This isn’t a May-December romance. More like May-early October. I’m a part-time guitarist in a blues/soul/rock band on the weekends and a computer support tech during the week. Holly, my girlfriend (much to her father’s chagrin and her mother’s puzzlement) is a financial analyst trainee attending MBA classes at night. She’s all of 22, brownish-blonde hair cut straight, nothing fancy, cute (at least I think so.) She’s about five-four and a little round. Her belly isn’t that big, just a little pooch, but she has round hips and a nice, full ass, and smaller tits than you would think. She’s not remarkably hot, but to quote a lyric I sing a lot, “the girl’s all right with me.” At 43, I’m old enough to be her father, but she doesn’t care, and I’m learning not to.
We met a week after she turned 21, and she was with her boyfriend at a music club where my band was playing. Nice stage, nice sound system, nice crowds, we play there the second Friday of every month. The only reason we met was because of Samantha Faye Beaufort. Sammi is the stuff of serious wet dreams, five-seven, thick chestnut hair to the middle of her back, and a throaty, deep voice with a New Orleans accent that gets your dick harder than Viagra can. Sammi’s got a successful nightclub act of her own singing torch songs in hotel bars and jazz clubs, usually in duo with a piano player, occasionally a guitarist, and on rare occasions, with a full band. She weaves that sleek body around on stage in evening gowns as she sings, with a cigarette holder and Nat Sherman Hint of Mint (unlit for most gigs because of smoking regulations), and even the most happily married guy wonders what it would be like to tap that. Unfortunately, her husband Ricky Lee Beaufort makes that impossible. He’s a higher-up in some company, and got transferred here from the Big Easy, where she sang, and that’s why Samantha is singing here. They are a cute couple, obviously in love, and they know how to throw a house party. The man can cook his ass off.
Anyway, Sammi comes up and sings a few that night, just sitting in on a Friday, out with Ricky after a gig, and she’s got her sexy cigarette holder thing going on, belting out blues standards like the seasoned veteran she is, moving with the music, and I watch guys in the audience constantly readjusting themselves discreetly because it’s a damn sight easier than watching her from behind. We go on break, and step outside on a nice fall evening with the other smokers. Ricky lights his wife’s Hint of Mint in the holder (she uses it when she’s the torchy Samantha Faye, even when she sits in, but not if she’s just hanging out.) He’s a cigar guy, so he doesn’t smoke unless he’s got the time to spend on a good stogie. He and Sammi have a great humidor at home and in a couple of cigar clubs. I’ve had a lot of fun hanging out with them at a couple of cigar clubs. Yeah, I know. She smokes Nat Sherman’s with and without a cigarette holder (she’s got about twenty different ones), fine cigars, she’s hotter than hell, and she’s untouchable. It makes you think, what have I done wrong to deserve this?
I light my More Silver (brown, menthol 120s) and watch the parade of guys “meet” Sammi. If her obvious regard for her husband doesn’t end the interaction, she wears her marriage and engagement rings, and they are tastefully large. If that doesn’t dissuade them, then they’re just young, dumb, and full of cum, and she usually ends up embarrassing the guy. Holly’s ex-boyfriend was one of those. They made it to the door together, but as soon as he saw Sammi, it was as if he didn’t know Holly at all, and shot past me, leaving her looking a little bewildered. Two things happen at that moment: I notice she’s carrying Virginia Slims 120s (a 21-year-old smoking 120s in 2015!), and she catches my eye. Our eyes meet, and she gets this “deer in headlights” expression while she stares at me, open-mouthed. The moment ended when her boyfriend grabbed her hand and told her he wanted to sit and have a drink, sounding a little pissed off. Sammi probably disrespected his good-looking college-boy player’s rap. I watched, discreetly, just to see a youngster smoke 120s, a rare sight these days, and saw him checking out every gal circulating around them. I felt a little bad for her; he was looking to pick up someone—hotter. It wasn’t much of a stretch to figure the only reason he was dating Holly was because she was easy. I go back inside, and don’t see Holly or her guy the rest of the night. Not that Holly interested me other than for a fetish sighting. I get enough that I normally don’t make hook-up mistakes. Made one eighteen years ago, and it turned into a divorce less than a year later.
I catch sight of her and her boyfriend two weeks later. Sammi’s doing her act for a nostalgic club owner friend of ours willing to pony up for her and her 6-piece band in case a crowd doesn’t show at his outdoor club. Tonight, it’s constantly packed at ten bucks a head, and I’m having a blast, especially doing that stage flirt thing Sammi and I do. Watching her smoke on stage is also fun. Holly and her 120s stand out among all the king size kids, and I can see her boyfriend scoping out the crowd while she watches the show. I head for the john at the end of the set, he stands in the “I want her” line for Sammi, she stands to the side looking lost. She happens to pull out a cigarette as I step back onto the patio, and I offer her a light since I’m about to have one myself. She jumps in surprise, but accepts it anyway, with a shy, nearly inaudible thank you, and looks at me as if she’s had some sort of revelation. Too young for me. I give her the generic band chat as I watch her fast, thin, oral exhales and constant ash tapping. 90’s cigarette, 2015 smoking. Meh. Her boyfriend? Doesn’t even bother to come over during break to at least see who his girl is talking to. He’s too busy trying to hit on Samantha, and I can see her exasperation because he won’t give up. Mercifully, Samantha calls the band back to work, and Holly gets dragged out of there in a hurry. After the gig, she complains about Holly’s guy; she threatened to have him kicked out. I’m not even thinking about Holly.
The following Friday night, same place, but my band, and no Sammi. Holly shows up with three other girls. She brings her group up to the stage, guess she’s trying to impress them by “knowing” a musician. I oblige her by speaking to her by name, and she introduces her friends, Parliament 1 and 2, and Camel Light. That’s how interesting I find them, and use nature’s call as an excuse to leave them. Next break, the tone of my night changes when Justine shows up. All the musicians know her, several, including me, have bedded her. Lusty chick, divorced three times, probably drop-dead in her teens and early twenties, but in her forties, she looks like a little too much booze, a few too many drugs, and she’s obviously been ridden hard and put away wet more than a few times too many. She likes me—we fuck like a matched pair—but she does way too much weed for my tastes, since that shit shows up in cheap drug tests if you’ve only been close to a heavy user. She asks me for a More, even though I can see the pack of Superslims in her purse. Tina pulls close, whispers, “Been a while, Pete. Got a new job, weekly pee tests. Can’t do weed until after probation… Wanna come over?”
“How ‘bout I drive you home tomorrow?”
“That works,” she husks, taking a long hit from the More, licking her lips while sending a quick burst of smoke through her nostrils, and then, in order, lazily tilting her head, pursing her lips, and sending a long cone into the air by my head, finishing with a visible nostril exhale. Babe knows how to smoke; definitely from my era. Happy I didn’t know Tina back when we were younger, because she sure as all hell would have been a mistake. She dances by herself in front of me the last set, ignoring the guys hovering around. End of the night, she leaves through the stage entrance where we load the equipment. After taking care of the business stuff, I haul my amp and axes out. Tina lights a Superslim as she sees me approach, trashy fuck-me in her pose. We’re kissing before I load the equipment, she’s grinding at me, I grab me a handful of that mature ass, and know it’s going to be one hell of a night. There’s two drags left on her cigarette when we break our clinch, long enough for me to put my shit in the back, and watch her toss it, exhale into the night, and swing into the passenger seat.
I climb in, and Tina shows just how much she’s missed me with a torrid kiss; I hear the snap of her jeans, and she pulls my hand between her legs. Then I feel her fiddle with my belt, pants, and I am half-ready. She leans over and takes me into her mouth, and blows me in my van, and it’s hot and nasty and… Holly appears in the window and gasps. Before I can do anything, Tina pops her lips off my rigid dick and maliciously snaps, “FUCK OFF, LITTLE GIRL! I’M BUSY!” while staring at her with murderous intent. Holly barely escapes without falling, and before I can process what just happened, I’m getting that hungry, frenzied, I-wanna-eat-your-cum blowjob again, and I stop caring about Holly. I cum, and Tina can’t suck it all down. “Better, baby?” she smirks, lighting another Superslim, and playing with herself while I put myself together again. Really don’t want to take a chance on getting stopped while driving naked with a drunk, masturbating woman in the passenger seat. Tina runs out of Superslims by one pm the following afternoon, and grabs a pack of my Mores. Gets her rocked some more. Only reason I took her back Saturday was I had a gig in her neighborhood, otherwise, we would have fucked all weekend. So what does this have to do with a 21-year-old college girl?
I see Holly a month later, at the club where I first saw her on break. She comes over, says hi, and is pretty obvious about wanting to end up where Tina did. I ask about her boyfriend; he, “broke up with me.” Haven’t had any sex since Tina and Holly’s obviously going to be spread-her-legs-at-a-smile easy. A couple of post-gig beers later, I tell the bartender he doesn’t have to kick her out at closing. As soon as the amp and guitars are loaded, Holly reaches for my cock, just like Tina. “No, baby girl,” I said. “I can wait, and so can you.” She gushes over how handsome I am, and lets me light her Virginia Slim 120. When we get to my house, she’s energetically nervous, not afraid of me in the least. She’s not here to talk.
She’s tighter, quieter, and more passive than Tina, but her incredulous, “Ohhhh myyyy God!” as I pumped slowly at her told me I was giving Holly what she wanted, she started moving beneath me, and my orgasm came from out of nowhere. When I can see straight, Holly’s kissing me sloppily, running her hands all over my face, eyes sparkling, and I’m thinking, “Uh-oh.” She plays with my cock during her after-sex cigarette, licking and stroking it, and she’s making me hard. I need a little more recovery time, so when she finishes her smoke, I settle in to give her head. It’s apparent nobody’s ever done this to her with the intent of focusing on her pleasure. She stiffens and holds her breath the second I touch her pussy with my tongue, relaxing suddenly, and I slip my fingers into her. Holly spreads her legs wider. It doesn’t take long for her to start swimming, writhing, gasping, and moaning. Her hips snap up and down and she screams until I stop fingering her and licking her clit. She continues to undulate and groan while I lightly tongue her lower lips.
Now I’m ready. Her eyes roll up in her head when I stuff myself into her barely-post orgasmic pussy, she arches her back with a loud cry and clamps her arms around me. Holly starts fucking back at me, matching my rhythm, swearing, and crying my name, and for some reason I find her even hotter than Tina, and I come hard. She’s lying there with this ultra-sexy expression, and I realize she came too. My middle-age dick starts to answer the call in her eyes. Holly purrs, “I wanna cigarette,” and fuck #3 ends around first light. When she leaves, she’s completely infatuated, and I’m thinking she’s way more fun than I ever would have thought. She’s too young for you, my brain tells me. My dick argues with it. When was the last time you had shit this fresh, this hot? Just go with it!
Holly shows up the following Wednesday at an early bird show from seven to nine. School night? No problem. She leaves my place by midnight, walking a little funny. Missed her on Friday night, but she’s there on Saturday, watching me work from about twenty feet away and with that expression. I get hard—on stage—which hasn’t happened since the first time Samantha sat in a couple of years ago. We meet after the gig at my house and it’s a pussy eating, dick sucking and unchained fucking festival until about five. My dick hasn’t been this responsive since I was Holly’s age. I wake up on Sunday and she’s wrapped around me, sleeping peacefully. After debating on it, I invite her to a party at Rick and Samantha’s that afternoon, and Holly blinded me with a smile.
A few eyebrows go up when we walk in together; Sammi doesn’t react at all and tells me she saw it a lot in the Big Easy. Lots of musicians have much younger girlfriends there. She fascinates Holly, who spends more of the party with her than me, and when we settle down for cognac and cigars, Holly is more than willing to give both of them a shot. She does better with the cigar under Sammi’s tutelage than the cognac, puffing away like she’s been doing it all her life. I take Holly home and fuck her again, and this time it’s because of her, not Sammi like other dates I’ve brought to their parties. She’s out of Virginia Slim 120s and smokes her first More as she gets ready to leave, and I have to fight the urge to drag her back into the bedroom because tomorrow’s a school and work day. This little round white girl has got me going like a damn teenager. Fuckin’ fetish.
School heats up for her, so I only see her a few more times before Christmas. My band takes January off after New Year’s. Samantha Faye and the Big Band has a rare indoor show the first Saturday night Holly’s back. Holly’s there with her friends, and when we go outside on break, she gives Sammi a cigarette holder for a Christmas present. She does not know about my fetish at that point. Evidently, Sammi is her idol, and I think it flatters Samantha; Holly also gives her a convenient excuse to avoid the guys standing in line because most of them know better than to interrupt two girlfriends who are chatting. When we get home after the gig, Holly gives me a guitar stand for Christmas. I feel like shit because I didn’t get her anything, so I give her lots of head to make up for it.
That night, Holly discovers the smoking fetish because I was running late and accidentally failed to shut down my new computer before I left. I was downloading a smoky BJ video, and hadn’t clicked on the idiot box that said closing the browser will end the download prematurely, so it was sitting on the screen as big as life. Instead of freaking out, a light bulb goes on in her head, and I get an enthusiastic smoky blowjob without saying a word. Afterwards, Holly asks me about the video, sounding puzzled and curious, not freaked out. “I’ve seen porno movies before,” she said, “but never one with smoking in it. All the guys I’ve gone out with bug me about it because it’s such a bad habit. I’ve had guys cancel dates because I smoke,” she sadly admitted.
I tell her I grew up in a different time, when many more people smoked, and it was still possible to see it as sexy. She cocks her head; sexy smoking isn’t something she even thought was possible. “Take the brand you smoke now. A lot of men still consider them one of the sexiest cigarettes for a woman to smoke,” I said.
“Don’t make fun of me like that,” she whined.
“I’m not joking, Holly. I’m one of those guys who thinks it’s sexy. In fact, I noticed you the night Sammi sat in at JJ’s because you weren’t smoking stubby cigarettes like everybody else,” I declared. She was surprised I’d noticed her at all. “Your choice of Virginia Slims 120s marked you as—distinctive.” She lit one, excitement coming to her face. Apparently, she doesn’t get a lot of attention for anything. “So… why do you smoke those?”
Holly looks at the pack, her cigarette, and gazes into space for a few moments. “Umm… it’s what my mom smoked, I guess?” I waited to see what she would decide, because it’s something she’d never considered. She was old enough to buy her own, but had resisted the pressure to conform to the social norm. “I dunno,” she slowly resumed. “I mean, it looks like… so long when I hold it between my fingers… I guess… I like the way it looks?” I asked why she didn’t smoke the same kind as her friends. “When we go out, I don’t light one after the other the way they do, and they don’t… taste or feel the same.”
Then she asks me about what I find sexy about smoking because she’s only ever heard how gross it is. I’m very revealing in the afterglow of having one of my fantasies fulfilled, and she discovers a lot, including that her smoking is unremarkable, even though her brand choice is interesting. After spending the night, and an early-morning romp, she takes that back to school with her. Not a word about smoking before she leaves. Have I just pissed off a girl who’s willing to give me smoking blowjobs? You idiot!
I don’t see her the next weekend, and I try to tell myself she was too young for me anyway, blah, blah, blah… Monday, Holly calls, apologizing for not letting me know she was busy, and asks if we can go to dinner next Friday night. The band is still on January break, and I say yes. It hasn’t yet occurred to me that this easy little fetish fuck is turning into something serious.
Friday, she walks in and says she’s buying from whoever I want to call for delivery. Holly doesn’t want to go out, but she’s not looking at me like she does when she wants me inside her, either. Uh-oh. “Ummm… you said I smoke a sexy cigarette, but I wasn’t a sexy smoker.” I tried to avoid answering the question last week, but she was insistent, and I have a hard time saying no when soft lips are working around my hard dick. “Where would you go to see sexy smoking?” I can see she really wants to know the answer, so I tell her about the online community. Holly hesitantly asks if I could show her—after dinner. We have a great Italian dinner delivered, no cleanup needed, no stalling, so I google ‘smoking fetish,’ and she asks if I watch the videos.
I said yes, and she immediately wants to watch with me, and have me tell her what’s exciting about it. This weirds me out—until she lights a Virginia Slim 120 and gives me a handjob at my dining room table. Whatever you want to know, Holly. She and I watch my favorite smokers french- (Carla, Heather), snap- (Maaaggie,), and open-mouth- (oh yes, Nikki) inhales, producing thick, leisurely, oral (Nadja), nasal (Kayla), and combination (Suzanne, Bridget) exhales. Holly asks why my videos are so old. Because I am. I explain that there are fewer examples of how to smoke in movies and TV shows, or from other smokers, so women no longer have anything to emulate. 120s are rare, they aren’t exactly made for a few hurried puffs in an alley. Smoking has lost its sexual allure. Holly drinks in every word I say, and after a while, shyly asks about Sammi. I told her Samantha gets it, but she’s off-limits. Her and Ricky are a forever deal if ever I’ve seen one. She nods. “But would you… because of the way she smokes?”
“There’s a hell of a lot more to Samantha than her smoking, Holly,” I said. “Yes, she knows how to make it sexy—but that’s also a part of her act, her stage persona.”
“But she’s so gorgeous,” Holly sighed enviously.
“Sexy has little to do with beauty,” I interrupted, mumbling, “Most girls don’t seem to get that anymore. They think it’s all about big tits, fat lips, tiny waists and skimpy clothing.” Holly asked why that was. I shrugged, “because that’s what porno sites say guys want.”
“So, even if I’m like, fat, I can still be sexy,” Holly evaluated. I nodded, and told her to look at Samantha sometime. Truthfully, except for the flatter belly and slightly more curvaceous midriff, Sammi wasn’t all that much smaller than Holly. Generally takes a little bit more body to belt songs out live without help from a rack of digital audio processing. Holly is quiet for the rest of the night, and snuggles against me when we go to bed. Since she’s already gotten me off, I’m good with a little romantic cuddle. Her lips around my dick wake me up at 3 in the morning, and when I’m hard, she climbs aboard and calmly rides me, moaning softly. She cums, keeps riding, until we both cum and falls asleep on top of me after some kissing. I don’t see her for a month after that, but she calls at least twice a week to let me know she’s just busy with school.
She asks me out to dinner on a weeknight so we can, “talk.” First, she tells me she’s going to graduate school for an MBA, and asks if I would like her to “hang around.” I asked what difference that would make. “Because I can get my MBA here. I got my acceptance letter today.” This was my way out, a way to stop going out with a girl young enough to be my daughter without being too cruel about it. I could tell her she needed to take the best offer, and not worry about me. Mistake #1: I ask for some time to think it over. She says no problem. Mistake #2: Choosing after-dinner drinks instead of dessert. We go into the bar next door where smoking is allowed, Holly lights a Virginia Slim 120, lifts her chin, and eases a long, thick trail of smoke from her mouth. “Did I do that right?” she worriedly asks.
The answer is yes, but I’m wondering what has possessed her to care enough to change the way she smokes. It’s a longer, steadier drag, with a deeper inhale. That’s not something that usually changes in a month. I ask where she learned to do that. “Practicing in my bedroom,” she proudly says. “I haven’t learned a lot of the tricks yet. I’ve been really busy with school.” I’ve created a monster. The first thing I feel at her next smooth drag and long, thick exhale is guilt: Holly wouldn’t be inhaling so deeply if it wasn’t for me. As sexy as it may be, it isn’t a healthy habit. The next thing I feel is lust. She looks like one of the Random Snaps girls, chin raised, arm extended, a pause after the drag, and an unhurried plume of smoke blossoming through pursed lips. Her age doesn’t matter. Lust wins. Now I’m officially dating a girl half my age.
At my next gig, I watch Holly hang out with her friends during break. She no longer smokes like them. They constantly tap their ashes, take quick, shallow drags and exhale wherever they’re pointed in a fast, oral stream. Holly takes a longer drag, and pauses, occasionally giving a quick head toss. Next, she lifts her chin, purses her lips, and exhales a blossoming cone into the air through pursed lips. Every third exhale or so, she taps the cigarette once to remove the ash. She’s not conscious of this, either. That makes her sexy, and for the first time since I saw her, she gets some interest from a guy her age. Her response is to wrap herself around my arm, and he immediately realizes he has no chance. Holly isn’t “low-hanging fruit” anymore, and I think she knows it.
She’s more spectacular by spring break, having added a quick snap-inhale to the end of her drags. Does she know she’s doing it? Yes, because at my place after Friday night’s gig, her first drag ends in an enormous, Nikki-style, open-mouthed inhale. I drag her to bed like a crazed caveman, and fuck her hard. Holly takes it, cums hard, gouging my back enough that she has to peroxide the scratches before round two. The following night, Sammi and Ricky host a party, and Holly is my date beyond all doubt. For whatever reason, it isn’t noteworthy now, and she’s accepted by almost everyone—except Justine, who gives her dirty looks when she thinks I’m not watching. Holly even feels comfortable enough to socialize on her own, and she and Samantha hang together for a bit while I catch up with some musicians I haven’t seen in a while. People call for Samantha to sing something, so she disappears, returning with an acoustic guitar and a holdered Hint of Mint. Sammi and I do a duet, me on the acoustic, she with her femme fatale smoky voice, no mikes, no nothing—and then I almost have a heart attack. Holly’s smoking again, but through a cigarette holder! I’m professional enough to not lose my place, but my dick is growing.
Half-hour later, it’s someone else’s turn, and we head for drinks. “How y’all like that Holly girl of yours?” Samantha whispers. “Lookin’ all sexy with the cigarette holder n’all.” I tell her she was Holly’s role model. “She’s smokin’ jus’ like a lil’ lady. Glad I could help y’out.” I gape at her, and she asks me for a light. I’ve cum from videos of women who couldn’t match the drag, slow, open-mouth inhale, and equally slow combination exhale Samantha Faye Beaufort performed for me. “Darlin’,” she drawled, “I’ve smoked brown cigarettes through a cigarette holder in public, in New Orleans, including during Mardi Gras, for six years. I smoke cigars in public. What makes you think you’re the first guy I’ve seen who gets fascinated by smokin’ women? You think I wouldn’t recognize a guy with a smoking fetish by now?” She repeated her luxurious, effeminate drag without the big open-mouth inhale. I couldn’t stop the surge of blood. “Known ‘bout you since the first time I did a set with your band,” she smiled. “We both know that lil’ girl over there wants to be yours in the worst way, an’ she’s doin’ her best to prove it. You make her happy happy, an’ she wants to do the same for you.”
“Samantha Faye,” I whispered, “would it be inappropriate for me to tell you that I’ve wanted to fuck you silly ever since that first night you sat in?”
“Known that too,” she teased. “If we’da met in N’awlins before Ricky… woulda happened. I like cute guys who get Samantha Faye,” Sammi confessed with a shrug. “Jus’ happens Ricky gets all o’everythin’ else about me, too, and that’s worth a whole lot more than jus’ Samantha Faye. He knows she’s an important part o’me, but he don’t need her, an’ he ain’t afraid o’her. ‘Sides, it’s nice to have somebody who gets hot for you even when you’re not all prettied up.” Sammi looked at Holly, sitting in the middle of a bunch of older musicians, cigarette holder and all, obviously unfazed. “Y’been good for her. Let her do the same for you.” Sammi was right. Holly was different. She had way more confidence, and she carried herself like it. Of course, being a Virginia Slim 120 sexy-smoking babe with a cigarette holder made for some epic sex after the party. And the next day. My dick acted like I was 19 around her. If there was any doubt about our relationship, the following week, her ex tried to pick her up at a gig, and when he grabbed her hand like he used to, she pulled away. The bouncer was there in seconds (band member girlfriend protection rules) to make sure nothing else happened.
Fast-forward to her graduation day. Time to meet the parents. Could have gone much worse. Dad’s not happy, Mom’s worried, but realizes her daughter has suddenly grown up. Her brothers think I’m a guitar god, her older sister and aunt like me. Mom smokes Misty 120s, older sister shares Mom’s—she quit to have a kid, who’s now 3, and she sneaks smokes whenever the husband and kid aren’t around. Holly tells me at one point all three girls smoked Virginia Slim 120s. Her younger sister went goth and Camel Lights.
Her Aunt Carol is a total MILF. Blonde, healthy chest, in her early 50’s, makes guys in their 20’s look, and she wouldn’t be out of place fucking on a MILF web site. A Capri 120 menthol smoker with anything but tiny, prissy drags for show, reminding me of some of the Rainbow/Dr. Cyclops women with her nasal start/oral main/combo finish/nasal residual exhales. She used to be a More menthol girl starting with the 120s in college, switching to the light 100s, and eventually going the superslim way. She bums a More from me for old times’ sake.
The battle lines were drawn: everybody vs. dad. He’s not happy, but acknowledges I treat Holly well, and she says she’s happier than she’s been in a long time. The rest of the family agrees. Dad’s been looking for an excuse to say, “I told you so,” ever since. He’s still waiting.
That was almost two years ago. Holly’s on schedule to finish her MBA, and she’ll be starting at Ricky’s company after graduation. We’re still going strong as a pair; she’s moving in after her lease ends in September, and… I’m not scared. Sammi thinks we make a great couple, swearing that Holly makes her invisible to me. Holly’s still a Virginia Slim 120 woman. She bought a few more cigarette holders on eBay, and Sammi gave her one for her last birthday. She uses them when I gig with Samantha Faye or we’re hanging out with her. I just think Sammi likes having another sexy cigarette holder babe around for guys to stare at. Holly rarely uses them when it’s just the two of us, but we spend a lot of social time with Sammi and Ricky. Holly doesn’t know it yet, but they’re getting her a private humidor at their favorite cigar club for her graduation. The sex? I’m may not be nineteen any more, but my dick still reacts to her—even when she isn’t all prettied up.