This was totally all for her—and her discombobulation.

He raised his arms above his head, clasping his hands as he rotated his hips, moving his torso.  The rise of his arms caused his stomach muscles to spread, his bunkers to drop dangerously low as he sang how he burned with nothing to cool him. Those veins in his bicep were pumped and tempting her, so she tapped her fingers against the table in sexual release. She could see how turned on he was by this little show for her; his erect nipples were a dead giveaway.

The man’s physique and energy, even his stare upon her were hotter than a four-alarm blaze and she fanned herself with the brochure upon the table. Her husband was burning her flesh without even touching her.

 Charlotte was all over him with the camera and Liz couldn’t help but to chuckle at the entire scene. The women were about to storm the dance floor, but obviously held back because he was good as Elvis himself.

“He’s very good, Lizzy. Can he teach Charlie to do that?” Jane effused.


Will danced closer to the table, mere feet from where she sat perspiring and licking her lips.  His hand slid down his glistening chest and firm abdomen, his hips rotating seductively.  He playfully smirked during the instrumental, moving and soliciting the response he knew he would get from her.  Both hands, slid the bunkers lower, his treasure trail fully exposed for his wife’s enjoyment.

Liz uncomfortably crossed her legs under the table.

 “It’s coming closer, the flames are now lickin my body. Won’t you help me …” he sang, taking her anxious hand in his, pulling her arm forward across the table to touch his burning, slick chest. Yes, the man was scalding upon her touch!

Feeling bereft, he kissed her hand before moving back to the center of the floor after a strut along the perimeter of the screaming crowd.

The song was ending, and Will stood, just singing his heart out to her with the refrain followed by the repetitious, “I’m just a hunk a hunk of burning love ...”  He pointed to her adding “for Liz” at the end.

Liz abruptly stood, knocking over the chair then ran around the table, across the dance floor and barreled straight into Will’s arms. He lifted her onto his greasy torso and she wrapped her legs around his waist.  They kissed deeply and the women loved it!


“Well ladies.  I think you know who our centerfold winner is!” Candy Moore said.


Will and Liz continued to kiss.





The End



© Copyright by Cat Gardiner, Pamela Lynne, and Zoe Burton

Publisher: Vanity & Pride Press, October 2015


All rights are reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any format whatsoever. Inquiries and information should be addressed to


Lucky Audition Soundtrack - Full YouTube Music Playlist: Click Here

Burning Love, Elivs Presley

Mr. December Underwear Poster