Daisy Marie Powell Woodford. We’ve had a relationship for almost forty years, and it’s still going strong today. Daisy is a year older than I am, and as embarrassing as it is for her to admit that she was drunk at the time, she was the first girl to touch me sexually (a hand job.) She was also the second girl I ever fucked—after working really hard to set me up with my first. Although we’ve never had a dating relationship, we’ve been fuck buddies off and on over the course of that relationship, even after I married. My friend is still beautiful, with her hair still golden-brown, and her womanly figure only slightly larger than it was when we first met. She has one of those faces that ages slowly and when we’ve been out at a nightclub or restaurant, she still gets men, some of whom are young enough to be her son, to look, and the boldest ones approach, thinking she’s twenty years younger. She can be jeans-and-beer casual or east coast debutante designer-gown-and-champagne elegant with equal ease and comfort, although she definitely prefers the former.
College started with a whimper, not a bang. Thanks to AP exams and a placement exam administered by the university, I was able to accumulate almost one semester’s worth of credits before the first week of classes started. Although my mother disagrees, it’s not that I’m some sort of genius—at my school, the geniuses had their own residence hall, which is mostly lab space and computers. Yes, I’m smart, but change-the-world-Nobel-prize brilliant? Not by a long shot.
The first thing I had to get used to was having a roommate. Jeff McShane was a California kid, tall, rangy, athletic-looking, with long blond hair. He also loved to surf, and that was why he was at our landlocked Midwestern school. His dad wanted him to grow up and be responsible, to get a degree in business, and not waste his time on “that damn surfing.” Jeff was a stoner, and his father was under the illusion that it would not be anywhere near as easy to get marijuana in the “good old heart of America,” as opposed to California.
His dad was wrong on everything. Jeff easily found all the pot he needed, and was high whenever he wasn’t in class. I quickly learned that pot wasn’t for me. That mellow effect made me feel as sharp as a beach ball, taking the edge off. I’d grown up with that edge, and it’s a part of who I am, so I don’t like the feeling of not having it. On the other hand, Jeff didn’t like tobacco smoke. On the surface, it looked like a match from hell, but neither of us is particularly territorial. We quickly agreed on a “No smoking” policy in the room, and he showered and washed clothes—a lot, and used Ozium liberally.
I asked him about being exiled. “My dad doesn’t get me, but he’s coming from a different time, y’know? I’m here, so what’s the use of complainin’?” he shrugged. “Like, I know I’m not ready to be out on my own, man. He wants me to get a degree in business so I can make the bucks like he does. I figure that if I can make decent bucks, I can surf. It’s only four years, an’ I can go home and surf on breaks… not what I want, but it’s what I got.” His easygoing, agreeable nature made it easy to strike up a solid friendship (which has lasted since) in spite of our obvious differences.
College was also a revelation for me: in high school, I hung out with beautiful girls, accepted for who I was. It didn’t work the same way here. The most beautiful smoking women circulated around me every day… and meeting them was impossible. The sorority girls may have looked like Daisy and her gang, but the dividing wall between those who were beautiful and those who weren’t was even higher at college. And it had its own police force— fraternities. I lost a paperback textbook when some jock ripped it apart just because I spoke to some sorority girl in one of my classes, implying that the next time it would be me. It was like freshman year in high school all over again, only worse.
I called Daisy to complain, feeling lost and alone, and now aware just how important she had been to my high school experience as my “guardian angel.” There, she had opened a door in the fence between nerds and the beautiful for me; here, I was just a nerd.
“I’m sorry, Will,” she said over the phone. “But you can’t stop trying. Maybe you should think about setting your sights on non-sorority girls. There are lots of girls out there who won’t care that you’re not in a fraternity, or that you’re not a jock.” I noted that she was in a sorority. “The sorority thing is—difficult to explain. It won’t matter in four years, but you’re gonna go nuts if you wait.” I heard her light a cigarette and began to get hard from the rush of memories. “Besides, with your skills… well, girls talk,” she resumed. “You’re gonna be popular, trust me. Just remember, any woman who won’t give you the time of day isn’t worth your time.”
Instead of making me feel better, I felt worse—and acutely aware that I was horny as hell. As an engineering student, my opportunities to meet like-minded girls were limited: in those days, only about one-fifth of the engineering students were female, and the lines of guys waiting to date them were long. Available freshmen engineers were quickly snapped up by upperclassmen. When I confided my frustrated state to Jeff, he dragged me to a party off-campus with his stoner friends. I immediately figured out that I would be spending a lot of time out on the balcony trying to keep the second-hand high under control. About an hour into the party, a woman with unkempt, frizzy blonde hair about my height and wearing wire-rimmed glasses, came onto the balcony and greeted me with a soft, “Hey.”
I shyly returned the greeting. “Name’s Maia, M-A-I-A,” she immediately said. “Haven’t seen you at Digger’s before.” I explained that Jeff had brought me to the party. “Oh, yeah… he’s a cool guy. From California, right?” I nodded as she reached into her purse and started to roll what I assumed was a joint, but when she lit it, it was just tobacco. “What? Never seen anybody roll their own before?”
I said no, and sheepishly explained that I didn’t like pot. Maia gave me a funny look and asked what the hell I was doing at this party, so I elaborated, “It’s not for me, but I’m OK with people who do. Jeff’s my roommate, and we’re friends.” She seemed surprised at that, but agreed that I was still being social, as people had been circulating on and off the balcony all night. Maia took a large drag from her cigarette, but the breeze destroyed any chance at seeing if there was any style associated with her smoking. As we talked, I noticed that she was generously round everywhere. I thought she could have made herself look better, but from our conversation, her disregard for society and its conventions were obvious. Maia was twenty-three, a college dropout, working as a waitress and bartender, who spent her free time “working for Mother Earth. I want to change my name to Gaia, the old magical name for Earth.”
I listened to her earnestly. Maia was completely different from anyone I’d ever met, and so she was interesting. The breeze died down a little later, so I finally got to watch her smoke her “rollies.” Her smoking was like her personality: absolutely no hint of style or glamour, held between her thumb and forefinger like a joint, it was about as far away from Daisy’s Virginia Slim haute couture smoking as you could get. Maia did nothing to make herself more alluring because she did not care to. Her hair wasn’t styled, she wore a billowing paisley skirt and matching vest that made her virtually shapeless, and she didn’t give a shit what anybody thought about it.
Therefore, it took me by complete surprise when she asked me to walk her the three blocks to her home. We left the party via the outdoor stairs, her concession to my dislike of pot smoke. About halfway down the block from the party, she casually said, “Will, since you’re such a normal guy, I asked you to walk me home, but what I really wanna know is if you wanna fuck.” Maia stopped walking. “Or are you a virgin? I don’t wanna be your first.”
She was not the type of girl I had envisioned meeting at college and having sex with. Frankly, I found Maia interesting as a person, not a lover, even if it was for just one night. On the other hand, I was horny, and had just enough of a contact high not to care that she wasn’t a sexy-smoking, gorgeous woman. I casually, but honestly replied, “You’re not my first and I’m not lookin’ for a wife.”
“Cool!” she softly said, and pulled me to her for a quick, minty kiss. My penis surged, and it took forever to get to her door. “This is my pad. Ain’t much, but I don’t have any roommates to worry about,” said Maya as we entered her efficiency apartment. She locked the door and we immediately began shedding clothes. “C’mere… Mama’s horny.”
Maia kissed me again, aggressively, much more so than Daisy or even Sharon at her horniest. “By the way, I don’t suck cock. It’s demeaning,” she gasped, breaking away and flopping onto her unmade bed.
“I don’t care,” I shot back, “I love giving head.” Kicking off my pants, I dove for her spread legs and began to lick at her.
“Mmmmmm… ohhhh… that feels nice,” Maia sighed, and I slipped my index finger inside her. She sucked in air, and her hips began to rotate, grinding at my face. I added my middle finger. “Ohhh… Will… ohhh… Willlll…” Her hips began to move up and down, she took a loud, hoarse breath, and then she started to cum. “OHHHHHHHHH!” she howled continuously, and her pussy spasmed around my fingers. I kept licking her clit and finger-fucking her, keeping her in orgasm. Suddenly, Maia screamed, “SHIT!”, jerked, and a gush of cum hit me in the face. I’d only read about female ejaculation to that point, but making it happen was cool. I kept at it, and she growled, “Awwwwwww…” before exploding with a loud, high-pitched, “FUCK!” and another, longer stream of pussy juice.
While making Maia squirt was fun, my dick was very, very hard and was beginning to ache, letting me know that it was time to fuck. I climbed on top of her in mid-orgasm and pushed into her sloppy, juicy pussy. Maia groaned, her eyes rolled up into her head, and she bucked, driving me deeper. Slow, steady fucking never entered my mind, and I pistoned at her, panting. She hissed and gurgled and groaned, far past being able to verbalize anything. “SSSSSSSTTTTT!” Maia jerked again, her muscles quivered as she froze, and soaked my pubic hair. And I kept fucking her hard, giving my body the physical pleasure it craved. “HNURGGHHHH!” A particularly violent spasm shot me out of her, along with more woman cum. I grabbed my cock and rammed back into her.
She arched her back and screamed, cumming around my cock some more. I lost track of her ejaculations, and when my cock started to sizzle, I urgently gasped, “Maia! I’m—I’m—” She wrapped her arms around me with surprising strength, smashing me against her plush, round body, trying to merge with me. The world went white as I shot torrent after torrent after torrent into Maia’s greedily welcoming depths. I rolled off her with a final gasp, drained, while she continued to writhe in the final stages of her final orgasm. Maia gave me a weak smile of satiation… and then she stuck three fingers between her legs, scooped out some of our mixed cum, and put them into her mouth. It was easily the most decadent thing I’d ever witnessed, made even more so by the happy purr she made as she sucked her fingers clean.
“I like to taste myself mixed with my lovers,” Maia throatily explained, repeating the action. My dick twitched, and on some level, I was extremely turned on, but I was falling asleep. The last thing I remember was her face hovering over mine, and a gentle brush of her lips across my cheek.
Maia presented me with a steaming mug of tea the next morning. “Thought you might like this,” she cheerily said, still naked, and I finally got a good look at the body I’d been playing with. She was a—healthy—girl, big breasts and large curves, about my height, but bigger than I was. After a cigarette and a shower, I was ready to leave. “You’re one hell of a fuck, Will, and you’re a cool guy—druggie or no. Maybe I’ll see ya ‘round.” There were no goodbye kisses, just a “been-sexed-to-Nirvana-would-do-you-again” smile as she closed her door. I never saw Maia again.
Although Maia had been a great fuck, she was not a sexy smoker for me, and my fetish began to clamor for attention. I would steal clandestine looks at the sorority girls as they smoked their Marlboro Light 100s, Virginia Slims, and Salem Light 100s, so excitingly feminine and graceful as they paraded around campus with their long white cigarettes.
One day, after French class, Gloria, the grad student leading our conversation class pulled me aside after class. “Will, I think you should consider our Summer Language Experience,” she said. “I think you would really benefit, because you speak the language well.” I asked what that was, but people began to file into the classroom. “If you have the time, let’s go downstairs to Harrison Lounge and talk about it,” she suggested. “I need a cup of coffee and a cigarette.”
Harrison Lounge was next to the foreign language building. A former library, it had high ceilings and bookcases built into the wall, but had been converted into a small café, with an assortment of circular tables and four or five sofas, as well as a counter serving sandwiches, snacks, and drinks. I’d never gone there because the café wasn’t included in the meal plan and most of my classes were held in the engineering buildings, full of good places to study in solitude, computer terminals, and ten minutes away. I stepped inside with Gloria and had to suppress a gasp of surprise. It was full of smokers, only two or three of whom I’d seen on campus. All-white and cork tips seemed to be displayed in equal measure around the room. “This is half-jokingly referred to as ‘the artsy-fartsy’ lounge,” said Gloria. “Us non-scientific people hang out here between classes.” We sat at one of the smaller tables, and I lit her Marlboro. She told me that the Summer Language Experience was a six-week, invitation-only, language and culture immersion that took place in France. They would teach two classes during that time, and it was worth six credits. I told her that I would need information about costs for my parents, not really believing that it would be affordable. Although there was something about short, cork-tip cigarettes that diminished my excitement, Gloria naturally french-inhaled each long, deep drag before her equally long oral exhale, and I decided I could watch her.
However, over the half-hour I spent conversing with Gloria in French, more women entered the lounge for their early morning smoke, some of them gorgeous, although it was impossible to watch them clandestinely unless they were in my line of sight. I realized that most of the women I saw probably weren’t in a sorority, so there was the distinct possibility of meeting some of them. I had found my college hangout.
Actually meeting these lovely female smokers was a different matter. I sat in Harrison Lounge daily with my books, but being naturally shy, I had trouble saying more than “Hi,” even when I had to share my table. I got more than my share of strange looks, but oh, the women I sat with! There was Melissa, the freshman art student who smoked Virginia Slims, Louisa, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed southern belle who adored Winston Menthol 100s, Nancy, tall, with curly black hair who alternated between Salem Light 100s and Marlboro Light 100s, all of them with feminine style. Masturbation came back into style with a vengeance—Jeff was an absentee roommate most nights, affording me the needed privacy. I kept a secret list of the sexiest smokers and dreamed of meeting them.
I finally met one in late October. I was speaking French after class with my language lab partner, a guy named Mark, when a gorgeous girl headed for our table. She was model material, a perfect, hard body and long, thick, shiny black hair that came to the middle of her back. The girl greeted Mark with a hug and a peck on the cheek before sitting at our table. “Sorry to interrupt,” she quickly apologized. “Hi, I’m Elaine, Mark and I went to the same high school.” I was dumbstruck, but managed to give her my name. She acknowledged me and promptly gave Mark a rundown of some apparently juicy gossip about their former principal. I didn’t mind, because I could have looked at her adoringly for days without a word. When she finished, she reached into her purse, increasing my anticipation a thousandfold. You mean this angel smokes? Maybe even Virginia Slims! Unfortunately, after about thirty seconds, she looked up with obvious disappointment. “Shit! I can’t believe I left them in my car again!” I was disappointed, too, until Elaine noticed the green pack sitting on the table. “Hey, can I bum one of those from you?”
Mark offered her one of his Marlboros, but Elaine declined, citing her preference for menthol and noted that she had smoked Mores for a while in high school. My dick made me uncomfortable right away as she lit it herself, taking a long initial drag, then exhaling a long stream of smoke upwards through her beautiful lips. “Thanks, Will,” she smiled, and a chorus of angels broke out. I watched her smoke half the More in a hurry before crushing it out. “Got enough time to grab a Tab and get to my next class!” she breathed, grabbing her stuff. “Thanks for the cigarette!” Elaine called over her shoulder as she left. I was even more disappointed, but I had a great image in my head for the night’s masturbation session.
Meeting Elaine turned out to be a game-changer. She would usually sit at my table and her friends and classmates would join her between their classes. I met several more women within two weeks; most of them smoked. Although none of them was as devastatingly beautiful as Elaine, who smoked Marlboro Menthols when she wasn’t bumming a cigarette from me, which was most of the time, a few of them made it onto my sexy smoker list. I hadn’t quite screwed up the courage to ask any of them out, but being around so many cute smoking girls was making me hornier by the day.
Then I finally met Suzanne, an architecture student. Although she had stopped by my table several times, I barely had enough interest in her to know her name. She was over six feet tall, big-boned, yet small-chested and neither graceful nor gangly. Thick black glasses masked her sharp facial features to a point, but did not hide her thin lips surrounding a small mouth. On a scale of one to ten, Suzanne was at most a four on her best days, but the disinterest seemed to be mutual because she only ever seemed to stop by my table to speak with her roommate, Mercedes. Mercedes was Spanish, and one of the sexiest smokers to grace my table, a Benson and Hedges 100s devotee who took enormously long drags, and every time, she would open her mouth to roll out a decent-sized ball of smoke, which would quickly vanish into her nose. Her exhales weren’t carefully sculpted, but she was beautiful, olive-skinned, with shoulder-length dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a slender, round, curvaceous body. If Elaine was a ten, Mercedes was a 9.8.
Therefore, I never paid much attention to Suzanne until that day, when she asked me if I was Jeff’s roommate, and if I could get her an introduction. I cheerfully agreed, hoping to score points with Mercedes. Later that night, I introduced them at a dorm party and went upstairs to study. About three hours in, Jeff came up to the room, his characteristic cool completely gone. “Man, you gotta save me from that Suzanne chick!” he urgently hissed in near-panic. “She’s been puttin’ the moves on me all night!” I asked him what was wrong with that. “She’s—ugly!” he whispered. “All amazon and shit. I’m scared she’s gonna carry me off to her room and shit! Plus she smokes! You introduced me, you gotta fix this, man!”
I went back to the party trying to figure out how to save face with Mercedes. Suzanne was sitting by herself in one of the rooms adjoining the lobby where the party was winding down. Even from a distance, I could see her dejected bearing; she had realized that Jeff wasn’t coming back. What she did next transformed her evening, and redefined my entire college social life. She picked up a green box, pulled a cigarette out, and put it between her lips, causing time and my steps to slow. Suzanne turned to the side to light it, and I recognized the 120 length, if not the cork tip. It took six tries to strike her Bic lighter, replacing her dejection with obvious exasperation, but she finally got her cigarette lit. Her draw was long and smooth, she lifted her chin by the slightest—and then smoke flowed from her nostrils in thick streams, followed by a very brief, thin, oral exhale. It was almost the exact inverse of Sharon’s style, and it forced me to think hard about reaction rates to suppress the lust and my developing erection, something I’d become quite proficient at while spending so much time in Harrison Lounge surrounded by sexy smokers. Suddenly, I was standing in the doorway, watching her third nasal exhale. Suzanne looked up, startled. “Hey,” I quietly said.
“Hey,” she replied with a little sniffle before taking another long drag from her cigarette, a Saratoga menthol, as I read the pack on the table. She may have been Amazonian in stature, but her handling of the long cigarette was decidedly feminine. “Jeff send you to give me the bad news?” she quietly asked after exhaling, immediately dragging again.
“Yeah,” I acknowledged. “Sorry ‘bout that. But he doesn’t like smokers,” I added, feeling bad for her. “I didn’t know you smoked.” That much was true; she never had spent enough time in Harrison to have a cigarette.
Suzanne looked up at me, exhaling with her unique style. “Oh.” Her eyes were slightly red and unfocused. Probably got a little drunk trying to get her courage up, and he just ran away from her. He should be the one doing this, not me. Feeling genuinely sympathetic, I asked her if she needed a hug. “Yeah.”
She stood, a good two or three inches taller than me, and we hugged for several seconds until I let go. Suzanne wobbled on her feet with her arms still around me, and suddenly leaned forward and kissed me, catching me by complete surprise. My response was weak, although the reaction rate tables evaporated in my head. Guess I’m not the only horny one… Just as suddenly, she let go as if I had turned white-hot. “Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to… I… I… It’s just that Mercedes is at an off-campus party and I thought I could… I would have… I…” She stopped stammering, having gone beet red. “Now I feel like a complete id—”
I pulled Suzanne back to me, stood on tiptoe, and kissed her, reflecting the lust I was feeling, making no effort to keep my erection from pressing against her. The Saratoga and nasal exhales combined with my horny state had pushed her past a six on the proverbial scale. She stepped back, still red, but eyeing me as if seeing me for the first time. I asked her if she still felt like a complete idiot. “Kinda,” she panted, grabbing a fresh Saratoga. I lit it for her as we sat. Suzanne looked around to see if we were still alone. “I—I mean, we all figured you were—gay,” she quietly explained, “what with the Mores and not making a pass at any of the women who sit at your table. You have an awful lot of female friends.”
I shrugged. “I smoke Mores because they last a long time, and nobody except Elaine bums them from me. I have lots of female friends because I’m a nice guy. But gay? Not hardly,” I finished with a derisive snort.
Suzanne took another long draw from her still-long Saratoga. Unlike most women I observed, she never seemed to actively inhale, although she definitely was. Her eyes narrowed as she exhaled through her nose again, and turned her head to send the rest past my face in a fine stream. “So… ummmm…” She leaned forward, lips slightly parted.
Twenty minutes later, we were alone in her room, with me sliding in and out of her with long, slow, steady strokes as she lay half-reclined with one long leg braced against my body. Her inexperience had become obvious as soon as our clothes had come off. Suzanne had timidly wrapped her hand around my cock and tentatively, very lightly, rubbed it, breathing heavily. I helped by thinking of her unique smoking style, and gently eased her to the bed and into position without any reluctance.
“Ohhhh… Ohhhhh… Ohhhh… you’re so long…” she girlishly whimpered, in complete and somewhat erotic contrast to her speaking voice. I did not last very long, but I came buckets. It had been a while since Maia. “Thank you, Will,” she gently, genuinely said. “I was going nuts.” Suzanne sat up. “I think I like that position.” She gave me a smooch on the forehead and turned to have a Saratoga.
“Are we finished? I wasn’t under that impression.” At that, Suzanne’s nasal exhale turned quick and noisy, and she turned to me with happy, horny eyes, excitedly, decisively crushing out her cigarette after one puff with a snap.
Suzanne and I sat talking in her room after getting up around noon the next day, having first awakened at seven. I had started to eat her pussy, but then she reciprocated, allowing me to discover the upside to Suzanne’s small mouth, which hid an equally small, but very lithe tongue. Her slight awkwardness due to inexperience was overwhelmed by her enthusiasm and natural gifts. We took a nap after that. I lit Saratogas for each of us after we’d dressed. “Really, if I had known you smoked, I wouldn’t have introduced you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t know,” Suzanne giggled. “It—turned out nicely for both of us. You can thank my older sister.” I watched the smoke flow from her nose, feeling turned on, but physically unable to do anything about it. “She forced me to start. I caught her when I was twelve. She made me smoke with her so I couldn’t tell on her, and I’ve smoked pretty much what she does ever since.” The door opened and Mercedes walked in brightly saying, “Hello, Suz—” She stopped and gaped at us.
“Mercedes,” Suzanne throatily said, “he’s definitely not gay.”
The following Monday, my table was a lot less lively. Mercedes sat elsewhere. I wondered if I had suddenly become radioactive. Elaine stopped by around noon. “So I hear you’re ummm…” I confirmed the rumor. “Well, so much for your being safe,” she said, noting how many women no longer sat at my table. “At least I know I’ll have a seat from now on. You were gettin’ a little too popular,” she grinned.
As I packed to go home at Christmas, I reflected on my first semester of college: it hadn’t been anything like I had expected. My best friends at college were one of the most beautiful girls I—or anyone else for that matter—had ever seen, and a stoner roommate. I hadn’t found the casual sex Daisy had said was waiting for me in bunches, and my popularity with girls vanished when it became known that I wasn’t gay. While it wasn’t crushing, it was slightly depressing. Maybe I can graduate in three years.
I arrived at home very early Christmas Eve due to flight troubles, and so did not see my parents until the afternoon. At our traditional midnight opening of a single gift, I was surprised when my father handed me a large, thick envelope, saying, “Other than some new clothes that your mother insists you need, this is it for this Christmas.” I opened the envelope and gasped in shock. “I made arrangements to forego my Christmas bonus,” he smiled.
I stared at the Summer Language Experience pamphlet, and as I pulled it out of the envelope, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. It was a paid invoice. I was going to France in June. Another envelope fell out with my name on it. I removed a Christmas card with a carefully handwritten note on the inside facing page that read:
Will,
Before you can do great things in the world, you must first see and experience it. Your parents believe that you have that potential, and we share that belief.
Merry Christmas,
The Woodfords,
Alistair, Marie, and Daisy
Each of them had signed their names, with Daisy turning the “y” into a cute little heart with a tail. They weren’t home Christmas day for me to thank them, but we would see them New Year’s Eve.
We were greeted at the door by Mrs. Woodford, looking stunning in a beautiful black evening dress that showed off all of her mature curves to arousing effect. Even my dad looked. “I can’t thank you enough for the gift,” I began, trying not to cry. She hugged me tightly, saying that it was their pleasure. She noted that they all felt that as Daisy’s high school tutor, I deserved something for the time and effort I had spent in helping her go from a ‘C’ student to an “A” student in French. Mr. Woodford joined us at the door and I spoke with Daisy’s parents for a while, realizing why I had always liked the Woodfords so much: they treated me like an adult, not some young genius, not as some kid from a middle-class family they had taken on as a charity case, but as a responsible young adult. As our gathering broke up, I heard Daisy exclaim, “Will!” and she came bouncing through the crowd to throw herself into my arms. She gave me a short, but wet kiss and pulled back with that complicated expression in her eyes. None of our parents reacted, save for a knowing smile from Daisy’s mom. Apparently, our secret relationship wasn’t secret anymore.
“It’s nice to see you again, too,” I smiled. She excused us, and immediately dragged me off to her room.
“I’m really, really happy to see you, Will!” That surprised me a little because she had always been demure around her folks and their guests. “Am I freaking you out?” I told her that I was happy to see her, too, but hadn’t been prepared for the uncharacteristic enthusiasm, and asked if we were officially a couple. “My mom sorta let it slip to my dad,” she blushed, “and he told your folks. He likes you too.” She gave me a sexy smile. “Wanna go somewhere private tonight? Grab a coupla bottles of champagne, an’ I’ll grab some hors d’oeuvres, an’ we can be alone?” Somewhat unnecessarily, she nibbled on my ear, excitedly breathing, “Let’s go tell our folks!”
We found them, still together, but with drinks in hand. As we approached, Mrs. Woodford smoothly brought her More to her lips from her side in a graceful arc, drew on the slender brown cigarette, and slowly, with a dreamy expression, let a creamy ball escape, before leisurely cocking her head and exhaling upwards and to the side. I felt Daisy tug my arm. I had been so enraptured that I had actually frozen. “There’ll be some of that from me for you, too,” she giggled. “C’mon.”
“Mom, Dad, Mr. and Mrs. Redmond,” she said, simultaneously linking her arm loosely with mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “Will and I are going to meet up with Marie Bishop tonight.” My mother fretted, as she usually does, that the roads were unsafe. “Don’t worry, we won’t be driving late. We’re sleeping over.” I found it interesting that no eyebrows rose at that pronouncement.
“You two be safe,” counseled Mrs. Woodford, taking another of those dreamy drags from her More. “I’m sorry none of your friends could come over this year. Please do give Marie my best wishes.”
We gathered coats and Daisy took me through the house and into the kitchen. “Hi George,” she greeted one of the caterers. “I’m ready for my order. Please have someone load it into the red BMW.” Obviously, she had planned this ahead of time. She tossed me the keys as we left the house. “15 Westlake Drive. I’ll direct you, and then to the summer house. You drive.”
“Ummm… Daisy,” I began in the silence of the car, “what am I getting into here? This seems awful elaborate for just the two of us at your summer house.”
“You’re always so cautious, Will,” she smiled. “An’ I kinda like that about you. I always feel safe with you. But,” she sighed, “you’re right. I kinda lied to you about the alone part. We are picking up Marie Bishop. She’s had a really crappy Christmas on top of a crappy year, and she needs a friend or two real bad.” The car went silent. I wasn’t sure of how to react; she’d given me every reason to expect a night of sexual bliss, and now she was relying on our friendship. I sighed, loudly. “Disappointed?”
“I’d be lying if I said no,” was my honest answer, although delivered without malice.
Daisy gave me a peck on the cheek. “I couldn’t just leave you at the party by yourself. And you’re the best friend I have.”
I pulled over as we arrived at an apartment complex, which was the address Daisy had given me. Marie’s family lived in a ritzy neighborhood. “Daisy, did I take a wrong turn or…”
“It’s complicated, Will,” she interjected. “Please… I really need you to be the guy you are tonight. Whatever happens, please just figure it out and go with it.” She directed me to park at one of the buildings. “Can you bring the suitcase in the trunk?” she asked with purpose. Whatever was going on, it was serious.
She knocked on the door to apartment 2D as sounds of New Year’s Eve merriment coming from various units filled the hall. I could also detect that this particular apartment was silent. “Marie? It’s Daisy. I’m here to pick you up.” There was no response for a little while, and for the first time, I saw worry on Daisy’s face. Finally, the door opened, revealing someone who wasn’t the lively, pretty, slim, vivacious, stylish brunette princess I had known. Looking at least thirty pounds heavier, disheveled, and worn, Marie invited us in.
“Oh, hey, Daisy Marie,” she slurred. “Got started a lil’ early. Isn’t that what you’re supposed t’do on New Year’s? Get shitfaced drunk?” She cocked her head and peered at me for at least ten seconds, finally saying, “Will? Will Redmond?”
“Hi Marie,” I gently said as she looked back and forth between Daisy and me.
“Really? The two of you?”
Daisy smiled at her friend, gave me her complicated look, and said, “Kinda.”
“Huh!” snorted Marie. “I never woulda guessed, but you were a lot shorter and scrawnier a couple years ago. Like how I’ve blossomed?” she self-deprecatingly sneered as she turned away. “Wanna drink?”
“We have champagne for later,” Daisy said. “And I thought we were going out. You’re not even ready.”
“Yeah, well, I kinda decided that it was too much trouble,” Marie replied, reaching for an open bottle of scotch on the table. “‘Sides, it looks like you have better things to do tonight.”
“Nothing better than helping out a friend,” I gently, sincerely, said.
Marie snorted derisively. “Friend? I wouldna had th’ time of day for you if it hadn’t been for her! How can you call me a friend?”
“Because you’re Daisy’s friend,” I evenly responded.
Marie almost dropped her glass as she started laughing. “Daisy Marie, you fell for a Boy Scout?! That’s too funny!”
“Well, he’s not a complete Boy Scout,” Daisy shot back, and for a moment, I could sense the old friendship between the pair, but Marie told Daisy to go out with me and have fun in a voice full of depression. Daisy’s face reddened. “The hell we will!” she angrily snapped, stomping over to Marie and yanking the glass out of her hand. She grabbed Marie’s hand and hissed, “All of us are going out tonight! I have enough champagne and food for three beyond January second! You’re coming with us, and we are going to get you ready right now. First thing is we have to clean you up.” Marie was stunned by her friend’s anger, and after a second of resistance, allowed herself to be dragged into a bedroom. “We’ll be out in a little bit, Will,” called Daisy.
I heard the shower come on, and Marie’s protest, which turned into a long, painful squeal followed by loud sobbing, which continued even after the water stopped. I heard Daisy’s voice, soothing and calming, and eventually, Marie’s sobbing stopped. “Will, hand me the suitcase through the door, please?” I complied, but stepped back out into the living room, not wanting to eavesdrop. Marie cried a little more, but eventually, Daisy stepped out of the room, looking relieved. “She’s calmed down, and a little more sober now. Thank you, Will. I don’t know anybody else who I could ask to do this.” Thirty minutes later, and with a little bit of cajoling, Marie stepped out of her room, looking completely transformed in a simple black dress. I could see her natural beauty again, and a very fetching, shy smile. No trace of her high school bitchiness remained.
“You look nice, Marie.”
“I’m fat,” she complained, but smiled at my compliment. She reached for the pack of Tareytons on the table, next to the bottle of scotch.
“I also brought you a carton of my Virginia Slims,” Daisy said, “‘cause I know how much you like your Mom’s.” Marie tossed the pack back onto the table as if it was a time bomb. I put both women into the back seat and played chauffeur, but I was able to hear enough of Marie’s story to feel sorry for her. Her father blew a fortune on his young mistress, and had completely turned his back on wife and daughter, leaving them out in the cold, and forcing Marie to drop out of college after her freshman year.
It was almost eleven by the time we got to the summer home, and the champagne immediately started to flow. I kept my distance to let the girls catch up, wondering why I was there. When midnight arrived, Daisy and I kissed deeply to ring in the new year. Then Daisy went to check on the food, leaving me alone with Marie. “Y’know, there was a time when I thought you didn’t belong at our school, and certainly not in our group,” she confessed. “But Daisy Marie just wouldn’t let it go… so I thought that it was just—y’know, she was doing her good social deed, looking out for the charity case kid… an’ now I look at the two of you an’…” Marie paused. “I’m kinda jealous of her. You grew up cute, and I bet you’re still really smart. Funny how life is.” The gloom that had lifted as the girls were talking old times returned.
Daisy reappeared. “The food’s gonna take another half-hour. I think it got a little frozen while we were getting you.” She reached into her purse. “Guess what I’ve got?” Marie sadly turned as Daisy pulled out… a cigarette holder? “Remember our eighth-grade retreat and Helene Sabol?”
Marie’s sad air evaporated. “Ohmigod! You got one of your own!” Daisy put a Virginia Slim into the black holder and lit it, seemingly oblivious to my pleading looks. She slowly snap-inhaled a huge ball of smoke, making my penis start to grow, as she slowly turned and exhaled skyward in profile. I prayed Marie wouldn’t notice. When Daisy repeated the action, obviously posing, I began to shoot daggers at her with my eyes. Ignoring me, she offered Marie the cigarette and holder. Marie took it, and, holding it from beneath between with her fingers and thumb, drew steadily, and then raised her chin casually and eased her chest forward to exhale a long, long, thick stream of smoke through perfectly pursed lips. “Remember that?” Marie excitedly said, “And trying to learn how to do this?” Marie dragged again on the holder, but opened her mouth a little so that she simultaneously french-inhaled while dragging on the holder. Another casual lift of the chin, silent exhale, and I was hard—and more than a little pissed off at Daisy. Marie handed the cigarette holder back to Daisy and explained the story. On the eighth-grade girls’ retreat, at least half the class sneaked into adjoining woods to smoke. One of their classmates had swiped one of her mother’s cigarette holders and brought it along. “It was red and like ten inches long,” she recalled, “and we all played around like we were movie stars n’ stuff.”
My annoyance with Daisy did not fade over the next hour as she and Marie reverted to those eighth grade girls playing with a cigarette holder, keeping me uncomfortable and trying to keep Marie from noticing. Daisy smoked in the way she used to make me horny, but I also noted the change in Marie’s style from her first Virginia Slim. She quickly regained the same regal, effortlessly elegant style she had in high school, and her comfort with the cigarette holder made me wonder if she had used one on a regular basis. The thought of her using a holder as her high school princess self did nothing to diminish my fetish-driven excitement.
By one a.m., Marie was definitely drunk and almost chain-smoking with the holder, while Daisy continued smoking in the way she knew drove me crazy, while the girls continued talking about their younger exploits. Uninvolved in the conversation and reduced to fetching more champagne, I felt unnecessary, but the smoking spectacle kept me watching and almost completely hard. “Remember what else we did on that trip?” Daisy cooed. Marie said no, and Daisy continued, “You an’ me… alone in the woods?”
“Daisy Marie! I… I…” She looked at me, and then back to Daisy as if to say, “This isn’t something I want to talk about in front of him.” I noticed that Daisy’s free hand had moved from her friend’s shoulder and was now lightly stroking her arm. You gotta be kidding me! “Daisy Marie… I… I… I really don’t… think…” Marie’s mouth hung open, and everything went into slow motion… Daisy leaned forward, opening her mouth, and she kissed her friend. My dick threatened to go nuclear. Marie gave a little jerk of surprise, hesitated, and then kissed back. It was a brief, but wet, kiss. “Daisy Marie, I don’t know what you think you’re doin’, but that… that… well, I’m not—” Daisy interrupted by pointing out the mistletoe over her head, and referred to some rule the girls had made several years ago. “So do I have to kiss him too?” Marie complained. Grinning, Daisy pointed at the mistletoe. “Fine!” snorted Marie angrily, and then she grabbed my head and kissed me. It started out sloppy and careless, but quickly turned passionate, leaving her panting softly when we broke. “Daisy Marie… thass not fair,” she whispered. “He’s yours… an’… an’… I’m fat!” Marie looked as if she was going to cry.
“The word is ‘zaftig.’ That’s German for sexy round girl,” Daisy said, lighting another Virginia Slim in the holder. “Maybe if you reach down…” She reached across Marie’s lap and loosened my zipper. “… and unwrap something…” She sat back up and reclined against the sofa, cigarette holder held high, and crossed her legs. “…you might find another Christmas present—from me—and him.” I watched Daisy snap-inhale a large ball of smoke, toss her head, and exhale slowly towards the ceiling at an angle, holder casually and effeminately held between her fingers. She knew I loved to see her like that, and her statement in the car on the way to Marie’s finally clicked.
“B-b-but… he-he—” Marie stole a glance at my crotch in the middle of her protest, but her words died as the glance turned into a look. That’s when I knew Daisy’s plan was going to work. “N-n-n-no,” she breathed as I leaned in for another kiss, but her lips parted and her eyes closed indicating how much she wanted what we were offering. She was flushed, and her chest was heaving when I pulled away. Daisy gently encouraged her to unwrap her present. My dick sprang free, making Marie gasp, “Oooohhhh! He’s big!” She licked her lips.
“And he’s goooood…” Daisy purred.
It didn’t take too long after that for the three of us to end up naked on the carpet by the fireplace. I was pumping slowly at Marie, while Daisy gave her friend little kisses and stroked her body, occasionally sucking on a nipple. “Oh… Oh, Daisy Marie… I can’t… I can’t believe… you’re doing this for me… Oh… oh shit… oh shit Will… that feels good… Ohhh…” Despite the weight she had gained, Marie was still beautiful, if no longer the perfect little princess, and her breasts had become fuller. Her body began to undulate with my steady, slow fucking and when she came, she yipped in a series of high-pitched squeaks, her pussy became very wet, and I slid out. “Ohhhh… Will… I shoulda dated you,” she sighed, kissing me, and then her friend.
“Not that I want to cut your fun short, Marie,” Daisy said, “but we don’t want you getting pregnant, so it’s my turn now. Roll over, baby,” Marie gasped as Daisy settled onto my cock with a happy purr and began to move her hips. She leaned forward and kissed me hungrily while her friend watched us. I hardened quickly inside of Daisy, and, having been close with Marie, didn’t last long with Daisy, who kissed me and whispered, “Thank you.”
We moved to Daisy’s bedroom after having a snack and some more champagne, keeping Marie awake, yet still drunk enough that her inhibitions were still lowered. I had to admire Daisy’s deviousness, even if she was taking advantage of my fetish. She handed Marie the holder, and took one of my Mores. “He likes to watch women smoke… especially when they’re sexy about it,” she smiled, making me blush. Marie asked if she was a sexy smoker, and I admitted that, even when I first met her, I thought she was. She took one of her princess-like drags from the cigarette holder, exhaled regally, and my body reacted.
“You really like to watch women smoke, don’t you?” she exclaimed, looking at the growing bulge and then at Daisy. “Daisy Marie, can I… can I… touch it again?” breathed Marie.
“Not yet,” Daisy replied. “I want him to take care of you first. Remember that thing we did to each other after eighth grade?” Marie gasped no, turning red with embarrassment—but her slightly unfocused gaze never left my crotch. “I just told you his secret,” continued Daisy after a quick, casual french-inhale from the More. “It’s only fair that he gets one in return. And he does it wayyy better than I did.” She gently took the holder and half-finished Virginia Slim from Marie, and then turned to me, cooing, “Take good care of her.” I shifted and moved between Marie’s thighs and began to lick her pussy.
“OH!” Marie jerked in shock, but quickly relaxed and began to sigh happily. Within minutes, she was calling my name in passion as her arousal grew, and then she squealed in orgasm, with her cute little yips. Her juices flowed freely, making my eyes sting, but I kept using my lips, tongue, and fingers to prolong her ecstasy. “UH! UH! UH! UH!” Marie’s hips bucked in time with her voice until she groaned very loudly and collapsed, melting into the bed, unconscious.
“Wow,” Daisy said in a small voice, after waiting to see if Marie would open her eyes. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but otherwise, she wasn’t moving. “That was impressive.” I wiped Marie’s pussy juice off my face, my erection all but gone. “Have I told you that you’re awesome? I owe you one—no, more than one.” Daisy kissed me. “You want to start collecting? It’s going to take me a while to work tonight off,” she purred and began to revive my erection with a loving blowjob. We made slow, quiet love next to the passed-out Marie.
“You could have told me about your plan, y’know,” I said afterwards.
“You would have said no, because you’re faithful to me,” was Daisy’s matter-of-fact answer. “I figured that I’d get you to a boil first, and then see if you’d figure it out. You’re smart… and horny. It wasn’t that much of a stretch.” The room was silent, except for Marie’s deep, regular breathing.
“So Daisy… did you really—give Marie head back in eighth grade?” I quietly asked.
“Marie makes a big deal out of it, but we sixty-nined for less than thirty seconds,” Daisy replied with a soft chuckle. “We’d gotten into her dad’s liquor cabinet so we were buzzed, and did it mostly out of curiosity because we heard some boys talking about ‘fish tacos’.” She giggled, “We weren’t any good at it,” and burrowed into my body to sleep.
We spent the next day at the summer house because the weather and road conditions had deteriorated. Daisy and I had a champagne brunch; poor Marie was hung over. “So did you and Will cook this up together?” asked Marie over coffee and a cigarette. I noticed that she had pretty much laid claim to Daisy’s cigarette holder, and would glance at me as she smoked.
“No, it was all my idea,” was Daisy’s reply. “Will didn’t catch on until you two kissed under the mistletoe.” She took a deliberate drink from her coffee. “I figured that you could stand to get laid, and Will is really good.” Marie nodded energetically, casting an obvious look at my crotch. With the holder held from beneath, she arched her back, striking a pose eerily reminiscent of Bette Davis. Regarding me with narrowed eyes, Marie performed her signature concurrent drag-and-french-inhale, held the smoke for a few seconds, and sent a long stream of smoke through her pursed (and freshly painted) lips. She smiled at me with sparkling eyes. “So how are you feeling, Marie?” Daisy grinned. “We’re going to be spending tonight here, too.”
We dropped Marie back home late the following afternoon. “I can barely walk,” she complained with a smile. “Daisy Marie, don’t fuck this up. He’s special.” She paused. “Oh, and thanks for the cigarette holder. I may just need it if you do fuck it up.” She winked at me and walked into her apartment building, hips swinging.
“At least you’ve got options now,” giggled Daisy, and suggested that I stop by her house for dinner with her folks. The atmosphere around the table was strange, but I couldn’t quite figure out why. Dinner conversation was strangely superficial, with Daisy being much more subdued than normal. I also noted that her mother was wearing some make-up and a dress, which was unusual for her at casual occasions. She had two after-dinner Mores with flair, leisurely letting smoke escape through slightly parted lips after her drag, and then sucking it back in with a casual grace. She would tilt her head to the side as she had New Year’s Eve, and exhale without any sound. I tried my best to avoid being obvious about how distractingly attractive I found her while we were discussing France after the meal, but I wasn’t sure how well I succeeded. I politely suggested that it was time for me to go home as her mother lit her third More. Daisy quickly tossed me the keys to the BMW.
The ride was eerily devoid of conversation for five minutes. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer, and pulled to the side of the road. “Daisy,” I said, “I have to ask: what’s up with your mom? She seems—different.”
“I saw you looking,” she smiled, but it faded quickly and she took a deep breath. “Dad had an affair—they’re not getting divorced or anything over it—he says he’s not gonna do it again—but it made Mom realize that she needed to—remind Dad of why he married her in the first place.”
“At the risk of grossing you out, your mother looked really good,” I candidly admitted.
“She’s told me that she knows you look—maybe not exactly why—and she’s flattered,” Daisy grinned. “She said it makes her feel like she’s still attractive.”
“Your mother is a very beautiful woman, and if that’s what you’re gonna look like in twenty years, we’ll still be having kids—or at least trying to every chance we get.”
She popped her seat belt and gave me a torrid kiss, leaving me out of breath. Daisy throatily said, “Will, in a lot of ways, I love you and it’s not just friends—but… I’m just not ready.” I assured her that I understood, even if it wasn’t true. “So,” she said, refastening her seat belt, “you wanna go to a show tomorrow night?”
I almost spent more time over Christmas break at the Woodford’s summer house than at my own because Daisy preferred that to staying at her house. She confided that her mother’s newly-reaffirmed sexiness was having the desired effect—much to her chagrin. “Now I know why I have a really high sex drive,” she had glumly said one night, “I got it from her. She even gets almost as loud, so right now… I feel like I’m in the way. Besides, eeeuw!” By the time I got to college, I was actually looking forward to the break from sex.
It was back to hanging out and secretly admiring the smoking women of Harrison Lounge. My only college lover, Susan, had switched to Benson & Hedges Menthol Lights over the break, but more importantly, had been claimed by a tall, broad-shouldered blond-haired guy who apparently had the hots for her. I resigned myself to celibacy until summer and Daisy. My non-gay status was still scaring most of the girls away, except for Elaine. It seemed as if I became her de facto boyfriend: we went to campus events together, spent time in Harrison together, we did everything possible short of intimacy. She drew a hard line when it came to kissing beyond a friendly peck on the cheek. I never got the feeling she was waiting for more. When the Valentine’s Dance came, I gathered my courage, heeding Daisy’s words about my own attractiveness. “Elaine, would you consider going to the Valentine’s Cotillion with me? I can be a perfect gentleman if you’re worried about me getting aggressive like some guys do. I’m not making a pass at you or anything, but I like you. Not just because you’re gorgeous, but you’re funny and sweet.”
She looked at me, startled. A sad smile came to her face. “I’m really flattered, Will. I mean, really. And I like you. But…”
“—you already have a boyfriend,” I interjected, anticipating what was coming. After all, she was a local student.
“No, that’s not it,” she slowly drawled, and said nothing else.
It finally dawned on me what the other possibility was. “Nobody will find out from me, but the offer still stands,” I shrugged. “I don’t need to get in your pants to enjoy an evening with you.”
“Well… I would like to go out…” she said. “Promise me no icky touchy sex stuff, and you’ve got a date.” She gave me a peck on the cheek and apologized for misleading me. “But it’s nice to not have to shoot guys down… or worse, those dyke grad students in woman’s studies.” I cocked my head. “It would be different if they were cute,” she grinned. “It’s also nice to be able to smoke Mores again—I love More Menthols. I can blame you, and nobody thinks that I’m a dyke—like in high school.” Now I understood everything.
Showing up at the Valentine’s Dance with the incredibly gorgeous campus ice queen, who was quite effeminate in her dress instead of her usual blue jeans, gained me quite a bit of notoriety. There was nothing like being perceived as the boyfriend of a gorgeous woman to get the attention of other beautiful women. It didn’t take long for me to realize that my popularity was artificially induced and so, I preferred to keep the façade of being Elaine’s boyfriend for the remainder of the semester.
I had twelve days between my flight home and my flight to Paris, and I wasn’t ready, but my mother insisted that I spend an evening with the Woodfords to thank them again. After her parents had greeted me and left us in the foyer, Daisy and I kissed. She told me that dinner wasn’t going to be ready for an hour. “Mom! Dad! I’m taking Will up to my room to show him my pictures of France!”
True to her word, Daisy handed me a stack of photo albums as soon as we were alone. She sat next to me and lit a Virginia Slim with a carefree drag and noisy exhale. For a minute or so, she was playing tour guide through her photos. “Hey… Will…”
I turned to see her draw hard on her cigarette, cheeks hollowing. Eyes sparkling mischievously, she opened her mouth to let me see the smoke swirling, before sucking any escaping smoke back in. With extreme deliberation, she turned her head to the side, paused, lifted her chin, waited… and silently released a long silky ribbon of smoke skyward. My stomach did flip-flops. “Daisy!” I hissed urgently. I did not want to show up at dinner with a visible erection, especially with her mother’s erotic smoking. Daisy just smiled and took another arousing drag.
Then she slid to her knees, unzipped my pants, and without a word, took me into her mouth. My protest turned into a quiet sigh as she began to glide her mouth over my rapidly-rising cock. Laying her hands on my knees, she shifted position, and with a loud snort, drove down onto my cock, taking the head into her throat. The sensation of her tongue near the base of my cock was indescribable, and after a few more seemingly effortless excursions to my pubic hair, my lower body tightened, and I sighed in bliss as the flood rushed out of my loins, filling her mouth.
I collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily, but quietly. Daisy gave me a kiss, and then wiped my leftover cum from around her lips, observing, “You came a lot.” I replied that I hadn’t had sex with anyone except my right hand since Christmas vacation. Her tongue peeked through her teeth and she smiled, looking pleased. “I figured you could use a little relief before dinner. Guess I was right. Wanna go downstairs now?”
Just like last time, Mrs. Woodford’s after-dinner smoke was lazy and dreamy-eyed. What was unusual was the way Daisy’s father watched her. Daisy volunteered us to clean the kitchen, and when we finished, we caught them kissing clandestinely like… well, we did. I left a little while later after making a date to see a show with Daisy two days before I was to leave. She picked me up with tickets in hand, and we headed directly to Daisy’s house since her parents were at the summer house for the weekend. She lit a More when we walked through the door and led me up to her room. Although I couldn’t spend the night, Daisy made sure that I boarded the plane in a satiated stupor.
Everything I’d heard about the European attitude towards sex proved disappointingly untrue. Our group was sequestered in a small town, where the local girls were used to the yearly invasion of American students, and so were scarce, and while they were friendly enough, it was clear that nothing more was possible. The girls in our group were cautious of the boys as well. It wasn’t a problem for me until Leigh, the only female smoker in our group ran out of the Salem Lights she’d brought with her. Leigh wasn’t a particularly arousing smoker, adding almost no style to the act. Unfortunately, she discovered a local brand, Fine 120s. The extra-long, super-slim, cork-tipped cigarette was noteworthy in and of itself, but it seemed to have a transformative effect on Leigh’s smoking; she would drag while letting smoke escape, then, with a little roll of her tongue, inhale, and quickly exhale with raised chin. It was—inflammatory, and one night, after a lot of wine with dinner, Elizabeth Grace also smoked a few.
Elizabeth was a gorgeous, willowy, girl-next-door type who wore her golden hair in a long ponytail. She didn’t look like a smoker, nor had she smoked for the first month. Her first deep inhale erased all of those thoughts, and I immediately decided to ask her out first thing sophomore year. With her head tilted slightly upward, smoke began to flow from her perfect lips, and then her nostrils in a fashion somewhat reminiscent of Sharon. “These are so cute!” she slurred. “They almost make me want to start smoking again!” Elizabeth smoked a half-pack of Leigh’s cigarettes that night. I went to bed wishing for some privacy so that I could relieve my aching balls, but the barracks-style accommodations afforded none. I wasn’t sure if I was frustrated over her sexy smoking or because of the fact that Elizabeth somehow never picked up another cigarette the rest of the summer.
I did my best to avoid watching Leigh smoke, even if her newly-acquired penchant for showy snap-inhales fueled a hot dream or two every week. That helped, at least until the finishing school shared our accommodations for a night. One dozen fifteen- and sixteen-year-old beauties, all of whom smoked… and did so exquisitely, appearing practiced beyond their years. It was a parade of elegant smoking, with slow, thick, creamy, french-inhales the standard, performed with practiced ease, lazily inclined heads directing ribbons of smoke through nostrils and pouting lips… it was all so gloriously alluring, bordering on the erotic. It was quite clear that they were the elite, well-bred and educated, possessing great beauty and sophistication. They were all prissy, bitchy rich girls, too good for those not privileged to share their rarified orbit.
Not one word was exchanged between the two groups in the common entertainment area before dinner or during the meal in the dining hall. Their chaperones (all female) looked down their noses at everybody, but with extra malice if any of our group (male or female) so much as looked in the general direction of their charges. The entertainment area wasn’t big enough to avoid committing that crime, so most of my compatriots bypassed our normal after-dinner haunt.
However, it was the only indoor smoking area, so I sat by the door in my favorite chair enjoying a More while reading the Alexandre Dumas I had selected for my literature project, ignoring the girls, the noise, and the matrons’ dirty looks.
I heard a sweet, melodic voice next to me coquettishly ask the room, “Qui a une cigarette pour moi?” In response, I lazily picked up my pack of Mores on the table and held it aloft. Only then did I look up from my book to see a beautiful young girl with a creamy complexion and thick blonde hair that fell to her shoulders.
She turned and gave me a haughty, disdainful glare of contempt, wordlessly expressing, “How dare you speak to me, peon!”
I’d had enough experience with snobbish rich girls in high school that I wasn’t intimidated, and evenly replied, “Mademoiselle, vous en avez demandée, je n’essaie qu’être poli,” with a shrug.
She was clearly shocked that I had the gall to speak to her, and after a moment, her face softened, and she quietly, politely, replied, “Merci, monsieur, mais je n’aime pas le menthol,” before proceeding into the room to accept a Marlboro from one of her compatriots.
Despite the fact that no names were exchanged, and that our interaction lasted maybe fifteen seconds at most, one of the chaperones came over and began to berate me, threatening criminal charges and deportation. I left without saying anything. The next day, I still had to answer a formal complaint lodged by the matron. The local head of the gendarmerie arrived, quickly took my statement, and told me not to worry, because “this happens every time those damned girls show up.” No wonder they’re so snobbish. They’re not allowed to speak to anybody who isn’t royalty.
The remainder of the summer passed without incident, even though Leigh continued to smoke the Fine 120s looking more and more glamorous every day, so I was very horny by the time I returned to the U.S. at the end of July.
I went to the Woodfords’ summer home for a party shortly after I returned; Daisy’s parents were renewing their vows and we were invited. I cursed the fact that we would not be able to get away discreetly, but it would be good to see her. Daisy wore a white summer dress, and her face broke out into a brilliant smile when I came around the corner. My heart did a little dance in my chest, and I knew that I was hopelessly in love with her.
“How was France? Can you still speak English?” she smiled. Daisy told me that I was important because I was the maid of honor’s escort. “Guess who gets to walk me down the aisle?”
At the reception, Daisy hung on my arm while we talked to some of our friends from high school. Carole Lee was there with her college boyfriend. I noted that she had exchanged her beloved Max 120s for Benson and Hedges Menthol Lights. Marie was there smoking Virginia Slims and looking considerably happier than she had at Christmas. Her father had lost big in the divorce case, primarily because he had tried to hide his assets, so she and her mother were back in their old house, and she was going back to college. “I left the cigarette holder at home,” she whispered, “but only because Daisy Marie gets first dibs. Just remember, I know what you like, too.” She took one of her princess-like drags and smiled at me, ejecting a series of thick, perfect smoke rings, and it did indeed make me think of her lips wrapped around my cock. Mrs. Woodford came over to the group and excitedly chatted with us for a while. As she turned to go, she asked me to light her holdered all-white cigarette, and temporarily interrupted my fascination with her daughter by giving me a smooch on the cheek and a wink after I did. I’ve gotta get Daisy to stop telling people about me.
My parents left me with Daisy around nine assuming that I’d be spending the night with the Woodfords. The reception began to peter out around ten, with many of the attendees feeling the effects of the freely-flowing champagne, including Daisy. At eleven, a limo picked up her parents, and Mrs. Woodford, tipsy herself, kissed both of us and smiled, “Now don’t do anything I wouldn’t you two. We’ll be back in a week.” The remaining guests and the caterers headed home immediately after the happy couple departed, leaving Daisy and I alone with about a half-dozen bottles of champagne and a refrigerator full of leftovers.
“Gimme a More—I’m out of Slims—and some more champagne!” Daisy commanded, giggling. I gave her a More, fetched a half-empty bottle, and filled her glass. She slowly snap-inhaled an enormous ball of smoke, destroying any thought of what I was going to say. With champagne flute in one hand, and freshly-lit More between her index and middle fingers of the other, she leaned forward and gave me a long, tender kiss, proclaiming afterwards, “I’m really drunk, Will. Help me upstairs?”
I got hard just from watching her walk up the stairs with swaying hips, still with drink and cigarette in hand. Daisy didn’t need my help. Once I entered her room, she sat, looking very ladylike, with the still-long brown cigarette pointing straight up at shoulder height, held with cocked wrist and bent elbow, and the champagne glass held in mirror image with her other hand. She took a sip from the glass, and then a drag from the More, looking very much like her mother as smoke escaped in a ribbon from her nose before she pushed her chest forward to exhale. “Hold these,” ordered Daisy. She stood and began undressing me, pausing between shirt and pants to take a sip and a puff.
“You’re not drunk, are you?” She looked up at me with a coy smile, and took me into her mouth, somewhat unnecessarily, but it felt too good to argue. Daisy pressed her nose into my groin, once… twice… then a third time, grabbing my hips for emphasis. She released me, drooling, regarding my cock hungrily for a few instants, finally shaking herself from her contemplation of my dick to quickly undress herself.
I was inside of her as soon as she reclined, thrusting eagerly, and Daisy wrapped her arms and legs around me moaning softly in rhythm with my gasping breaths, giving me frequent More-flavored kisses. “Ohhh… Will… Ohhh… Will…” she began sighing over and over, and her face quickly turned red signaling the rapid approach of her orgasm. Daisy wailed, cumming long and loud, making me stop when she grabbed my waist and slammed her hips into me, shuddering inside and out. “Uh… uhhh… uhhhhhh…AAAUUGGGHHHH!” Another cum, and she finally relaxed, panting for breath. I held her tenderly through her aftershocks and recovery, still hard inside her. “Ohhh you are so good!” smiled Daisy, kissing me. I started moving again and she loudly sucked in air. “Mmmm… and you’re not finished being gooooood…”
After breakfast, Daisy pulled a More from my pack. “Guess it’s time to leave. We’re down to one cigarette. When do you go back to school?” She swung in front of me, arms loosely around my neck. “And can we have one last fling before you and I leave for the semester?”
We managed to spend almost an entire “day at the amusement park” a few days later. Even though it was clear from my father’s expression that he knew I was headed out to have sex with his boss’ daughter, he let me go without comment. Daisy sat in the bed having a post-orgasm Virginia Slim, looking incredibly cute and sexy. “You should teach guys how to give head.” Her eyes rolled involuntarily at the memory of the thrills I’d just finished giving her.
“Daisy… I have a favor to ask. Please stop telling people about me… the smoking thing. Like your mother.”
She told me that she hadn’t said a word to her mother about it, and promptly made a big, showy, open-mouthed snap-inhale. “Any girl who sees you a lot, and who catches you looking at her a lot… can figure it out by your reaction,” countered Daisy. “You need to figure out how to be… less obvious, or you’re gonna get yourself teased a lot.” She french-inhaled her next drag. “I may tease you with it, but I like taking advantage of it a lot more. C’mere, and I’ll prove it…”
I headed back for my sophomore year silently committed to celibacy. Even though Daisy continued to tell me that I should not ignore the opportunities that college had to offer. That aspect of my freshman year had been unimpressive, and so it was just as easy to wait Christmas break, when Daisy and I would be together again. I had been away for much of the summer; nonetheless, the complicated look she used to give me had been replaced by stars in her eyes. We had been acknowledged as a couple by our parents without any negative comments, and our liaisons had gained a tangible intimacy, losing the feel of two horny teenagers experimenting with sex. I knew that Daisy and her Virginia Slims were the only ones for me.