I first met Beth when she was fifteen. Before you think I’m a pedophile, I wasn’t interested, and nothing happened other than an introduction. The busboy at my hangout told me about an upcoming party featuring, “Free beer and hot babes—and there’s a pool.” That sounded great to a poor, single, recent college graduate living without air-conditioning in the middle of a late September heat wave. Two weeks later, I pulled up in front of a big Victorian house in one of the expensive sections of town.
I opened the door, and there was a serious party going on, as promised. However, I didn’t make it much past the living room after a couple of minutes, and it was already obvious this was a high school, parents-are-gone-party. I’d been to a few in my high school days. While Mike, the busboy, was only 19, I was far too old for this party. I turned and squeezed my way back towards the door, and suddenly, the crowd shifted, pinning me against a short girl with curly blonde hair. I excused myself, feeling uncomfortable and out of place. She smiled and brightly shouted, “Hi! I’m Beth!”
“Henry,” I returned just as loud, over the din. “I was just leaving. A friend invited me.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“Mike, the busboy at—”
“Ohh, Mike! He only lives a few blocks away, and I’ve known him forever! Well, this is my house, and you can stay,” she smiled. The crowd shifted, pushing her even closer. “You smell good.” Before I could reply, whatever had created the crushing conditions moved, and I could put some space between us. Beth wobbled a little. She’d obviously gotten a head start on the keg.
“Thank you, but I have to go home and do a few things,” I lied. “Thought I could grab a quick beer, but it’s crowded and I don’t know anyone except you and him.”
She seemed disappointed, but said she would tell Mike, who was outside at the pool, I said hello. I thanked her for the offer to stay, but resumed maneuvering to the door, and Beth went the other way. The next time I saw Mike, I yelled at him for not telling me it was a high school party. “So what? You’re not that much older than me, and there were loads of babes there. You missed your chance. I got lucky,” he leered. I sighed, not wanting to argue about the difference between twenty-two and nineteen, and forgot the whole thing.
***
The next time I saw Beth was at my local hangout, almost three years later. Mike should have been checking ages at the bar entrance, but he’d let Beth and her friend, Chloë in. Both girls were extremely drunk, and Mike was drooling, expecting to get lucky. When I heard her suggest she and Chloë head to another bar, I interjected myself in their conversation and told them they were too drunk to drive. Mike said he’d take them home after he finished work and buy them another drink while they waited. Beth slurred, “I wanna go now,” in protest. Chloë giggled and ordered another drink. Beth grabbed my arm. “Mike wants to get in our pants… you smell good.” She looked at her friend. “Let’s go to your place.” Before I could react, she gleefully told Chloë, “I vote his place!” and each girl grabbed an arm. Beth began to pull me toward the exit. “C’mon, let’s go!” Mike and a couple other guys shot daggers at me, but the girls had made up their mind, so there was no way they could keep the two underage girls in the bar without attracting attention.
Paradoxically, my three-bedroom townhouse was probably the safest alternative for them. Both my roommates had moved out-of-town with about six weeks left on the lease, leaving furniture behind, so I had two empty bedrooms with doors that locked. Frankly, I was too pissed at Mike to think about the two teenage girls I let in. I herded Chloë upstairs first. She tried to pull me into the bed, but was too drunk to hang on. Beth was smoking a long white cigarette when I came back downstairs. “That was quick,” she smirked. I rolled my eyes and tried to pull her to her feet, but she wasn’t as compliant as her friend, and stubbornly finished her cigarette before she let me guide her upstairs. Beth clamped herself to me when I eased her to the bed, pulling me with her. “I’m eighteen now,” she whispered, breathing heavily.
“I’m twenty-six,” I said. “More to the point, you’re drunk. You aren’t here to have sex with me. You’re here because Mike would be having sex with you whether you wanted to or not. This is a safe place, not a sex place, Beth.”
“‘Kay,” she mumbled, but didn’t release her hold, and snuggled against my body. “G’night.” Fortunately, my rational brain had focused on the eight-year difference between us, and it was enough to keep my primal brain at bay. Five minutes later, she was sound asleep, letting me slip out of her grasp without waking her. I left the room, quietly closed the door, and turned—only to be greeted by a naked Chloë in the hall, wobbling on her feet, obviously waiting for me. She took a big, lurching step in my direction, but her eyes suddenly widened, and she abruptly changed direction and stumbled into the bathroom, not quite making it to the toilet.
A few minutes later, with her intended seduction having spectacularly failed, I was able to get her back to her bedroom. The door closed behind me, and I heard the distinct “click” of the lock. Embarrassed and nauseated trumped drunk and horny in Chloë’s case, and I was relieved the decision had been taken out of my hands. Nice guy, yes. Saint? Definitely not. I cleaned up the bathroom, and then locked myself in my room. The next day, the townhouse was empty when I left my bedroom. They’d left without waking me, and the only evidence of the night was an almost-empty pack of Virginia Slim Lights 120s on the table next to the chair where Beth had sat.
A week later, Beth showed up at my door with flowers. “These are for you, for being so nice to me and Chloë that night Mike got us drunk. Chloë was too embarrassed to come with me. She says she’s sorry for getting sick.” I was touched by the gesture, and let her in.
“Mike had no business letting you in the bar in the first place, let alone giving you free booze. They could have shut down the place just because you and Chloë were in there,” I noted. He’d been pissed at me since that night because he thought I’d committed the horrible crime of “cock-blocking.” I was still pissed at him for putting my hangout in jeopardy just to satisfy his dick, so I was happy we hadn’t spoken since. Beth said she knew that because her folks owned a bar-restaurant. “Maybe you can get away with it with your folks there, but it isn’t a good idea for you to go to other bars at eighteen.” She picked up the pack of cigarettes she’d left and lit one. I’d been too busy packing to throw them out.
Beth took a big first drag, opened her mouth, letting a ball of smoke escape briefly, before sucking it back in. “Me an’ Chloë were celebrating graduation, and Mike said he’d be happy to help,” she said, as if that justified anything. “But I’m glad we ran into you. Mike’s been trying to get into my pants for years.” She hugged me and pecked me on the cheek. “Mmmm,” she purred, burying her nose in my neck. “You always smell so good!” After a few long moments, it began to feel awkward.
“Umm… Beth? You can let go now.”
“What if I don’t wanna?” she whispered, kissing me on my ear. I took her arms from around my shoulders, and took a few steps back, telling her she should probably leave. Unfazed, Beth took another long drag from her cigarette, complete with big ball of smoke, and exhaled toward the ceiling. She looked at me with an expression that had no business being on an eighteen year-old face, and with narrowed eyes, asked, “Why? I’m eighteen an’ I’m not drunk.” She stood less than ten feet away, all five-four of her, and dragged again on her cigarette, looking like someone ten years older with her long, effortless exhale, before lazily sashaying toward me. “Y’gonna kick me out? I woulda done it with you last week if I wasn’t so drunk,” she softly growled. With sexily lidded eyes, slightly parted lips, and Virginia Slim 120 between the fingers of a cocked wrist at the hips, she was dangerously inviting. Beth took another drag, no snap or open-mouth inhale this time, and arched her back slightly as she raised her chin for a near-silent exhale, pushing her chest toward me. Calculated or not, she wasn’t acting eighteen now, portraying smoking glamour and sexy seduction better than my very hot, twenty-five year old, More menthol-smoking ex-girlfriend. My rational brain never had a chance. Like I said, I’m no saint.
Beth was round and plush. Her orgasmically rolling, very blue eyes, soft, throaty groans, soft, warm pussy, the bright pink from her tits to her forehead, and the way she moved beneath me made sure that didn’t matter. I quickly had her singing the “Oh… Ohhh… Ohhhhhh… OOOHHHHH!” chorus, and it was as erotic as all hell. We were moving together like a German machine, my long, steady strokes giving her all the cock I had and then some with each smooth thrust, her hips smoothly sliding forward to meet me, and it was too damn good to last. I was thinking it was time to pull out, but Beth clamped herself around my cock with her third orgasm, and wrapped her arms and legs around me in a death grip. When she relaxed by the slightest, I tried to break free so I could pull out. My cock moved backwards by a fraction of an inch, and the urge to slam into her overwhelmed me, followed by emptying my nuts into a howling eighteen-year-old. After lots of frenzied kissing and many aftershocks, Beth finally exhaled, “Wow,” still panting. For my part, I was thinking, I can’t believe I just may have impregnated an eighteen year-old. This was the dumbest thing—Beth wrapped her hand around my sticky, messy cock and began to rub it. To her delight, and my surprise, it responded. I was about to tell her that going for one had been a bad idea, and going for two was worse when she excitedly panted, “I’m on the pill,” turning pink again. She left the townhouse about five hours after bringing me flowers, walking a little funny.
As soon as the door closed, it hit me how stupid I’d just been. I was almost eight years older than she was. She had just finished high school, and I was a counselor at the University giving advice to kids her age, many of whom would be considered hotter than Beth—and there wasn’t a hint of interest in either of my brains. Somehow, Beth had managed to break through all those barriers. “Accidents Will Happen,” by Elvis Costello ran through my head, and I didn’t want to think of the consequences if Beth was lying about her birth control. At least it’s over with. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I didn’t know why Beth resonated so much with me, and spent a lot of time the week after our first coupling trying to figure it out. She was a hellaciously sexy smoker, but we had little in common beyond that. She wasn’t even on her life’s path yet, while I’d turned my master’s degree into a career. In a few years, I could have an associate dean’s position. Having sexual relations with a college-age girl would definitely be a red flag. Besides, I was an old soul at heart. Responsible, logical, mature, and until very recently, not prone to bad judgment—even those of young, single men in their twenties.
The one thing I didn’t do was consider getting back with Ginny. Yeah, she was almost drop-dead gorgeous, smoked Mores with grace and style that was always arousing, and was never reluctant to hit the sheets. A girl from the wrong side of the tracks, her smoking was about the only ladylike behavior she exhibited. She couldn’t quite get the hang of the exclusivity thing, and even though I did my best to rescue her from her past, old habits proved too hard for me to break.
Everything would have been fine if I could have avoided Beth after our initial dalliance, but I had a regular hangout, making me easy to find. Less than a week later, Beth was there, talking to Mike when I entered. “Hi Henry! What are you doing here?” I replied I was there for the weekly pasta special. “Stop by and say hi after dinner.” she smiled. “This is my day off from the restaurant.”
I ate slowly and way more than I usually did, in a vain effort to avoid her. No such luck. She was still there when I staggered out of the restaurant, overstuffed, just as she was dragging on a freshly lit Virginia Slim 120. Her eyes drooped, she opened her mouth, just a little, and snapped the escaping smoke back in. Raising her chin by the slighest, I watched her breasts ease forward slightly, remembering how they felt… and a trail of smoke flowed through her lips. It was smoking poetry, effortlessly and casually performed.
Eighteen-year-olds just didn’t do that, even in 1987. She spun and waved me over, and it would have been rude to ignore her, so I quickly sat at her table, avoiding a hug that could have become awkward. We said hello while she finished her cigarette. I was ready to leave after that, but she said, “Mike told me you work at the university.” I would have killed Mike with a look had he been standing within eyeshot, because it forced me to have a conversation with Beth. “Are you a professor?”
“No, I’m a counselor in the dean’s office.” She returned a blank look. “Basically, I help students figure out what classes to take based on what they’re interested in.” This was obviously a new concept for her. “For example, what is it you want to do? What classes are you thinking about taking?”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to go to college. I’m working at my parents’ restaurant,” Beth casually replied.
“That’s fine for now, Beth… but you’re not planning on working there forever, right?” The expression on her face said she hadn’t thought about it. It was a difficult question for many eighteen-year-olds. “See, that’s what I get paid to do,” I said. She nodded slowly. “Anyway, I have to go. I have an early morning tomorrow. Goodnight, Beth.” I got out of there as fast as I could, pleased with my success at keeping our encounter platonic.
***
The following Saturday, I was trying to decide what would be moving with me to my new one-bedroom apartment when the townhouse lease ended. The door intercom sounded. “Who is it?” I called, not expecting anyone.
“Beth. Can I come in and talk?” I said I was busy. “It’s about college. I need a counselor. Can you help?” Sighing, I let her in. “Thanks.” I asked what she needed help with, since she wasn’t going to college. Her parents weren’t happy with her apparent aimlessness, and had offered to pay for college if she could. All of it. “But I’m happy just working at the restaurant, and school is so boring.”
“First, if my parents had been able and willing to pay for all of my college, I’d have jumped at the offer,” I snapped. “You have no idea how generous that is. Most of us graduate with lots of loans to pay off.” She looked shocked. “Second, college is not high school. It’s not easy. The questions are more complex, the answers aren’t intuitive. If you’re bored by college, then you’re a genius and need to be taking PhD classes.”
Beth blushed and admitted she wasn’t a genius. “But I don’t know what I would study.”
“You like working at the restaurant, right?” She nodded. “Personally, if I were in your shoes, I’d take business classes. Why work at your folks’ restaurant when you can run it? I’m sure they’d like to keep it in the family. You want to pay your parents back for college? Let them retire early. Have you ever asked your parents how the restaurant runs? Did you ever think about more than just serving customers or working in the kitchen?”
Beth pulled out a Virginia Slim Light 120, and lit it. She took two long, deep drags, sucking in the tiny bit of escaping smoke with each inhale, exhaling… glamorously. Arm extended, wrist cocked, silent exhale directed at a slight upward angle into the sunbeams, cigarette held near the filter between her fingers, making it look so long. I felt something I shouldn’t have. After a third enchanting exhale, she finally said, “Ummm… Dad takes care of the kitchen stuff, and Mom does the other stuff. I never really thought about… running the place.” I said maybe she should, and to show some interest to her parents to see what they thought. She fell silent, and drew on her cigarette. After another casual exhale, she told me she’d ask her mother. “But it’s too late to apply to college, and they want me to go to college, not culinary school. Besides, I hate cooking.” She drew again on the cigarette.
I knew what I wanted to say, but couldn’t respond right away because a good part of my brain had turned to mush watching Beth noiselessly produce a stream of smoke into the air. “There’s always community college,” I finally began, “any school around here will accept those credits. And then I’d apply to business school.”
Beth finished her cigarette, considering what I’d said. “That might work…” she softly exhaled with the smoke from her last drag, still making it look fantastic. I was a little… aroused. I know I shouldn’t have been, but there was something sexy about the young woman in front of me. “If I like… have questions or something, can I talk to you?” I told her of course she could. “Thanks, Henry. I really appreciate everything.” She hugged me tightly and purred, “Mmmm… You still smell good.” She didn’t let go, burying her face in my chest.
It was becoming awkward, on the way to downright dangerous. I had no control over what was happening downstairs. “Ummm… Beth…” I hoarsely began. She lifted her head to look at me, eyes half-lidded. Her cheeks flushed slightly as her leg brushed against my rising excitement. She opened her lips, and within seconds, we were kissing hungrily. Beth arched her back and shifted so my erection pressed more strongly against her jeans, and between her legs. I forgot she was eighteen, eight years my junior, and after some more frenzied necking, we headed upstairs.
An hour later, I ran downstairs to fetch her cigarettes and an ashtray. I was rewarded with one of the sexiest displays of after-sex smoking I’d ever witnessed. Each drag concluded with a small, casual, lazy snap, without intent or effort, each exhale streamed through pursed lips after turning her head away so she wouldn’t blow it in my face. Beth carefully extinguished her cigarette with a sultry purr… and I was on top of her again. She welcomed me with a kiss, wrapped her arms around me, and cocked her hips, silently asking me to go deeper.
It was getting dark outside when she was finally able to prepare to leave. “Beth,” I said, “we can’t keep doing this.” She asked why not. “Because I’m a lot older than you. It’s my job to counsel people your age, not…” She lit a Virginia Slim 120 with a quick snap-french inhale, interrupting my thoughts. “Well, you know.”
She came close and breathed, “Is that the only reason, Henry? You can counsel me… as much as you want. I’m eighteen. It’s legal.” She nipped my ear and ran her hand over the front of my pants. “I think you’re awesome,” she whispered, words drenched with innuendo befitting a much older woman. Her eyes drooped, taking on a sexy cast. “Are you sure?”
No, I wasn’t.
I was able to stay away from Beth for almost two weeks because I was busy moving to my new apartment. The following Friday, she showed up shortly after I got home from work. I should have told her I was busy, or something like that, but just couldn’t bring myself to turn her away. She checked out the new apartment and approved, then sat for a Virginia Slim 120 while she excitedly told me about her past two weeks. She’d enrolled at community college, taking three courses so she could continue working at the family’s restaurant. “Mom was real happy I showed interest in how to run the restaurant, just like you said! She’s going to teach me everything she does!” I was happy Beth had taken my advice, and seemed enthusiastic about the path she’d chosen. At the same time, she hadn’t considered anything else. I asked her what would happen if she didn’t like working in the restaurant business, which stopped her excited chattering for a minute or so. Then she shucked her top and smiled, “Now we don’t have to go upstairs!” This was a different Beth. Same body and face, but not the same girl. I asked her what the deal was. “Don’t you wanna?”
“No. I just got home, and I want to relax, make dinner, and then I’ll figure out the rest of the night.”
“Well, maybe if you do this,” she smiled, showing me a tiny round cameo case. I asked what it was. “Cocaine,” she merrily chirped. I rolled my eyes. “I’ll share… free.” I patiently explained why I didn’t do coke, nor would I. The university had just lost a dean because of it, although the public explanation said he’d resigned for another career opportunity. It was a sensitive topic at work, and there were rumors of pending drug testing for all advisory and administrative staff. Beth looked crestfallen, and softly asked, “Well, do you mind if I do?”
I was thinking it didn’t matter to me what she did, but for some reason, I said, “I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve known people who have spent more money than they have on it. I’m sure they started with something tiny like yours, and didn’t intend to end up the way they did.” The dean was skimming university funds earmarked for student activities to feed his coke habit, and that was how the school caught him.
“Oh, OK,” Beth quietly said, sounding disappointed. She looked at the floor, and suddenly seemed to realize she was only wearing a bra in my living room. She hurriedly put her top back on. “I guess I’m gonna go, then.” I told her that was fine, and asked her to think about a plan B if the restaurant didn’t work out. She left, deflated, and I thought that would be the end of Beth. A part of me was sorry, but the logic was undeniable.
She returned two weeks later, with a chaste hug at my door, and none of the hyperactivity of her previous visit. All business this time, discussing the classes she wanted to take, how she enjoyed working with her mom, and how much was involved in running their restaurant. Beth thanked me for my guidance, and lit one of her long cigarettes. “I’m not good at math,” she confessed, “so I’m a little scared about algebra. If I have trouble, can you help?” I said sure, watching her take her usual snap-inhale, followed by an effortless raised-chin exhale. “Oh! I want to tell you I quit coke. I mean, what you said about the money and all… It really made a difference when I thought about it.” Her next drag was slow and long, the snap-inhale equally slow, the lifting of the chin deliberate before the silent exhale.
I was affected, and suddenly began to see a desirable young woman. I think Beth noticed the change in the way I was looking at her. She took another slow-motion drag with the creamy snap-inhale, and put out the half-smoked Virginia Slim 120. Her eyes drooped, she opened her mouth to say something, and out-of-control, I pulled her to me. We kissed, Beth grinding her lower body against my inflating cock, and we kissed our way to my bed.
“Ummm… I really like you, Henry,” she said, after she finished her fascinating, elegant, naked, after-sex smoke.
“I like you too, Beth,” I admitted, my concern over the difference in our ages having diminished to nothingness with each sexy puff she took.
“But my folks…” She hesitated. “Would have a fit if they knew we were…”
Of course they’d have a fit. Their eighteen-year-old daughter is sexually involved with someone eight years older! Beth snuggled against me with a sensuous purr. It just felt right. She was so much younger than I was! It should have mattered, but it didn’t. I was getting hard again, and as soon as my dick brushed her leg, she smiled, sultrily, and began to play with it. Her eyes broadcast adult lust, not teenage mischief, and as soon as I was hard, she rolled over and spread her legs for me again. If nothing else, we were a perfect sexual match, moving together with an instinctive paired precision, sending her to the peak, culminating in her orgasm. Face red, eyes fluttering, head bobbing, her body moving in waves, her slick pussy gripping me tightly, and throaty, incoherent half-screams forced out of her were erotic as all hell. And I kept pumping at her, my dick singing the praises of her velvet pussy with every millimeter of movement. Physically, Beth may not have been the best lay of my life, but the entire experience was so much more than any other. I shot another load deep inside her, repeatedly moaning her name. As before, I didn’t think about consequences until well after the sweat had cooled. I brought the subject up, and she responded with a surprisingly adult, “If it happens, we’ll deal with it then.” We were a couple, tradition and propriety be damned.
Our relationship continued throughout her first semester; she would come over on weekends, and nights she had algebra, rarely departing without a load or two. Beth seemed happy to be with me, even though we did not go out in public together. Both of us were well aware we had to keep our relationship secret. She made the dean’s list her second semester; I was proud of her, and so were her parents. The Friday night after the announcement, I walked into my normal hangout to have dinner… and ran into Beth, her parents, and brother. They were celebrating her accomplishment, which was seemingly quite the surprise. She couldn’t help but greet me. “So who is your friend, Beth?” asked her mother. This was what I had dreaded. How would Beth react?
“Mom, this is Henry. He’s been helping me with algebra,” she truthfully said. “He’s a college counselor at the university, and he’s the one who told me I should go to community college.” Beth gave no sign we were more than that.
“It’s nice to meet you, Henry,” her mother smiled, standing to shake my hand. “I’m Helena.” She guided me around the table, introducing John, her husband, and Scott, Beth’s brother, before offering me a seat at their table for dinner. I politely declined, believing it would be difficult to keep from betraying just how close I was with Beth. Helena smiled, saying she understood, and invited me to their restaurant for a free lunch. “I’m pretty sure Beth wouldn’t have done so well in algebra without your help, and we’re all happy she’s chosen to continue in school. Stop by for lunch on us next week. I’m always there from opening until six or so.” Beth’s eyes flickered with panic, but her mother finished with, “Enjoy your evening, Henry, and thank you for helping Beth.” Out of their eyeshot, I breathed a relieved sigh, believing Beth and I had successfully hidden the depth of our relationship from her parents. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
***
I went to the popular pub-restaurant her family owned later that week, while there was no chance of running into Beth. Her mother greeted me with a polite handshake, and showed me to a booth, away from the gathering lunch crowd. “Order anything you like, it’s on me, and I’ll be back shortly. Just have to get the lunch rush underway.”
I had pretty much finished my meal when she returned. A pack of Virginia Slim 120s hit the table as she sat. “Do you mind if I smoke?” I said no, thinking, that explains why Beth smokes them. She lit it and took a forever drag, but held the long white cigarette high, resting her arm on the top of the booth. “One of the habits I wish my daughter hadn’t gotten from me,” Helena sardonically smiled. “So how do you know Beth?”
I was prepared for this. “Mike introduced us,” I casually replied. “I go there for the Tuesday night pasta special, and she was there talking to him. He’s a good guy, if a little…”
“Ah, Mike. Yes, we’ve known him for years. He lives about three blocks away, and he’s always had a good heart when it comes down to it, even though he’s still a high school boy at heart.” She drew again, lazily lifted her head, and eased her chest forward, producing a sculpted stream through her lips with a strong nasal finish. Then she returned her arm and the cigarette to its resting place high against the back of the booth. After studying me for a few more moments, she smiled, “And how long have you been—involved—with my daughter?” I nearly choked on my water as she continued, “Normally, Beth loves to bring her friends to the restaurant for a free meal, just to show off her parents own the place. The only time she doesn’t is with boyfriends she thinks we’d disapprove of.” Helena looked directly into my eyes. “Is this any different?”
I could have lied, but realized she would have known by the way she regarded me. “Ummm… about nine months. I’m sorry, Mrs. Thomas, I know—”
She held up her hand to stop me, the Virginia Slim Light 120, still long and sleek between her fingers. “That you have no business being with a girl barely graduated from high school? That you could derail her life with little or no consequence? That you’re barely beyond statutory rape?” she quietly snapped. “Of all people, you should know better. Are you this way with your advisees?”
“No ma’am, I’m not. I don’t even think of that with them,” I mumbled, ashamed.
“I could march right down to the university now and file a complaint. You’d lose your job, and good luck finding another one!” I was ready to apologize, leave, and quit. “However…” Helena slowly resumed, “since Beth has been… with you, she’s seemed to pick up a direction in her life, and I can’t deny I was shocked by her making the dean’s list.” As she was taking another forever drag, I started to apologize and say I would end it right away. She finished her drag with an audible sucking noise, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs, and held her hand up, palm forward. “Henry, for whatever reason, my daughter cares what you think.” She started to exhale a thick stream of smoke and resumed talking in mid-exhale. “I can’t deny that she’s changed since high school graduation.” She stopped to finish sending the rest of her smoke toward the aisle next to the booth. “We were all pleasantly shocked when she declared she wanted to go to school, and she’d never shown much interest in the restaurant. I can honestly say I was thrilled by her newfound enthusiasm in the day-to-day workings here,” Helena said. “She no longer does cocaine—the register doesn’t come up a little short on the nights she works—that’s how I can tell.” She finished her cigarette with a massive drag and noiseless exhale, carefully directed over my head. “I can only conclude that you’re the reason behind this transformation. It’s occurred over the time she’s been sleeping with you.”
“What would you like me to do, Mrs. Thomas? You’ve made it obvious you know everything, and you’re right. Beth is eight years younger than I am, and I wish I could say I knew how it happened.”
“Henry, every parental instinct is screaming at me that this is wrong. Logically, I should kick your ass out of here, and scream bloody murder to the university.” She shook her head. “Nevertheless, the changes in Beth have been dramatic, and all for the positive. You are good for her. The advice you’ve given her is nothing John and I haven’t, but she seems to accept it from you. So,” Helena took a loud, noisy breath. “I’m only going to say that if she gets pregnant, you will do the right thing, or I will make your life hell. After her brother beats you to a bloody pulp.”
“One question, if I may.” Helena indicated I should continue. “At the risk of sounding… cowardly, do you think Beth is looking for… for another father figure?”
“Excellent question, Henry, but I don’t think so. She’s always been much more of a mommy’s girl. Very interested in… my things. To be honest, I think she sees you as her equivalent of John. Someone mature and supportive, especially in comparison with the boys her own age.” She asked me a few more questions about my past, family, and future without any hint of hostility, and gave me a soft hug as we parted.
Beth came over later that week to discuss her next classes. She wanted to take the summer off to work alongside her mother. “Beth,” I interrupted, “your mom knows. She brought it up over lunch. “
“Shit!” she hissed, panicked. “What are we going to do? I haven’t seen her all week, so I didn’t know!” She frantically grabbed for the pack of cigarettes in her purse.
“She told me she’s okay with it… as long as you don’t get pregnant. She thinks I’ve been good for you.”
That seemed to drain all the panic in her bearing as she stood there, lighter in one hand, a pack of Virginia Slim Light 120s in the other. “I guess… you have been,” Beth quietly admitted. “You’re… different. Way different from anybody else I’ve gone out with.” She removed a cigarette and lit it with her usual slow snap-inhale. With a casual turn and tilt of the head, she exhaled slowly toward the ceiling. I gaped, speechless, as she stood in front of me, arm fully extended, the cigarette daintily held between her lady’s fingers, her wrist slightly cocked. “And then I look at you, and I get… these funny feelings.” She took a second puff, and the room went silent. I watched her smoke in her sexy fashion, glamour in every movement, and she put the cigarette out after three drags. Her eyes drooped. Beth slowly approached, looking into my eyes, and led me into my bedroom without a word.
I watched, no, studied, Beth’s late afternoon post-sex smoke, the freshly lit long white cigarette between her fingers. We’re still naked, but the extended first full drag, followed by the slow, yet natural, snap-inhale is a thing of beauty. She briefly tosses her head, eyes narrowed in declaration of her attraction and ongoing desire, before directing the exhale through lips spread with a satisfied smile. We both know we’re nowhere near finished for the night to come. “Y’know, you’re the only guy to make me… come,” she blushes. Not a lot of experience at eighteen, I muse. “But… it’s not just that. I feel—safe—with you. I always have. Even at the party where we first met.” I cocked my head, surprised she remembered me. “I remember the way you smelled… and I thought you were kinda… sexy back then. Even when I was still in high school.” The blush faded, and she resumed, “But you’re not like Mike… he always looks at me like… I’m just here to be fucked. You look at me like… you want to hold me, be close to me. Even when you know we’re going to…” Her blush reappeared, a deeper red, and she took another of those glamour girl drags, propelling a well-shaped cone of smoke straight up. “Y’know I turn nineteen in nine days, right, Henry?” she lewdly growled. I nodded, spellbound by my personal smoking vixen. “I want you to give me something special for my birthday. Something only you can give me. I want to spend the weekend after with you, and then you can decide what my gift is.”
I was happy she was going to be nineteen soon. It sounded better than dating an eighteen-year-old, but Beth and I were definitely a committed couple, even if we couldn’t hang out in public together. She drew on the still-long white cigarette, ending with her signature snap-inhale, eyes half-lidded, and exhaled, barely audible in the silence of my bedroom as she wrapped her free hand around my lengthening cock. Beth finished her cigarette without hurry while gently stroking me to complete hardness, extinguished it, and swung her leg across my body to straddle me. One slow, easy thrust, and I was inside her again. She began to move slowly on top, rolling her hips as leisurely as she had smoked until both of us could take no more, moaning the other’s name at our near-simultaneous release. Beth lay on top of me for a while, our arms around each other in silence, eventually stirring for her last Virginia Slim Light 120 of the night. We kissed; she rolled onto her back and spread her legs, inviting me in once more. No words were spoken or necessary.
I wasn’t invited to Beth’s official nineteenth birthday party, the one with family and her neighborhood and high school friends. I kept my distance publicly, and Mrs. Thomas kept her word, allowing her daughter to spend occasional nights with me. Her private gift from me was her first introduction to receiving oral sex, progressing quickly to a master class. She approved—loudly.
Beth matured quickly. Her high school ways were gone by the middle of her nineteenth year. She hadn’t gone out with any other guy since shortly after our discussion of her future that night in the old apartment. She’d even agreed to birth control, including condoms for me, which were used… when we didn’t have spontaneous sex, or about half the time. Her mother invited me to a family dinner at their home in a tacit acknowledgment of my place as Beth’s boyfriend. Mrs. Thomas stated she wanted to thank me for continuing to tutor their daughter, who seemed to have staked out a permanent place on the dean’s list. Watching her sit next to her mother, both smoking Virginia Slim Lights 120s and holding the cigarettes high by their ear between puffs was almost like watching mirrored reflections. Beth still ended each drag with a lazy snap-inhale, smoke drifting in front of her mouth. I only saw one snap from her mom, the kind that experienced smokers make, where the ball of smoke appears in the mouth, but is sucked back into the lungs before any escapes. Both women always exhaled at a slight upward angle, and I understood why Mrs. Thomas considered her daughter a mommy’s girl. The major difference between the two was the occasional flicker of orgasm across Beth’s face after a drag. After watching them smoke for a couple of hours, we went back to my apartment. I made Beth miss her morning classes… not that she complained.
She graduated from community college and enrolled in the business school at a different local university. We didn’t want any possible appearance of conflict of interest. At twenty, Beth no longer needed anything from me academically, but split her time between her parents’ house and mine, spending weekends with me. We still couldn’t go out, so we spent most of our “dates” in my apartment, where I watched her smoke her long cigarettes in her bewitching manner, and we’d wind up in bed.
The week before Beth’s twenty-first birthday, she informed her parents she wanted to take me out to dinner. Alone. She pointed out most kids went drinking on their twenty-first birthdays with friends, and got stupidly drunk. “If I go out with Henry,” she argued, “you know he will keep me from drinking too much, and even if I do get tipsy, he’ll be my designated driver, and make sure I’m safe.” That was the first inkling her father and brother had that I wasn’t just Beth’s advisor. We’d managed to keep our secret for nearly three years. With a little prodding from Mrs. Thomas, her father agreed to let me go out with his daughter, but to cement the illusion, Beth slept at home all week, keeping us celibate. Whenever we would talk on the phone that week, she would gush about finally being able to go out with me, and promised me “something special.”
Beth arrived made up, wearing a stylish black dress that left her ample cleavage partially (and tastefully) exposed. “We’re going to Giancarlo’s Grotto tonight,” she declared, “so you hafta dress up, too.” Back then, the Grotto was a five-star restaurant, jackets for men, dresses for women, no exceptions. “I’m staying out here so we can make our seven o’clock reservations,” she called. She poked her head in my bedroom to add, “The rest of our celebration will come—afterwards.” Sultry, and definitely mature.
Beth looked like she belonged, tasteful jewelry borrowed from her mother, walking in heels as if she’d been born in them, her arm linked with mine as we entered the fancy restaurant. “Beth Thomas, party of two, seven o’clock,” she confidently told the maître’d, who wanted to confirm the seating was in the smoking section. “Yes,” was her immediate response. We were seated, and Beth immediately removed a gold box and cigarette holder from her purse. “It’s my mom’s cigarette holder, and this feels like the kind of place where you would use one,” she said of the short black holder with pink marbling. The unfamiliar gold box reading “Sobranie Cocktails” contained pastel-colored cigarettes. “Mom got a carton of these as a gift from a friend who just came back from London, and my cigarettes fall out of the holder, so I thought I’d smoke these tonight so I can use it,” she finished.
Beth lit a pale blue cigarette in the holder, dragging steadily until a quick jet of smoke burst from her nostrils. She opened her mouth briefly for her usual snap-inhale and slowly raised her chin. Her lips formed a perfect “O”, and then a stream of smoke trailed into the air above my head. Beth relaxed into the seat, her arm bent at the elbow resting on the back of her chair, with the holder delicately between her fingers, high by her ear, as the smoke curled from the cigarette’s burning end. She looked stunningly elegant, and very much the adult, even drawing a few lingering glances from both of the men at the table nearest ours. The holder made another trip to her ruby-glossed lips, the effortless, natural snap-inhale punctuating the drag. Beth turned her head to the side for this exhale, the smoke still projected at a slight upward angle, and I was ready for her birthday after-party right then. However, I had to get through dinner first, and I was the adoring, attentive boyfriend, claiming her lighter just so I could perform the service, enchanted by my holder lady. We shared a bottle of champagne for the occasion, and her elegant cigarette smoking gained a further degree of seduction. If someone was watching from a distance, the rising intensity of her flirtation wouldn’t have been obvious, but it was there in her eyes, her body position, even in the way she handled her elongated smoke. She’d set her tender trap perfectly, and I was a most willing victim.
We spent more time in bed than out over the next forty-eight hours, rubbers forgotten in our mutual hunger. She didn’t go to classes, and I took two days off. Beth resumed smoking her Virginia Slim Light 120s, interspersed with the remaining Sobranie Cocktails, just so she could use the cigarette holder around the apartment. If you’ve never seen a naked, slightly rounded blonde posing sexily in your bed with a cigarette holder… you’ve missed an experience. Somehow, she did not get pregnant.
Now we were official and out in public. We went to dinner, plays, sporting events, and concerts—when she was free. Beth attacked her college courses with as much enthusiasm as we ravished each other. While she spent more time at my apartment than her home now, we had less sex because she was so studious. It paid off in the spring of her twenty-first year as she graduated with high honors almost a half-year ahead of schedule. We celebrated her accomplishment at the family’s restaurant, unafraid to show our affection for each other. After nearly four years of hiding, it was a liberating experience for us.
On her twenty-second birthday, Beth and I dressed up and returned to Giancarlo’s Grotto alone. She had bought a cigarette holder of her own for the occasion, and smoked brown Nat Sherman MCDs through it. A tradition was born. On her twenty-third birthday, she made a minor mistake in selecting Cigaretellos for her holdered cigarettes. She could barely get through more than five of the unfiltered cigarettes between dinner and our traditional after-dinner marathon of sex. Nonetheless, her Virginia Slim Light 120 smoking was as beguiling as always. An effortless snap-inhale, followed by a silent stream skyward through pursed lips, and I was all hers. The following night, we cleaned up to go to Beth’s public birthday party. She gave her mom the Cigaretellos (and let her use the holder,) and I proposed. Her mom got drunk and finished the Cigaretellos by the time the bar closed. A few weeks later, Beth received her MBA, and went to work full-time at the family’s restaurant. Her brother was working in the kitchen with her father, and Beth took over the books from her mother.
By some miracle, Beth hadn’t gotten pregnant this entire time, almost six years. Once we wed, that changed. As soon as we sat at Giancarlo’s Grotto for her twenty-fourth birthday celebration, she lit a Sobranie Black Russian in an all-black holder, took a long drag, and after her skyward exhale, informed me we were going to be parents. Albert came first. At twenty-five, it was the holdered Black Russians again. The twins, Deborah and Leigh, arrived three days shy of nine months after the long night of sexing she’d inspired. When we announced another was on the way a year later, her mother remarked how Beth seemed to get pregnant right around her birthday. We played innocent, but by then, my wife knew an entire evening of watching her smoke in a sexy fashion through a holder did something for me. While she still smoked Virginia Slim Light 120s, and her sensuous way of smoking hadn’t changed, her birthday nights were special. Timothy was her twenty-sixth birthday baby. Finally, Lisette came a little more than two years after him, probably because Beth was busy opening a second Thomas’ Pub and we’d had to slow down our sex life.
We’ve been married for fifteen years now, and the difference in our ages is no longer significant. My wife is a Virginia Slim Light 120 girl of thirty-eight, the drag (and occasional o-face,) the lazy snap-inhale almost unchanged, smoke silently directed skyward. Even after five kids, Beth is sexy as all hell. We’re going to Giancarlo’s Grotto again to celebrate her thirty-ninth tomorrow night. It is still the city’s most famous restaurant, and in deference to its history, a section of the restaurant is exempt from the city’s smoking ban, for many private and public deals had been made inside its smoky walls going back some seventy-plus years. There’s a box of MCDs on Beth’s vanity. Some traditions will never change.