What was disappointing, but not unexpected, was Maddie’s reluctance to acknowledge my existence on campus the following week. I understood. I’d been dealing with my place in the social pecking order ever since elementary school, and knew that it would be socially disastrous for her to be publicly linked with me. Even if it had been, in her words of the following morning after another round of foreplay and hot, sweaty, lust-driven sex, “the best sex of my life!” The other thing was that, while it had been fun, something was missing. Not during the experience, but afterwards. I felt a little—empty. It was strange, and I didn’t quite know what it was—or maybe I knew, but I didn’t want to think about it.
There was a campus Valentine’s Day party the following week, but as a “problem drinker”, I was sent to an “alcohol-free substitute party”, which was just code for a group therapy session. They tried to teach everybody “how to have fun without alcohol.” Judging by the expressions of my fellow detainees, none of us was interested beyond parroting what the counselors wanted to hear. I spent more time being pissed off at being stuck there than pining over the state of my love life, which was usually the case for me on a Valentine’s day, and I kinda liked anger over lovesickness.
Sunday morning, Sheila showed up at the end of Wendy’s tutoring session in the language lab, much to my surprise. When we were alone, Sheila asked me how I was doing. I told her that I was OK, and wasn’t hurt over Maddie. “That’s good,” she said. “I was a little worried for you, but at the same time, I don’t want you to think that I’m apologizing for her.”
“I don’t,” I truthfully replied. “But…”
I hesitated, long enough for her to break in, “Al, sometimes a girl just gets—horny. It doesn’t mean that she loves you, or even that she wants to go out with you. It just means that she found you attractive, for whatever reason, right then. I hope you can understand that.” I nodded—while Maddie may have been a little drunk Saturday night, she was definitely not drunk Sunday morning when she persuaded me to stay a while longer. “Besides, Maddie and you really don’t have anything in common,” Sheila continued. “She wouldn’t be good for you.”
All of a sudden, a lot of things made sense to me. “Thanks for stopping by, Sheila,” I said, standing to give her a hug. “I’m fine with the Maddie thing. Really. But,” I resumed, emboldened by the intimacy of our discussion, “I do have a question for you.” She smiled, and said that as long as it wasn’t a proposition or wedding proposal, she’d do her best to answer it. “Why do you treat me so nice? You are the most popular, and one of the most beautiful girls on campus, and normally, girls like you make fun of guys like me and don’t get within twenty feet.”
Sheila cleared her throat. Blushing, she said, “If you’ll remember, that pretty much describes me your freshman year,” with honest embarrassment. “What happened was that I got to know you in our tutoring sessions. I was—surprised to find that you were a gentleman, instead of just another nerd taking advantage of the opportunity to drool down my tits.” I looked at her. “I know I’m generalizing to a stereotype, but it’s happened to me often enough. You were sweet though, and very much in love with Polly, and you were so… romantic with her. I admit, I was even a little envious.” Blushing at the unexpected praise, I asked her if that was it. “You also remind me of my little brother,” she grinned. Sheila stopped giggling, and her tone became serious. “I don’t want to see a nice guy like you get hurt by a girl like me.”
I thanked her sincerely; it was nice to have a big sister—even if she was still my dream girl. Sheila asked, “Well, as long as we’re in this soundproof room being candid with each other, have you even spoken to Polly since…?”
I shook my head, drawing a weird look from her that was part disappointment and part exasperation, with a little bit of sympathy mixed in. “Think about what last Saturday meant to Maddie; the big difference there was that Maddie wasn’t missing one specific person, and so she doesn’t feel anywhere near as rotten about herself,” she pointedly counseled. The soundproof booth became uncomfortably quiet for a long time until Sheila lightly asked, “Is there anything else?”
“Ummm… No,” I said, relieved that the Polly lecture was over. “But you can give Maddie a message for me. Tell her that gentlemen don’t talk.”
“I expected no less from you, but I’m sure that will make her feel better.” Sheila smiled, gave me a quick hug, and left me alone with my thoughts.
I had been staring at my cell phone for what seemed like hours, trying to get the nerve up to contact Polly for the first time in almost a month. I finally gained enough to send her a four-word text: “Hey. How are you?” It looked like my worst fears were realized when I got no response. Maybe it was too late. “I miss U,” I typed. But I wasn’t going away without letting her know that I still wanted her. I felt doomed when she did not reply on Sunday.
My phone pinged on Monday evening. “Phone was broke. Talk 2morrow?” Polly had replied, and better yet, she wanted to talk! That meant I still had a chance.
We met at an off-campus restaurant Tuesday evening, close enough for me to walk, while she drove. We exchanged an awkward hug that said neither of us was quite sure where we stood in this relationship—or even if there was a relationship left. “So what have you been doing with yourself?” I hesitatingly asked, hoping the answer wasn’t “Sam.”
Polly looked down at the floor and said, “Not a lot. Mostly spend my free time at home, learning how to cook the French way,” she said. Her face brightened. “But I get to go to Paris with my mom for spring break! She thinks I need to have more fun.”
“That’s cool. I know you’d rather be on your own, but—it’s Paris,” I grinned. “But didn’t you go to the campus parties?”
“No, I’m not really a college party person,” she replied. The table went quiet. The atmosphere was all wrong; we had lost our ease in conversing with each other.
Polly asked me what I had been doing, so I told her about my house arrest on open party nights, and how it had happened. I glumly said, “The counselor still thinks I’m in denial, but they didn’t do a breathalyzer, so the only evidence against me is circumstantial. On the other hand,” I sighed, “because the frat guy isn’t gonna admit to assault, I have no evidence to counter the accusation.”
Polly patted my hand sympathetically. “Well, have you had any social life this semester?”
“Yeah,” I lightly said, “I got to go to a Gamma party off-campus.” Polly looked ill, and worriedly asked if Sheila and I had gone together. “Ummm… No. My student invited me so I could get away from my roommate.” Before the distressed look could fully form on Polly’s face, I added, “I spent the night teaching a bunch of people how to swear in French. Including her boyfriend.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding tentatively relieved. “So was Sheila there?”
“Yup. She got me the tutoring job in the first place—oh! I finally asked her why she treated me so nice.”
“Do I want to hear this?”
“I think you do,” I urged. “She says I remind her of her little brother. The other stuff you already know, like how I treated her when I was tutoring her, and…”
“And what?”
“How I treated you. And how obviously in love I was with you.” Polly couldn’t hide her shock. “In fact, Sheila bitched me out pretty good two days ago over walking away from you. She seemed to think that I was being unreasonable.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it being unreasonable,” Polly admitted. “I know how upset I was when I thought you were with Sheila.” Then you’ll never find out about Madeline Haynes if I can help it. Polly looked at me and observed, “I guess I can’t blame you. And now you’re hanging out with Sheila and her sorority sisters… why would you want to go out with me?” She looked into her coffee. “It’s my own fault, I guess.”
I picked up her hand and didn’t let her pull away. “Hey! Look at me! I’ve been miserable ever since I walked away from you a month ago! It’s nice to have Sheila as a big sister, but she’s not my girlfriend. Gamma girls aren’t interested in dating me—it would be disastrous for their social standing! I was invited to that party out of pity, and I spent all of it with one particular group of people! I said I missed you and I meant it!”
Polly had started crying. “And I couldn’t… I didn’t… I mean—Sam was—he was—a mistake,” she choked. “I don’t know—”
“It’s OK,” I said, patting her hand and willing her to understand. “I love you, Polly. I’m stupid enough that Sheila had to point out that none of the reasons why I love you have changed—for either of us. And dammit, I’m not going to let my wounded pride tell me otherwise any longer.” She looked away from me, even though I held her hand. “Do you feel bad without me? As bad as I do without you?” I pressed. “Polly, I’m desperate here. I want you back.”
“Even if I’ve been so terrible to you?”
“I forgive you. Please. Go out with me again,” I pleaded.
“We’re out now,” she flatly replied.
I challenged, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
After a near-eternal silence, Polly slowly took her hand from mine, and began to speak in a soft, shamed voice. “You know, I was kinda glad you walked away from me.” I cocked my head, trying not to let my exasperation show. “That meant that I couldn’t do that to you again. I saw the look in your eyes, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so—angry with myself in my life.” The tears welled in her eyes. “I couldn’t believe that I let myself do what I did.”
“But you said that you were missing me,” I interjected.
“Being able to rationalize it doesn’t excuse it,” countered Polly. “I hurt the nicest guy I ever met—let alone went out with—just because I was horny.” I didn’t want to tell her that I understood because Maddie was the reason that I understood. Polly took my hand lightly and whined, “Al, if I can’t keep my clothes on for three weeks, how can you trust me for three months?”
“Because I do,” I declared. Leaning forward, I quietly said, “I want me to be the only answer to the question, ‘who is Polly sleeping with?’”
“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I can’t make that promise.”
“And I didn’t ask you to. What I’m asking,” I said, placing my free hand on top of hers so that we were holding both hands, “is if that’s what you want.”
I could see the answer in her eyes. “But what if I end up hurting you again? I’m really afraid that some guy’s gonna get me going and—poof! There I go.”
“Let me worry about my hurt feelings, and as for the rest, we’ll deal with it if the time comes. I’m hoping that we can—make it easier for you to deal with the source of the problem.”
She gaped at me, finally saying, “You’re an idiot, you know.”
I nodded. “I know. I get stupid when it comes to you—but I’m even dumber without you around.”
I felt her grasp tighten, and a smile fought its way through the pessimism and self-loathing to replace them on her face. Polly shook her head. “You really are an idiot. I can’t believe you’d still have that much faith in me after what I did.” I guess my exasperation showed, because she quickly added, “But I can’t say that I’m not happy you still want to be with me.” She removed a pack of Doral Menthols. “I didn’t want to start anything, so I figured this was about as safe as I could get.” I nodded, as her appearance with the short, cork-tipped cigarette all but extinguished my libido. After a few puffs, she made a face and stubbed it out. “Blecch. If I’d known we were going to—make up, I wouldn’t have wasted the money.”
“Well,” I said with a sly smile, “I’d be happy to remedy that for you.”
Polly held up her hand. “Al, I’m not sure that’s the best thing right now. I think— because I seem to have problems with it—we want to kind of—downplay the sex part of our relationship.” I acquiesced, telling her that I was just happy to have my girlfriend back. She drove me back to the dorms, we kissed chastely on the lips, and I headed to my room much happier than I had been for the past month.
“Nngh! Mmmf! Oh-SHIT-thatfeelsgood!” yelped Polly. She spread her legs wider, panting encouraging obscenities into my ear as I pumped energetically at her. Her self-imposed sexual restraint had managed to hold until Friday afternoon. I had walked out of my last class to find Polly waiting for me—or maybe lying in wait for me is more accurate. As soon as I had a clear path to her, she took a long draw from a More, showily snap-inhaling before tilting her head all the way back and exhaling, almost causing me to trip. “Gotta hotel room ‘til Monday morning,” she lewdly purred, as she struck a sexy pose. “You got any other plans for the weekend?” Not after that invitation.
So here she was in our love nest having me fuck her brains out less than 72 hours after declaring that she wanted to downplay the sexual part of our relationship. My body sizzled and sang with every motion I made, and then I started grunting, primal and throaty each time I drove myself into Polly, who responded by grabbing my ass and spreading her legs even wider. She returned a fairly loud, high-pitched exhale for each grunt of mine. “ARRRGGGHHHH!” My hips quivered erratically a few times before I pushed myself as deeply into my girlfriend as I could, cumming and cumming and cumming, and Polly wrapped me up in her arms and locked her legs around my back, kissing me constantly, wantonly, needfully.
I groaned into her mouth and melted onto her lithe body, signaling that I had no more cum to give her—at least for a little while. She remained wrapped around me and we rocked gently from side to side. I noticed that Polly was crying, and started to worry that I’d hurt her. “No,” she sniffled, smiling, “I’m just so—happy!” And she continued to hold me. This is what I missed with Maddie. Polly finally let go of me sometime later, noting that it was almost dinnertime. “Did you want to go out, or do you want to call for something so we can stay here—” She lit a More. “—and fuck?”
“How about—” My voice died so that I could watch Polly perform and pose for me with her cigarette without that messy thing called reason. She smiled impishly. “Two things: one, when I’m with you, it’s usually making love, not just fucking,” I finally replied. She beamed at that. “Two: Do I get a choice?”
Polly dragged again, did a slow, creamy, french-inhale, and after leisurely tilting her head back, exhaled silently through her nostrils. Only then did she answer my question. “Yes, you do get a choice. And if you want to go out to dinner, I wouldn’t be—” She drew on the More again, and leisurely exhaled with narrowed eyes. “—disappointed. I could do with something other than pizza.” I looked at her questioningly. “Oh, I’m just smoking like this because I like the way you look at me when I do.”
Agreeing that we should clean up to go out, we showered together with a lot of kissing and fondling—which turned into fingering my girlfriend to the orgasm she hadn’t had during our previous round. She picked her favorite Italian restaurant and we dined, talking intimately, holding hands, and both very aware of the remainder of the evening to come.
On the way back, we stopped by her house because she wanted to “pick up a few things for the rest of the weekend.” When we pulled up to her house, Polly asked, “I’m sorry, but would you mind waiting in the car?” At my curious glance, she elaborated, “Claude’s in town, and… well, my mom doesn’t want it to be like last time, so she sent me away for the whole weekend. She’s paying for our room.”
“Good thing we made up,” I grinned, and my girlfriend gave me a peck on the nose before running her errand, returning quickly with a small bag, and we sped back to our hotel room.
“Claude brought me a surprise present from Paris,” she said with excitement as she unwrapped a narrow box. I gasped in shock and she squeaked with happiness when she opened the case inside the box, revealing a long, black cigarette holder with a floral design painted on the end. “My mom has one like this!” she happily exclaimed. The merriment faded as Polly reached for her cigarette case and handed me her lighter while she assembled her smoke, all the while regarding me with mischief, expectation, and a hint of come-hither. After I lit her extended smoke, she bounced over to the chair and sat, legs crossed, holding the cigarette holder from underneath, between her thumb and first two fingers. Polly struck an haute couture pose, dragging and exhaling in a carefree manner. I was hard, but my girlfriend seemed not to notice or care, self-absorbed in the act of smoking with chic, a collage of feminine smoking styles from the 1920’s to the early 1960’s. She weaved an alluring spell, apparently unaware of how captivated I was by her inadvertent manipulation of my fetish. Suddenly, Polly looked directly at me, and french-inhaled, extinguishing her smoke while she licked her lips. Only then did she lift her chin and exhale. “Ready?” she lustfully growled.
Sunday was strange; the day started with a mutually satisfying 69, then we had breakfast, after which Polly dropped me off at campus so I could keep my tutoring appointment at one. By two-thirty, I was buried deep inside her yet again; I’d lost count of how many times we’d had sex in one form or another, since Friday afternoon. “Do you want to stay here tonight?” asked Polly afterwards. “I can have you back at campus before your first class, if you need to.” she was smoking sans holder, and I could still feel a sexual charge go through me, although I was physically spent—for now. I told her that I didn’t have any obligations until Monday afternoon, hoping that she felt the same way. “Let’s clean up and go to dinner,” suggested Polly. She performed the french-inhale I loved to see with sparkling eyes. “Then we can come back here.”
Two weeks later, I was standing outside of my dorm dressed up and waiting for Polly. Her mother was hosting a party, and I had explicitly been invited as Polly’s date. My girlfriend had also reserved a room at our favorite hotel for us on Saturday and Sunday night. I had a surprise for her: I was actively looking for a summer job at school, and I had about a dozen promising prospects. Maybe she wouldn’t be left alone and horny all summer.
“Hey there, Al,” a familiar voice called. Maddie Haynes was standing in the smoking area with a just-lit Capri 120. “What’cha doin’?” she sang. I told her that I was going out. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said with a little too much enthusiasm. Even in her winter coat, however, there was something very sexy and alluring about her, yet intangible. I also had a flashback, and I think Maddie noticed. “I haven’t seen you around lately.”
“Yeah, well…” My voice died when Maddie lightly took my hand, making me lose my train of thought.
“Maybe we can—you know—get together sometime,” she smiled.
Damn, she’s gorgeous. And hot! Despite my racing pulse, my brain reminded me of why I was standing here in the first place. “Ummm… Maddie… I’m involved,” I apologetically offered, quickly adding, “If I wasn’t…”
“Oh!” the exclamation was followed by that same sexy, enticing smile. “Well, I guess Sheila was right,” she finished, somewhat mysteriously. “Guess I’ll see ya ‘round, then.” She took one more drag, and then turned away, not letting go of my hand until she was out of arms’ reach. Only then did I realize that I had extended my arm to hold onto her until the last possible moment.
As I was watching Maddie leave, Polly appeared from out of nowhere. “Hi,” she said without much enthusiasm, making me wonder just how much she had seen of Maddie and me. We climbed into her car, and when I went to kiss her, she turned away. Oh, shit… “Was that Madeline Haynes you were speaking with?” she rhetorically asked.
“Uhhhhh… yeah,” I admitted, “but I just told her that I was on my way out.”
“Why did she even—oh!” Polly fell silent. Finally, she sighed, “Well, I suppose I should have expected that, what with you hanging out with Sheila and all. One of those sorority girls was bound to notice.” How do they always seem to know? She started the car. “It’s my own fault, I guess,” she said, more to herself than to me. She looked at me, and then took the car out of gear. “Al,” Polly began, “it wasn’t my imagination. Maddie was coming on to you, wasn’t she?” I answered honestly, with apprehension. Polly had definitely seen everything. “So what did you tell her?”
“You’re probably not going to believe this,” I began, infusing my words with as much veracity as I could gather, “but I told her that I was attached.”
“You told Madeline Haynes you were attached?” she asked, deliberate pauses between each word. I nodded in response, and the subsequent silence in the car seemed to last forever. Oh, shit! “You’re an idiot,” Polly finally said. She reached and gave me a big hug. “But you’re my idiot, and I really, really love you for it. You turned down a sorority queen for me!” Polly bubbled, sounding incredulous, before kissing me again.
“Well,” I hesitantly replied, “at the risk of sounding—I don’t know—Maddie only sees one thing in me. It’s not like she wants to date me or get to know me or hang out with me.”
We drove away from the dorms, and Polly happily mumbled, “You are gonna get so laid tonight,” loud enough for me to hear.
“Bonjour, Albert!” Mrs. Collier greeted me ebulliently, and in the traditional European way. “I’m so very happy to see you again,” she smiled, and then gave her daughter a knowing look. Polly squeezed my arm and laid her head on my shoulder, and we entered the party.
I immediately noticed a difference in the atmosphere; compared to the other parties I had attended at the Colliers’ house: this was a lot more festive. I queried Polly, who just smiled and told me to enjoy myself. She remained on my arm as I circulated through the party, reconnecting with people who remembered me from earlier parties. I ran into Claude, and discovered the reason for the festivities: he had been promoted to an upper-level management position in his company, and would be based in North America. We started a conversation, but several people kept interrupting with congratulations, and my girlfriend was getting bored; after all, she’d seen Claude much more often than I had. She asked him for a light, and drew long and hard, french-inhaling with slightly lidded eyes. I excused myself and let her lead me away to a private corner of the party, where she seductively finished her cigarette, and then fondled my expanding bulge as she buried her face into my neck. I sighed rapturously. “Hey you two,” Mrs. Collier admonished, “keep it clean at the party.” Her daughter pouted, and reluctantly stopped what she was doing. “Besides,” her mother continued, it’s dinner time.”
Dinner was as lively as the rest of the party, but towards the end of the meal, Claude stood up and boomed for everyone’s attention. He gave a brief thank you speech for everyone’s attendance at the party and for all the well wishes. Then, he introduced Polly’s mom as the hostess of the party. Mrs. Collier appeared from the kitchen looking very chic with her long cigarette holder and More, as she took a spellbinding draw, and lifted her chin for the exhale. She stood next to Claude and he took her hand, looking at her like—well, what I imagined I looked like when I watched Polly smoke. “I would also like to introduce her as—my fiancée,” he added. The room was silent for a moment, and I watched Claude’s eyes meet Mrs. Collier’s. She smiled at him, a very special one, meant only for him. She took another long drag as the room erupted in cheers, but I knew that, at that moment, he only had eyes for her, and in turn, she was putting on a show just for him. Mrs. Collier knew about Claude, and it made both of them happy. I still didn’t know if Polly knew about me in the same way, or if, as she often remarked, that she just liked the way I looked at her when she smoked.
I turned to Polly, who was beaming. “So is this why you’re going to Paris over spring break?”
“Kinda,” she replied. “I’m gonna help my mom make arrangements. The wedding isn’t ‘til July.” She giggled, “Don’t worry, we’re not moving to France. That’s why Claude’s promotion is so important. He’s moving in here.” She gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and someone French came up to her and started babbling happily. The two women walked off, so I found myself temporarily alone in the middle of all the hubbub.
“Bonjour, Albert.” Claude’s deep voice startled me. “I am very happy that you are with Polly again. Did you see the present yet? Did you tell her?” he eagerly asked.
“I haven’t told her,” I said, blushing as I recalled our earlier, private conversation, “but she did show it off for me.”
“Then this is good! I told Amelia, and just look at her tonight. Isn’t she magnificent?” I had to agree—even if it was a bit weird acknowledging that another man’s intended was hot. It was even weirder because it was my girlfriend’s mom we were talking about. But Mrs. Collier had that sexy cigarette holder thing down pat. “If you were to tell Polly…” Claude smiled.
Part of me couldn’t believe that I was having this discussion about Polly and her mom, right in the middle of the party. But then I would see Mrs. Collier walking around with her long cigarette holder and feel the sensuality it seemed to add to her every movement—I knew exactly what Claude was talking about, and so part of me agreed that I should tell my girlfriend exactly how her smoking made me feel. However, the part that was weirded out by everything spoke up first. “I’d feel funny talking about it so—openly with Polly.” The other part grumbled about missed opportunities.
Claude shook his head and clucked in French, “Americans and sex… At least you make each other happy.” I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t your typical American when it came to sex, that I would bring my fetish out in the open with my girlfriend, but before I could gather enough nerve to do it, our shared moment as smoking fetishers enthralled by mother and daughter, respectively, was terminated by the arrival of another well-wisher. I excused myself, somewhat ashamed of my lack of nerve, and went off in search of Polly, who was conversing with one of her mother’s co-workers. She introduced me as her boyfriend and enthused about being able to go to France twice over the next few months. While I was quite happy being cordial with strangers as long as she was on my arm, I was a little depressed that she would be gone over the summer, and so my plans to surprise her by staying in town for the summer were pointless.
I must have looked strange because, as soon as we were alone for a few moments, Polly immediately asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Well… I was going to try to find a summer job here,” I admitted, “so we wouldn’t be apart for so long.”
My girlfriend squeaked and threw her arms around me. “Really? I would love that! It would be the coolest thing ever!” She gave me a kiss, grabbed my arm, and vibrated for the rest of the evening, visibly happy. That confused me. Why would she care since she was going to be in France over the summer? Maybe Polly was thinking it was a sweet gesture, and was already thinking about the rest of the night. However, I was a little surprised when Polly didn’t excuse us to make a beeline to our hotel room before the end of the party. Indeed, we were still there after all the other guests had left, including her brother, who was staying at a friend’s house.
The four of us congregated around the kitchen island, where Mrs. Collier let a long sigh of fatigue go as she sat. She was still smiling, though, and whenever she looked at Claude, her smile grew in intensity, and I knew where Polly got the sparkle in her eyes. Polly’s mom placed a More in her long cigarette holder and simply looked at Claude, who almost instantly lit her More with a bit of a gallant flourish. Polly removed her short holder for the first time that night, and fit a cigarette into it. Claude beat me to the punch for the light—I think I was gaping too much. “So the wedding’s in France this summer?” I managed to say, trying to keep my arousal signs under control. I’m not sure how successful I was, because Mrs. Collier finished a long, languid, nasal exhale and gave me a bit of a knowing smile, before answering yes. I sighed unhappily.
“Mom,” Polly broke in, “Al was going to work here this summer, at school!” She paused, apparently waiting for her statement to sink in. “Do you think—?” I wasn’t sure what she was talking about.
“—we could invite him to the wedding?” Mrs. Collier finished. “Of course we’ll invite him to the wedding.” Claude enthusiastically agreed.
“Thank you, Mrs. Collier—Claude,” I said, genuinely touched, “but there’s no way I could possibly go to France over the summer. I need to make some money for the school year.”
“It would only be for a week,” Polly corrected. “Mom and Claude may be staying in France for a while, but Steven and I are only going to be there for the wedding plus a couple of days. We’ll be back in eight days.”
I could see that Polly really wanted me to go, but I couldn’t afford airfare. And then there were my parents, who knew about her, but had never met Polly or her mother. Having me more or less unsupervised in a foreign country could be an issue, although I had probably earned enough trust to do it. “But,” I sighed again, choosing to state the argument I couldn’t win, “I don’t think I can afford airfare to Paris.”
The kitchen went quiet and everybody looked at me strangely. Polly’s mom looked at Claude, who gave a quick nod. “Albert,” she began, “what would be the point of inviting you to the wedding as Polly’s escort if that hadn’t already been taken into account? You would be traveling with the wedding party.”
Polly wrapped herself around me, and possessively declared, “If he can’t get a job here for the summer, I’ll pay for him to get here and back home.” Her mother raised an eyebrow in response, and I thought I saw a hint of disapproval in Mrs. Collier’s eyes. It vanished so quickly that I wasn’t sure if I had really seen it.
“We’ll—discuss—that later,” I said to Polly. “I’d like to go, but I have to talk with my parents, and they’re gonna want to talk to you.” Mrs. Collier acknowledged that and said that details could be handled later. She drew closer to Claude, now looking very fatigued. It was then that Polly and I said our goodnights. As I waited at the front door for Polly, I cast one final look towards the kitchen, where Mrs. Collier, chin raised in an exhale, held her cigarette holder high, and with it, Claude’s dreams and fantasies, because he had freely given her the keys. I wasn’t quite sure that I wanted to give Polly the same degree of power over me.
Besides, it wasn’t as if she was ignorant of my fetish. Polly brought out her own long holder as soon as the door had closed to our room. “I wanted to let my mom have the stage tonight. It was really her night.” I nodded, excited. Her eyes danced for me when I lit it, and her first long drag and exhale were almost exactly like her mother’s. Her mother did not have the natural french-inhale that Polly did, while Polly did not have the natural nose/mouth exhale that her mother did. My girlfriend raised her chin, and noiselessly exhaled a long ribbon of smoke.
Too spellbound to speak, I could only watch, rapt, as my pants became tighter. By the time she took her final drag, my arousal was obvious. Polly gently pushed me back to the bed and undressed leisurely, encouraging me to do the same with her eyes. We made love the same way, slowly, gently in the silence of our room, a silence broken only by an occasional gasp, moan, or noise of a plane passing overhead.