Somehow, both Polly and I managed to keep our grades up through the end of the semester. In spite of our newly discovered sexual variations and the intensity it added to our lovemaking, we could only spend one more weekend at the love nest over the last seven weeks of school. Our professors had refused to cooperate with our hormones: when Polly had a light weekend, I was slammed, and vice versa. We decided to settle for a “C” on one assignment each after a study session at Polly’s house almost boiled over—as her brother wandered into the kitchen.
Worse, since I was going to spend time abroad with strangers in the summer, my mother insisted that she meet Polly and her mother in person. That meant my girlfriend and I had no chance at spending a day or two in the love nest after finals as was our custom, because my parents drove, and arrived the day of my last final. The meeting of the families (plus Claude) took place the following evening, after Polly had her last exam. I held my girlfriend’s hand throughout, having chosen defiance if my mother were to object. “Well, she’s got a wonderful personality, and Mrs. Collier is very charming,” was my mother’s pronouncement. I could tell that my father, whom I love dearly, was a little disappointed that Polly didn’t look more like her mother, but he didn’t say anything, and was his usual good guy self. He and Claude seemed to hit it off very well, despite the occasional language faux pas, like when I had to discreetly correct him on the use of the word “baiser.” The most Polly and I could do was sneak away for a long kiss towards the end of dinner. The following morning, I was headed east with my family, and slightly blue balls.
I had almost no free time once I was home, either. My dad had lined up a job for me that paid well, and didn’t mind giving me two weeks off in July—if I started right away. My father also urged me to take at least one extra shift a week, reasoning that it would make up for what I wouldn’t be making while I was gone. It wasn’t in fast food, I had lots of takers for a weekend shift, and, with one notable exception, it kept me from thinking about missing my girlfriend, so it was good. The exception’s name was Ines, and she was a Latina, about ten years older than I was, working as a dispatcher at the order fulfillment center where I worked. She smoked Virginia Slims 120s menthol and french-inhaled every drag for what seemed like forever before exhaling. I was captivated, and apparently, Ines knew it from the moment I first saw her smoke. She was the last person I passed on my way outside for breaks, and always seemed to take her breaks at the same time as I did, as long as she wasn’t in the middle of some work crisis, so I got to watch her smoke a lot.
Late one Saturday shift, she and I were outside on a break during final inventory for the day, and Ines was seemingly putting on a smoking show for me. I thanked whatever deities for the near-darkness that hid my bulge. “Al, do you need a ride home after work?” she asked, knowing that my dad had dropped me off that day because of car trouble, instead of me driving as I usually did. I was supposed to call home and Dad would come get me. It would have been rude to decline her offer, but it probably would’ve been smarter. My fetish made the decision. After we clocked out, she lit a cigarette as soon as we stepped outside, stopping to finish that first french-inhaled drag, assuring that I would watch, before leading me to her minivan. Ines took a big drag before getting into the driver’s side, well-lit by the light in the parking lot.
“Ines… I… I… have a girlfriend,” I said, hoping to avoid putting my willpower to an extremely difficult test, squeaking out the last word. Yes, I had a girlfriend with whom I was very much in love. I was also a twenty-year-old male who hadn’t been with said girlfriend since early April; it was now the end of May, and I was with a woman who had pressed my buttons—intentionally. My body told me that I needed to fuck somebody. Ines was beautiful to me in a way I’d never seen, round where girls my age weren’t, with full, soft breasts, and she was the absolute best french-inhaler I had ever seen.
“So tell me, Albert… Does she—” Ines french-inhaled regally, her eyes dancing. “—intrigue you—as much as I do?” She glanced down at the bulge in my pants.
“Yes,” I hoarsely, honestly replied.
“Then you should marry her when you see her again. And she—” Another extended french-inhale. “—will then make you forget me.” Ines put her cigarette out, half-smoked, after another deliberate, obviously well-practiced french-inhale. “Now, where do you live?” I told her, with marginally more composure, as I was still a bundle of fetish-driven hormones. “It was obvious that you were—very interested—in me, Albert,” she resumed as we drove along, making me blush. “It was easy enough to figure out the exact source of your—interest, and it made me feel sexy. Every woman likes to feel sexy, and… it caused me to have poor… judgment. I’m sorry that I took advantage of it. I am very happy that you have a girlfriend.” The car went silent for a while. “What I was thinking would have been a very bad idea—for both of us, for many reasons,” Ines finally admitted.
When we pulled up to my house, she leaned to give me a peck on the cheek, and somehow, it turned into a very long, very passionate, hot and hungry kiss that left me with a renewing erection. I think I might have been the one who initiated the kiss, but it happened so quickly that I honestly don’t remember. Ines’ eyes were lidded, and both of us were breathing heavily. The sexual tension in the car was palpable, and at least for me, growing increasingly painful. After a moment, she sat back in the driver’s seat and said something in Spanish that was too fast for me to understand. “Albert,” said Ines, “that was very nice, and for a moment, it made me forget that what is on your mind, and that I, in a moment of bad judgment, encouraged, would still be a very bad idea.” Poof! No more sexual tension, although my cock was still almost erect. “I apologize for teasing you so much.” She unlocked the door, and I slowly, gingerly got out of her minivan, adjusting the slowly diminishing bulge in my jeans, and ignoring the throb from my nuts. After going inside, I begged off family interaction, citing fatigue, and went upstairs to lay awake in my bed, waiting for the house to go quiet, indicating that my parents were asleep, and giving me the privacy I needed.
Ines offered me a beer, which I declined, while smoking another cigarette, each draw ending in a flawless, perfectly-lit, extended, erotic, french-inhale, on the patio of her apartment and she giggled with amusement at the effect of her smoking on the size of the bulge in my jeans, which she was playing with. Me? I was too horny and too tongue-tied over being with this exotically beautiful woman to say anything, which somehow made the situation even hotter. Ines came close. Her eyelids drooped, her lips parted, and we were kissing, my heartbeat echoing in the throbbing of my balls. We kissed our way to her bedroom, dropping clothes each time we came up for air.
Ines put her cigarette out, half-smoked, after another deliberate, obviously well-practiced french-inhale, and reclined. Sexy, womanly, inviting… and I climbed on top of her, harder and hornier than I had ever been. My cock felt huge. She wiggled, my dick slipped inside her, and I became a fucking machine, hips driving my cock deep inside her, making her cry out rapturously, her soft body moving in waves, her woman’s hips thrusting powerfully in perfect rhythm with mine. Suddenly, Ines bucked, losing that rhythm and squeaking in ecstasy as she came, interrupting my thrusting. She kissed me hungrily, and I began to pump my dick into her marvelously welcoming, velvet pussy, regaining my fluid rhythm, the sizzle of sex transmitted to every nerve in my body. I felt the swell of orgasm approach, and redoubled my efforts, thrusting harder and faster at Ines, forcing noises from her mouth, and I was climbing to my own peak…
Ines wrapped herself around me locking her legs tightly behind my hips and she came, much more forcefully than before, howling and crying, her pussy vibrating madly, but I was frozen by her locked legs and my orgasm began to back away, increasing my frustration—
Suddenly, Ines hastily pushed me out of her, only to capture my cock with her mouth. She bobbed her head, going all the way down to the root, smoothly, the light of naughty mischief in her beautiful brown eyes, and I resumed my ascent to the peak. She stopped her blowjob, and turned away, leaving my balls feeling like rhinoceros-sized nuts. Ines turned to me with a just-lit Virginia Slim 120 menthol between her fingers, and french-inhaled forever. She smiled, and, eyes shining with excitement, performed another long french-inhale, and I moaned her name in passion. She reached with her free hand, and began masturbating me, french-inhaling again and again and I began moaning “Oh, Ines, ohhhh god, Ines,” the last word drawn out and guttural…and then everything went a brilliant, perfect white. I started shooting cum all over her chest and belly with a loud, hoarse grunt. My ejaculation continued, sending spurt after spurt into the air and onto Ines, who was saying something in very rapid Spanish, but she didn’t stop stroking me until my hips stopped moving and I groaned, finally still. There was cum all over her, all over me, everywhere…
I woke up with a start. My thighs felt warm and cool and sticky and there was gooey stuff on my belly and a slimy wet spot underneath my balls. I had drifted off while waiting for the chance to masturbate, and the result had been one hell of a wet dream. I looked at the clock, which read 3:17, got up, cleaned myself off, and then mopped up the bed as best I could. At least I was responsible for my own laundry, so I could probably hide this from my mother. It disturbed me a little that Ines was the focal point and the fulcrum of my subconscious release, but the earlier intense horniness had faded away, and I quickly fell back asleep, contorted around the wet spot.
Somewhat sated, but feeling guilty for not having wet dreamed about Polly, I immediately contacted her. “I miss you a lot. I miss our special time together,” she complained. “And I miss the way you make me feel so sexy… mmmm…” The only sound in our respective rooms was panting for a few seconds, and I could feel my cock start to grow. “Al… Do you have privacy?” cooed my girlfriend. I sighed no, because of my mother’s seemingly psychic ability to nearly catch me in the act of self-gratification whenever I was doing it. “Too bad,” Polly said. “I got my first vibrator. Helps keep me away from the kind of trouble I got into the last time you were home,” she purred, before adding, “Maybe you can help me play with it when we get to Paris.”
The images that brought to my mind didn’t help the situation at all. I said a quick goodbye as I heard Mom approach my door, horny all over again. “Your father and I are headed to Winnie and Jessie’s house for Mary’s engagement party.” I groaned inwardly—Winnie was Mom’s best friend from school, and lived about ninety minutes away in the country. I knew Mary, their youngest daughter, but she was older than I was, and so were most of her friends, so it had never really been a fun place for me. Still, this was the type of social event that everybody in the family was expected to attend. “But your father seems to think that you’d rather spend your only day off for the week by yourself.”
This time the gods had smiled on me, I happily thought, and texted Polly, “DROP VIBE NOW! FREE IN HOUR”, while confirming my father’s correct assumption through the door. “All right, Albert,” my mother acquiesced, “you can stay home, then.” I rejoiced at the official pardon I’d just received. My phone beeped with Polly’s message tone. “CANT BRO HOME FRM FRNDS SOON” Sigh. The gods hadn’t smiled after all. Still, it was great to be able to focus all my fantasy on my girlfriend without having to worry about getting caught by my mom. I got to masturbate in complete solitude to various mental images of Polly. Twice. Didn’t even think about Ines once. I felt much better afterwards. About everything.
The last week of June arrived. Ines had stopped following me out on breaks, although she was still the best french-inhaler I ever saw when we happened to take breaks at the same time. It was still enchanting, but I could tell that she wasn’t being anywhere near as flirtatious and seductive with it. “Remember what I told you about your girlfriend,” Ines smiled as I clocked out for my two-week vacation.
I was to meet the wedding party in Chicago, the connecting point for Paris. Polly and I would not have a chance to be alone until we got to the hotel in Paris, but that didn’t matter: I was going to be with my girlfriend. When she walked into the airport lounge, the first thing that I noticed was that she had let her hair grow. The second was that she moved—differently.
“Al!” she quietly, demurely exclaimed when she saw me, smiling brightly. We both walked towards each other and embraced in the middle of the lounge, but our first kiss in two months was very chaste. The disappointment I felt instantly caused me to wonder what was wrong. The rest of her family caught up quickly however, and the hugs, handshakes, and reacquaintance conversation took precedence. Polly stood a discreet distance away as I spoke with Claude and her mother, thanking him for the upgrade to first class on my connecting flight. Jimmy had disappeared for the free soda and snacks right after he said, “Hey, Al.” I started to worry in earnest: had she found someone else? Was she just taking me to Paris to be nice and fill a commitment?
My rising panic was stilled when I felt an arm slip around mine, and rest lightly, comfortably on my forearm, which automatically moved to accommodate it. I finally realized what was different: there was a confidence about her that hadn’t been there before. Polly had finally accepted that we were a couple, and that I was not just passing time until someone more attractive came along. Still, my hormones were screaming, “Foul!” having been conditioned to expect sexual gratification whenever we were this close. No smoking allowed, and we were definitely in too much of a public place for anything else. She sat with me, while her mom, brother, and Claude had found space in a different part of the lounge. “You look beautiful,” I said, starry-eyed. Her new hairstyle and confidence was transforming—she wasn’t “Polly Plain” any more.
“Thank you,” she acknowledged. “I missed you a lot, and I’m sorry for the—greeting, but… I really want you now, and we can’t have any privacy for another sixteen hours or so, and it was the only thing I could think of that wouldn’t make it worse.” I chuckled softly, telling her that I understood, and concurred that the more chaste our interaction, the less we would add to our frustration.
If the two-hour flight to Chicago seemed like it took four, and waiting in the lounge for Polly to arrive had seemed much longer, then the flight to Paris was an eternity. An eternity of being next to the woman I loved, unable to communicate the intimacy I felt towards her, and definitely unable to do what I really wanted to do with her.
After we had cleared customs in Paris, Polly and her mother went outside to have a cigarette, Claude checked on the status of our limousine, and Jimmy and I got to watch the luggage, so I missed the spectacle. The limo arrived, and we rode to the hotel with surprisingly little chatter—I think we were all a little tired, in spite of having had business class seats that theoretically allowed for sleeping on the flight. When we got to the hotel, I was surprised that there was only one room reserved. Mrs. Collier and Claude were going to stay at Claude’s apartment. I wondered if Jimmy would be staying with us—after all, newlyweds deserved their privacy. While we were waiting for our room, which wasn’t ready, Joséphine, one of Mrs. Collier’s friends, and her two teenage children met us in the lobby. Polly’s brother left with them, which meant that Polly and I would be alone at the hotel. “Joséphine volunteered to take Jimmy for the summer, so we changed our plans,” said Mrs. Collier when I asked. “Not every kid gets a chance to spend a summer as a French teenager.” She and Claude left us when our room was ready, telling us to be good, with knowing looks.
“Let’s unpack first,” my girlfriend coyly said. This was definitely a new, changed, Polly. A scant two months ago, she would have seduced me and jumped my bones as soon as the door had closed. She opened her second suitcase to reveal a carton of Mores, and a circular shipping tube sitting on top of her other clothes, which she then removed from her suitcase. The next thing she did was to remove the longest cigarette holder I’d ever seen from it. “It’s a little over a foot long. I had Claude find it for me,” she purred. Three more holders followed from the tube. Her eyes sparkled, knowing that I had instantly realized she had gotten not only the long one, but also a second one, similar to her favorite five-inch holder, except that it had a violet top half. “My mom has like ten now, so I’m not even close.” She meticulously put everything away, leaving the holders on the dresser, carefully lined up where both of us could see them. “Do you mind if I—don’t—smoke, Al? I’ve got something—else on my mind.” She came close, her eyes telling me exactly what was on her mind.
We fell to the bed, kissing, tenderly, constantly, passionately, without mad lust. We were getting reacquainted with each other’s bodies. I was hard within moments, but Polly didn’t seem to be in any hurry. We kissed and kissed, and kissed, and then—we were naked, our clothes having somehow disappeared in our slow ardor. We rolled over; her beautiful brown eyes widened, and she gave a gasp of surprise before her face broke out into a smile. I was inside her, and we held each other close without words, and I did not move right away, the intimacy of our joining enough… for a little while, anyway. Much to my amazement, my crazed lust seemed to have been forgotten, as we made love slowly. When I came, Polly did as well, both of us moaning each other’s name, quietly, as our lovemaking had been. We were wrapped up in each other, our passion subsiding, our bodies still entwined.
The next thing I knew, it was four in the afternoon, and Polly and I were still naked. My arm rested over her body, and she was still asleep. I didn’t remember falling asleep, only Polly’s orgasm, my own matching one, and some tender kissing afterwards. I climbed out of bed and looked out of the window at Paris, my first real look at a foreign country. I was so absorbed in the moment that I didn’t hear Polly get out of bed. My girlfriend put her arms around my waist and leaned over my shoulder. “Pretty, isn’t it?” she quietly said.
“I can’t believe I’m here.”
“Well, the maid of honor can’t very well be without an escort. She’s gotta have a reason to go after the bouquet,” she chuckled. “It’s four-thirty,” Polly continued, turning serious for a moment. “We’ve gotta meet Claude n’mom for dinner at six-thirty, and we probably need to shower before we go out. I know I smell great on you… but the rest of the public might not agree.”
The four of us ate at a restaurant where Claude seemed to be well-known to the staff. I was beginning to get the feeling that he was incredibly well off, but he didn’t act like I thought people like that would. I chalked it up to my inexperience, and did my best to participate in the evening. Much to my frustration, my command of the French language wasn’t quite up to the task. Fortunately, I had three translators around me.
Our evening continued after dinner at a friend’s home. Gérard, a large, genial man, welcomed us to his large apartment. The semi-retired former Michelin chef immediately made me feel a part of this close circle of friends before serving us a dessert he had made just for us, along with champagne. We moved to his sitting room for more champagne, and then the evening turned spectacular.
Mrs. Collier was first, removing her 9-inch cigarette holder, and her cigarette case. Polly quickly followed suit, except she was going to use her new 5-inch holder with the violet top half. Both women fitted Mores into their respective cigarette holders without hurry, almost as if they were relishing the full attention of their male companions, and prolonging our anticipation. However, before Claude or I could react, Gérard, with a bit of a flourish, lit both ladies’ cigarettes, Polly first. My girlfriend’s quick, natural french-inhale was followed by a long, silent stream through pursed lips. I began to thicken, enthralled.
Directly across from me, Polly’s mom drew on her holder, and opened her mouth. A big ball of white smoke slowly drifted out, and then, she snapped it back in, tilted her head back, and exhaled thick streams from her nostrils. Her eyes danced, full of wicked mischief. I thought it was directed at me, but Gérard had frozen for an instant, gaping at Polly’s mom. Oh, I silently realized, Gérard has the fetish, too.
He quickly excused himself from the room, and Mrs. Collier leaned against Claude, squeezed his arm, and was mostly successful at stifling a girlish giggle. Claude grinned, and I shifted uncomfortably, trying to rearrange the growing lump in my pants without drawing attention to my actions. Polly recaptured my attention with a slightly longer french-inhale and a long, carefully sculpted, oral exhale. My bulge grew, and beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.
I had always wondered if Mrs. Collier knew that I had a smoking fetish; here in Gérard’s, among the closest of friends, and slightly drunk, she gave me the answer—not that I had really wanted to know. Reclining back against the sofa, comfortably nestled in Claude’s arm, cigarette holder held high, she casually swung her arm, bringing the holder to her lips with a limp-wristed, über-feminine grace, and drew as she turned her head away from her fiancé, giving me a profile view of her long holder and its still-long brown cigarette. Mrs. Collier opened her mouth, and performed a long, long, long french-inhale, without any obvious effort. Ines’ seductive ones paled in comparison, and the holder and the More added to the effect it had on me. She gave a little roll of the tongue, punctuating the french-inhale with a small snap-inhale. I could see that she was surreptitiously watching me for any reaction while she paused to extend her arm with the holder elegantly between her fingers, parallel to the floor. Polly’s mom lifted her chin leisurely, formed an “O” with her lips, and then finally exhaled through it, with residual streams from her nostrils appearing after a few seconds. When she finished, Polly’s mom looked directly at me, and smiled. You would think I would have been mortified, but I was too aroused to feel embarrassed in the least. Then she leaned to Claude, and kissed him. I think I started breathing again when I felt Polly’s hand land on top of my almost painfully restrained bulge. She gave it a gentle squeeze, and muffled my loud peep with a kiss.
Gérard returned with a box of cigars, interrupting the spell that the two femmes fatale were casting, and halting, at least temporarily, the vixens’ sexy fun. “They are from Cuba, and are kept in the restaurant’s humidor for me,” he proudly said. “Would you like to share with me?”
Claude accepted, and Polly’s mom gave an excited little jump and quickly extinguished her More to accept. Polly hesitantly demurred, and I politely declined, but not without drawing an unhappy little pout from my girlfriend. I looked at her inquisitively, but my mother chose that moment to call me on my cell, and I was forced to excuse myself from the room. After a conversation I was able to shorten by reminding her that it was a little after eleven at night where I was, I returned to the gathering just in time to see Polly’s mother enchant Gérard by snapping a ball of smoke from her cigar into her lungs, and produce a thick stream of smoke from her nose. I rejoined my girlfriend, simultaneously trying to avoid watching her mother. Polly immediately linked her arm with mine. “What was the pout for?” I asked, returning to the earlier question on my mind.
“It’s nothing—really,” Polly softly replied, trying to keep our conversation quiet. “I was kinda—hoping—you would—umm—accept. So I could try it, too.”
Apparently, our attempt at clandestine conversation wasn’t good enough, because Mrs. Collier asked, “Would you like to try mine, Polly? I’d be happy to teach you about cigars.” She formed a big “O” with her mouth, and created two thick, perfect smoke rings causing me to think, is there a smoking trick this woman doesn’t know? Polly said yes, with some trepidation, and her mother made her way over to us. “Be careful, Polly. Don’t try to inhale it like it’s a More,” she counseled as she handed the cigar to her daughter.
My girlfriend puffed; it didn’t smell too bad as I sat next to her. She pushed the smoke out, smacking her lips. Claude chimed in, telling her to hold the smoke in her mouth and to try to discern the complex flavors in the cigar. Polly complied, and I watched her work on figuring out what she was tasting, before she finally pushed the smoke out in a cloud. Mrs. Collier took the cigar back from her daughter, snap-inhaled her drag, narrowed her eyes, and exhaled thick cigar smoke past my face, giving me a close-up view. I realized that I was being teased from the mischievous expression in Mrs. Collier’s eyes. “If you want more, you’ll have to get your own cigar,” she told her daughter. Turning to me, she resumed, “Albert,” using the French pronunciation of my name, “would you like to try?”
Although I knew my parents would have a fit, I was tempted. “Only if they find out,” whispered Polly at my hesitation, accurately anticipating what I was thinking, “and I’m not gonna tell.” I opened my mouth to protest, but she added, “Besides, I’d really love to share a smoke with you for once.” Torn, I gave in to my “good boy” side, and politely, but firmly, declined. Polly’s face fell a little, and I resolved to ask Gérard for one of the cigars—privately—to take back to the hotel.
Polly and I excused ourselves shortly after midnight, taking a taxi back to the hotel, leaving Gérard, Claude, and Mrs. Collier behind with a third bottle of champagne, and singing French drinking songs. I left with a couple of Gérard’s cigars, along with some extra dessert for Polly and I, having asked him for both when we found ourselves alone in the kitchen.
Once we were back at the hotel, we attacked the dessert before we even thought about anything else. “Guess what?” she said immediately after her last bite. “Gérard gave me—these,” she said, producing two Cuban cigars. I laughed. “What?” asked Polly with a giggle. I produced mine. “Oh, so we have four cigars.” I opened my mouth to suggest that we try them now, but Polly narrowed her eyes and husked, “Maybe—tomorrow evening. I have other plans for tonight.” She sashayed over to the dresser, picked up the extra long cigarette holder and smiled. “Light, please? It’s not easy to reach,” she requested a few seconds later, handing me her lighter—a new, non-disposable one that matched her cigarette case. “My mom got it for me,” explained Polly when I hesitated. Her eyes danced at me as she took her first drag, holder held from beneath, and exhaling silently with raised chin. “Y’know, I have dreams about this,” she softly said.
“About what?” I breathed, becoming spellbound and on the way to erect.
“About seducing you like this… making you want me… Do you want me, Al?” Polly french-inhaled her next drag for a long time. “Yes, I’ve been practicing,” she purred. “Take off your clothes, darling. This morning was very, very nice.” she exhaled, slowly, through her nose. “But now… Mmmmm… I want to be nasty.” I nodded, and began to disrobe, watching Polly smoke with rapt fascination.
Still dressed, she knelt, dragged on the holder, and engulfed my cock, smoke pouring out of her nose as she lovingly, slowly, bobbed her head. Releasing my cock with a loud smack and a satisfied expression, Polly took another drag, this time choosing to exhale with her head turned to the side. She abruptly put her cigarette out, and began to fellate me in earnest, sucking forcefully while fluttering her tongue along the underside of my fully-erect dick as she worked along the entire length.
I began to moan, and wave my arms around feebly, leaning against the wall for support. My girlfriend stopped her blowjob, looked up at me, and quietly said, “You can grab my head if you want,” before she returned to her task. I rested my hands gently on her head, and soon began to move my hips, although Polly had me leaning back against the wall, so I had no leverage to be able to fuck her mouth. Not that it mattered, because the suction and the friction, combined with her tongue’s fluttering, especially around the head and corona of my cock, was making my legs rubbery. The messages sent by the nerves in my cock became more intense and more urgent, and I started sighing, “Ohhh, Polly…” faster and faster until a long, blissful moan was the only sound I could make, as I felt myself cumming and cumming and cumming…
When my head stopped spinning, which was well after my dick had stopped tingling, I became aware that Polly had stood up. There was no evidence of my explosion on her face, but she slowly licked her fingers with a lascivious smile before giving me a kiss on the cheek and walking away with a nice wiggle in her walk, and a pleased expression on her face. She went into the bathroom, which gave me a chance to recover enough that I was standing up on solid legs when she came back. “Ummm… Polly? That was incredible… but… ummm… ummm… I won’t be able to…”
“I know you won’t,” she smiled, picking up one of her short holders and fitting a cigarette into it. “That’s OK. I don’t want to be fucked tonight,” Polly resumed as she lit her More. “I—” She began to undress. “—want you to lick me. Do you mind if I smoke while you eat?” she purred, posing for an elegant draw, completely naked. I gave her a gallant wave of my hand to indicate the bed. “Stop if I drop this on the floor,” she giggled, and I slid between my girlfriend’s legs to reciprocate the pleasure she’d given me a few minutes earlier.
Claude took me sightseeing the next afternoon while Polly and her mother were off doing “girly stuff.” The Eiffel Tower, Nôtre-Dame and Montmartre were fascinating, especially with a Parisian native as my tour guide, effortlessly navigating the narrow streets and the Metro. My mini-tour ended at L’Arc de Triomphe, and we met up with the Collier ladies at a bistro on the Champs-Élysées. Mrs. Collier was using a cigarette holder, causing her fiancé to get that funny, enthralled, horny look on his face for an instant. My girlfriend, on the other hand, was smoking a More without her holder, but was just as bewitching to me. The maître’d immediately recognized Claude, and struck up an animated conversation. I was beginning to think that Claude knew everybody in Paris.
Our afternoon snack turned into an early dinner, after which we returned to the hotel. Claude and Mrs. Collier went out for a romantic evening on the town, after making it clear that Polly and I were not invited. Instead of being disappointed, Polly looked at me with a knowing smile—it was going to be cigar night. She made a quick phone call, and 15 minutes later, there was a knock on our hotel room door. A waiter walked in carrying a wine bucket. I was a little confused, but he smiled and said, “Compliments of Gérard.” I looked at her with a wry smile, and she blushed. “He said to call him if I needed anything while I was in Paris—as a courtesy to my mom and Claude.”
“I just think he likes the way you smoke,” I grinned after the waiter had left, making Polly turn bright red. “You are your mother’s daughter after all.” When we stopped laughing, I looked at her, beautiful, buckteeth, and all, and now knew for sure that this was the woman I loved. “Can I ask you a serious question, though?” She nodded. “Does your mom know—?”
“—About your smoking fetish?” Polly finished. She was getting to be almost as psychic as my mother was. “Yeah. Actually, it was kind of funny—she brought it up to me when we decided that you were coming to France, wondering if I knew, because she likes you, and she thinks we make a good pair. She’s kinda been teaching me some stuff.” She sipped her wine. “I’m sorry about last night at Gérard’s. She was a little drunk.” I pointed out that her mom was just showing off and being the center of attention for three smoke fetishers, and that no harm was really done, other than the embarrassment of knowing that my girlfriend’s mother knew what turned me on. “Yeah, it was sort of—fun—getting Gérard to look,” she admitted, quickly adding, “but not in the same way that getting you to look is fun.”
I removed two of the cigars and asked, “OK, so we’re going to do this. But how do we do it?” Polly went to the computer, searched the web, and found a tutorial on cigar smoking. “Do we have a cigar cutter?” Polly produced one and mouthed the word, “Gérard.” The cigars were about six inches long and about the diameter of my index and middle fingers combined. We got them lit with surprising ease, although the process was helped by the cigar lighter that Gérard had also given to Polly. “I told you he likes the way you smoke,” I teased. We slowly smoked—it was my first-ever experience with tobacco, so my draws were short and careful, but I did hold the smoke in my mouth, and was a little surprised that the bitterness and acridity faded quickly, revealing more complex flavors.
“You look good with a cigar,” Polly quietly commented. “It makes you look—I dunno—more—distinguished.” I could see her looking at me, but not with abject lust—she was studying me. I asked her what was running through her head. “Just… thinking about how good you look,” she casually replied. “I can understand better what Maddie—and probably some other girls around campus—see in you. You’re a nice guy n’all that, but that only goes so far. Al, you’re—cute. Whether you know it or not.” She drew on her cigar, inhaled the smoke, and slowly exhaled through her nose. “That wasn’t for you, by the way.”
“Can’t help the way it makes me feel,” I replied, looking at the slowly forming lump in my pants. “As long as we’re being honest here, I think you’ve never looked more… beautiful. Something’s—changed—and I’m not sure what it is. I think you’re more confident about yourself… and it shows. I am so completely in love with you that… I’d like to marry you.”
“Al… I can’t. You can’t. We’re too young, and you know that,” Polly evenly answered. “Even if I can see myself as your wife. Even if I want to see myself as your wife. Our parents would have a fit.” The room went quiet. “But I so loved hearing you say that.” She drew on her cigar, french-inhaled, and slowly tilted her head back and exhaled, slowly. I made a peeping noise. “Oh… that one was for you. And I’m gonna take advantage of the way it makes you feel now.”
The following evening, Polly promised that she would “give me a show” if I played along with her. Curious, I agreed. She removed a funny-shaped pink thing from a drawer, and smiled, “This is my solution for I-miss-Al-and-I’m-horny.” I couldn’t keep from jokingly asking if she’d found a substitute for me. She pouted, “Honestly? I can get it to make me cum harder, but it doesn’t make me feel as good—if that makes any sense.”
Now I was really curious. “I want to show you what this does to me—for those times when we can’t…” I nodded to cut her off, knowing what she was about to say. “First, you gotta remember it’s not a penis. Pushing it in and out doesn’t do much for me. I’d rather have you,” Polly stated. “First, we need lube…”
Watching my girlfriend bring herself to orgasm raised mixed feelings—I was a little crushed that she came harder with the toy, although I knew it was designed to stimulate her in ways I could not. She obviously didn’t need me to get sexual satisfaction, but it felt good to know that she still preferred me. My musing was interrupted by a very familiar sultry purr. “So, darling,” Polly lazily began, sounding arousingly post-orgasmic, “would you be—willing—to play with me n’my toy—when we have to?” She gazed at me, her eyes on fire, and I was getting hard without being touched.
“Yeah,” I breathed, admitting, “it’s kinda hot.”
“Oh, good!” she softly enthused. “I was—worried—you’d feel left out.” She fixed me with her sexy stare, which hadn’t diminished one bit in intensity. “And now it’s your turn.” Polly pointed to the bed, and picked up the eight-inch holder. Lighting a cigarette with a carefree drag, she sidled up next to me, dragged again, and took me into her mouth, exhaling through her nostrils. “Sit up,” she softly commanded after a few licks.
My girlfriend dragged deeply on her holdered More, and came close. Suspense-bound, I stopped breathing until she settled onto my erection with a smile, and started to move her hips easily. Polly drew on the holder, and inches from my face, opened her mouth before recapturing, in slow-motion, the ball of smoke that swirled towards me. She then turned her head and slowly, silently, produced a long trail of smoke from her lips, all the while leisurely moving her hips with me inside her. It wasn’t long before I started moaning, and after french-inhaling her final drag, she leaned forward and kissed me deeply. I immediately shot my load with a loud wheeze. And again. And again, the taste of smoke strong in my mouth as she kissed me another time. Pinned as I was, I was only too happy to receive her passion, intense, yet slowly rendered. “See? I know what you like,” she breathed into my ear. Everything went black.
I came to with Polly sleeping next to me, peacefully, with a smile on her face. It was late morning already, and I didn’t remember what had happened after my orgasm. Now that I was awake, I began to plan my next actions—Ines’ words rang in my head all the more strongly, and I was positive that Polly would be my wife. The question was, given our ages, and our lives yet to be discovered—how to make it happen.
We had the rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner three days before the wedding. I was extremely nervous; not because of anything to do with the wedding per se, but because tonight was the night I planned to propose to Polly. After dinner, I was going out with Claude and his friends for his bachelor party, and the following days would be for the bride and groom. It was now or never—and it was important that I do this in Paris.
I asked for attention at the table, and, after a few moments, the boisterous group calmed enough for me to speak. I had rehearsed this speech, to be delivered in French, surrounded by French speakers. “Everyone, let us toast Claude and Amélie, to a long and happy future. May they forever regard each other with the same gaze as today. Everyone deserves such a gaze, from such a special person, and may we all find, or be fortunate enough to have found that person.” The table heartily raised champagne glasses in enthusiastic agreement.
I cleared my throat. “And I am proud to be the first to announce that another member of the wedding party has also found that special person.” At that, Polly began to turn red, Claude looked a little shocked, and Polly’s mom… didn’t look so pleased. The blush had come off the bride-to-be. “Before I say anything else,” I quickly resumed, “I will tell you that the answer to this question can only be given here in Paris, in this restaurant, on this day, at six p.m.—in five years.” Mrs. Collier sat back with a huff of relief, and a sly smile, directed at me. “Polly Collier, will you marry me?”
Polly’s face was bright red, but her smile filled the room. “Then I suppose we will all be meeting here in five years at six o’clock,” Gérard joyously boomed, and the room erupted in cheers. Claude and Mrs. Collier were left in the background; I figured that I would apologize privately for stealing their thunder, but the expression on their faces as they regarded me said that they already understood.
Later in the evening, as the bachelor party was at a burlesque club, yet another place where Claude seemed to be known. He pulled me aside and asked, “What happens if either or both of you can’t be at the designated place at the designated time?”
“Then I guess I’ll know the answer to my question,” I said. “A lot can happen in the next five years—to both of us.”
“Yes,” one of Claude’s other groomsmen replied, “but you would not have asked the way you did if you were not going to be here.” He paused. “And Polly would not have looked at you the way she did if she were not. We will be here again for your bachelor party—in five years.”
Polly woke up when I got back to the hotel room at around five in the morning. “Al?” I greeted her with a kiss as I climbed into the bed. “I won’t answer you for another five years. But I think you know what that answer will be.”
“I’ll be here, Polly,” I declared as I nestled comfortably against my girlfriend. “But… those guys know how to party, and I’m exhausted.”
“I’m sure. I only got back about from my mom’s bachelorette party about an hour ago myself,” she chuckled, yawning.
The wedding was almost anti-climactic, the main drama having played itself through the early part of our trip. Polly and I returned to the U.S. the day after, giving us a chance to recover from Gèrard’s—hospitality. I had my private moment with the newlyweds before they left Paris for the south of France, and Mrs. Collier told me that it was wise, incredibly romantic, and that she didn’t mind playing second fiddle at all to her daughter for such a thing. Claude added that he would welcome me to the family—in five years, but that he expected to see me around when school resumed. Polly and I went our separate ways at the Chicago airport, although she did voluntarily get bumped from her flight to hang out with me in the lounge.
Once I was back home, I spent a lot of time daydreaming about France and Polly, when I wasn’t talking about France to my parents or otherwise occupied at work. I hadn’t told them about the five-year commitment. I did, however, tell Ines about the proposal and the reason behind its conditions, as much to unburden my conscience as to get her approval. She was still very sexy about french-inhaling Virginia Slim 120s, but my daydreams of Polly were up to the challenge. I couldn’t wait for my junior year to start.