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 really 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.
Graduate school started out really sucking. The work was more than challenging, my lab mate barely spoke English, I had to be a teaching assistant for two classes… and fraternizing with undergraduates was grounds for immediate expulsion. The dean of the engineering school made that clear at orientation; you could not make friends with any undergraduates, lest they wind up in your section at some point during your academic career, creating a conflict of interest. Farewell, black-haired beauty I saw at the quad smoking an all-white with playful flair. Only in my dreams, you softly-rounded, curly-red haired girl with the pack of Max menthols sitting on her books. However, the worst thing of all was that, even as unapproachable as they were, they inspired fantasy, and I had no privacy at all to relieve my aching cock and balls. Living at home, by the time my mother went to bed, I was either too exhausted or too busy to masturbate. If she was up, she’d drop by my room a few times a night to see “how I was doing.”
As frustrated as I was, I didn’t miss the sex anywhere near as much as I missed Daisy. I wasn’t sure what was worse: not expecting to get a postcard or a letter, or getting one from her.
Will,
I’m back in Paris! I’ll be here for the next month, working in the main Paris office of the company. They sent me because I speak French better than any of the other interns, so I appreciate all the time you spent helping me with my French more than ever! I hope school is going great for you – you’re a really smart guy and I know you’ll do really well!
Drop me a line sometime, OK?
Daisy
Just great. I was once again Daisy’s brainy friend. That was a dream come true when I was a geeky freshman in high school, but as her ex… it just sucked. Even worse, my car died, and so I commuted to school via public transportation, and was denied the ability to get away from home for more than an early evening. My life became a seemingly endless cycle of school to home (where I did more schoolwork) to school. No friends, no social life, and no motivation to do anything about it, because even the remotest thought of social activity made me think of Daisy. When my office mate praised my seeming dedication with, “You like me. You do good in school, not like other students who go to parties,” I knew I had to do something. I asked one of my fellow Calculus TA’s if there were any parties for grad students coming up. He looked at me with shock. “Why would you care, Redmond? You wouldn’t go even if you were invited.” I told him that I needed to blow off some steam. “Bioscience is hosting on Saturday, but it’s invitation-only. Nobody even knows who the hell you are. You and Huang spend all day in your office, then you go home. Do you even know what to do at a party?” Fortunately, another TA interrupted and told me who to find in order to get an invitation to Saturday’s party if I really wanted one. The girl, a physics TA and biology grad student, was surprised since I had made no social impression, but gave me the location nonetheless, with the instruction to, “Bring a couple six-packs of good beer and something to share in lieu of an invite. We’ll let you in.”
The party was just what I needed. As in high school, my appearance resurrected me from the “hopeless nerd” list, and I was quickly accepted by my fellow grad students as one of them. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders. We drank and laughed, making fun of brown-nosing pre-meds and egotistical professors alike, common experiences that made for fast new friends. I was in a group of my fellow physics TA’s, sharing some amazingly good home-brew ale made by one of them, a chemistry Ph. D. student, when a big girl staggered into the group, obviously drunk. “Anybody got a cig’rette?” She was tall, about my height, and generously round everywhere, but very cute. I offered her one of mine, causing her to blink and ask. “Izzat a cigar? I’m not that drunk… yet.” She took a Marlboro Light instead, but let me light it as she weaved unsteadily on her feet. After a quick drag and long, but immediate oral exhale towards the ceiling, she gave me a smooch on the cheek, inciting a round of catcalls. The young woman winked and staggered away, wide hips swaying in an exaggerated fashion.
“Who was that?” I asked when the catcalls subsided after she had vanished into another group of people congregating around the “punch bowl.”
“That’s ‘Katie Does-it’,” Steve Scott, one of my compatriots said. I returned a blank look. “Man, you really don’t get out much, do you?” piped in someone else. “Katie Parham. She’s like this super-brain, working on two Ph.D.’s at the same time in Neurology and Biochem.” I noted that she wasn’t much older than I was. “Tolja, she’s super-smart.” I asked about the nickname, and Steve just pointed at her as she headed into one of the other rooms—accompanied by two male students. The door quickly closed behind them. “She works insane hours, and suddenly, she’ll show up at a party, drinkin’ and smokin’ like a fiend, and once she’s lubed up… well, let’s just say I’ve seen her disappear with more than two guys… more than once at the same party.”
“I’ve done her,” another student broke in, stopping to relate his experiences. “Big girl, big appetites. And then she’ll go for weeks actin’ like she doesn’t even see you. It weirded me out the first time, but I’ve figured it out. The rest of the time, she’s concentrating so hard on her work it’s almost like she’s in this trance, but then when she’s almost nuts, she comes to a party and gets wrecked and fucked until it’s all out of her system, and then she’s good for another little while.” Somebody pointed out that she gave me a smooch, and the guy rejoined, “I’m surprised you’re not in there with her now. Stick around long enough tonight, and I bet you’ll get laid.”
An hour later, the two guys reappeared at the party, looking somewhat less energetic. Katie came wobbling out of the room about five minutes later, looking a little—disheveled. She went directly to the punch bowl for another glass. “Go on man! Get some of that before she passes out!” urged Steve. Slightly drunk myself, all I could do was wave timidly. Maybe she won’t see me. She took a healthy drink from her cup, topped it off, and headed towards us with a smile. The guys around me started to give me shit, quietly, until she arrived in our midst.
“Hi guys, she casually said, more steady on her feet now. Then she turned to me and asked for a cigar, stating, “Now I’m drunk enough.” I lit the More for her, taking stock of the blonde hair and hazel eyes. She took a casual drag and turned her head to exhale audibly, holding the More at the end of her arm, and suddenly, I became aware of just how horny I was. “OK, it’s a cigarette,” she said. “Who are you?” Steve introduced me, and I could tell that all the guys were wondering how I would handle this. Would I get laid, or was I just another enginerd, like my officemate?
While I was wondering how to proceed, Steve talked to Katie, and within minutes, he had his arm around her. She asked him to get her some more punch, and when he returned, they resumed their earlier positions. He was working on it, and was quickly rewarded when she took his hand and turned away from the group. Katie paused in her steps, turned back to me, and drunkenly smiled, “Y’wanna come with?” Steve waited patiently with the confidence of one who knows he’s going to get laid. I shrugged with a casual indifference that I did not feel and headed towards her. She immediately tugged at Steve, and we vanished into one of the rooms.
They were kissing within seconds of the door closing, with Steve groping her breasts, while I watched, unsure of what to do, and noting that we were in Katie’s bedroom. Katie broke away long enough to remove her top and bra with an ease that belied her inebriated state. Steve undressed quickly, and began to fumble with her pants, seemingly having forgotten that I was in the room too. Katie lay on the bed, reaching for my jeans, and I stepped out of them as Steve finally got her pants off. It was obvious that Steve was going to fuck her, while I would… Her mouth met my cock, and it was amazing! Soft, wet, with a big, broad, equally soft tongue, Katie had a mouth made for oral sex. I quickly became fully erect, ceasing to care about Steve who was grunting as he fucked away at Katie’s pussy. My lack of recent sex, combined with her delicious blowjob insured that I wouldn’t last very long, cumming in huge bursts across her face, mouth, and when I had a second of cognizance, round, pillowy tits. I heard her start to grunt in time with Steve, soft, and high-pitched. I watched them, getting turned on again. His grunts became louder, thrusts more enthusiastic, and a minute or so later, he pulled out, stroked his cock, and shot his load all over her belly and bush with a satisfied, “Ahhhhhh.”
Katie grabbed a towel and calmly cleaned off the spooge, while Steve quickly hitched up his pants and put his shirt back on. “Thanks, Katie,” he smirked, and left the room.
Sitting up, she asked, “Got another cig’rette?” My cock was full, but not hard, and Katie looked at it with drunken interest. She was still naked and showing no sign of changing that, nor did she indicate that I should leave. “Thanks.” Her drags were shallow, the exhales fast, although she did inhale each one, and the effects of my fetish showed. Mid-way through the More, she began to stroke me, licking the head from time to time. When I was hard again, Katie grabbed her cup of punch, took a big swig, put it down, and purred, “C’mere.”
An hour later, having fucked her to two orgasms before she sucked me off with that marvelous mouth, we left her room, with her leaning heavily against me, smiling sleepily. The party was winding down, and I told her that I probably should leave. “‘Kay,” she said, and gave me a kiss on the cheek at her door, hanging onto my hand. “Ummm… Will, right?” I nodded. “I’m not really… ummmm… like this, OK?” I said I understood, but she tugged on my arm to indicate that she wasn’t finished. “But it was fun. Maybe next party? You’re a great way to end the night.”
Determined to maintain my social life, I attended another party at a fraternity house two weeks later, and that’s where I got myself into serious trouble. I ran into Judy, one of the bio grad students. She was a voracious smoker, taking deep drags, and waiting a few seconds to exhale through her nose and mouth, but she felt guilty about smoking. You could tell how much guilt she felt about it at the time by the brand she was smoking. I’d seen her go from Virginia Slims, to Virginia Slim Lights, to Carlton 100s, and back to Virginia Slim Lights during the semester, and she had vowed to quit over the break. Tonight, she had a Benson and Hedges Deluxe Ultra Light between her fingers. “Hey Judy, I thought you were quitting,” I gently needled.
“Fuck you,” she irritably snapped, dragging hard on the cigarette for emphasis. Well, I can tell you’re feeling really bitchy tonight. Before I could excuse myself, a slender, big-boobed girl with curly black hair standing next to her asked, “Judy, aren’t you gonna introduce me to your friend?” Judy rolled her eyes, and introduced me to Ellen, the daughter of a family friend, who had just transferred to the school. Instead of an annoyance, I became… convenient, and within minutes, Judy had successfully foisted the girl off on me, leaving her free to enjoy the party. Ellen smoked Merit 100s in a not-particularly-sexy way, but she quickly made it very apparent that she was mine for the taking, linking her arm with mine after only a few minutes of shallow conversation shouted over the music and noise, and I walked her to her room at the dorms.
Ellen told me that her roommate was away for the weekend visiting home, and invited me in. Nature took its course, and I left the next morning, sated. What I didn’t know was that Ellen had lied to get into my pants: her roommate was not away for the weekend, and was definitely not amused at having to spend the night somewhere else. The department secretary handed me a school envelope the following Monday morning. The note, on school stationery, read:
Mr. Redmond,
I would like to see you in my office Tuesday at ten A.M. Please consider this meeting to take priority over any other obligations you may have, and make arrangements accordingly.
It was signed by the dean of undergraduate students, and I felt my blood run cold.
The next morning, I waited nervously outside her office, and promptly at ten, the dean’s admin assistant said, “Dean Wilcox will see you now.” I stepped into an office with smoke wafting in thick layers across the room lit by the chilly January sunlight. “Mr. Redmond,” Dean Sylvia Wilcox said, “please sit down.” I sat across from this diminutive woman on the other side of an imposing desk, with a pack of Virginia Slims and an ashtray on it, scared that I had just destroyed my future for a night with a girl who… frankly, hadn’t been all that interesting to me. The dean opened a file, and made a show of reading it. “Your case has been referred to me, not the Engineering Graduate Dean, because the original complaint involves an undergraduate student.” She then proceeded to bitch me out for violating the school’s policy on relations between undergraduate and graduate students, pointedly noting that I had exposed myself to charges of favoritism, and conflict of interest, and emphasizing the need for me to be beyond reproach. The woman didn’t raise her voice beyond normal conversation, and it was worse than being yelled at by my mother.
“So what are we to do about this?” she rhetorically asked. “Fortunately for you, Miss Grossman has already transferred her Calculus classes and her course of study does not require that she take a Physics course, so there is no possibility that you will be her teaching assistant.” The dean let that sink in. “However, a violation such as this cannot be overlooked, and so I am placing you on academic and social probation, indefinitely. Should your grade average drop below 3.25, or another report of inappropriate behavior come to anyone’s attention, you will be summarily expelled, and the cause noted on your permanent transcript. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I gulped.
“In addition, your penalty will include school service, the type and time of which is to be determined solely by me. Simply put, Mr. Redmond, when I tell you to jump, you will reply ‘how high and where, ma’am,’ with enthusiasm. Is that also clear?”
“Perfectly, ma’am.”
“Good,” she crisply said. “Your first assignment will be at my house this Saturday, starting at noon. There is a dean’s luncheon being given, and you will be one of the attendants. This should give you a glimpse into your future without education. Good day, Mr. Redmond.”
I arrived at the dean’s house a little early, not wanting to give her any reason to summarily dismiss me. I had to put on a tuxedo, standard butler’s issue. “You will serve as doorman, collecting coats, and fetching drinks and hors’ d’oeuvres for my guests as soon as they arrive. Once everyone is here, you are to be ubiquitous, but invisible. If a glass goes empty, you collect it and wait until you are told to refill it. Under no circumstances are you to converse with my guests.” She looked up at me, almost a foot shorter, but somehow, I felt like the tiny one. It was a “Women of Influence” luncheon: basically very rich alumna who gave lots of money to the school. I was settling into my invisible role, resigned to perform my duties to her exacting specifications—the caterers were restricted to the kitchen unless they were bringing food into the spacious dining room.
About eight women had arrived; I was waiting on the last one when the door chime sounded, and I scurried to the door—to see Daisy’s mother. That’s right, she went to college here. “Will!” she softly exclaimed, giving me a hug. “It’s good to see you again! How have you been, dear?” I lied, telling her that things were going well, but truthfully told her that I was happy to see her again as I took her coat. She told me that I looked nice in my tuxedo, making me blush. I thanked her for the compliment.
“Mr. Redmond! Didn’t I warn you about socializing with my guests?” Dean Wilcox snapped, seeming to appear from out of nowhere.
“I’m sorry, Sophia,” interrupted Daisy’s mom, sounding surprised at the rebuke. “Will is an old friend of the family. He—went to high school with my daughter. I haven’t seen him since he started graduate school here.”
“Oh… well, Marie,” my taskmistress said, slightly deflated, “best not to let the other guests see you—interacting so familiarly with the help. You understand.”
“Yes, Dean Wilcox, I do,” replied Mrs. Woodford. Her eyes twinkled at me, and she wryly added, “I can imagine that some of them would only be too happy to draw their own conclusions about my—interaction with the help.” Dean Wilcox turned and left us in the foyer, and Daisy’s mom softly requested, “Call me for lunch one day soon… please. It’s good to see you blush again.” I promised her that I would, and resumed my duties. Most of the women there smoked, none quite as elegant as Daisy’s mom with her Mores, but all of them worth watching in some way, a sign of their having grown up in an era where smoking wasn’t demonized and women were expected to do it in an appropriately feminine fashion. Dean Wilcox, petite, slim, and attractive for a woman in her fifties was almost as adept as Mrs. Woodford at attracting my fetish attention, handling her Virginia Slims between neatly manicured fingers as if they were a part of her hand, taking long, deep drags and producing equally long oral exhales. As inflammatory as it could have been, I was sure that showing any hint of arousal signs around any of these society matrons was not a good idea, so I reverted to thinking about my trusty reaction rates. Nonetheless, Mrs. Woodford was easily the youngest, most beautiful woman, and hottest woman in the room. I didn’t have a chance to say anything to her the rest of the event, not even as she left. After the guests had departed, the dean frowned at me and said something about my inability to follow rules, but I didn’t argue, and she dismissed me after I had cleared the cups, dishes, and ashtrays from the dining room.
The following week, I was back at her house for a graduate dog-and-pony show for other rich alumni. There was at least one event like that every month; sometimes I’d attend, sometimes I was the help. I cleaned out her garden beds and helped with planting, as well as mowing her lawn. The dean occupied so much of my free time that she was almost the only smoking female I saw that entire semester, and I saw her (and her sexy way of smoking) a lot.
The week after graduation found me in her smoky office awaiting pronouncement of my fate. “Mr. Redmond, I see that you are quite capable academically,” she announced with only a hint of surprise. “A 3.67 grade-point is quite acceptable under the terms of our agreement. As I have had no reports of, nor have I observed, any untoward behavior, you are no longer on academic or social probation, and you may consider your mandatory school service obligations to have been served in full.” I thanked her, and stepped into a rainy May afternoon, elated.
Free to be social again, I reappeared at the first graduate blow-out of the summer semester ready to get laid. Unfortunately, Katie had graduated, and I really didn’t know any of the other female grad students except Judy, who had been less than civil to me ever since the Ellen mess. That’s where I met Sam. Samantha Howland was a chemistry Ph.D. student who looked like—a chemistry Ph.D. student. Some of the other male grad students referred to her as “Paper-bag Howland.” Pear-shaped no matter what direction you looked at her from, and cursed with a long, pointy, and slightly crooked nose, Samantha Howland was every guy’s last choice.
Except for an extremely horny smoking fetisher, because she smoked Salem Slim Lights with a casual, yet incredibly graceful and feminine flair. Sam was one of the absolute sexiest smokers I’ve ever known, on a par with my wife and Daisy’s mom. She held the cigarette between the fingers of a cocked wrist at the end of a gaily (and daintily) extended arm, bringing it to her lips for a drag in a sweeping arc, somehow mindful of the people around her. Sam would draw without any hint of effort, and then some smoke would seep from her nose in a brief stream. Next, as the cigarette returned to its resting place via the same sweeping path it took to her lips, she would slowly tilt her head, form a tiny “O” with her lips, and then… produce a long, narrow trail of smoke into the air, occasionally finishing her exhale with a lazy, natural stream from her nose.
Of course, after watching her smoke from across the room, I maneuvered my way to her group and got a standard introduction. I probably broadcast attraction signals, and two cigarettes later, we left the party together: I figured I’d deal with the derisive comments from my male peers later. There wasn’t much foreplay when we got to her apartment: Sam seemed to be just as horny as I was, and we proceeded directly to her bedroom.
I didn’t know at the time that I was about to get lucky for more than one night. That was the start of a relationship with a smart, sweet woman who was sexually dynamic, willing to try, and become enthusiastic about, oral and anal sex, and who also smoked Salem Slim Lights like a goddess. So what if she was homely? Most important, Sam also had her own place, giving me time and space away from my parents. She gave me a key three months after we first met, and by the middle of the fall semester, I was spending more time at her place than mine.
One night, I was studying at her place while she was at school in the lab. Sam came through the door, dropped her stuff, lit a cigarette, and took a drag, audibly sucking in air as her lips popped off the filter, indicating her agitation. Nonetheless, her exhale was still a glamorous exhibition of feminine grace, exhaling towards the ceiling, head tilted and arm extended, posed as if modeling. I waited for her to say something as my cock stirred. After her third puff standing in the living room without a word, and with me almost hard, she said, “Assistant fucked up titration. Sets me back two or three weeks.” Another drag and exhale. “C’mere, you.” Sam dropped to her knees and fellated me to full hardness while finishing her Salem Slim Light. “I need a cigarette and a good fuck. One down,” she said, leading me to the bedroom by my erection.
Afterwards, she lit another, obviously more relaxed, although I could hear the “ssss” of her inhale. I watched, fascinated, from close-up, losing track of time, and suddenly heard her say, “I’m happy to see you too.” My dick was rising, and when Sam finished her cigarette, she rolled onto her back and spread her legs. “I adore your short refractory periods. I got some more for ya.” That week, I finally had my long-delayed luncheon with Daisy’s mom.
We talked about Daisy, who had turned her internship into a full-time job and was now living in London. I hadn’t known; she hadn’t written me since Paris. Even though it still hurt, I found that I could now talk about her and the break-up. “My daughter isn’t the most—responsible person,” Daisy’s mom said. “She has a good heart, but she’ll follow it wherever it leads her at any given moment, regardless of the consequences.” I nodded in agreement, and told her that I wasn’t angry at Daisy, for which she seemed relieved. “I’d been looking forward to having you as my son-in-law, Will. I really thought that you had stolen her heart,” she confessed.
“For a while, I had,” I returned with a tinge of regret. I told her about Sam and school, and Mrs. Woodford was happy that I had found someone, telling me that I was, “to use a term from my era, a ‘good catch’.” I watched her smoke from close-up for the first time in almost two years, still mature and beautiful, the essence of elegant smoking style with a long More between her fingers.
Without the need to worry about Daisy, I also saw, for the first time, the barest hint of intention behind Mrs. Woodford’s eyes. She had struck the perfect balance between elegance and seduction in her smoking, and she knew it. Her smoking style had been carefully shaped to sit perfectly on that razor edge, and it had always seemed natural because once she had achieved her desired effect, countless repetition had insured its perfection without the need for conscious effort. On the heels of that revelation came another: a woman who had developed such a beguiling way of smoking did so because of the effect she would have on some men—and in her heyday, when smoking had no social stigma, it would have attracted many more of them. She was well aware of the seductive potential of smoking. It was easy to extrapolate that she had always known about me and my fetish, and I felt myself blush at the thought. It was suddenly difficult to remind myself not to find Daisy’s mom arousing. I watched her smoke with rapt fascination, trying to avoid looking like I was watching her, but I was only able to keep the barest minimum of conversation going. At the end of one of her signature long, leisurely, nasal-oral-combo exhales slightly to the side and upwards, Mrs. Woodford leaned forward to whisper, “Will Redmond! I am old enough to be your mother!” with mock indignation. There was a pause, her eyes twinkled, she patted my hand, and continued, even more softly, “But thank you for the entirely inappropriate… but extremely flattering and much appreciated thought… you’re always so cute when you blush.” She quickly changed the subject, reducing my embarrassment to a manageable level by asking me about my future plans. As our lunch wound down, she pulled another More from a monogrammed bronze cigarette case, and held it between her perfectly manicured fingers, waiting for me to be a gentleman to her lady. Mrs. Woodford spoke about her husband’s company between exhales, making it clear that she was perfectly happy to let me admire her graceful, arousing display of the art of smoking, but nothing more.
When I got home, I immediately dragged Sam into the bedroom without preface or explanation. After she got over her initial surprise, she greedily accepted my lustful pounding until I screamed my release to her apartment (and probably the neighbors’ as well.) “Musta been an intense meeting with your ex’s mom,” Sam correctly noted without asking for details—another thing I had come to appreciate about her—she let me deal with my Daisy baggage without being threatened by her ghost. Having left her cigarettes in the other room, she pulled a More from the pack in my jeans pocket—the first and only time I’d ever seen her with anything other than a Salem Slim Light. Despite my spent condition, I got very horny watching her, and unlike Mrs. Woodford, Sam had no idea how incredibly sexily she smoked. So feminine with the cocked wrist and long fingers, casually directing a stream of smoke into the air…
“God, you’re sexy,” I blurted out.
Sam almost choked on her exhale, noisily, forcefully, hurriedly exhaling exclusively through her lips—another first. “I’ve never had anyone call me that before. You sure you’re OK?” I told her not to sell herself short. “You’re too sweet,” she replied, dragging on the More and finishing with a little snap-inhale, giving away her pleasure at the compliment. “I know the guys call me ‘Paper Bag Howland’, and let’s face it—I’m not pretty.” She held up her hand to shush me. “I’m OK with that. I’ve had almost twenty years to get used to it, so I stopped letting it define me a while ago. But you… I don’t know what it is, but after the last six months, I know that whatever you feel for me… it’s real. It may not quite be love, but it’s not just-get-me-off lust—which describes most of the sex I’ve had, so I know a lot about that.” She finished her More, and looked down, eyes narrowing. “You’re getting excited again,” Sam throatily observed. After a few moments, she added, “And so am I.” She climbed onto her hands and knees. “C’mon, stud, I think I want it in the ass this time.”
Somewhere during my time with Sam, I finally accepted that Daisy’s life was headed in a different direction than mine, and it no longer bothered me. I could have married Sam, and I think we would have been very happy together. Unfortunately, she was a few years ahead of me, and as I was entering my first year of the Ph.D. program, she was closing out her dissertation. We chose to split up after a frighteningly rational conversation when she accepted a tenure-track job at Georgia Tech. I stayed behind to finish my own Ph.D. We’ve remained close friends ever since, to the point that she insisted her fiancé have me as one of his groomsmen at their wedding, and a few years ago, my family and hers vacationed together. Although Sam no longer smokes, I still have exciting flashbacks of the feminine grace and elegance with which she smoked her Salem Slim Lights—and even today, she still ranks with Mrs. Woodford and my wife as one of the sexiest smokers I’ve ever seen in my life.
When Sam left for Georgia Tech, I was almost three years removed from Daisy; I hadn’t seen her since we had broken up, and she no longer wrote. Sam had moved out, leaving me the apartment so I no longer had to live at home. Mrs. Woodford was sorry to hear that I was single again at our monthly lunch, and invited me to their Fourth of July party, but she also made it clear that Daisy would be there. “We understand if you don’t want to go, Will, but you are, and always have been invited.”
“You are a family friend,” Mr. Woodford chimed in, having joined us, “No matter what has happened between you and my daughter.”
I decided it was time to see if I was truly over Daisy, so I bravely accepted. No Sam safety net, and with nothing but time between Daisy and me, I had to know if I could get on with my life without the baggage from our relationship weighing me down. My parents weren’t too keen on the idea, with my mother worrying about my heart, and if I would let Daisy break it again. I explained that I didn’t know the answer, and that was precisely why I was going. Giving me a hug and a fretful look, she let me leave for the party.
Daisy saw me when I got out of the car. Her face broke into an enormous smile, and she excused herself from the group she was with to greet me. “Will!” she softly exclaimed, as she gave me a big hug. “It’s so good to see you!” She stepped back. “You look good!” So did she, now a woman in bearing as well as appearance. “How have you been?” I gave her a brief summary of what I was doing and then told her that she was beautiful. “Thank you,” she smiled, with a touch of a British accent. I excused myself for being so rude, and asked her to tell me about London, and as she had when we first met, was perfectly comfortable standing on the fringe of the party speaking with me for a while, telling me about her adventures in Europe, and after she finished, lightly linked her arm with mine to lead me back to the party. I noticed a slight flutter in my stomach, but recognized the gesture as friendly, not romantic, and silently, sharply reminded myself of the current nature of our relationship. She led me to her parents first, and let go of my arm. The four of us spoke for a little while, with Daisy showing no sign of awkwardness or discomfort at being with me. Mrs. Woodford gave me a questioning look when her daughter excused herself to greet another group of people arriving. I replied that I was OK, nodding to indicate my acceptance of the situation.
I knew most of the people there, and Daisy flitted from group to group, leaving me on my own, occasionally stopping to chat a little longer wherever I was, but her Virginia Slims were never in evidence, and she didn’t ask her mother for a More, even when Mrs. Woodford was smoking. Maybe she quit. That would actually be a relief. I was speaking with Dean Wilcox towards the end of the party when Daisy stopped by, excusing us. “C’mere, I wanna show you something I brought back from France for you!” she excitedly breathed, suddenly acting teenaged again. She ran to the drive and hopped into the car. “It’s at my house, I forgot to bring it with!” She urged me to get in, gunning the engine of the BMW convertible. I don’t know why I didn’t refuse; maybe I sensed that something was wrong, maybe I secretly hoped that we would rekindle what it was we’d lost, but I got into the car with her.
As soon as we hit the highway, Daisy poured on the gas, 60… 70… 80 miles an hour, giggling in girlish delight. When the speedometer hit 90, I finally yelled, “Daisy! Pull over! NOW!” She only laughed after a quick glance at me and kept driving. “I mean it, Daisy!” I angrily shouted. “STOP THE CAR NOW!” She gave me a pout, but began to slow the car, eventually pulling to a gentle stop on the side of the road. I yanked the keys from the ignition and brusquely demanded, “Out. I’m driving.”
She pouted, but complied, grabbing her purse. As we passed each other behind the car, Daisy wrapped both her arms around me, and kissed me, hungry and hot. It caught me off-guard for a millisecond, but I eagerly kissed back until the reality of the situation intruded on my dream. “Ummm… Daisy,” I said, “we’re not…” My voice trailed off as I looked into her dewy, intent-filled eyes. She stepped back and reached into her purse to remove a Virginia Slim Light, smiling mischievously. Daisy took a long draw, opened her mouth, and waited until a huge ball of smoke had escaped before snapping it back into her lungs. She turned her head to the side, tossed her hair, and exhaled through her lips, long into the sunlight.
“I know we’re just—friends—now,” she throatily said. “But I’m super horny, Will.” She took another inflammatory drag, knowing exactly what turned me on.
“Are you high?” I asked, suspicious.
“Maybe,” she coyly smiled. “Are you still a good boy?” I sighed in exasperation, and Daisy looked away, snidely adding, “I guess that means you are.” She took another long drag from the Virginia Slim Light. “So would you be up for me anyway? I know what you like. I haven’t forgotten, Will,” she breathed, drawing close again. She fondled me, looking into my eyes. “I’m going’ back to London in two days… an’ I’d like to spend a night with you… for fun.”
I’d like to say that I refused, turned around, and drove us back to the summer house with righteous indignation. But Daisy was… Daisy, smoking sexy, and ready to fuck me. Coke horny or not, it was an offer I couldn’t turn down. “OK. But I’m still driving,” I grumbled. She squeaked in excitement, pecked me on the lips, and scurried into the passenger seat, barely able to sit still for the fifteen or so minutes it took to get into her house.
She gave me a wet kiss as soon as the door closed, and bounced up the steps to her room. I followed, more deliberately, trying to justify to myself what I was about to do. I arrived at her room in time to see her drag on her longest cigarette holder, purring, “Remember this?” after a long skyward exhale. I began to get hard as I watched the woman Daisy seduce me with the lessons she’d learned as a teen. She finished the cigarette before undressing and pulling me to the bed. I entered her with a quick stroke, matching her throaty groan with a blissful sigh and we were lovers again, me fighting to hold off my ejaculation while she turned a glorious, gorgeous shade of red in orgasm. I held out as long as I could, until Daisy wrapped her arms and legs around me, brown eyes sparkling, and panted, “Cummm baby, cummmmm…” She arched her back when I started pounding forcefully at her, cumming again with a loud cry, and I shot my first load while moaning her name over and over.
We lay entwined together for a while even after I softened and slid out of her. Daisy sat up and put another Virginia Slim Light into her holder. “Y’know, I kinda miss this. The cigarette holders n’ all that,” she admitted as she waited for me to light her. “But… it’s not enough, Will. Frankly,” Daisy took a cheesecake-pose drag, holder held from beneath at mid-stem, still naked, and exhaled slowly, with thick streams from her nostrils joining the plume from her lips. “I haven’t met the man who is—enough to make me want to settle down. I don’t know if he even exists.” She took another carefully posed drag, exciting me even as she continued her introspective monologue, wordlessly telling me that we weren’t finished yet. “But I love your cock and what you do to me with it. I just wasn’t sure if you could… handle me not being your girlfriend-slash-fiancée-slash-wife and I thought you deserved the chance to find someone who could be that faithful. I was going to be in Europe for a while, and I knew I couldn’t last. I’m not the marrying kind yet, no matter what my parents think. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be.” Daisy finished her holdered Virginia Slim with a french-inhale, and looked at my renewed erection. “But seeing you again reminded me of how much I love fucking you. Can you handle just having sex with me without having all of me?”
“Ohhhhhh you fuck… you fuck… you fuck me so good!” groaned Daisy, as she got the answer she was wanting a few minutes later. I had moved us into her favorite position, fucking her slowly in the ass from the side while I lightly played with her clit. “Uh… ohshit… ohgod… ohhh… Will…” He voice rose in pitch as her hips began thrusting, rocking her along my cock. “I’m… I’m… you’regonna… gonna makeme… SQUIRT!” Pussy juice arced a few inches into the air as she moaned loudly. “OHHHHH!!! FUCK!” I continued pumping at her ass, sliding my cock almost all the way out before leisurely pushing back in as far as I could go.” Ohhh.. Will… I’m… I’m… AUUUGGHHHH!!!!!!” More woman cum shot from her, and I continued fucking her ass, making her squirt a few more times, including a long, extended one where she wailed louder than I could ever remember. Finally, she told me that she couldn’t take any more.
I reluctantly withdrew, still hard as Daisy lay quivering on the bed. A little later, she washed my cock thoroughly, smiling, “Nice to know some things haven’t changed. Your second is still better than your first. Some woman is going to get awful lucky one of these days.” She looked at me and her expression turned serious. “Will… don’t wait for me… please. We can get together when I’m in town, and we can go to bed like we used to, but… it’s not like it used to be.”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to do this with you every night for the rest of my life,” I admitted. “But… I know it can’t happen. More to the point, I get it—and I’ve… moved on. I’ll be around if you wanna mess up a bed for a night or three, but only until—” I hesitated. “—I find my special someone.” That’s weird. My guts didn’t twist up when I said that. “I made you my best offer, Daisy.”
“And I’d be lying if I said I’m still not tempted—especially after tonight—but I don’t want to hurt you,” she rejoined, lighting one of my Mores. “I like you a lot, Will,” declared Daisy, “just not enough to move back here, take on my dad’s company, and settle down with kids for the rest of my life.” She drew on the More and french-inhaled for a seeming eternity, making my cock pulse, and exhaled a long and narrow stream from her lips. “I don’t get to do that often these days,” she said, half to herself. “It definitely doesn’t have as much of an effect on anybody else.” Daisy repositioned herself and took me into her mouth, More held high. “But I seem to remember that you’re not finished,” she said, pausing to take another drag ending in a big, showy, open-mouthed snap-inhale. “Told you I know what you like,” she smiled with impish delight before resuming her blowjob.
Her parents returned from the summer home to find me still there: despite our intentions, Daisy and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Daisy answered her mother’s questioning glance with a blushing admission of, “We’re still—friends.” I saw her off the next day, making a special trip from my apartment to join her patents at the airport. She pecked me on the cheek and told me that she’d let me know when she was coming to town, and that it would be sooner. I honestly replied that I was looking forward to it, and then watched her get on the plane as I had done before, almost three years ago. This time, however, it was different: Daisy was still a dear friend leaving for Europe, but I didn’t feel as if she was taking a big piece of my heart with her.
It was clear that I had indeed, moved on.