The Christmas vacation passed very slowly. As with the previous summer, Polly and I communicated every day by e-mail, and we spoke by phone almost every other day, just to hear each other’s voice. On our second call, we had our respective houses to ourselves. As a result, I discovered the joy (and frustration, because I couldn’t see or touch her) of phone sex. She lit a cigarette and exhaled directly, forcefully, into the phone so that I could hear. “Do you know what I’m doing now, Al?” she husked.
“Uh-huh,” I breathed in response, wishing desperately that both of us had webcams.
“I just lit a More, and I’m holding it the way I always do. It’s so long and brown… and now I’m taking another drag. You remember what it looks like, right? And we both know how hot it makes you… and me.” There was a pause. “I’m taking off my panties now. I feel, very, very sexy. I can imagine you watching me smoke my More… I love the way you look at me when I smoke Mores…”
My cock was rock hard, and I took my pants off to the sound of her next exhale. “I like exhaling like that,” Polly cooed. “Long, slow… into the air.” I saw it as she described it, and my cock got a little harder in my hand. I could hear her suck in air with her next inhale. There was a long silence, and then... “Mmmmmm…” I had heard her make that sound a lot, always when I was giving her head and she was about to get really excited and wet. Polly was masturbating and beginning to feel it. That memory, along with the sound of her next forceful exhale made my world twist suddenly.
“Ohhhh…. Polly!” I gurgled at my girlfriend as cum shot all over my hand and arm. I was panting and gasping too loudly to hear anything from her end of the line, and I didn’t know if she had a similar orgasm from our shared fantasy. I finally heard the click of a lighter after I don’t know how many minutes.
“I adore a More after sex,” purred Polly. “Of course… if you were here… You’d probably be watching and getting horny—”
“Shit!” I hissed urgently as the front door slammed and my mother called for me. “I gotta go! Love you!” I’m sure I was a comical scene, trying to get my pants and underwear back on while simultaneously trying to clean the spooge off before my mother either caught me or got pissed at the lack of response. About a week later, Polly and I got another opportunity to share our private, long-distance delight, but as unsatisfying as it was compared to being with her, spending the remainder of the winter break with only solitary fantasies and my right hand was worse. However, Christmas break was only three weeks long, so I survived.
Polly met me at the airport as usual and we headed directly to our sex nest, a mere eight minutes from the airport’s parking lot, and less than an hour after my flight had landed, my girlfriend was riding me with joyous abandon. Polly had squeaked and giggled in surprise as I reached for her and gave her a deep kiss as soon as the door shut and I immediately started to undress her. I knew that she wanted to smoke for me, but I didn’t give her the chance. She finally got around to having a More after our first round, lighting it with a big, showy, open mouthed, snap-inhale. Polly waited, and deliberately raised her head and blew, the long brown cigarette extended as she posed seductively next to the television. I watched from the bed, enraptured, too soon for her little show to have any physical effect, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t turned on. My girlfriend casually french-inhaled her next drag, allowing the smoke to effortlessly flow into her nostrils. She paused again, lifted her chin, and silently exhaled skyward. When she finished her next exhale, head tilted back, smoke flowing through her nostrils; I felt the first stirrings of an erection. Polly noticed, her eyes narrowed, and a knowing smile came to her face. Her nipples hardened noticeably, but she leisurely finished her cigarette first before sashaying over to the bed and engulfing my cock with her mouth.
I moaned as she worked, silently, but the sparkle in her eyes spoke to her pleasure. She got me close, but somehow figured out when to stop. Polly rolled onto her back and lazily brushed my chest, stopping me from returning the favor. “Fuck me again, Al,” she cooed. And so I did.
Afterwards, I lay on my back, my chest heaving as my girlfriend idly played with the gooey mess I’d left at her invitation. “I missed you, Al,” she quietly said, her hand still moving idly, not accomplishing anything. “I’m happy you’re back.”
“So am I,” I truthfully answered. “I used to think that it was great going home, but now… I wish I lived here.” At that, she perked up and kissed me—hard. Our tongues fought, and suddenly, we were fondling each other and then I pushed her back to the bed, arranging myself quickly to give her pleasure. I ate her pussy like a starving man attacking steak. It wasn’t pretty, but it was definitely determined because I took a great deal of pleasure in what I was doing—and it got the job done. Polly wailed for what seemed like an hour, and I finally stopped, worried that they’d come and kick us out. It turned out that I didn’t need to worry, because as soon as we got quiet, the room next door took over. Rhythmic, deep, throaty grunts answered by higher-pitched squeaks were the second act on our floor, and nobody came for them, either.
Polly took me to the dorms the next morning, saying that she had some things she had to do, but that she would be back later, because we had the room until the day before school started. “It was one of my—Christmas presents,” she mysteriously smiled when I asked about it, and said nothing more. That evening, I was lounging on the bed while she was in the bathroom. “We’re having pizza tonight,” she called from behind the door. “It’s time for your Christmas present from me.”
I rolled over, but before I could ask her what pizza had to do with my Christmas present, my jaw hit the floor. Polly stood in the doorway, seductively perched with a fresh More in a black cigarette holder. I was speechless. It was powerfully arousing, more so than I would have thought possible with the discovery of my fetish and Polly’s eagerness to play to it. This was an entirely different, higher level of cigarette seduction. “Merry Christmas…” she smiled. “Do you like your present?” We had pizza that night for dinner… at about one in the morning. She was so incredibly sexy, so desirable that I had to have her right away… and again… and again after about a half a leisurely More in her cigarette holder, and finally, once more after dinner. “I love you, Polly,” I feebly managed, passing out before I could hear her response. We didn’t wake up until one in the afternoon the next day.
She posed for me with the holder for the next two days, and by our last night in our hideaway, something happened that I never thought possible. I begged off of sex. Polly had worn me out to the point where even though I was incredibly turned on, I couldn’t do anything about it, save for one semi-enthusiastic pussy licking session.
The first all-campus party of the semester found Polly and I hanging out with Sheila, who seemed quite happy to ignore the male attention she was getting while she told us about her winter vacation in Mexico with her family. Strangely, even the Capri 120 she had smoked outside had failed to distract me—I only had eyes for Polly and her More Menthols. Ever the gentleman, I asked the two ladies if they’d like a drink, and both of them said yes. As I left, Sheila leaned forward and put her hand on Polly’s knee and the two girls appeared as if they were the closest of old friends sharing confidences. I smiled to myself as I headed for the bar.
When I came back, there was a tall guy standing with them. I figured that it was someone Sheila knew, but as I got to them, Polly said, “Ummm… Sam… this is my boyfriend, Al.” He turned and looked at me dumbfounded, like I had three heads or something.
“Oh…” he said, trying to figure out what to say, and as the silence stretched, Sheila said a hurried, uncomfortable goodbye, and quickly left the three of us. I didn’t quite know what was going on, but I could also feel the awkwardness in the air that made her leave. “Well…” Sam finally resumed, “I guess I’ll see you around then, Polly.” He left without even having said hello to me, but as he did, he gave me a strange look, almost as if he was pissed off at me.
“C’mon, Al, let’s dance,” Polly immediately said, grabbing my arm.
I resisted for some reason. “Who was that?”
“Just some guy I know,” she lightly said, tugging harder on my arm and repeating her request.
“From high school or something? I’ve never heard you mention him,” I asked.
She stopped tugging on my arm, and reached into her purse. “Well, if you don’t want to dance, can we go outside? I’d like a More.” She didn’t answer my question, and gave me a smile that also didn’t seem right. Polly had never seemed—evasive—before that I could remember, and I told her that she could go without me, excusing myself to the men’s room.
Away from her, I managed to convince myself that I was just being paranoid. After all, we’d been together since my freshman year, and she’d shown no interest in other guys, even during the two long summer breaks. I got my coat and went outside to rejoin her. She was trying to smoke, but Sam was there, too, with his arms around Polly, trying to talk to her. She didn’t appear pleased, but hadn’t yet noticed me. I got close enough to hear snippets of their animated, but quiet, discussion. “—Sam—no! I told you—he’s my boyfriend!” Polly urgently hissed, trying to get him to let go with her free hand.
“You never said you had a boyfriend! You were pretty unattached a couple of weeks ago. Besides, he’s just a nerd!”
“I’m not interested!”
“You were awful interested at that New Year’s Party,” I heard him counter. “C’mon, ditch the nerd and let’s get out of here. We can party some more—off-campus, at my place. I got booze and beer.” Polly chose that exact moment to look away from him and her eyes came to rest directly on me. The horrified, guilty expression that came to her face registered only for an instant before I turned and started walking away quickly.
“AL!!! AL!! Stop! Wait!” she called, spurring me to walk away faster, but she ran to catch me, and slightly out of breath, began to explain, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean—”
I spun and angrily snapped, “Didn’t mean what? I was just your boyfriend during the school year? I heard it Polly! I heard everything!” Pulling away from her, I muttered, “Now it all makes sense.”
She caught me again, “I’m so sorry Al, but I was missing you and those phone calls didn’t help and I got a little drunk on New Year’s and—”
“—You were hoping I’d never find out,” I flatly interrupted, trying not to cry in public, so I stopped and looked at her.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—I mean—” Polly stopped, and hung her head. “I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. We can go to the airport tonight,” she began, almost begging.
“So you can seduce me by smoking Mores?”
“Well…” she shyly smiled.
“Does Sam like it when you smoke Mores, too, or do you smoke something else for him?” I shot back and stormed away angrily, not caring to see or hear her response.
The following weekend found me in unfamiliar haunts, walking around the Fraternity Quarter, amongst the early-semester parties in full swing. In truth, I was doing more freezing than anything else, since I couldn’t seem to work up the nerve to actually walk inside any of the frat houses, but it was still better than any of the alternatives. Polly hadn’t called, and since each of was taking independent study for French conversation, we didn’t have any classes that put us together, so we hadn’t communicated at all since our fight. Walking around by yourself on a cold, dark winter’s night when you’re suffering from a sense of betrayal that caused heartbreak does absolutely nothing to clear the mind. In fact, unless you have a masochistic affection for self-flagellation and brooding anger, I wouldn’t recommend it. One more thing: it also leads to bad decision-making.
So I was walking past the jock fraternity when I heard Sheila’s familiar voice. Thinking that she might have some insight into women, I approached.
“This is a closed party, geek,” one of the big guys milling around said. I replied that I wasn’t going in and just wanted to say hi to a friend on the patio. “This party’s closed,” he smirked.
Bad decision number one: prolonging the encounter by replying that I wouldn’t be more than 30 seconds, and I just wanted to give Sheila a message. He sneered and growled, “Well, we don’t take messages at private parties.” Extremely bad decision number two: just because you know the rules doesn’t mean everybody is playing by them. “But all frat parties are open until the end of rush, so—”
Alcohol, plus testosterone, plus additional anabolic steroids is not a good mixture. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe and this strange burning sensation was spreading through my midsection. I felt my knees sag into the snow, and heard the guy who had apparently just punched me growl, “There’s your open party you fuckin’ nerd.” Then I puked.
The worst part of the whole episode wasn’t the pain or the humiliation: the campus police saw me fall and puke, and assumed it was a typical case of underage drinking too much. So, after a trip to the infirmary, I had to pay a school fine, and I go to the school’s alcohol counseling program for the rest of the semester. I was also confined to my room Friday and Saturday nights for the remainder of the campus’ open party season, so I was forced to listen to my roommate prattle on excitedly about the existential nature of probability theory. Worse, he assumed that I was just as excited about it, so he tried to engage me in his one-sided discussion, and that would have been enough to drive anyone to drink to excess.
However, January wasn’t all bad: Sheila got me another tutoring job for one of her sorority sisters, Wendy, who was attempting to learn French, and was panicking only two weeks into the class. “I’m sorry to hear about you and Polly,” Sheila replied when I told her. “You two are such a cute couple. Well, I’m sure that someone else will see what Polly saw in you, Al,” she consoled. Hearing Polly’s name caused a little part of me to ache.
Maybe Sheila was feeling sorry for me because she and Wendy invited me to an off-campus party that her sorority was having the first Saturday in February. Normally, I wouldn’t have accepted, knowing that I’d be out-of-place and spend the night by myself and feeling awkward, but even that would be better than the purgatory of another weekend night with my roommate. The girl who answered the door didn’t think I belonged there, having some large guy keep me out while she went to verify that I had been invited. The first of many insults to come tonight, I resignedly thought.
“Al!” This time, it wasn’t Sheila who came to my rescue, but Maddie. “How are you? I’m so glad you could come! Wendy said you were a great tutor!”
As puzzled as I was by Maddie’s ebullient greeting, I was quite flattered by the attention. She led me into the party, lending certification to my presence there. Over the course of the next two hours, I had been introduced to almost all of the sorority girls there, and trying not to notice how many of them smoked, and how many of those were sort of—sexy—about it. Especially Sheila, whose beauty, the style with which she smoked her Capri 120s, combined with the fact that I genuinely liked her as a person, made her my dream girl. I spent the evening trying to casually avoid being around her when she was smoking. It always jump-started me on the climb to arousal, and this was not the party to walk around with an obvious boner.
My worries about being abandoned were unfounded, and I found myself in a very odd position: surrounded by beautiful women and talking to them casually, evenly, without making a fool out of myself. It didn’t hurt that I was speaking French, and trying to teach a few selected phrases to the seven people around me. Wendy and Sheila had started it, and Maddie, Liz, Chris and her boyfriend, Greg, as well as Tom, Wendy’s boyfriend, had joined in. I sighed inwardly, because out of the four girls at the party who were smoking extra-long cigarettes, three of them were sitting around me: Chris, who smoked Virginia Slims 120 Menthol Ultra Lights, and then Sheila and Maddie, both Capri 120s smokers. What made matters even more difficult was that Maddie sat right next to me on the sofa. A junior like Polly, and, to my eyes, second in beauty only to Sheila within their sorority, I had been trying to avoid watching her throughout the evening as well. I hadn’t ever paid that much attention to her before because I was usually talking to Sheila whenever I saw her, and before tonight, Maddie had never shown much interest in me beyond saying a polite hello.
That changed for me when she asked me if I would pass her the lighter on the other side of the table. I lit her cigarette like I usually did for Polly, and immediately realized how big a mistake that might have been. Maddie had almost the same natural french-inhale as Polly, only slower, and the way she did it was somehow sexier. Then she exhaled, starting as a brief flow from the nostrils before the rest of the smoke flowed evenly through her lips. I could feel my brain prepare to stand against the flood of hormones that was surging through me as I watched Maddie smoke, trying to keep my intellect running since my facility with the French language was apparently what had gained me access to this select group. Given that the light was almost directly behind her, whenever she smoked one of her long, extra-thin cigarettes, I would see it in incredibly arousing detail. I was positive that I had used up my quota of stolen glances after her first two cigarettes, but Maddie gave no sign of being annoyed by my attempts at discreet attention, making no effort to change places when she had the chance. In fact, she loosely linked her arm with mine after a while, but I figured it had more to do with the guy who kept looking for an opening to hit on her than with me. Even though I wasn’t imposing, her apparent comfort with me, and that we were part of a group (with one really big guy in Tom) kept him on the periphery. I was a safe screen for her, because I knew that she was out of my league, and she knew that I wouldn’t press the issue. Even though I knew it was a facade, having Maddie so close and intimate was difficult. I forced myself to focus on French, and managed to achieve a steady state of not being completely flaccid, but at least the beginnings of my erection would not be apparent without careful study, and I felt reasonably safe on that account with this crowd.
As the night went on, the French phrases they wanted to learn became increasingly risqué until Greg finally asked about the word “fuck”. I think he was trying to get me to say something about having sex with Maddie, so I told him to, “fuck off” in French, and with a smile, explained that the term was represented by several French words, and that which one or phrase you used depended on the context. He was a good sport about it, and soon, all of them were trying out various forms of the French equivalent of “fuck” amidst a great deal of laughter. Maddie let go of me to get another drink, and asked me if I wanted anything. While she was gone, Wendy, Tom, and Liz left, leaving Chris and Greg, who were having a private moment, and Sheila.
Maddie returned to her previous position by my side and lit another Capri before recapturing my arm. Her unwanted admirer approached purposefully, but she laid her head against my shoulder, and he hesitated. Sheila and Chris gave him dirty looks, Greg shifted in his seat, while Maddie just ignored him, and after another few seconds, he left. The group attempted to resume its earlier levity, but it quickly became clear that the momentum had dissipated, and so the conversation turned hushed and quiet. I checked my watch when Chris and Greg left, and I was surprised to find that it was already one a.m. Nobody had made fun of me, I hadn’t been threatened or hit, I had not made a fool of myself despite being surrounded by so many beautiful young women, and amazingly, I had managed to hide my arousal. Sheila moved her chair to sit closer to Maddie, who sat up, and the girls talked sorority stuff for a few minutes. Maddie was sitting up, but she kept her arm loosely linked with mine throughout until she excused herself again, leaving me alone with Sheila. I thanked her for inviting me, but she said, “It was Wendy’s idea. She thought you needed to get away from your roommate after hearing you talk about him.” When Maddie returned, she again sat next to me with her arm loosely entwined, which confused me. Hadn’t her unwanted admirer left the party? Was there another guy chasing her? When Maddie turned away to speak to another sorority girl, I stole a quick, confused glance at Sheila. She returned a quick shrug of the shoulders and an enigmatic smile. Only then did I realize that although my dream girl remained unattainable, one of her ladies-in-waiting was within reach. Unfortunately, I had no idea of how to proceed from there.
Sheila stood to say her good nights a few minutes after our silent exchange, and Maddie and I stood up as well. Sheila hugged her friend, and then wrapped her arms around me and gave me a peck on the cheek. “G’night, Al. It was fun.” Maddie reclaimed my arm, more securely now, but I felt her wobble just a little. So now what?
Maddie answered the unspoken question by asking me to walk her to her apartment, which was all of two doors away from the party, and I recognized the look in her eyes when she turned to me to say good night. She grasped my hand, and being a little taller than I was, leaned forward, and we kissed. I guess she liked it, because she softly, demurely asked if I would like to come in. As for me, the kiss had unlocked the cage where I had kept my frustration over Polly, the lack of sex, and all of the arousal I had during the night. My cock started to inflate in spite of my feeble efforts at self-control. Then Maddie drew herself to me again, and we kissed, sweetly, but deep, and she shifted, bringing her into direct contact with my surging erection. Part of me was afraid of what was waiting for me inside her apartment—I had heard stories about sorority girls proving a point to nerds by luring them to their room with the false promise of sex, where one or two members of a jock fraternity would be waiting. My erection surged against Maddie’s thighs—being brainless, it didn’t care about any possible danger, even though I continued to hesitate. Besides, I reasoned, she’s drunk. She really doesn’t want me. Maddie smiled at me as we broke our kiss and gently tugged on my hand. My remaining resistance crumbled in an instant. Anticipating the worst, I closed my eyes when she opened her door... and there was nobody waiting for me except a dewy-eyed vision of beauty. Holy shit, I thought, I’m actually going to sleep with Madeline Haynes! That night, I discovered two very important things: the most beautiful girls don’t necessarily get the best sex, and never accept no for the first answer when the question is does she want gentle and caring cunnilingus for foreplay.
Maddie tried to stop me twice, the first time with a very cute, girlish, giggled, “No... You don’t have to do that.” The second was a half-hearted, uncoordinated push with her hands as she dreamily sighed, “Stop…” just before she grabbed my head and encouraged me to continue. I don’t exactly know why, but I was expecting her to roll away after she came down. Instead, she purred, “C’mere, tiger,” and pulled me to her face, and at the same time, gracefully positioned herself for intercourse. Energized by her beauty and still aroused by my mental images of Maddie’s sensuous smoking as she sat next to me all evening, I hastily mounted her, and animal instinct took over. As much as I wanted to be gentle, loving and caring, my physical hunger ruled my actions.
Not that Maddie had any complaints. She squeaked joyously as I pounded at her and we climaxed together. I kissed the most beautiful woman I’d ever been with, and fell asleep, cuddled with her, in her bed.