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.
While Daisy may have been out of my love life, she was determined to be a part of my sex life. A couple of months later, she called me from Paris. “Hey, Will,” she cheerily said. “I need a favor. How would you like to be my escort to a boring business dinner in New York? Free fancy food, free trip. My boss is taking a couple of big French clients and their wives to dinner, and you still speak French pretty well. You just have to dress up.” Now that I was a Ph.D. student, I had more free time on weekends, which I usually spent at one of two nearby bars. It would be something different, and it gave me an opportunity to take some rust off my second language, so I accepted.
Daisy met me at the station in a limo. “Will!” she called, and greeted me European-style, looking sophisticated, and still gorgeous in a demure black dress. I was pretty sure I could handle the escort part because she was perfectly attired, showing her beauty without being provocative. “I’m really glad you could do this,” she said as the limo pulled away. “The only other option was hiring a professional escort.” At my odd look she elaborated, “Not a gigolo, but a gentleman companion for a social occasion—at the company’s expense.” I asked her what about the other men she knew. With a sigh, she said, “Anybody else I would ask might—think it means more than it does.” She settled into the car seat and opened her purse, removing a slim silver cigarette case and a second, thicker, but narrower black fabric one.
Giving me a smile, she opened the black case first, revealing a beautiful pearlescent cigarette holder, about four inches long. “Found this in Paris; it’s made from mother-of-pearl.” Daisy then removed a cigarette from the silver case. It wasn’t an Eve or a Max, but it was definitely an all-white 120. I stared at it. “Before you say anything,” she grinned, “no, I haven’t given up my Slims. It’s a Virginia Slim Light 120—they’re new, and I got them on a trip to North Carolina.” She handed me a silver lighter that matched her case while she assembled her smoke. I felt my stomach flutter and the tip of my cock tingled as I lit it. Legs crossed, reclined in the seat, she took a big, open-mouthed drag ending in a combination snap/french-inhale. She tossed her golden-brown hair, and slowly sent a carefully-sculpted exhale towards the closed moon roof. Her eyes danced with mischief. “You deserve something for helping me and my career. Thought I might make it—worth your while.” We drove around for a few minutes, allowing Daisy to finish her cigarette, and me to regain my composure.
We met the rest of her party at the restaurant, and I was seated next to Madame Bourgeot, a matronly blonde woman who spoke very little English. I quickly found myself in the role of translator, for which her husband was appreciative, since it freed him from his usual job. I kept her appropriately entertained while business was discussed briefly over hors d’oeuvres, but the rest of the night was strictly social. After dessert, the maître de table brought the cigar and coffee menus, and her boss asked for the cigar box, causing Daisy to fidget. When it arrived, he told the waiter, “Ladies first, Phillip,” and Daisy paled slightly when her boss’ wife began to inspect the cigar box without hesitation. Apparently, Madame Bourgeot noticed Daisy’s discomfort, and whispered to me, “Si ton amie veut être femme d’affaires en Europe, il faut qu’elle sache apprécier les cigares. Je peux l’aider, si elle voudrait.” I relayed the offer to Daisy, who gave a quick, surreptitious nod of acceptance. Both the other women at the table had selected cigars, so Madame Bourgeot took her time when it was her turn, commenting aloud on three, indicating which ones she thought would be good for Daisy. My date selected a different one, longer and thinner. Madame Bourgeot announced that she wanted to try Daisy’s cigar, and asked her if she could light it. Of course, Daisy agreed, saving her from revealing her inexperience to the rest of the group. Madame Bourgeot patiently, expertly brought the cigar to life, ending with a long, extended drag that she slowly french-inhaled, giving me a perfect view of the thick cigar smoke as it flowed into her nostrils.
Conversation continued around the table, with Madame Bourgeot continuing to french-inhale her cigar from time to time, while Daisy only puffed on her cigar enough to keep it lit, although she did inhale each puff a little. As the gathering broke up, Mr. Bourgeot gave me his card, offering to connect me to some engineering friends of his in France. His wife gave me her contact information as well for the next time I was in Paris. As if that’s gonna happen any time soon. We said our goodbyes outside the restaurant and climbed into Daisy’s limo. She lit a Virginia Slim Light 120 before we were more than five feet from the curb, and took a long, heavy, cheek-hollowing drag, sucking the smoke deeply into her lungs and exhaling noisily. Before the last wisps of smoke left her mouth, she was dragging again, just as hard and heavy as before. Smoke poured from her nostrils before she removed the cigarette from her mouth. Daisy held this drag for several seconds, and then exhaled carelessly, taking yet another immediate drag, making the cigarette glow bright orange in the dark car. As she brought the cigarette, now almost half-smoked, to her mouth for one more rapid-fire drag, she stopped, and looked at me sheepishly. “Sorry,” Daisy apologized, blushing. “I know it’s not all elegant n’sexy like you like to see but… cigars don’t quite do it for me. If it hadn’t been for you and Madame Bourgeot—by the way, you got seriously flirted tonight. She was trying to figure out if you were my escort or my date—and was a little disappointed with the answer. Still, without her help, I would have made a fool out of myself.” She finally took her delayed drag, but took the time to shape her exhale, sent through the moon roof of the limo. “I promise,” purred Daisy, “I’ll make it up to you when we get to the hotel.”
Daisy removed her mother-of-pearl cigarette holder as soon as we made it to her suite and lit another Virginia Slim Light 120. She stood by the window, effeminately posed with the holder parallel to the floor at her mouth, and produced a long, narrow stream of smoke, backlit by New York City at night. Without looking at me, she drew again, french-inhaling, and directed a stream of smoke from her nose after tilting her head back a little. I was speechless. Daisy’s next drag was long, patient, and without effort; she tilted her head to the side and slightly up, just like her mother, and silently sent smoke into the air. She collected her cigarette case, her lighter, her holder, and walked slowly into the bedroom without a word after finishing her relaxed, silent smoke, knowing that I would follow.
The next morning, Daisy and I were having a leisurely breakfast in her suite without having bothered to dress, complete with sexually-charged glances and innuendo-filled conversation. She happened to glance at the clock and suddenly jumped up, exclaiming, “Shit! I forgot! Mom’s going to meet me for a day of shopping and we were gonna see a show! We gotta get dressed—she’ll be here soon!” She vanished into the bedroom, but I was still feeling the aftereffects of incredible sex lasting until the early hours of the morning, so I dawdled. She popped out of the bedroom, now casually dressed in jeans, and tried to hurry me along. She nervously pulled out one of the long cigarettes, reflexively putting it in the holder as she had for every cigarette since we had arrived at the hotel. Her first drag was quick, the exhale a combination nasal-oral one, and she stood by the window, arms lightly crossed, holder and its long, white occupant held perpendicular to the floor. She looked so casually sexy, and I stood up slowly, enraptured. Daisy turned to me and started, “Will! You gotta get… cleaned up and… dressed…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh wow,” she breathed, looking at my quickly blossoming erection, and took a decidedly inflammatory puff from the holder. I walked towards her, and she took a long, sexy drag from the holder, pursing her lips for the exhale. She quickly put her cigarette out and then we were kissing frantically, crazily… and Daisy hurriedly walked me backwards into the bedroom.
An hour later, she stepped out of the shower for the second time that morning. “C’mon, Will, you gotta clean up and leave before mom gets here,” she cajoled. I stood up, kissing her on the forehead affectionately, lingering, but well aware that I was done for a while. Might as well clean up and get dressed. “I’m not smoking until you’re dressed, so what just happened doesn’t happen again,” she declared, adding with a smile, “Although I certainly don’t have any regrets. None whatsoever.”
Daisy came over to give me a little kiss after I finished dressing, which turned into a long, passionate one. The room phone rang, interrupting us, and Daisy said in panic, “Mom’s in the lobby and she’s on her way up!”
“Why didn’t you just tell her that you’d meet her there? Then I could leave in a few minutes after you’ve gone.”
“I couldn’t,” Daisy whined. “She’s bringing a dress she wants me to see!”
Our panic faded as we resigned ourselves to being caught by her mother yet again, so we waited for the inevitable. “Daisy!” Mrs. Woodford exclaimed, hugging her daughter at the door. “It’s so good to see you again!” She looked over Daisy’s shoulder, and surprise filled her face as she saw me. “Oh! Hello, Will. It’s also good to see you as well.”
“Hi, Mrs. Woodford,” I said, a little sheepishly, blushing, as did Daisy.
She gave her daughter an inquisitive look. “I gather that you are still just—friends?” Daisy’s blush faded as she sighed with exasperation. “I was just asking, dear. You can’t blame me for that.” I explained that I had served as Daisy’s escort for the business dinner, and that it ended too late for me to catch a train back. While all of that was true, it was also clear from the slight smile on Mrs. Woodford’s face that she knew I hadn’t spent the night on the sofa. “Well, it’s just as well that you’re here, Will. I could use a man’s opinion.” She turned to her daughter, and, sounding like an excited teenager, said, “Daisy, you have to see this dress I bought for the ball!” The two women vanished into the bedroom.
I waited patiently while the women giggled and gabbed behind the bedroom door, unable to make out anything distinct until I heard Mrs. Woodford exclaim, “Oh Daisy! It’s darling! May I?” Shortly thereafter, Daisy’s mother stepped out of the bedroom, and I felt like I had been punched in the gut. She was wearing a strapless black dress that displayed her ample cleavage enticingly, without being overly provocative. It hugged her mature curves with enough room to breathe, yet tightly enough to warrant a “dangerous curves” sign. Topping it all off was Daisy’s mother-of-pearl cigarette holder with a fresh Virginia Slim Light 120 in it. Mrs. Woodford took one of her normal, long, smooth, effortless drags, but this time, she intentionally performed a small snap-inhale at the end, still done so casually and naturally that you had to know she normally didn’t do it. She lazily cocked her head, and smoke silently flowed from her mouth, quickly joined by streamers from her nose. “So how do I look from a man’s perspective, Will?”
Holy shit she’s fucking hot!!! I can’t believe how damn good she looks but she’s married and I like Mr. Woodford but ohhh mannn is she sexy! Good thing I’m fucked out from this morning—I don’t know if I could keep my dick soft! All of that went through my head, but what came out of my mouth was, “Absolutely ravishing, Mrs. Woodford,” and I hoped that I didn’t sound the way I felt. “Mr. Woodford is going to be the envy of many a man.” Including me. She dragged again on the holder with an easy grace that her daughter still hadn’t managed to acquire, and I was nearly spellbound. Damn, she is one fine, sexy woman.
Mrs. Woodford made a face and asked Daisy to bring her one of her Mores instead. “These are nicely long, but they still don’t have much of a kick.” Her daughter came out of the bedroom with a lit one and took a drag from it before handing it to her mother, who returned the Virginia Slim Light 120 in exchanged. Daisy didn’t bother to remove it from the holder, so I had to force myself to be a gentleman around these two beautiful, sexy, smoking women instead of the crazy-horny, drooling fool I was on the inside. We talked for about an hour, with Daisy casting annoyed glances at her mother whenever the subject of her and I would come up. The women ended up talking so long that they each had another cigarette, Daisy choosing to have one of her mother’s Mores, and giving me a playful wink. Afterwards, Mrs. Woodford went to change, leaving Daisy and I alone.
She rested her arms on my shoulders, and amusedly noted, “I remember when you were shorter than me.” Daisy drew close, kissing me sweetly, but wet. “I can’t begin to tell you how big of a help you were last night. You were… the perfect companion. You’ll have to teach me about cigars next time I’m in town—or nearby. If you’ve got the time… I’ve got the ticket.” Mrs. Woodford reappeared, interrupting our tête-à-tête. Daisy stepped back and announced, “Sorry, mom. Will and I are still just friends, no matter what you’re hoping.” She leaned forward and whispered to me, “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you,” well aware that her mother could hear. We left the suite, the ladies headed for lunch, while it was back to life as an engineering nerd for me.
That night, fevered images kept waking me to an erect cock. After tossing and turning restlessly in bed, unable to sleep soundly, I thought about Daisy, her holder, her Virginia Slim Light 120s, and started to masturbate. As I brought myself closer to relief, another image came to my mind, inducing a moment of shock and guilt. My fist only paused briefly as I made a weak attempt to change the mental picture, but my dick surged powerfully at the new image. I groaned, “Ohhhh… Ma-riiiieeeee!” loudly as my balls forcefully shot cum into the air. I barely felt the wetness on my body before I cried her name again, any guilt washed away by the potency of my eruption. Eventually, I collapsed onto the bed, now drowsy, unable to muster any contrition or self-reproach over my fantasy cuckolding of Mr. Woodford. It was the first time in my life that I had thought of Daisy’s mother as anything other than “Mrs. Woodford,” and it set a dangerous precedent. I don’t care , was my final thought before a deep, dreamless, and thoroughly sated sleep claimed me.
After that, it seemed as if women had stopped smoking 120s. I had gone almost two months without a single 120 sighting; the co-eds on campus were increasingly sporting short, cork-tipped Camel Lights instead of longer all-white cigarettes, and even my local watering hole, which drew a clientele from throughout the region, had dried up as a source for sightings. Outside of Daisy, I had yet to see another Virginia Slim Light 120, even on the racks at stores, nor had I seen a More 120, except during lunches with Mrs. Woodford. When a side project dropped into my lap, smoking women and sex faded in importance. I didn’t know at the time how much it would transform my life, but since the bars weren’t yielding any new fantasy fodder, I chose to spend my free time working on it and save some money. It started with a phone call from Jeff McShane one evening; we had, against all obstacles, managed to keep in touch since freshman year. He was almost the same stoner surfer dude, except that his dad had managed to make Jeff straighten out from nine to five while working for him. “Dude! Howzit hangin’?”
“The usual,” I said. “Same shit, different day. What’s up?”
Jeff briefly told me about an idea he had to increase the stability of surfboards while simultaneously increasing the speed, and my mind started racing over the engineering puzzles that needed to be solved. “Yer the smartest dude I know, Will. If anybody can figger it out, you can. Whaddaya think?”
It took me two weeks to determine that it might be possible. Energized, I set about making a small-scale prototype, using the physics shop and the wave tank in flow mechanics. I spent more time on that than my dissertation, devoting all my time to pursuing Jeff’s dream. Three months to the day we first spoke, I sent him scale drawings, leaving me with almost two months of postponed dissertation work to make up, as I had all but dropped my prescribed studies for an infinitely more interesting (and challenging) course. Paying the piper wasn’t going to be fun, so I decided to go out for a last blowout.
That’s when my Virginia Slim Light 120 problem first manifested itself. My local bar gave me several excellent sightings that night; it was as if the brand had single-handedly brought back the age of women smoking extra-long cigarettes. My cock stood proud and tall that night as I beat off twice while fantasizing over some of the women I’d seen and the way they smoked their sexy cigarettes. My reckoning was postponed for a second night as I returned to my usual haunt. There, I met blonde-haired and blue-eyed Angela, who was just a little round everywhere. The manager of an apartment complex in the suburbs, she was sitting at a table with some friends, all smoking Virginia Slim Light 120s menthols. A week later, we met for a date. She was still smoking the long cigarettes; I couldn’t hide my attraction… so Angela left my apartment the following afternoon in a post-orgasmic haze.
Monica was next, the following week. Thirty, long-divorced, and smoking Virginia Slim Light 120s with a hungry vengeance, I struck up a conversation over a chance game of doubles air hockey. She wasn’t particularly good-looking, but took cheek-hollowing drags. There was nothing fancy about her all-oral exhales, but she was lean, lithe, horny, and held the cigarette near the tip of the filter, making it look incredibly long compared to her tiny, 4-foot-nine body. She reminded me a little of Karla—until she went down on me in the parking lot and admirably demonstrated her age and attendant experience. Over the next few months, I did enough schoolwork to keep from being kicked out, but spent the majority of my weekends watching sexy Virginia Slim Light 120 women at my watering hole, except for Christmas break. I spent most of that at the Woodford’s summer house with Daisy, who brought an array of cigarette holders to keep me in her extremely horny clutches.
“Y’know, you’re really good at this sex thing,” she giggled on our third night together. “I tried to come back and visit you more often, but I’m working with a lot of West Coast companies right now. If you have any spare cash—let me invest it for you. I think some of these companies are sitting on a gold mine that’s just waiting to be tapped.” When she left, it was back to the watering hole. After the New Year, sightings fell off slowly, from several in a night to one or two over scattered weekends. I guessed that the novelty had worn off. Nonetheless, on those occasions where there was a Virginia Slim Light 120 smoker in the house and she was available, I scored more often than not. Even though I had my share of failures, they weren’t painful or humiliating enough to discourage me from trying to bed the next cute Virginia Slim Light 120 girl I saw.
My schoolwork continued to suffer from all the pussy I was chasing and getting, but it didn’t occur to me that my fetish was slowly taking over my life until one night found me in a strange bar. I was rushing home one day after visiting the suburban office of a company that had hired me to consult. The local team was playing our most hated rivals for first place, and I had scored a ticket. However, a massive accident had shut down the main highway (and quickest route to the stadium) during rush hour, and it was backed up to the suburbs. Since there was no way I would get to the game before it was half-over, I pulled off the highway, looking for a place to watch the game and grab some food and a couple beers.
I found a working-class bar just off the highway, so my suit and tie attracted some attention, but sports makes for fast friends, especially when the home team wins. So I was hanging out after the game and celebrating with them, my jacket and tie in the trunk of my car. More people, especially women, arrived when a cover band started to play. The air grew thick with cigarette smoke, mostly from Marlboros of various kinds, but for once, my fetish seemed to be content to take a back seat to the joy of being in first place, and I continued the sports discussion with my new friends.
Two women walked in, both a little over five feet. Both were wide in the shoulders and hips and legs, one dressed in a short, low-cut silver lamé dress, the other, more conservatively in a floral print blouse and brown pants, and the former immediately began calling loudly for the band to play Bob Seger songs, which was what initially attracted my notice. Then each put a pack of Virginia Slims 120s onto the table and lit up. My fetish woke up, and they had a lot more of my attention. The woman in the silver dress drew hard and long, lifting her chin before sending a smoke trail into the air through her lips, holding the cigarette high and perpendicular to the table where she rested her elbow. Her friend took a short pull, and smoke came from her nose first before she exhaled a somewhat shapeless cloud that floated across the table. I watched casually, the only sign of my interest being a slight distraction from my group’s discussion. It took the first girl about ten minutes after finishing her first to light her second, when the band broke into “Night Moves,” causing her to stand up and hoot and holler throughout.
She came to the now-crowded bar as the band went on break, and pushed her way into the gap between me and somebody else. Quickly lighting yet another cigarette, she waved for the bartender, giving me a perfect view of her at-least DD cup cleavage, but I paid more attention to her cheek-hollowing drag, followed by smoke pouring from her nose and a second, immediate drag before she removed the cigarette from her lips. She was definitely thick-bodied, but my fetish made that less important as long as she kept smoking. “Hey Tina,” one of my group called.
“Oh, hi Randy,” she replied, and took another deep drag, carefully aiming her exhale past my ear. How’s it goin’?” He introduced me, and her posture changed. Tina cocked her hips and stood a little more upright, thrusting her chest slightly forward. She bought me a beer, and by the middle of the band’s second set, I was sitting with her and her friend, Mary. I danced with them, talked with them, and watched them smoke their Virginia Slim Light 120s. The more Mary drank, the longer her drags became, and she began to finish them by sucking in air, open-mouthed, to pull the smoke deep into her lungs. Mary would crane her neck forward, and issue a narrow, silent, thin stream across the table, a big contrast to her earlier, shapeless semi-clouds. Tina was on her second pack of the night, taking incredibly deep drags with an occasional snap-inhale. I was on the floor with Tina when the band played something slow, and we were kissing by the end of the first verse, with my cock pushing against her. It was apparent that Mary knew she’d lost when Tina and I returned to the table, and conversation almost stopped. “Wanna follow me to my place?”
I followed Mary and Tina to a door in an apartment complex on the second floor. Mary unlocked it and Tina giggled, “Good night,” to her friend, who walked in and pulled the door shut. Tina grabbed me and we kissed wantonly as we stood outside Mary’s door. My penis surged, although not quite as strongly as it had in the smoky bar. Tina was barely five feet, and heavier than Sam, who was at least six inches taller. I lost a little more steam when she opened the door and dragged me in after a few minutes of necking on the second-floor balcony. Oh shit! They’re roommates!
As if reading my mind, Tina softly said, “We got our own rooms,” and we were kissing again, as she walked me backwards down the hall to her room. Tina shut the door, unzipped her dress, and shimmied her big body out of it. Lighting a cigarette, she knelt and undid my pants, dragging and exhaling simultaneously a couple of times until she revealed my cock. She took a deep, long drag, and enthusiastically engulfed my cock as smoke poured from her nostrils, and I was rock hard in no time. Tina stood, put out the cigarette, and I aggressively pushed her onto the bed, pulled her legs apart, and entered her without any foreplay, or resistance. Her pussy sloshed and my nuts got wet. She grunted, then began to moan, low and throaty, encouraging me to fuck her even harder. I was giving her all the cock I had, pulling out and plunging back in with almost every stroke. Tina gasped joyous obscenities throughout, even when the head of my cock would bottom out inside her. Her size no longer mattered because her pussy was wet, warm, and silky, and she wanted the pounding I was giving her.
“Uhhh-uhhh-uhhh-cum on my tits, baby!” Tina managed in between ferocious thrusts. Her thick legs pumped back and forth in time, and when I began to feel the tingle more strongly, I pulled out, grabbed her tits, and began fucking the tunnel created when I mashed them together. Tina’s hips fucked frantically at air, her breathing became louder, and she mashed her own boobs together more tightly, pushing against my hands.
“NNGHHH—ARRRRGGGHHH!” I roared as a big blob of searing cum erupted from my dick and hit Tina’s chin with a splat. “NNNNNGGGGHHHH!” Another deliciously fiery burst tore through my cock as I masturbated between her tits, fucking them instead of her. “Ahhhhhh….” There was no mistaking the sound of satisfied relief I made after my balls mustered the last bit of cum I had and dribbled it between her breasts.
“Mmmmmm…” It was answered by an equally satisfied-sounding throaty purr from Tina. Cum dripped from her chin, enlarging the huge pearl necklace I had decorated her with. She smiled sultrily and ran her fingers through it. “That was great,” Tina husked, “Stick around for a while?” She lit a cigarette before cleaning off her neck, and I said sure, but I could use some water. She lazily stood and let me watch her sway her wide hips out of the room, long white cigarette held daintily.
A half-hour, and another Virginia Slim Light 120 later, I was inside Tina’s pussy again, this time fucking her slowly from my favorite position. I was well aware that she hadn’t cum, and although she seemed quite happy to be my live sex doll, I like to give as good as I get. “OHH! WILL!” she loudly grunted, hips jerking as I found her clit with my fingers, “Wh-wh-what—areyoudoingtome!” Tina began to buck uncontrollably, gasping louder and louder, until she squeaked, “UH!”, and her body bowed as much as it could. I kept sliding my dick back and forth inside her, now constantly strumming her clit. Her eyes blinked once, shot open, and got a faraway look in them. Suddenly, Tina started babbling rapidly, so quietly that I could barely hear her say anything, but her mouth was going a mile a minute. She slammed her eyes shut, and a wail that started out as a whisper came out of her, quickly filling the room. “UFFF! UHGOD! OGODOGODOGOD! OH-OHHHHHH… FUCK!”
Since she liked what I was doing, I kept at it, and she came, swearing, growling, screaming, humping wildly… to collapse onto the bed with a huff and… pass out. I grinned. She’s not ever gonna forget me. Unfortunately, unconscious women aren’t a lot of fun in bed so I pulled out of her with a hard cock, and waited. Dammit! I’m not finished yet! When it became evident that Tina was down for the count, I willed my cock to go soft, and left the room to go clean up.
I had completely forgotten about Mary, who was standing at the end of the hall when I came out of the bathroom. Her peeved expression quickly changed when she saw me. “Oh. I thought you were Tina,” she said, complaining, “You guys were too loud for me to sleep.” Mary glanced downward, and then she dragged on the Virginia Slim Light 120 she held, which was still long. My cock noticed, and her glance turned into a hungry stare. She walked towards me, wobbling on her feet; apparently she hadn’t stopped drinking when we left the bar, and stopped a few feet from me. Weaving on her feet, Mary started, “Ummm…” and then took a deep draw from her cigarette, unsure of what to say. My cock jumped as she exhaled, and when she finished, her attention was not on my face.
I don’t think Mary was aware that she had resumed walking towards me, but her hand reached out, and touched my cock. I lost any semblance of decency and kissed her hungrily while she stroked my cock. As soon as we made it to her room, Mary undressed in a flurry of activity, plopped onto the bed, and spread her legs, and we fucked while Tina slept across the hall. Mary was a quiet, but enthusiastic, lay, driving her thick hips at me, gasping as she came, and then jacking me off in her mouth. She had one of the sexiest after-sex smokes I’d ever seen, but I was done. Once the excitement faded, I was embarrassed by my behavior, and when Mary fell asleep, I left. This wasn’t me. I was a shy nerd at heart, not a Virginia Slim Light 120 smoker-seeking dick attached to a mindless body. All of that self-reproach was forgotten when a Fine Arts student showed up at the watering hole the next night on her twenty-first birthday and smoked Virginia Slim Light 120s as she got drunk with her friends. Some jocks circled the group of girls like sharks, being obvious about getting laid. At one point, she escaped from the group and came to the bar for another drink, waiting next to me.
Casually, gentlemanly, I lit the cigarette she pulled out. “Thank you!” she said. “I’m Gail and I just turned twenty-one!” I congratulated her, fighting against my libido, reminding myself of the Tina/Mary incident, and resolving not to make a pass at her. “Aren’t you gonna buy me a birthday drink?”
“Only if you want,” I replied. Indicating the boisterous group she had left, I said, “As good as you look, I figured I’d be the one guy here who wouldn’t hit on you.”
She took a short puff from the long cigarette, tossed her brownish-blonde hair, and exhaled immediately in a fine, brief stream. “You’re too sweet,” she smiled as I paid for her drink. “Thanks for the drink—and the light.”
Gail started coming to the bar to ask me for a light. Near closing time, she came over and said, “We’re going to Jerry’s,” another bar, and asked if I wanted to come with. I declined, and Gail did something completely unexpected: she announced that she was too wasted to keep going, and sat next to me at the bar. The bouncer and bartender kept me from getting my face pounded in, and we left. Gail wrapped her arms around me when we stepped outside and kissed me, tasting of fruit punch and Virginia Slim 120s. My penis surged against her. “Y’know why you’re gonna get laid tonight?” I said no. “’Cause you told me I was pretty, an’ then you left me alone. Those other guys acted like I should know the reason they were interested an’ they never let up. You’re sweet an’ nice…”
Jeff called me a few days later. It had been almost six months since he’d gotten the scale drawings. “YO DUDE! WE’RE GONNA BE RICH!” he roared. “IT FUCKIN’ WORKS!” He excitedly told me about working on the prototype, testing it and breaking an arm, modifying it, and re-testing.
“That’s great,” I replied without much enthusiasm. “But it’s a long way to rich. You’ve got one prototype.” I was slightly annoyed at the distraction from the experimental design I was working on.
“But my dad thinks that it’s a great idea and that there’s money in it. You know he doesn’t get excited over anything unless it makes big bucks. I can tell because he wants to patent it and cut you in for ten percent.” I told him that was fine, but he persisted. “No way! If my old man wants to give you ten, you’re worth at least fifty.” He turned sober, letting me know that he wasn’t just stoned raving. “You figured it all out. I just built the thing. I’m gonna cut you in for eighty… just don’t tell my old man until the contract’s signed.” It made me uncomfortable, so I negotiated a two-thirds share for myself because Jeff refused to take any more than a third. Feeling guilty, I gave him an idea I had to improve the original design and promised to work on it. It’s just a patent that nobody will care about, anyway.
My doctoral project was not going anywhere, and the dean of the engineering school had run out of patience. Even though I was the top-ranked grad assistant by a wide margin, and my dissertation advisor had me giving half his lectures, the dean was tired of doling out scholarship money to someone who couldn’t (or more accurately, wouldn’t) finish. He told me I had to graduate by the end of the next school year. So what can I do for the rest of my life? I dejectedly thought, even as I worked on Jeff’s pet project. This is a lot more fun than my dissertation.
Even the imposed deadline did little to resurrect my academic verve. I was too busy playing stud muffin for any horny Virginia Slim Light 120 girl who happened to show up at the watering hole. Tammy was a new cocktail waitress at the watering hole who smoked Marlboro 100s. She was kind of hot in a slightly trashy way, but blew me off pretty quickly, preferring muscular types with shit for brains. However, two of her friends dropped in one weeknight while I was hanging out, avoiding schoolwork yet again. Both Carol, a round, gregarious black-haired girl, and Sherri, slender with frizzy brown hair, smoked Virginia Slim Menthol Lights. They were easy to talk to, and we hung out together. Near the end of the night, Sherri ran out of cigarettes. Instead of bumming her regular brand from her friend, she chose to ask me for a More Menthol. Carol smiled, “She’s smokin’ a twig! Somebody made an impression!”
Sherri and Carol started showing up more often when Tammy worked, but I always related to them as female friends. One night, Sherri showed up without Carol, and with two packs of Virginia Slim Light Menthol 120s. A couple of hours later, I was coming back from the john, preparing to leave with Sherri, and heard Tammy tell her friend, “I told’ja it would work.” Nonetheless, I wound up dating Sherri for three months. She was a “stroke me-poke me” kind of girl who orgasmed regularly from missionary sex even though she usually lay passively on the bed, legs spread as I thrust away from above. She loved the sex, but when I wasn’t hard, we had little in common, and the relationship fizzled. I also found it quite instructive that Sherri went back to smoking the menthol light 100s almost immediately after we broke up. When more of Tammy’s friends (some downright unattractive for a multitude of reasons) started showing up at the watering hole smoking Virginia Slims Light 120s and hitting on me, it was apparent that Tammy knew about my fetish and wasn’t shy about spreading the word around to her horny friends.
That effectively ended my days of being a play toy for Virginia Slim Light 120 girls, as well as being a regular at that watering hole.
I had also started to receive checks from California, proceeds from the sale of surfboards with my modification. Jeff had been successful at finding a surfboard maker willing to try the non-standard design. The week after I broke up with Sherri, I got one for four thousand dollars and a quickly-scrawled note: he’d found a second company. Teaching high school physics might not be so bad, especially if I get an extra four grand from time to time. If the Ph.D doesn’t work out…
My lunches with the Woodfords had also continued throughout. They were again on speaking terms with my folks, so the only thing missing was Daisy. Truthfully, I didn’t miss her so much. Her prediction about my ability to find women for sex had come true, if delayed by a few years, and knowing that I could never have what we once did made her absence easier to accept, even when we started talking regularly on the phone like we did in college. One afternoon, I was having lunch with Mrs. Woodford and she said, “Will, would you like to come over for dinner Thursday? Mr. Woodford is going to be away on business, and frankly, I miss having someone to cook for.” Thursday night, I showed up at their home and she greeted me, dressed casually in capri pants and a simple cotton top, smoking a More. She opened a bottle of wine, and we just chatted in their well-appointed kitchen. “You know my daughter doesn’t cook any more?” she said as she pulled a deliciously fragrant boeuf bourguignon from the oven.
“I’m not surprised. She’s on the road six months out of the year, and spends another three in Paris, the city of food,” I rejoined. Mrs. Woodford seemed a little surprised that I knew about Daisy’s life, but very happy that her daughter and I had been keeping in closer communication. I think that she held out hope that Daisy and I would eventually marry, right up to the moment she watched me say, “I do” to Giselle.
We started on our second bottle of wine with dinner and continued talking throughout the magnificent meal. She seemed to think that there was more potential in the surfboard patent than I did, and offered her husband’s services as a financial advisor. After reserving a generous portion of leftovers for me to take home, she put dinner away, and went upstairs to retrieve more vacation photos. I didn’t mind spending an evening with a family friend, especially one who was obviously missing having a family of her own. “Would you be so kind, Will?” I turned to see Mrs. Woodford with an unlit More in one of her holders. “You know how I like to play with my holders,” she smiled. I had finally gotten used to her extremely sexy smoking over the course of our now twice-a-month lunches, but the holder made her hot again, making me have flashbacks of forbidden dreams. She sat next to me, continuing our visit as if nothing was happening, with me stealing as many glances at her as I dared.
Mrs. Woodford opened a third bottle and began to talk about their upcoming Australian tour, stopping to fit another More into the holder she’d bought on that family cruise many years ago, the one that convinced Daisy to buy her own More holder. She waited expectantly for the light she knew I would provide, and resumed talking about the trip after taking one of those seductive drags of hers. When the conversation hit a small lull, she drew on the holder and as always, tilted her head to the side, slightly upwards, easing her chest forward for a silent, enchanting exhale. “Ummm… I forgot to ask you… how did Mr. Woodford like the dress?” I asked, a little uncomfortable with my racing heart and the reflected pulse in my penis.
“Oh,” Mrs. Woodford began, with a note of disappointment. “We wound up not going to the ball. He had a business emergency, so I haven’t yet had another occasion to wear it. I can’t quite wear that dress to a club function. People would talk.” It was silent for a few moments as she contemplated the More burning away in its holder, and then she sat up, tapping me on the knee. “Will… did Daisy ever—talk—to you about Mr. Woodford and I?”
I didn’t know where this was going, so I told her no. She sighed. “A few years ago, my husband had an affair. He ended it before I found out, and to his credit, told me. I was… well, let’s just say, spurred into action.” I recalled the Christmas that Daisy had almost sexed me to death to get away from her parents acting like teenagers. “Well, actions have consequences, and in his case, the consequence is about six years old now,” she elaborated, drinking more wine. “I—found out—” Mrs. Woodford stopped, wondering if I was going to ask for more detail, but I waved at her to continue, so it wouldn’t be any more painful for her than it already was. “—that the bitch has been using that to blackmail him into continuing their affair, but I put a stop to that. You can’t blackmail a man over an affair if the wife knows about it. Mr. Woodford is in Phoenix right now, setting up a permanent trust and child support for his child—at my insistence.” Her displeasure was apparent.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Woodford,” I said, reaching to hug her. Mrs. Woodford put her hand out to stop me, and placed another More in the holder. I lit it, and she took a long, intoxicating drag. “So, I informed my husband that, at some point, I would be undertaking my own… dalliance. What’s good for the goose and all that.” Mrs. Woodford drew on the holder again, looking regal, elegant, even in her casual attire… and enticing. She looked at me, narrowing her eyes, and her next drag and exhale boldly stepped over the line she had always straddled between elegant and seductive.
Ohhhh she’s not doing what I think she’s doing… “But… I… I… Mr. Woodford…”
She reclined into the chair and fixed me with a look. “Will, do you know why women over 50 are wonderful?” She drew on the holder, her eyes encouraging me to watch. As the last wisps of smoke were leaving her lips, I regained enough brain function to say no. “We don’t yell, we don’t tell, we don’t—” She mimed her belly growing as if pregnant. “—swell… and we’re grateful as hell. I know how much my smoking excites you.” Her next drag underscored her point. My ex-girlfriend’s fifty-year-old mother was trying to seduce me—and succeeding. “Ever since I started smoking Mores—oh god you are just too cute when you blush!”
“Mrs. Woodford—”
“Marie. At least for tonight.”
“You’re—ummmm—drunk.” I purposely avoided the familiarity, trying to keep our distance.
“No, I’m tipsy,” she corrected indignantly. “When I’m drunk, I flirt to make men look at me so I can feel desirable. When I’m tipsy—” Mrs. Woodford dragged alluringly on her holder and finished. “—I can be very seductive if I choose, because I’m sober enough to know how to be desirable. Especially if I know your weakness.” As if to demonstrate, she french-inhaled from her holder, slow, thick, and creamy. “My husband loves it when I do that,” she husked. “After knowing you for fourteen years, I know that you do, too. Why don’t you just give in and do what you’ve been wanting for the past dozen years or so?” she baited. How the fuck do they always know? I invoked her husband’s name again, hoping that might bring her to her senses. “Actually, if Alastair ever did find out,” she said, suddenly looking sober, and sounding alarmingly rational, “I think he would be relieved that it was you.”
I refused to believe that. “At least he would know for certain that it was over,” she explained. “Now, if I were to make this offer to the hot new tennis pro at the club—he’s young and quite good-looking, and he makes all the men at the club a little—nervous. Rumor has it that he’s hung like a polo pony and available for extremely private instruction—my husband might—wonder—every time I go for a—tennis lesson. But for now—” She took another seductive and enthralling drag, glancing at the lump forming in my jeans. “—I’m not willing to go that far, so temporary dalliance, most preferably with you, it is.” Mrs. Woodford smiled. “Your other option,” she gaily added, “is to leave, but I think both of us will have regrets if you do.” To add more fuel to the fire, she continued, “I can guarantee you that Daisy will understand. After all, you’re just friends now, and she’s shared you before even when you were more than just… friends. The only difference between me and Marie Bishop or Sheila is that Daisy isn’t here—”
I gasped, and my face turned beet-red. “Don’t look so shocked, Will,” she said. “It’s obvious when you disappear to the summer house as a threesome and come back a few days later all smiles as a pair. If nothing else, I know my daughter.”
She put another More into her favorite cigarette holder and regarded me expectantly, holder held high, posing regally, yet seductively inviting. Mrs. Woodford had calmly, analytically, shot down all of my objections, and I had had dreams about this happening ever since she had modeled the dress. I just never thought that she could ever be so—logical—about it. You can always walk out the door and fantasize when you get home. “Marie,” I said, not entirely believing it was my voice or what I was about to say, “why don’t you go upstairs and change into that dress you’ve never worn?” Her smile grew wide enough to split her face, and I watched her sway her mature ass up the staircase with lust.
Even without make-up, the dress, originally intended to seduce her husband, allowed her to portray the elegant, dangerous, and sexy femme fatale with a cigarette holder perfectly, rendering me helpless to resist. When she had finished vamping, Marie showed absolutely no reluctance in revealing her mature body to me. She was magnificent, and I took my time appreciating all of her with oral worship before settling in between her legs to send her to orgasm with my tongue.
I gave her the time it took me to wipe my face and position myself to recover. I enthusiastically drove myself into Marie with a huff, answered by a loud moan from her. She shuddered and vibrated around me, momentarily keeping me from moving. Only for a moment. I raised my hips and sank into her a second time, and then a third and she raised her knees and her arms were around my back and she was moaning my name and my dick started to tingle and it became more intense with each thrust… “Ohhhh… ohhhh… no,” I moaned as my nuts tightened, orgasmic but frustrated. It was the shortest fuck of my life; I came gobs inside her with a blissful sigh, getting a long, hungry kiss in exchange.
“I’m sorry, Marie,” I gasped after I rolled off her. She giggled, sounding like her daughter, and rolled onto me and we kissed some more.
“Fantasies coming true will do that to you,” she smiled, “but I assure you that you took very good care of me first.” She stood up to fetch her cigarette case and holder.
“No,” I asserted. “Not yet.”
Marie froze, giving me an inquisitive look that quickly became surprise, and finally turned into comprehension. “Then I’ll be right back,” she purred, leaving the room with gaily swinging hips. How many hundreds of boners did she inspire when she was younger?
It took more than a few minutes for her to come back into the room, having applied make-up. She tossed her lighter onto the bed. “I thought I should make the effort,” said Marie happily as she deliberately removed a More from her cigarette case and patiently fitted it into her holder. Marie cocked her hips, holder parallel to the floor and held from beneath. Seeing my cock jump, she smiled, and in a near-whisper, she breathed, “May I have a light?” She posed throughout her cigarette, stealing glances at my crotch as my cock grew. “Now,” she smiled after exhaling her last drag, “may I—?”
Now I was in my element, hips moving easily, propelling my fully-erect cock in and out of Marie in a steady, automatic rhythm. We kissed tenderly in between her joyous moans. She would alternate cradling my face with running her hands around my hips and body as she sighed my name with increasing passion. The flush rose on her body, her hips moved with more urgency, and Marie cried out in orgasm. My erection remained rigid, the sizzle nowhere in evidence, and I knew that I was going to last this time. Marie came again… and again, finally pushing at me and gasping, “Stop!” I started to withdraw, but she grabbed my hips and held me tightly, buried deeply inside her. “Oh my god, Will!” she exhaled. “I had no idea…” She kissed me again, giggling, “But you’re going to have to give me a breather! Remember, I’m an old lady!”
“Marie… you are soooo hot!” I retorted. “You’re not old!” We kissed some more, and my erection began to fade slightly after a few minutes, although it remained firm inside of her.
She smiled and raised her legs. “I’m ready for some more, now. You feel so good, even better when you move, and I don’t want to waste this marvelous… cock… of yours.” Hearing her say “cock” was energizing in itself, and I quickly found a new, mutually satisfying rhythm. “Uh… uhhhh… uhhhh…” Marie whimpered, pitch rising to indicate her orgasmic climb. My cock began to sing as well, and my own journey towards orgasm started shortly after hers. Marie’s pussy began to vibrate, she wailed, and then I came—hard. Bright white light obliterating my vision, temporary deafness, curled toes—the whole nine yards. Marie continued to hold me tightly well after I went soft.
I emitted an exhausted, well-satisfied groan when she let go of me. We lay next to each other without speaking for a while, fingers entwined. Eventually, Marie got up, moving stiffly to her cigarette case. She returned to the bed, sitting with a huff and prepared her holdered cigarette. As I lay on my back, she crossed her legs with some effort and posed on the side of the bed. Her second drag and exhale were the stuff of many a smoking fetish dream for me. And that was the last thing I remembered until morning.
I woke up at 11 from a deep, peaceful sleep, and took a quick shower. I was slightly sore, but echoes of last night sent continuous little thrills through my body. Marie had been right: it was a long-held fantasy come true. Dressing quickly, I came down the steps to see her waiting for me. She was once again casually dressed, but had carefully reapplied her make-up, and looked radiant. “Good morning, Will,” said Marie softly. “You were sleeping so peacefully that I didn’t want to wake you. Come into the kitchen and I’ll fix you some breakfast—or lunch, whichever you prefer.”
“Mr. Woodford called this morning,” Marie calmly began after my meal. “He’s not going to be home until Sunday because he wants to take Daisy’s half-brother to a baseball game.” She seemed amazingly placid and at ease with that. “I told him that it was good of him to live up to his obligations, and that I would be fine.” She lit a More and placed it into a short black holder, smiling knowingly as I reacted. “So it seems that I have a little more time on my own than I first thought.” Marie cocked her head slightly and exhaled in that naturally sexy way of hers.
“Would you like me to stay?” There was nothing cool and calm about the way I asked.
She took another lazy, yet elegant drag and french-inhaled, encouraging me to watch. “I was hoping you would say that,” Marie softly said, considering her cigarette. After a moment’s silence, she resumed, “My husband isn’t as—easily excited—as you, Will. He’s a little older now, and has always been very—conventional.” She paused, obviously thinking, and quietly, tentatively asked, “Would you consider not being—conventional—with me?”
Our first sex of the day took place in the kitchen, with me fucking Marie from behind and playing with her full tits as she leaned against the counter for support. The cigarette she’d started as a seduction tool lay on the counter half-smoked, having burned out shortly after I had undressed, positioned, and firmly entered her. “OH! Standing—and in the kitchen!” gasped Marie. “Will, this… this is—certainly—ohhhhh shit! Different!” Soon she was crooning, “Ohh… ohh… ohh…” with each gentle thrust while rocking counter to me, as if she’d been doing this all her life. “ Ohh… we… Powell… women… Ohhhhh you’re so long! Havealways… been… graced… withahighsexdrive!” she moaned.
Later, we sat in her living room, clothed once more, recovering. Marie lit another holdered cigarette, flirtatiously toying with me through my fetish. The weak pulse that went through me said that it would be a while, but I would be good for at least one more, and I continued to ogle my sexy holder lady, making no effort to be discreet about it. “You know,” Marie said, sucking in air at the end of a drag, “if I were Daisy’s age and not related to her… you wouldn’t stand a chance.” She smiled impishly before exhaling in a carefree manner. “You are so much easier than Alastair ever was—not that he was all that difficult to seduce.”
“Soooo… you’ve been doing this for a while, I take it.”
“Since I was sixteen,” she happily confirmed. “It was called ‘teasing’ back then. My friends and I learned how to smoke—we practiced french rolls, smoke rings, how to hold a cigarette and all that. It was… just normal for young ladies at the time, and we used smoking to flirt, since things were much less overtly sexual in those days.” Marie’s candor and ease with our prolonged adulterous liaison was made it easy not to feel any guilt. “Women of my—status—would use cigarette holders at formal society affairs and formal parties as a matter of course. It wasn’t the noteworthy eccentricity it is now.”
“So how did you meet—Mr. Woodford? And how did you figure out that he—?” I couldn’t quite bring myself to finish the question aloud.
Marie gaily continued, “It was at a—” she paused, grinning, “—fishing expedition.” Marie gaily proceeded to explain the old society convention where businessmen would host “gatherings” for their young, single, soon-to-be-successful protégés, while their wives would work the other side of the street, relying on their social networks to bring attractive young women who were, “eligible to be-Mrs. Rich Businessman,” she giggled. “We were ostensibly there for the purpose of providing a pleasant distraction from the demanding, fatiguing world of men. Nevertheless, all of us knew that the men were there to be caught using our feminine wiles.” Marie smiled sardonically. “Even though the men, of course, believed that they were the ones doing the fishing.
“It was fairly obvious which of the eight men at the party really liked me. At a distance, Alastair would always blush slightly and look away. Unless I was preparing to smoke, with my ivory holder and gloves—then he’d look. I thought he was handsome, and it certainly didn’t hurt that he was going to inherit Woodford and Family. It was also fun smoke-flirting with him. I had him gallantly lighting my cigarettes within an hour.” Marie smiled, and her eyes grew nostalgic for several quiet moments. “I showed him favor by exclusively accepting lights from him. The other young men had gotten the idea towards the tail end of the evening, and had either been captured by another young lady or departed.”
“I have to ask,” I interrupted, “just how many men there were vying to light your cigarette?”
“Seven,” recalled Marie with easily detected pride. “And I know for a fact that the eighth is gay.” I let a whistle go. “You can’t really tell from the wedding photos, but if I could have worn the styles from today…” I waited for her to finish, salivating at the image. “…I’d still be married to Alastair. He was the prime catch in town. Once it became apparent that he was interested in that horrendous Betty Nixon as well, I really had no choice. I had to save him from making such a terrible mistake,” she wryly smiled.
Marie lit a More, continuing to use the black holder. My pulse quickened. “I realized that he liked to watch women smoke, so I started smoking with all the stylish little tricks around him to give him something to watch. Betty smoked, but she didn’t do anything… special because she told me only trashy women smoke like that. Bitch. She practiced just as much as any of us.” She stood and stretched. “Let’s go to the atrium for some wine. I could use some sunshine.” Under her breath she hissed, “Just thinking about Betty Nixon again… ooooh!” but still loud enough for me to hear. I cocked my head. Clearly, there was a longer story here. Marie smiled sunnily, her ill-tempered moment gone, and asked, “Are leftovers all right for dinner, dear?” Better leave the Betty Nixon thing alone.
We settled onto the atrium for an informal dinner. If anything, the boeuf bourguignon was even more spectacular the second night. “Anyway, Alastair wound up dating Betty for four months because she’d managed to convince him that I was ‘damaged goods.’ Since you want to know—” How did she figure that out? “—that’s why I still want to kill her. She started the nasty rumor, and I heard she bribed some guy to lend credence to it just so she could marry Alastair.” Marie sipped some wine. “At any rate, I ran into them at some club function where I had a dashing, but stupid, escort for the evening. I remember pulling out the ivory holder as we were talking, and he fell all over himself to light my cigarette with the same silly look you get on your face when I smoke a More—with or without a holder. I let him see every slow french roll, being as feminine as I could, and he watched me.
“Of course, once I finished the cigarette—pity there weren’t any 100’s or 120’s back then—the spell was broken and we went our separate ways. I distinctly remember hearing Betty tell him that it proved I was a whore, because only whores used cigarette holders and did french rolls… among other French things. I was going to gouge her eyes out right then, but Alastair had turned around to look at me when they were walking away. He broke up with Betty the following week, just before she could reasonably expect a ring, and after a proper delay, we started dating and he proposed exactly at the six-month mark.” Marie allowed me to light another of her Mores, this one in a mother-of-pearl holder like Daisy’s, and I guess I stared for a moment. “My daughter bought it for me because I think hers is lovely,” she smiled before resuming, “I learned on our honeymoon that if I wanted to seduce my husband, a cigarette holder works wonders, and still does to this day. For you, I don’t need the holder, just a More.” She patted my leg, and leaned forward, dropping her voice to share a confidence. “But if you want to know how special I think you are… Alastair was my first and only—until last night.”
Later that night, Marie requested, “that thing you do with your mouth… for a last time. Don’t get me wrong, my husband is a wonderful, attentive lover… but he’s not—as diverse as you, and I’m not as—adventurous—as my daughter, so that suits me just fine.” I fulfilled her request, and she gave me a final gift in exchange, a prolonged, slow lovemaking. I woke up around four in the morning, awakening her by starting to worship her body orally, and refusing to stop as she initially asked. I kept at it, and Marie gave in, moaning, “Oh the hell with it… my husband’s going to be worn out until much later this evening… ohhhhh… my daughter’s an idiot… ohhhh, Willlll… that… that feels… wonnn-derrr-fulllll…”
I left the Woodford house shortly after Marie went back to sleep. She called me at two-thirty to tell me she was on her way to get Mr. Woodford from the airport. “Marie, you are one amazing woman,” I tenderly said.
“My husband is a very lucky man, isn’t he,” she giggled. There was a brief pause, and then she turned serious. “Will… I picked you because of the way you look at me when I smoke, and I know that will not change, so, moving forward, it will be as if hiding in plain sight. But…” Marie hesitated. “Your obvious and intense attraction towards smoking women worries me—for you. I worry that some unscrupulous woman may use it and you will find yourself—unhappily attached. That can be damagingly expensive—far beyond mere financial ruin,” she warned. “Promise me you’ll look for the right girl, not the—sexiest smoker.”
For the first time, I clearly realized that was the road I was headed down. Let’s face it, she wouldn’t have been able to seduce you if she wasn’t so damn sexy when she smoked. It made you forget that she’s married to a man who has been one of your biggest supporters, the mother of your ex-girlfriend, and that you had no business spending three nights with her! I gave Marie my solemn promise.
Marie replied, “I hope for your sake that you can keep it. I’d absolutely hate to see you wind up with a Betty Nixon hanging around your neck like a millstone.” Even though I’d never met Ms. Nixon, she didn’t sound conducive to happy ever after. “Oh, and Will,” Marie added, “if she’s truly the right one… I’ll be happy to spend some time with her—and give her some pointers on—improving her love life.”
I love that woman, and after our affair, I have even less of an idea how the Woodfords only had one child. I’m sure it wasn’t for a lack of trying.