"I’m tired of your fantasies and playing a part in some movie in your head!!! Get some counseling or something, but don’t ever come back to me!!!" The door slammed and Angeline, my suddenly ex-girlfriend stormed out of my life. It had been a fun six months, filled with laughs and good times. We had met at a bar: she was a blonde beauty needing her Benson and Hedges Ultra Lights lit, and I was a chivalrous gentleman who always had a lighter ready. Angeline smoked in too much of a hurry too often for my tastes, and over the past six months I’d been trying to get her to be more—elegant about her smoking—longer drags, slower, steadier exhales, snap- and french-inhales, and More 120’s. Apparently, I’d pushed too hard. Damn. And I really liked her. The more I thought about it, the more depressed I got. I had just pissed away a really promising relationship with a woman who was a wildcat in bed, and even more fun out of it. Maybe it was time for some counseling.
"Dr. Castles will see you in a moment," the receptionist said. I had made the decision to seek counseling in a matter of seconds, but it had taken me a month to search for the right kind of clinic and to get up the nerve to call. I tried hard not to fidget while waiting, fearing that if I got up, I would leave. Two people walked out of the office; a man and a woman, both well dressed for the workplace. The man stopped at the receptionist’s desk and pulled out a checkbook.
I was about to leave right away as it became clear that I was going to be telling my intimate secrets to a woman, but she looked at me. "Mr. Williams? I’m Dr. Castles. Won’t you come right in?" She settled behind her desk as I sat in a chair facing her. The obligatory couch was in the corner. "This is a preliminary visit, so that I can ascertain how best to treat your case. We won’t be using the couch today," she said, observing my quick glance. "Let me read the background sheet that you filled out." She looked at the standard data sheet I had filled out for a couple of minutes. My anxiety continued to grow; she didn’t even know why I was here! Her calm voice spoke, even though she was still looking at the form. "First of all, Mr. Williams, let me assure you of complete confidentiality. Secondly, I am a very experienced counselor, and there is nothing you can tell me that I have not heard." She put the form down. "Many male patients prefer having a male counselor; if you would like to change counselors after the initial visit, that is fine. I can refer you to one of my colleagues, but I will do the initial interview."
I swallowed, embarrassed that she’d caught my thoughts all too cleanly. She smiled at me sympathetically. "That’s why we have so much training." I nodded. "Well, there’s nothing on your form that indicates any physical distress, no failure to perform, or anything like that." I nodded again, tight-lipped. "So, would you like to speak about what brought you here today?" I shook my head. "That’s fine, but I will remind you that you are spending eighty dollars to sit there and shake your head. Does that help any?"
I nodded, swallowed hard, and began to talk about Angeline and the breakup. She’d listen, giving an unobtrusive, quiet prompt from time to time. After a while she held up her hand. "So, you think that this—smoking fetish—as you put it, has negatively impacted your life." I nodded. "What would you like me to do? What, ultimately, would you want to see as the best possible result of these visits? I cannot remove the fetish; in fact, yours is not that severe a fetish, since it does not encompass the whole of your sexual desire."
"What can you do?" I asked, genuinely worried. Dr. Castles hadn’t giggled once, nor had she raised her eyebrows. She was silent, leaving me to answer the first question without any help. After a minute or so, I sheepishly began, "I’d like it if I didn’t try to change my partners to fit this—ideal—I have of a smoking woman." She queried me on the use of the word, "partners," and after a minute’s consideration, she said yes, she could help. My time ended and she said, "Now you can make the decision on whether or not you wish to continue these sessions with me or with another counselor." As I paid the bill, I scheduled another session with Dr. Castles—I didn’t think I could start telling somebody else from scratch ever again.
"Tell me, Mark, about this fascination with specific brands of cigarettes. How important is it to your fetish? Is it still attractive if a brand isn’t one that you consider to have that sexual quality?"
"That depends. I mean, I find short cigarettes with cork tips really ugly. I don’t care if the woman’s gorgeous or if she smokes in the most sensuous way," I answered from the couch.
"Is that the determining factor of sensual allure, then?"
"Kind of," I haltingly replied, trying to sort it out in my head. Dr. Castles had turned out to be easy to talk to, despite being female. This was my third session, and I’d finally noticed her as a woman. She wasn’t attractive, really; mid-forties, red hair cut straight to frame her face at the jaw line. She wore large, almost square eyeglasses in a pinkish tortoise-shell frame, and her body was--mature. Not fat, but any curves she had were beginning to merge.
"It was important enough that you wanted Angeline to be a part of this image, though, am I correct?"
"Yes."
"Tell me more about this ideal—name some brands of cigarettes that you would have liked to see her smoking." I hesitated. "Mark, it was important enough that you tried to make Angeline something she wasn’t. And that is what we are trying to get you to stop doing. Maybe there is some connection to your sexual "on" switch that I can find. So please, help me." Prodded by her explanation and gentle request, I told her about 120 mm cigarettes, and how I found them attractive in a woman’s hand, especially if they were freshly lit. "I see. However, when they burn down, they look like normal cigarettes, correct?"
"Not all of them do," I interrupted. "Mores are brown—" I shut myself up before I could say anything else.
"So Mores, in the 120 millimeter length, excite you the most. I take it Angeline did not find this amusing, so she left." I nodded. "What we have to do, Mark, is to teach you how to manage your fetish so that it does not dictate your relationships. So it was essential that I find the most prominent point of your fetish." I lay on her couch, relieved that she had been able to get me to talk about it without my coming out and saying it. "So, you kept urging her to try Mores, and she kept refusing?" I nodded. "Was her reaction sudden? Or had you been pressuring her?"
"I guess a little bit of both. I mean, I didn’t ever come out and say she’d be so much sexier if she smoked Mores instead of her usual brand, but she kept ignoring all the little hints I gave her. She smoked one or two of the Mores that I bought her as a present once, then threw the rest of them away. But it never affected the sex we had," I explained.
"Probably not, since judging from her picture she was quite attractive. However, she probably felt that pressure everywhere else but in bed. Did you have sex a lot near the end of your relationship?" A light went on in my head. She saw it reflect in my face, and continued, "You see, Mark, sex is not always an accurate barometer of a relationship. What would the Mores have done extra for you? Angeline was, from everything you’ve described, very sensuous and sexual. Why did it make a difference, particularly since she already smoked non-cork tips?"
"I don’t know," I said. "I just know it did. I thought it would have been better if she smoked Mores." The session bogged down at that point, going in circles, with Dr. Castles asking me why Mores made a difference, and me insisting that I didn’t know. The session ended, I paid, and went home, frustrated that I couldn’t quite figure out what it was that she was trying to get me to realize.
"I feel that we’ve made some good progress, Mark. Do you?" I agreed with her. "However, I also believe that we’ve hit a stumbling block over this issue with the More cigarettes. There is something behind it, and so far, you have not been able to reach it."
"It’s not like I’m trying to hide it or anything," I said. "Frankly, I’m pretty damn amazed that I’ve even gotten this far with you. I wasn’t sure if you’d commit me for having a smoking fetish, so I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell you anything."
"I’ll take that as a compliment to my professional skills and competency," she noted with a smile. "Still, we have this one obstacle to overcome." She sighed. "Mark, with your permission, I would like to try something. I need to observe your fetish--in action, so to speak. Do you feel comfortable with that? If you have even the slightest reservation, then I won’t do it."
"Is it in public or in private?"
"It would be done here, in the office."
"Then I guess it’s OK."
Much to my surprise, Dr. Castles went over to her desk and reached into her purse. The long red pack of cigarettes that she pulled out made my heart jump. She lit it with a lighter on her desk, took a deep drag, and exhaled a stream of smoke. She held the slender brown cigarette at the filter line, accenting its length. My cock jumped. "How do you feel now?" she asked.
"I-umm-umm-umm—" I could only stammer. The doctor took another long, slow drag, and popped out a ball of smoke before exhaling. My pants got even tighter. She came closer, sat on her chair next to the couch, crossed her legs, and dragged again. Tip glowing brightly, the More sparked. Dr. Castles leisurely lifted her chin and exhaled slowly, silently. She regarded me quizzically.
In an even, calm, clinical tone, she asked, "Are you aroused?" I nodded. "Even though I’m your therapist." I said yes. "Even though I’m not as beautiful, and much older than Angeline?" I nodded, erection definitely visible through my pants. She paused her questioning to take another slow drag, exhaling without effort. It had been several weeks since I’d had sex and my penis strained mightily against my pants. "So, tell me what you are feeling now, in your own words." Dr. Castles took another long draw, held the smoke, and exhaled.
"Dr—I’m… really horny right now… I wasn’t ready… I mean, I didn’t think—" She took a drag while watching me struggle with my libido. She could see my full erection. I was dying to touch it; the pressure was intense, almost painfully so.
"So you are extremely aroused," she resumed. I moaned in agreement. She took another drag, exhaled a long fine line of smoke, and then extinguished the More, barely half-finished. "Is it fair to say that your reaction would not have been this intense with a different brand of cigarette?" Her voice hadn’t lost its clinical, evaluating tone throughout the whole episode.
Gasping as most things returned to normal, I answered. "That’s hard to say. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex, and a long time since I’ve seen someone smoke this close-up. That caught me completely by surprise. And it felt funny happening here, in your office."
"Still no clue as to what else is going on along with the arousal, then?" I shook my head. "I see…" Dr. Castles went back to her desk and looked at something on it. "I’ll be right back, I have to speak with my secretary." She shut the door as she left. I really needed to jack off, but this was not the place to do it. After a couple of minutes, the doctor returned. She took another More from the pack. "Now let’s try again, shall we?" As she lit the long, slim, brown cigarette, my cock began to fill. I watched her first drag and my breathing became loud. She exhaled. "Are you aroused again?"
"Yes," I panted. She took a drag in profile, exhaling silently. Blood surged into my dick.
"How aroused are you? Do you feel the need to masturbate?"
"Yes, but…" Her next long draw was hands-free. Smoke began to stream through her nostrils before she pulled the More from her lips, completing the exhale with her head lifted. I groaned, involuntarily.
"Am I attractive now that I am smoking a More?" Dr. Castles continued to smoke, asking me questions in that maddeningly even, clinical fashion. I said yes. "So, if I do this—" She put the cigarette out, and threw it in the trash. "Now do you find me attractive?"
As before, my body struggled to regain its normal state, taking a slightly longer time to do it. "No, not really. No, not at all," I truthfully replied. "The cigarette… I mean, the More just makes you seem… different." She asked if I had anything more specific to say about the "difference." I told her I wasn’t sure.
She sighed. "Very well, then. We’ll resume this tack—with your continued approval—next session. Barbara has gone home for the day, so I’ll just schedule you in myself. However, this does represent progress, Mark. I am positive that we will be able to help you with your problem." I left, feeling an odd mixture of relief and frustration.
"Hello, Mark," Dr. Castles greeted me as I walked into her outer office a half-hour early for my appointment. "Barbara had a personal emergency, and my previous appointment canceled. Would you like to start right away?" I agreed and we went into her office. I took my usual place on her couch. She didn’t wait very long to begin my "therapy," lighting a More Red and taking a deep drag. Smoke streamed from her nose and her mouth as she leisurely exhaled. "Am I attractive now, Mark?" I was on my way to arousal once again. "Or would you say that my sexual desirability has changed?" She took another draw, making sure that I could see the full length of the brown cigarette as she drew, making the tip glow bright red. The exhale was a hushed sigh that sent a long stream drifting over me.
Slightly spellbound, it took me a moment to answer, "I think that it’s the desirability…"
"Are you fantasizing at this moment? About me and my long, slim, brown More? Do you want to masturbate?" I nodded, watching her every motion with the More. "Go ahead. Take off your pants. Remember, this is sex therapy," Dr. Castles said, never losing her professional demeanor. She took a cheek-hollowing drag, and casually exhaled skyward. My pants came off, and she tossed me a towel. I began to stroke myself, watching her smoke. Then she did the worst possible thing she could have done. She put it out. My cock went numb. "So are you still aroused? Is my sexual desirability still high enough for you to fantasize about me?"
"Nope," I irritably replied. I turned my back on her and reached for my pants.
"Stop." It was not a request. I snapped my head around to see her holding a fresh More. "Light it for me." I began to get turned on all over again and I grabbed a lighter from my pants and lit it for her. "So this drives your sexual appetite so greatly that you forgot your anger at me," the doctor said, taking a very feminine, graceful draw and pursed-lip exhale. I couldn’t agree fast enough. "And if I stopped now, you would regain that anger?"
"Umm… yeah. I mean, I feel like I’m being teased here, and it’s getting very frustrating."
"But I have the say on whether or not your arousal continues, correct? Simply because of this—" She took another draw and crossed her legs before exhaling through her nostrils. I nodded. "Go ahead, masturbate." I did. This time I tried to bring myself to the brink before she stopped smoking on me. Dr. Castles didn’t stop smoking; she lit another More immediately after the first one, and as I let out a long, low howl of pleasure, she took a long draw and exhaled with a smile. I gasped, chest heaving. She wasn’t finished. "Now, Mark, we will find out just how extreme this More fetish of yours is." I watched her take two more drags and felt aroused again. But I couldn’t do anything about it. "Are you aroused again, Mark?"
"Yes, but…"
Dr. Castles took a draw. "I know about refractory periods." She exhaled after the brief sentence. "Nonetheless, I still possess an increased sexual desirability for you now, don’t I?" I told her yes, in no uncertain terms. "However, even though you may not be able to successfully obtain an erection at the moment, that does not impair your ability to be sexual, does it?" I was confused by that, and gave her a funny look. She put out the More, breaking the spell for a moment. "However, if I light this next cigarette," she said, "and give you the enjoyment that is so important to you, I will become an object of desire, correct?"
"Yes…" I was still a little confused, but Dr. Castles was an extremely sexy smoker. And a More smoker, at that!
She took my lighter and lit her fourth cigarette of our session. The she lifted her skirt. "If my sexual desirability is so great now, then prove it to me, Mark." She pointed to her exposed triangle. "Lick me, or I will stop smoking, and never smoke for you again. Come on, I know how much this turns you on. You know you like to watch me smoke. We’re in private. Come on…"
I got off the couch, knelt before her and she pushed me back. "That’s quite enough, Mark," she sternly said. "I had to gauge the depth of your fetish, Mark. In addition, I wanted you to see the extent and nature of your More fetish. We have made significant progress here today. Perhaps you can think about it and we can discuss this in more detail at your next session." She lit a More and took a slow, languorous draw, holding the smoke for what seemed like an eternity before exhaling a fine stream.
I was spellbound. "Umm--umm," I stammered, trying to remember that she was my therapist. Her next two drags and exhales almost made me completely forget where I was.
"You’d still like to plunge that erection between my legs now, wouldn’t you?" I had to agree. She put the cigarette out, and with it, my desire. "And now I’m just some middle-aged woman to you." She re-lit it. "We will resume this at our next session." I made my next appointment with smoke from another freshly-lit More 120 curling into my face as she leaned over her secretary’s computer.
The next sessions found me lighting her cigarettes while I talked about her and what the brown cigarette did for her appearance in my eyes. Her only instructions were that I had to watch her smoke while I talked about it. I was terribly hard throughout, but she gave no sexual instructions, so I would leave her office sexually frustrated, but happy because she said that we were making progress.