My name is Gary Collins, I have a smoking fetish, and fate loves to mess with me. I’ve had three semi-steady girlfriends in my life: one moved back to France after her semester abroad was over in high school; another left after being forced to transfer to another school in college, and one… was an on-again, off-again, rarely-committed relationship with a girl in college that fizzled out when she graduated. All of these women had two things in common: they were very sexy smokers, who understood the concept of smoking with style, even if it wasn’t a conscious decision.
My most-recent “relationship” in particular, was a length-and-femininity conscious blonde named Edie with a great body… and a sweet heart. She was also damn near nymphomaniacal. She loved 120s; I love women who smoke 120s. She loved having sex, but didn’t want to settle down. After her graduation, that was that, or so I thought. Fate seemed to delight in dangling her just out of my reach. First, there was a brief nonsexual encounter a month after graduation, then nine months later with a fiancé, and then four years after that as a divorcée who wasn’t interested in picking up where we’d left off.
By this time, I had noticed that the number of 120 smokers was declining, especially the attractive ones. A couple of years ago, I met a beautiful woman who smoked Capri 120s at a party, and she genuinely seemed to enjoy my company. Unfortunately, after a few dances, her girlfriend showed up. Yup, I was the wrong gender. Then, about a month after I saw Edie for the last time, the exact same thing happened, except that this young lesbian was a More White Light 120 smoker. About two months after that, I met Laura. She was a heterosexual woman who just loved 120s, preferring Mores, Saratogas, and Virginia Slim 120s, in that order. We dated for about a month, too, and she was hot in bed, and just a little… kinky. Unfortunately, her husband returned early from his incarceration. Laura and I thought it would be a lot healthier for me to stay away from her until she got things worked out. That’s why I say that fate likes to mess with me.
So there I was, a month after Laura and I had last been together, working in my office, when Scott, one of our grad student interns comes in. “Gary, some of my friends and I are having a Halloween party at our apartment building. You’re invited, and it’s going to be mostly grad students and recent Ph.D.’s, so you can’t say you’re too old.” As flattered as I was by the invite, I tried to decline politely. As the unofficial liaison to the interns, I’d partied with them a few times at official and unofficial gatherings, but I’d never gone to a party at somebody’s home. Scott, however, wasn’t going to give up, and in order to get some work done that afternoon, I finally accepted. “It’s an adult party, so you don’t have to wear a costume,” were his parting words, “but there are going to be door prizes for costumes.”
Come Halloween, I debated whether to go or not, but at about eight-thirty, nothing better had presented itself. I dressed up like our boss, except that the clothes hadn’t been exclusively hand-tailored, a pawn store golf bag with a few cheap store clubs in it for effect, and four ten-to-fifteen dollar cigars in the jacket pocket, which he’d given to me on various occasions—it was his standard celebratory giveaway to men and women alike. When I walked in the door, the party was in full swing, occupying two floors and four units of a six-unit apartment building. “Who the hell are you, and who the hell are you supposed to be?” a blonde-haired guy asked as I knocked on the door. “Got an invite?”
“Scott asked—”
“YO!!! SCOTT!!!” he yelled back into the apartment. A few seconds later, Scott showed up at the door—and almost died laughing. “Why Mister Sims, I’m so happy you showed up to our party,” he laughed, and then almost choked on his beer when I gave him a cigar. “Beer and wine are upstairs, hard liquor here and next door. Prizes get handed out at midnight, and then it has to get quieter at one.” I spoke with a couple of the other interns, including Lucy, a large, sweet girl who was dressed as Big Bird, but I had to get something to drink. I went upstairs to the apartment where the wine was. I don’t remember much of anything except walking through the doorway, and stopping short to make sure I didn’t walk on my lower jaw.
There was a petite young Oriental woman wearing black, reclined on the sofa, exhaling a long, thick stream of smoke from a gold-tipped black cigarette in a very long cigarette holder. I carefully walked into the room. She posed again, and a flash went off. “So who are you again?” I heard the photographer say.
“I’m the Dragon Lady. It’s from an old comic strip called ‘Steve Canyon.’ My dad collects old Sunday comics, and I thought it would make for a fun costume,” she said, swinging herself upright and crossing her legs. That seemed to satisfy the photographer, who peeled off the picture, scribbled something on it, and left the room. I quickly headed for the wine, trying not to get a big erection from watching her. However (and this is where fate comes in), her wine glass was empty, and she came to the kitchen to get it refilled. “Some more red wine, you imperialist running dog lackey!” she commanded, and when I turned to look at her, she grinned and took another drag from her holder. “Sorry. Just getting into the role for the contest.”
“No need to apologize… ummm… you certainly… look the part,” I managed, wondering if I was going to have a heart attack.
“Oh! You know the comic strip?”
What I thought was, are you kidding? The Dragon Lady turned me on before I knew what sex was. “Uhhh… yeah. I used to read Steve Canyon in the Sunday comics when I was little,” was what came out of my mouth.
“Well, my real name is Melissa,” she said, taking another drag and exhaling slowly, chest rising, producing a thick stream of smoke, and something else was getting thick. “I can’t very well have you calling me, ‘dragon lady’ when you see me the rest of the night.”
“Hi, I’m—uhhhh—Gary,” I stammered. There was something so casually—and very strongly—sexy about her that I was way off guard. She snap-inhaled her final draw, slowly, and headed for a nearby ashtray, very carefully removing the cigarette from the holder and gently snuffing it out. Somebody else she knew ran into her, and I decided to move somewhere else before creeping her out, but I spent a decent amount of time accidentally “running into” her.
I did get opportunity to light one of her Sobranie Black Russians, in the holder. “Thank you, my Yankee imperialist running dog,” she smiled, but I was too awestruck to hold a conversation. She pushed my fetish buttons—hard. She was smoking black cigarettes in a long black holder, and she was gorgeous and petite. I spent the party trying to find discreet opportunities to watch her smoke. I hoped that nobody would notice the tent in my pants she caused, especially her. Around one a.m., I was getting ready to go home, and Melissa walked towards the door saying her goodbyes at almost the same time.
Nothing other than her black outfit indicated that she had been “The Dragon Lady” of comic fame; the holder must have been tucked away somewhere. I finally had enough wherewithal to ask her an intelligent question. “I’m leaving, too. Can I walk you to your car?”
“Oh!!! Gary, that’s so sweet,” she bubbled, “but—I live on the third floor.”
“Well, don’t I feel stupid,” I said, completely embarrassed.
“Tell you what; you can walk me up the steps so I don’t fall. After all, I’ve been drinking,” she smiled. “Besides, I don’t want you to drive home thinking you were stupid because of me.” She was sweet, too. “So who do you know in the building, or are you a party crasher?” I told her about Scott. “Oh, yeah, Scott’s a good guy. Will you hire him after he finishes grad school?” She blushed. “Now I know I’ve had too much to drink, blabbing other people’s personal business.” I assured her that it was all right, she hadn’t affected Scott’s career prospects.
It wasn’t a long enough trip to her apartment. As hesitant as I was to make a fool out of myself, I couldn’t help it. “I thought you had the sexiest costume at the party.” She gaped at me with shock as she took her key out.
“You have got to be the only one,” she said. “Uhhh, Gary? Remember Holly Brown? Lady Godiva? The wig and nothing else? Even I voted for her.” She put the key in the lock. “I actually thought I had a shot at the sexiest costume prize when I came up with this. I had no idea that Holly would… spend the night naked.”
“Yeah, but at least you won’t have a cold in three days,” I wryly noted.
She broke up laughing, sending echoes through the stairwell. “That was funny,” she stated as her laughter faded. “You’re a pretty funny guy, Gary.”
“I’d love the chance to make you laugh again, Melissa. Can I call you sometime?”
She smiled, “Sure!” I left the party with a piece of paper that represented another chance for fate to dick with me.
“Hey Gary! Thanks for asking me out to dinner!” Melissa smiled. “Is Italian OK with you?” I nodded. She wasn’t in her Dragon Lady get-up, but other than the extra emphasis it put on her sexuality, she was still awesome-looking. “Do you mind if we sit in smoking?” she asked when we got to the restaurant. I told her that I didn’t.
We ordered cocktails and immediately after they arrived, she removed a pack of Capri 120s regular from her purse. I lit her cigarette, and she inhaled deeply, her eyes closing… she looked near-orgasmic, tilting her head away lazily, and exhaling. “I love smoking cigarettes,” she confessed, noting, but not correctly interpreting my look. “So I’m just a politically incorrect kind of girl,” she grinned. “I hope you don’t mind.” Of course I didn’t.
“So tell me about yourself, Dragon Lady named Melissa who loves to smoke cigarettes,” I said, grinning. “Hey, that’s about all I know about you, plus your phone number.”
“Plus you think I’m sexy. I seem to remember that I made you forget about Lady Godiva,” she shot back. Her next drag and exhale was a thing of fetish beauty. Streaming nose and mouth exhale, in profile view as she lifted her chin and turned to the side to avoid exhaling in my face after a long, long draw. I’m a Ph.D. student in psych. Got another year-and-a-half to go. You wouldn’t happen to write dissertations, would you?”
“Only my own,” I said. “I’m actually a phud, myself. I also teach a couple of math classes at the community college.” Damn, where did you learn to smoke like that?
“Wow. I’m impressed,” she said. “You don’t act like a stuffy, self-important, know-it-all. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.” Her sense of humor was refreshing; and our conversation quickly dissolved into a whimsical give-and-take. I liked her a lot, and I spent the night horny as all hell, because she was smoking beauty, even without the cigarette holder. I idly wondered if she ever used a holder other than as a part of a Halloween costume. We wound up at her door after spending almost the whole night at the Italian restaurant over drinks and music after dinner.
“So what do we do here?” I asked.
“This is the part where I give you a kiss on the cheek and then I go inside my apartment by myself,” she said, firmly, but politely. “Thanks for dinner, Gary. I had a really good time, and I’d like to do this again. But I’m…”
“Not that kind of girl,” I finished for her. “I had fun, too. I’d like to call you for another date.”
“You just have to watch out for my finals… I have a light course load this semester, so I’ve got some free time, Gary.” She kissed me on the cheek and went inside, where her roommate was waiting at the door. “No fair listening at the door!” she laughed, and gave me a dazzling smile before the door closed.
“Huh. Imagine that. An old-fashioned girl,” I said aloud to the hallway. “Wonder where this is going to lead?”
Our next date took place a couple of weeks later. I asked Melissa about her hometown after explaining that I was a transplant. “Came here for college, never left. They liked me so much, they kept me around long enough to give me three diplomas.”
“Well, I’m adopted. I’m a Chinese orphan,” she explained, “and my parents live in Kansas. I grew up 100% American, just outside of Kansas City. Jayhawks forever,” she grinned. “That should answer the question on your mind. The one about why I look so Chinese and sound and act so American n’stuff like that.” I opened my mouth to say something, but she waved her hand. “It’s no big deal. Everybody always wants to know, and I’m not self-conscious about it or anything.” She removed another long, super slim Capri 120. I lit it almost immediately. “It’s nice to know that there are some gentlemen left in the world who will light a lady’s cigarette instead of lecture her about it.”
I watched her smoke as she talked. There was nothing fancy about her drags, no french-inhales or snap-inhales, but her exhales were gorgeous. Long, thick streams of smoke would cascade from her mouth, while thick, visible streams came from both nostrils. She would hesitate before each exhale, lifting her chin just a little. From time to time, she would turn her head to the side, allowing me to watch the spectacle in profile view. It was very exciting; she always held the cigarette almost perpendicular to the floor when she wasn’t smoking it, scissored between her index and middle fingers right by where the filter met the tobacco. I wanted her. She was sexier than Edie.
However, this date ended the same way that the last one had, with a kiss on the cheek at the door. She was a small-town girl, and somehow I thought that it might be a good idea to wait and see where this was going to lead. I spent the next part of the evening fantasizing about her smoking a 164 in a long black holder, watching those gorgeous, thick exhales while my hand flew over my aching cock.
Melissa called me and asked if I’d like to have Thanksgiving dinner with some of the people in the building. Scott was going to be there, plus several other people from the party. After dinner, the assembled group went out to a bar. We were throwing darts and just having fun; I felt no pressure since this wasn’t a “date” with Melissa, so we probably spent more time apart than together. Sometime during the night, she ran out of her Capri 120s, and settled for Virginia Slims Regulars from the machine. That was OK, because some women just look good with a cigarette between her fingers. Melissa was one of them. Around midnight, she came and said goodnight. “I’ve got to get geared up for my finals, and I have some research to do tomorrow,” she said. “Call me Saturday?”
I did not go home alone that night. Since I’d been with Melissa’s group almost the whole night, I hadn’t mingled very much, so I strolled around the now-packed bar, just to see if I could catch a glimpse of some sexy smokers. I ran into some acquaintances in the pinball room, and stopped to say hi, and then I hit the jackpot. She was round, with blonde hair, and she was a friend of one of my female acquaintances. We were introduced; her name was Kathy, and she was a legal aide. I thought she was sort of cute, in a zaftig way. We were following the general conversation, and she sighed.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“He’s so gorgeous,” she said, indicating Keith, one of my dart league teammates. I asked her why she didn’t introduce herself, because he was unattached. With resignation, she replied, “Because guys like him don’t go for girls like me.”
I was going to tell her not to sell herself short, but then she reached over to the table, and pulled a pack from her purse. Virginia Slims 120s. The hell with Keith. Try me! ran through my head as I lit it for her. As I said, some women look really good with a long, cigarette between their fingers. “Thanks,” she exhaled, still melancholy. Kathy noted I was watching her cigarette. “So, are you gonna give me shit about my long cigarettes, too? All my friends do.”
“That’s the furthest thing from my mind, Kathy,” I said, watching her drag and exhale; nothing fancy there, but her relaxed exhale was different from the “poof-and-it’s-gone in a thick short cloud” style of other nearby smokers. “So why don’t you think that guys like him go for girls like you?”
“Because… I’m overweight,” she candidly said, then turned her contemplation back to Keith.
At this point, I started to evaluate her physically. She wasn’t hard-bodied like Melissa, nor was she slender, yet womanly, like Edie. If I had to place her, maybe she was closer to Lynda Naylor, but she was a little heavier than that. Still, she wasn’t bad looking, and she wasn’t grossly fat. I watched her take another drag from the Virginia Slim 120 and exhale, slowly, naturally. I’d fuck her. Tapping her on the shoulder, I said, “Well, a guy like me could go for a girl like you. Why not him?”
Her eyes registered surprise, and she almost dropped her cigarette, but recovered and somewhat awkwardly put it in the ashtray. My comment had the desired effect of causing her to evaluate me. “It’s all hypothetical, anyway. You know I’m only here with Alyssa’s, Jane’s sister, for the holiday weekend. We’re driving back to Chicago on Sunday.” She took a slower, steadier drag, looking at me carefully before tossing her head and exhaling at an angle past my face.
“Yeah. Dating would be difficult,” I admitted. “But you’re here until Sunday, right?”
“Right,” she acknowledged, her voice all of a sudden a little husky.
“In that case, a guy like me could definitely go for a girl like you.”
“Let me tell Alyssa,” she quickly said, putting out the cigarette.
“Ohhh… ohhh… mmmmffff… OH shit… Ohshit… Ohhhh,” Kathy said as I lovingly lapped at her lower lips, and around her clit. Her hips were undulating constantly. “Please,” she gasped, “don’t stop.” I added one, then two fingers to stir her cauldron while I continued my oral caresses. Slurping sounds emanated from below my tongue, and I moved it to her clit, lapping rhythmically, gently. Her movements became much more urgent, her vocalizations deteriorating into incoherent sounds of physical rapture. Without warning, her hips suddenly vibrated like a tuning fork, and then snapped sharply towards the ceiling, beginning a wild, wide oscillation from the bed to the sky. My tongue buffeted her clit, my fingers danced inside her, and then began to stroke the roof of her inner chamber. Kathy started to gurgle loudly. “G-G-G-G-G,” and with a loud, ragged breath, she finally shouted, “SHIT!” issuing a forceful stream of cum, before collapsing on the bed, panting heavily. She didn’t say anything for several minutes. Finally, and still-out-of-breath, she managed to gasp, “Definitely the best head I’ve ever had. Definitely… Ohhh… shit… why are you still single?”
“Just shy, I guess,” I grinned, my erection almost gone. Fate had put her in my bed, and I wasn’t going to bring up past injustices. It didn’t matter at that moment, because the flush was still all over her upper torso, neck and face, and neither one of us was sleepy.
“Ever, ever, EVER!” Kathy panted. “You oughta be illegal. I can’t even feel my legs,” she stated. “C’mere.” We kissed; she took my fingers, coated with her dried essence and sucked on them. My cock stirred. “I can’t move. Get on your knees.” I knew what she was asking, and quickly complied. Kathy began to bob her head, slowly, gently at first, and then with more suction and friction as I hardened in her mouth and began to pump at her. She released me with a loud pop. “Fuck me now. Fuck me, Gary,” she said, moving her hand away from her pussy, where it had started to play at some point during the blowjob.
Kathy was a great fuck. I entered her, and she raised her hips to meet me with a moan of fulfilled anticipation. Her eyes completely lost their focus before locking onto mine. She looked down between her legs, seeing me inside her, rising for the next downward stroke. Quickly matching my rhythm, we were joined in the most ancient of dances, the music of her squeaks and pants of ecstasy our accompaniment. It didn’t take long for her to shake my orgasm and ejaculation loose, her tunnel gripping me gently, causing the perfect friction and when I grunted, driving myself deeply inside of her, Kathy grabbed me with her arms and legs, locking me into place and orgasmed herself with the next wiggle I managed. WE lay together in silence for a little while, both spent.
“Gary?”
“Mmmm?”
“Would you bring me my purse? I don’t think my legs are working yet,” she said. “I want a cigarette. If ever there was sex that deserved a cigarette… that was it.” I felt a surge of excitement, but nothing physical came of it. It was too soon. When I got back, I handed her a Virginia Slim 120 and lit it for her, before taking a More from my bed stand. “I used to smoke those in high school,” she began. “Not the menthol ones, otherwise, I wouldn’t have asked you to get up.” Her exhale was barely audible and slow. She was beautiful, naked, lying in the dim light of my bedroom, the smoke accented by the table lamp beside her. Her slight belly roll was more than compensated for by the soft, full, fleshy feel of her breasts. She was definitely round, not fat. “Everybody in my group smoked Mores in ninth grade. We thought they looked so… sophisticated.” My cock gave an unexpected surge at the thought. “But eventually, we all switched to something more ‘normal.’ I went to Virginia Slims Lights, and then when I was 18, I started smoking the 120s. They take longer. I got more cigarette for the money, which was important then. Now I guess I just really like them.” She continued to smoke while she talked, still wide awake. So was I, and as she put it out, she looked at my face, then my erection, and dove for it headfirst.
Kathy made it back to her friend’s house—Saturday afternoon. She changed clothes and then we went out for dinner and drinks. Afterwards, we wound up in the bedroom, she dragging on a Virginia Slim 120 after meeting my enthusiastic thrusts for what must have been the seventh or eighth time since meeting very early Friday morning. I began to nibble at her as she smoked, kissing my way down her body. “Mmmm,” she purred, “I like that. Keep going.” She was sin no hurry to finish her cigarette, and she took her last drag just as my tongue met her clit. I looked up mischievously, and she had regained enough control of herself to exhale sultrily, regally while looking at me between her legs. Kathy lazily extended an arm, and told me what she wanted with a gentle push to my head instead of words.
She was getting dressed very early Sunday morning and said, “I can’t move here,” with a note of regret. “And I don’t know the next time I’ll be able to visit.”
“You’ve… got somebody,” was all I said.
“Yeah… kind of. I couldn’t move even if I wanted, Gary, but you sure know how to make an offer.”
“S’OK. I understand. It was fun. A lot of fun.”
She kissed me, smoke from her just-lit Virginia Slim 120 on her lips. “It was,” she smiled. “What was that guy’s name at the bar again? Was there a guy at the bar?” Kathy grinned, and took a carefree, casual drag, exhaling fetchingly. She was cute. It affected me, and since I only had a robe on, she noticed. I saw her suppress a shiver of delight, as she remembered the past three nights. “Flattery will get you somewhere… but just not now. I really gotta get back to Alyssa’s, or else she’ll be really pissed that she has to drive back alone. See ya!”
I hadn’t been that aroused since Edie. It wasn’t every day that I came across a sexy smoker… Oh shit! I was supposed to call Melissa yesterday! I looked at the phone for the first time in three days. No messages. It was too early to call, and quite possibly, too late to do any good. And this time, I couldn’t blame fate. I called, but she wasn’t in, so I left a message and an apology for—“getting caught up with some things,” as I put it.
Late that night, she woke me up. “Hi! I’m sorry, I just got back from the library. I didn’t mean to wake you up. Sometimes I forget that not everybody’s a student.”
“S’OK,” I managed, trying to sound neutral.
“Anyway, that’s OK, I coulda called you.” Thank god she didn’t! “I know that stuff happens, and I hope you had more fun than I did. I’m gonna be out-of-touch for the next few weeks, until my last final. OK if I call you for a drink after last final?”
“Hi Gary! I’m leaving for Kansas tomorrow for Christmas!” Melissa said, bubbling. She waited for me to light her—Virginia Slim 120 Menthol??? I thickened at her slow, skyward exhale. “I am so glad that class is over.” I asked her about the class, and how she thought she did, but waiting until she’d finished a drag and exhale, so I could watch her smoke under the guise of being interested in her responses. IT was a quick date because she had to go home and have dinner with her roommate, but she left with a promise to get in touch when she got back.
We resumed “dating” a few days after the New Year. She was smoking Capri 120s regulars once again. My on-again, off-again smoking was on again, and she looked at me in surprise when I lit a More Menthol at dinner. “I thought you only smoked an occasional cigar.” I shrugged and told her I was trying to quit. “Oh!” this seemed to puzzle her a little, but it dissipated as quickly as the smoke from her Capri. “More menthols. I used to smoke those.”
“Don’t tell me. High school,” I interrupted, bracing myself for the lust.
“Yep,” she acknowledged. “It was sophisticated. A bunch of my friends and I smoked those, and then we all switched to the More Lights for a couple of months. In high school, everybody smokes the same thing, y’know? It’s kind of a documented psycho-social phenomenon.” She frowned. “Now they’re changing me. Here I am on a date, talking about psycho-social phenomena,” Melissa mumbled. “I am such a nerd.”
“Yeah, but you’re a cute nerd, and I love smart women.,” I lightly said, without thinking.
Melissa blushed and looked down at the table. She raised her head, shyly, and in a small voice, she said, “Ummm… Gary… I’m flattered. Really flattered.” All of a sudden, the tenor of the evening changed. Dinner was much quieter, without the witty one-liners and bad puns that had marked our earlier encounters. After dinner, I lit our cigarettes and watched her smoking style. She was much more careful about the handling of her cigarette now: all of the actions were slower, as if she thought about it before each drag and exhale. She seemed more studious and less animated now.
“So what would you like to do?” I asked, wondering where my bold declaration had sent me. My smoking fetish had once again allowed me to speak while I was watching, before thinking about what I was saying.
She finished her slow exhale, looking out the window, and then said, “I think I want to go home early tonight.” Damn! Blew it. I paid for dinner, and we walked back to her apartment, where I had parked my car. Melissa paused as she unlocked the front door to the building. “Gary,” she began, “I’m really a small-town Kansas girl. I’m so flattered that you think I’m cute, and I’m very flattered that you think I’m smart, and that it’s important to you.” She stepped forward to hug me. It was a nice hug, but since we were both in winter coats, I couldn’t get a feel for any meaning. “Call me tomorrow,” she softly said. “I’d like to go on another date with you, and school doesn’t start until Wednesday.” She stood tiptoe and gave me a long kiss on the cheek. “Bye.” I didn’t even get inside her apartment building this time, but I got a hint that something was going on in her mind.
At her request, I took her somewhere quiet, private, and very classy the next night. The atmosphere between us was virtually unchanged from the end of our last date. There was very little joking and casual conversation. After our drinks arrived, Melissa asked, “You know I like you, right, Gary?” I nodded. She sighed, “I don’t know where to start,” sounding frustrated, and then her conversation trailed off. She hadn’t lit a single cigarette since I’d been with her today, but I was more interested in what she was thinking. We’d been dating for a while without any hint of intimacy, and I wasn’t sure what that meant, but she’d given me a big clue that I was about to find out. “I know you’re interested in me, OK?” she resumed. “I wasn’t exactly sure how you were interested in me, though. Whether it was just some sexual thing, a fantasy, so to speak. The way you reacted when I first met you, I thought it was the dragon lady thing. I knew it was a sexy outfit, but your response seemed a little… too big.”
Ouch! I’ve been nailed.
“But then we went out again, and I got the same kind of signals from you… but they were a little different, and I couldn’t figure it out. Everytime we’ve gone out, you’re been broadcasting this—intense attraction, but not all the time. I finally figured it out last night, and then you basically came out and told me that it wasn’t just that.”
“Ummm… Melissa… I’m a little confused. It wasn’t just what?” I asked.
“Cigarettes. You like to watch women smoke cigarettes. It probably turns you on a certain amount. I’ve been watching your reactions, and I’m pretty sure that I’ve pinpointed it.” Busted. Big time. I’m up shit’s creek now, I thought. “Your fascination with cigarettes scares me. It makes me wonder what other… deviations are in your head, and that I’m just some fantasy to you. Then, in a completely unguarded moment, it came out that you liked me because I’m smart, or am I reading too much into this?”
Lie. Lie now, and get out gracefully. You’ll never be able to look at the interns again, but at least you can find another sexy smoker. “No, Melissa. You’re not. You caught me,” I sighed in resignation.
“Deviant Sexual Behavior was one of my courses last semester,” she explained, with a tinge of apology in her voice. “So, it was sort of ummm… on my mind, and I saw some of the clinical signs in your behavior.” Damn fate. Handing me a sexy smoker on a silver platter, only to find out that she’s a Psych grad student taking a course on fetish behaviors. “That’s why I kept you at a distance,” Melissa continued. “I liked you—a lot, but I was worried. Some of our case histories last semester were—disturbing.”
“So, is this our last date? Do you want to leave now?” I asked in resignation. It was over. Any chance I had was gone.
After a long silence, she looked away and said, “No, I don’t think so. In a completely irrational response, my attraction to you isn’t hampered by my knowledge of your—deviant sexual interest. In fact, and this is aberrant behavior on my part, I’ve sort of been looking forward to it. To see what reactions I can provoke.”
“Do you want to use me as a case study?” It was all out in the open, and I really liked her, and I had no chances at her any more, but… I was a gracious loser.
She shook her head. “No, it’s not like that. Besides, one person does not a project make.” She looked distressed at her pronouncement. “There I go, being a nerd again. No, what I meant was that… well… after I figured it out, there’s a part of me that likes the idea of being able to create such an intense desire for me.” She blushed. “So, while the clinical, evaluating, rational Melissa says ‘run away,’ the emotional, irrational, impulsive Melissa says, ‘let’s see what this is all about.’ You tempt me, Gary. More than I’ve ever been tempted in my life. Part of me hates that. And part of me welcomes that with open arms.”
Dinner arrived at that point, so, the in-depth conversation ended, and nothing much was said during the meal. I was left to stew and wonder what she’d decided. When they brought dessert and coffee, I re-opened the subject. “So, Melissa… Where do we go from here? It’s not that I mind spending the money; I know I’ve enjoyed our dates, and you are a fun date. I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable when I watched you smoke, but that wasn’t the only thing I got out of our dates.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. We have had fun,” she agreed. “I think you’re really cute, sweet, and—” Melissa hesitated. “Sexy. Your… sexual interest in smoking may scare me, but at the same time, it excites me. It adds that element of danger, the one that all the women’s psych books talk about as being important to a woman in terms of being attracted to a guy.” She looked at me. After an uncomfortable pause, Melissa sighed and said, “I can see three options from this point.”
I replied, “Obviously, I can’t tell you what to do, because I know what I’d like to have happen, but I’m guessing that one of your options is to never see each other again, and a second would be to keep going out as friends. What’s the third?”
“What would you like to have happen?” she asked, point-blank.
“I’d like to keep dating with the possibility of becoming more—” I searched for the right word. “Intimate.”
“What would your answer be if I quit smoking?”
“It would be the same,” I replied without hesitation. No idea if I was deluding myself, but I was interested in Melissa. Truth to tell, I hated being single, and Melissa was someone who seemed like she would be… fun to be with out of bed.
She nodded, looking at me carefully, probably searching for any sign of deception. After a near-infinite pause, she said, “Then it’s settled,” and smiled.
Melissa called on Thursday evening. “Hi Gary. Can I ask you a big-time favor?” I said sure. “Y’know when you asked if I wanted you as a case study? Well…” She hesitated. “I can’t ask you this over the phone. Can you meet me at 99 in say, an hour or so?”
She was already there at a booth when I arrived. A pitcher of something amber and two glasses, one already three-quarters empty sat on the table. Melissa jumped up and hugged me. “I’m so glad you came,” she whispered into my ear. “I wanted to ask you this in person,” she said as she sat and took a healthy swig of her beer. Leaning across the table, she began, “I had my first meeting in Clinical Practicum today. The professor would like us to do a case study, and he gave us several options. But I want to do something different.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. “I want to study you, and your interest in smoking. It would be completely confidential, of course.” Melissa went on to describe what it would involve.
“Do you think you can ascertain my… sexual impetus without… ummm… getting involved?”
She grinned. “I’m betting I can’t, but I think it’s going to be fun to try. There’s something that I find… fascinating about someone who gets a sexual spike from the sight of a woman smoking, especially with everything out there talking about how nasty and dirty a habit it is.”
As an aside, bear in mind that this was before the Internet and the discovery of others like me. I thought that I was definitely weird, and nobody else had this thing. “Can I ask you a question, Melissa?” She nodded. “Do you find it fascinating in an academic way or a… personal one?”
She sat back in her chair and thought about it. “That’s a good question, Gary… I think the answer is both. I mean, I’m not unaffected by all the anti-smoking stuff there is out there, and it kind of makes me happy to have found someone who will not only put up with my vice, but someone who… gets something out of it. Academically, I’ve been thinking about it since my class last semester, and meeting you.” We talked about my special interest in general terms, and Melissa decided that she’d be willing to start her case study with me that weekend, after getting it approved. The most frustrating thing was that I didn’t even see a pack of cigarettes anywhere near her all night. The last two times we’d been together, Melissa didn’t smoke, but I was pretty sure she hadn’t quit.
Friday night, we went back to 99, on a full, exciting, smoky night at the bar. “My professor approved the case study. He said that it was unique, and that it would be sufficiently different that I could probably count on an ‘A’ if I get it done right,” Melissa said. “Right now, I just want to… watch your reactions, but I don’t want you to feel self-conscious.” She lit a Capri 120 regular and drew on it for several seconds, before exhaling with that incredibly sexy combination oral/nasal exhale. I was self-conscious about it, and began to have doubts that I would be of any use to her project.
By midnight, we were conversing as usual, and Melissa was on her seventh or eighth Capri of the night. I had forgotten about the project. Melissa looked awesome with the extra-slim, extra-long cigarette, usually held perpendicular to the ground, with the filter at the bottom, except when she was dragging. She also looked great from behind when she was standing, Capri held near the end of the filter, almost parallel to the ground. It didn’t hurt that her body was delicious. When I took her home, she asked me, “Was that exciting for you tonight?” as we stood outside her door.
I snapped myself out of the dream I’d been living in, and cleared my throat. “Ummm… yeah. Very exciting. On a scale of 1 to 10, you’re a 10.5.”
“You need to re-evaluate your scale, but I appreciate the compliment,” she grinned. “This is where our date tonight ends, though, Gary. I have roommates, and unlike some people,” Melissa said the last two words directly into the door, “I like—privacy.” She threw herself into my arms and whispered, “Roomies are gone tomorrow for a wedding, and won’t be back ‘til Sunday. Dinner. Here. Tomorrow at five.” With a wink, she opened her door and walked in. I did not masturbate that night, as much as I wanted to. Melissa and I were going to have privacy for the first time in our relationship.