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.
My affair with Mrs. Woodford had lasted three days. I had lunch with her and Mr. Woodford two weeks later, and it was as she said: we hid in plain sight. I looked at her with fetish-powered attention while she smoked her Mores, and she silently returned her regal acceptance of my adoration as always, except that she would give me a look of apologetic sympathy from time to time. Mr. Woodford didn’t notice anything, because to him, nothing about our lunches had changed. He knew I had always thought that his wife was attractive, and they both appreciated it for the boost it gave to their respective egos. Besides, I’m sure that Marie settled the problem of him straying once and for all. I wished I could find a wife who was so sexually aware, with such an appetite… but Daisy had put herself out of my reach.
My biggest problem became answering the question of what to do after I got kicked out of school. The deadline to finish my Ph.D was nine months away, and there was no way I could cram two-plus years of dissertation work into that. Two-plus years that had been spent fucking around with Jeff’s surfboard project and chasing sexy smokers at the watering hole instead of working diligently towards my Ph.D. So why prolong the agony? I decided that dropping out of school would be the best course of action, in addition to being the honest one. Unfortunately, it would have to wait until the end of the semester because of my teaching obligations. Besides, I had almost finished a slight adjustment to the design of the stabilizer and needed to use the flow mechanics lab for another two weeks. I had been spending my weekends there because it made it easy to stay out of bars and help me to keep my promise to Mrs. Woodford. I hadn’t encountered any sexy 120 smokers around campus, keeping my daily distraction and temptation to a minimum.
As much as I hated to admit it, working on Jeff’s dream was more interesting (and infinitely more fun) than my own schoolwork. I was sitting in my apartment early one evening, puzzling over an equation that was giving one of my compatriots hell. Keeping my mind busy helped mask the bouts of self-recrimination and depression over my pending drop-out. Hope they don’t ask for the scholarship money back. The phone rang, and if was Jeff. “Duuuuude… what’s going on?” He sounded far-away and more spaced-out than normal. Not in the mood for half-baked rambling tonight, Jeff. “Ummmm… can you come to California by Thursday?”
Is he crazy? “Just how stoned are you? Of course not!”
“Dude… I’m not high,” he indignantly protested. “I’m at work… I just got a call from this company… an’… an’…” I waited impatiently for him to finish. “They’re interested in the gizmo. Like buy the patent for beaucoup bucks interested. I called to ask how much you wanna ask for.”
I froze, my heart racing. I could be a millionaire! Then my brain kicked in. “Jeff, have you spoken to your dad?” He said no, he had literally just hung up with the prospective buyers. “Tell them that you’re interested and you’ll get back with them as soon as you’ve had a chance to talk with your partner in detail. And don’t tell anyone else except your dad.” He asked me what I was going to do. “Get some good advice from people I trust,” I replied. I immediately called Daisy, who told me to call her father before he left for work the next day. He called me to his company office that afternoon to hear the general plan he had developed for me. A week later, I was flying to California in first class, accompanied by an intellectual property lawyer who had known me since high school from meeting at various parties the Woodfords had thrown over the years.
Jeff’s dad was a pain. First, he offered me a hundred thousand dollars in cash to sign away my rights to the “McShane Stabilizer.” He said that since I hadn’t spent a penny to acquire the patent, nor had I spent anything in the construction or marketing, he had a lawyer who would prove that the agreement between Jeff and I was made in bad faith, and could be voided. He backed down as soon as my lawyer said that he “looked forward to meeting his lawyer and having those discussions.” At the meeting the next day, I noted how quickly the attitudes of the people on the other side of the table changed as soon as my lawyer introduced himself. Thank god I didn’t leave this up to Jeff’s dad. The lawyer just earned his keep.
The negotiations proceeded quickly from there until Mr. McShane refused to let Jeff sign anything unless the device was renamed the “McShane Stabilizer,” pissing off everybody at the table. Before I capitulated from fatigue and annoyance, my lawyer called a recess, and in a separate meeting with Jeff’s dad, negotiated three percent off Jeff’s share of the royalties. When all was said and done, my name was still on the patent, but not the device. I received a lump-sum payment that would cover the lawyer’s up-front fee while still putting a decent amount in the bank, a little less than two-thirds of future royalties, and an engineering job offer. After celebrating that night in a non-smoking bar full of beautiful young women, almost none of whom smoked, I decided that California wasn’t the place for me.
When I returned home, I arranged to give the university half of what I earned on the patent, because I never would have been able to do it without school facilities. I thought I would get some thanks and handshakes as I gave them my intent to leave at the end of the semester. The dean of engineering was anything but grateful, accusing me of exploiting university resources for personal gain, and demanding that I turn over the entire patent agreement to the engineering school before he personally expelled me, and wondered if he should investigate the possibility of suing me. I began wishing that I had brought my lawyer, but Dean Wilcox interrupted his diatribe using her quiet, yet extremely authoritative voice. First, she made me reiterate who represented me, both legally and financially. With a sardonic little smile, she turned on the engineering dean, pointedly noting that my lawyer (as well as the university’s counsel) would be well aware that, “the university has no such policy in place for students, as opposed to faculty, and that your threat is an empty one.” Dean Jordan turned red and sputtered. Then she piled on by reminding everyone in the room that I was a close personal friend of one of their “distinguished alumna and Century Club members. It would be a shame if she were to hear that the school treated her friend so—poorly.” The engineering dean gave me a baleful stare as the alumni giving director started to prattle on, worried about the implied threat. Mercifully, the chancellor interrupted, “Mr. Redmond, we all thank you for this kind acknowledgement of the university’s role in your accomplishment. What are your future plans?”
I told the chancellor that I was planning to teach at the high school and community college level after I officially dropped out. “Mr. Redmond,” the chancellor replied, “it would be a shame if this institution were to shun one of its most innovative—sit down, Paul—students. Would you consider a teaching appointment here as a faculty member?” The engineering dean objected in decidedly non-academic terms, protesting that I was buying my doctorate. I pointed out that I could give a presentation on the registered patent to any academic jury he chose, and a deal was quickly struck from there. On graduation, Dean Wilcox would give me an appointment in the undergraduate school as a tenured adjunct instructor—I would teach undergraduates. At the end of the meeting, Dean Wilcox dryly said, “Please don’t screw this up, Mr. Redmond.” Then she smiled.
When I told Daisy that I was going to graduate, she offered me a week in the south of France with her, on her as a graduation gift. When I started to argue, she said that she was on her way out and couldn’t talk any longer. Her parents took my family to dinner that night to celebrate; it felt a little odd without Daisy being there to complete the link between the families, but the fences had been mended enough that we all celebrated together. I went to the watering hole by myself after dinner, hoping to find some of the old regulars to share my good fortune. While the same bartenders were there, Tammy had quit about three months after I had stopped showing up, and not surprisingly, her friends had stopped dropping by. Thursday nights usually only attracted locals and regulars, none of whom smoked Virginia Slim Light 120s, so I enjoyed the free congratulatory drinks and camaraderie, forgetting about my single state. There was only one non-regular there, a slender, bookish-looking woman sitting by herself at a table, easy to ignore, kind of… mousy-looking, with long, straight, but thin blonde hair, and wearing thick wire-rimmed glasses. She was unremarkable in every way—until she reached into her purse, and pulled out the instantly-seductive Virginia Slims Light 120s. Tapping it forcefully before opening it, she aggressively tore the cellophane off the top, and everything went into slow-motion for me. Before I knew it, I was paying for the glass of wine she ordered. The woman looked up, startled when the waitress pointed me out at the bar. She looked at the glass as if debating, put the pack onto the table, and took a tentative sip before looking at me again. She gave me the barest hint of a smile, and pulled a cigarette from the fresh pack. Somehow, I was there to light it, and while she was obviously a little creeped out by my presumptuous action, she sighed, scanned the room, and finally asked me to sit.
She may not have looked like a smoker, but her drags were brief and deep, the exhale a combination, more nasal than oral, without many attendant feminine gestures. It was straightforward smoking, but it wasn’t unsexy, especially given the thickness and duration of her exhales. An air of loneliness and resignation hung around her, almost thicker than the smoke. Her name was Linda, and she had apparently been stood up by her blind date, which seemed to be a common occurrence for her. After she had quickly downed two more glasses of wine, Linda was almost chain-smoking, definitely buzzed, and unhappy with men in general. Nonetheless, she was obvious about being very interested in me.
Linda lit a cigarette as soon as we got back to my place. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, reverting to her mousy bearing, “I should have asked you about smoking first.” I pointed out that she knew I smoked as well. “Well… it’s bad,” she equivocated. “A lot of guys won’t date a smoker now.” Linda drew on the cigarette, looking slightly embarrassed and ashamed at a moment where she could have been very seductive.
“Well, I’m not ‘a lot of guys,’ and I think it can be very sexy.” I declared, breaking whatever restraint she had. We kissed with crazed passion, but when the clothes came off, she was hesitant, waiting for me to initiate everything, and making it clear that cunnilingus was out of her comfort zone by stopping me with a surprisingly strong grasp each time I started towards her pussy. Instead, I sent her to a crying, moaning, gasping orgasm with gentle, long strokes, lasting longer than normal due to the rubber she insisted I wear. The muted sensation delayed, but did not diminish my own release, after which we both fell asleep. Linda left at about six the next morning without giving me a way to contact her, and I was—a little disappointed. Although she was small-chested and unremarkable-looking, she wasn’t ugly and seemed nice enough. If anything, I thought that it was odd she seemed embarrassed that she smoked, and that I found it attractive. After all, she chose to let me pick her up from a bar. Nonetheless, I was going to get my doctorate, and get to do what I loved to do for a living. Life was great.
Daisy came home for Christmas and took me out to a fancy dinner the day after. “So when do you start? You’re not graduating until May, right?”
I nodded. “Basically, I get to use this upcoming semester for practice. I have one or two lectures each day—except Fridays, grading, and office hours, but I don’t have to fit research in. It’s cool—I’m on the student schedule with almost no homework.” We talked about our lives and what we’d been doing like the old friends we were, me watching her smoke a couple of Virginia Slim 120s with a short black cigarette holder after dessert as we chatted. Each time I saw her, she was closer to having a natural sexiness in smoking, much like her mother, even though Daisy’s distinct style was slightly different. It was lust provoking as usual, but I thought I was able to hide it because she hadn’t given me any indication that this was anything other than old friends catching up. As she paid the check, Daisy smiled and ran her hand lightly over mine. “Doctor Redmond,” she purred, soft and throaty, “There’s still the matter of your Christmas present.”
The following morning after a night of unrestrained sex in the summer house, I padded into the living room to be greeted by the sight of Daisy smoking a Virginia Slim 120 through her mother-of-pearl holder, silhouetted against the falling snow outside. Lost in her own thoughts, unaware of my presence, she took long, easy drags, exhaling languidly, streams blossoming from her nose halfway through the exhale. Her elbow rested lightly on the back of her other hand between drags, the holder in her fingers, held at a limp-wristed angle. It was evident that the cigarette holder was no longer an affectation designed to seduce me, but a normal part of her smoking ritual. She was so stunning that I silently watched for a few drags before even realizing that she was naked. I cleared my throat, causing her to gracefully spin and regard me with a smile. “You’re up,” she said, glancing down. Her smile turned impish. “In more ways than one.”
“You affect me like that.”
“You’re always so sweet. I think that’s why I keep coming back.” She hesitated, as if she wanted to say more, but asked me if an omelet Lorraine and toast would do for breakfast. After eating breakfast, I knelt on the kitchen floor and ate her pussy as she leaned back against the cabinet for support. Her legs turned to jelly after her orgasm ended, and she collapsed onto me, knocking me over backwards. Somehow, she frantically arranged herself and maneuvered me inside her almost immediately, and began to churn her hips urgently, gasping, whimpering, and making high-pitched hiccupping noises. It didn’t take very long for her to turn extremely red from her face to her chest. Daisy stopped making noises, but her hips continued moving as her hands pressed into my chest to support her body. Suddenly, she squeaked a couple of times and then screamed, “AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!” as a warm flood inundated my groin. She vibrated on my cock, eyes tightly squeezed shut, teeth gritted, signaling the intensity of this particular orgasm. Her hips snapped violently forward once, making her yip, “Oh!” as her eyes popped open. Her gaze instantly turned far, far away, and Daisy, clearly unable to do anything other than follow her primal need, drove herself downward to grind against me. She moaned loudly, all the while drenching my midriff with pussy juice. It was by far the most spectacular orgasm I’d ever seen her have.
Daisy pitched forward, grabbed my neck, and tried to merge our bodies softly crying, “Iloveyou, Iloveyou, Iloveyou…” constantly, long enough that I went soft. I shielded her from the cold floor, holding her tenderly, as she sweetly, quietly, sobbed her heart’s true feelings in my ear, left completely vulnerable by her soul-wrenching cum. However, she went very quiet for the rest of the afternoon, and didn’t smoke a single cigarette. At dinner, she looked up and softly began, “Will—”
“You’re probably about to tell me that you’ve got a boyfriend or something like that,” I calmly, clinically said. Daisy gasped, and her jaw dropped. “You’re always very self-conscious about smoking around me when you’re feeling guilty about having sex with me,” I explained. “You also haven’t mentioned my graduation gift, and so it didn’t take too much to figure out why.”
Embarrassed, Daisy told me that I was right. “I was going to tell you last night, before dinner,” she began. “But I felt so bad about asking to take back the graduation gift I promised, and then I saw you, and you’re always so cute, n’smart, n’nice—”
“—and good in bed.”
Yes,” Daisy strongly affirmed, “dammit, you’re good at that, too! It’s like I forget about all of that in Europe, and then I come back here and I see you and you’re always you and I get all fluttery inside—”
“—I get it, Daisy,” I interrupted. She started to sniffle. “No need to beat yourself up. I’ve understood where we are for some time now. I understand that you don’t want to tie yourself down… to anybody… or any course in life. You like your life as it is now.” I took her hand. “And I am the one person who could make you happily put on those handcuffs and leg irons, which is why you keep your distance.” Daisy looked away and sobbed a couple of times. “At least I think I’m the only one,” I added. “How serious are you about this guy?”
“As serious as I ever get,” replied Daisy, sniffling. “I don’t think he’d be too thrilled to know I was—sharing.”
I pointed out that her formidable libido made it unlikely that she could ever be exclusive. “Even if we were married,” I said, “as much as you love me, if you had to be on the road for longer than a few weeks, I know that somebody else would get a piece of your ass.” Daisy stopped sniffing and turned bright red. I lightly continued, “I know it wouldn’t mean a thing other than your body’s demand for sexual release, so it’s going to happen. And any guy who is—with you—will have to make his own peace with that. I’ve made mine, and for the most part, I’m ‘the other guy’ these days.”
“You’re right,” Daisy replied, muttering, “Sometimes I wish you were a clueless nerd,” under her breath. “François is… like you in some ways, but… he’s so unlike you in others. He’s definitely kept me interested, and we’re past the six-month mark. I’ve never dated anyone that long… when we’re both in the same place, I mean.” I could see that he excited her, the more she talked about him. Something like this was bound to happen eventually, and I’d been preparing myself for it ever since she decided that we could never be. The framework I’d built to keep my heart in one piece around Daisy fractured a little bit, but held. Set at ease with my outwardly calm acceptance, she let her guilt go, which strangely cleared the air between us, and we talked some more about what my life was about to become. Daisy lit a cigarette and placed it in her mother-of-pearl holder. I asked her, in light of our situation, if she had to do that. It was, as always, having an effect.
Turning red, she gave me a little-girl look, as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. My heart fluttered. “Well,” she slyly began, still blushing, “apparently, this high sex drive thing runs in the family. My mom…” Daisy hesitated, making me hold my breath, suddenly afraid that one other person knew about Mrs. Woodford and I. “… has been telling me that women from her side of the family have a formidable libido ever since… she figured out I lost my virginity three days after it happened. Mom didn’t bitch me out or ground me over it, which made me think how cool a mom she was. Instead, she told me to be careful, discreet, and not to be ashamed of being horny when it happens, but to—” She stopped talking and closed her eyes in recollection. “——Handle it like an adult, so you don’t make mistakes you’ll regret as one.’ are the words she said. She also told me to consider it an important criterion when choosing a mate. She said I needed to marry a man who could handle the demands I would make of him.” There was another pause. “I never would have thought that my dad was that kinda guy… would you?” I snickered and said no, although I knew exactly how Daisy’s mom got Mr. Woodford going whenever she wanted. “In fact, Will… Don’t take this in a bad way, but… that’s kinda how… you n’me started.” She regarded me with a little bit of wonder, mixed with evaluation. She’s never looked at me that way before. “I’d never had a guy—score such a perfect bulls-eye first time out—or in,” said Daisy, with just a touch of disbelief. “And you just keep racking up the score…” She stopped talking for a few moments, and then cocked her head with an odd expression on her face. “Do I need to keep smoking this?” she breathed. I violently shook my head no. “Good,” she panted, stripping hastily before sitting on the table and spreading her legs.
Daisy called me immediately after she got back to Paris, because she needed another escort in New York at the end of January. When I asked about her boyfriend, she casually replied, “No, he’s gone to plenty of these in Europe. I don’t want to give my boss anything to start worrying about. Besides, you’re cheaper.” It was the same group as before, plus two additional couples from London. Madame Bourgeot was pleased to see me again, and we kept a steady conversation going throughout the meal. She again offered to show me around “her Paris,” and I accepted, telling her that I would be visiting in late March. Daisy had been happy to scale back her original gift: she would pay for my plane ticket to Paris, and I would be on my own after that. Much to Daisy’s disappointment, no cigars were passed after this meal as the two new couples did not share our affection for them. “And I’ve been working on learning about them,” she pouted. “On the other hand,” she whispered, “That just means dinner’s going to end earlier—and we get to the hotel sooner.” When we arrived at the hotel, her ten-inch black holder from high school made an appearance. “I feel a little…retro tonight. Think you can play along?” The smile was impish, the eyes on fire, and the first drag was as flamboyant, coquettish, and arousing as any Daisy had ever performed for me. We made love over the course of the next two days and nights as if it was the summer house, seven years earlier, where we would take breaks for food and water, and then resume having sex. Although Daisy said nothing about her boyfriend, I knew our love affair was going to end soon, and I wanted every last bit of her I could get.
I met her boyfriend, François, over dinner my first night in Paris. He wasn’t particularly happy about me being there, and called me nasty names in French under his breath when Daisy wasn’t around. It was clear that if he had any say in the matter, I wouldn’t be seeing Daisy again this trip. “I’m so happy you could meet François,” Daisy bubbled when he reluctantly left us alone to go to the bathroom, “isn’t he a great guy?” When we separated, she said, “I’m going to be a little—busy this week, but I’m sure you can amuse yourself in Paris.” We kissed in the traditional European way, but her boyfriend opted for the death grip challenge to prove his male superiority. I cheerily called him an asshole in his native language as they walked away, just to let him know that I had understood everything he said about me at dinner. It surprised me a little that Daisy hadn’t noticed his possessive nature or his jealousy, but this was the most bubbly I’d seen her with another guy since Roberts.
I caught up with Madame Bourgeot, who asked me to call her by her first name, Colette, and we spent the afternoon at the Musée d’Orsay. As we separated at the Metro, she told me that she would like to show me “her Paris by night.” Paris by night from a native Parisian. Cool. She picked me up in her car shortly after seven, when Paris really comes alive. We had a spectacular dinner at a tiny restaurant well off the tourist track, where the chef/owner would sit down with us from time to time to talk, obviously familiar with Collette. It was after eleven when she drove to a more popular area, but we only walked a couple of blocks before turning down a narrow, empty alley, stopping at a nondescript set of doors. She rapped lightly on the door and said, “Allo, c’est moi, Collette Bourgeot, avec un ami.” I heard several locks release before the door cautiously opened. After vouching for me in a brief exchange with the doorman, she led me through a winding hallway that finally ended at the entrance to a dim, smoky, amphitheater, with seats in rows behind a row of booth-like, semi-private tables arranged around a stage.
A scantily dressed young man greeted her, asking if her husband would be joining her tonight. Collette replied no, and he led us down a set of stairs to one of the stage-side tables. She asked for one of my “cute little cigars.” The show started while I was studiously avoiding watching Collette smoke a More with long full drags, thick, extended french-inhales, and forceful, mostly nasal, exhales. A young woman came onto the stage, welcomed the audience, and began to sing in a lovely, obviously well-trained voice… and then proceeded to strip while continuing her song. She concluded by welcoming the audience to what translated to the “Private Super-burlesque,” wearing only pasties and panties, curtsied, and ran off with a stage giggle. I looked at Collette, who only smiled and told me that this was a part of the Paris nightlife that only certain people were privileged to experience. A bottle of champagne arrived at our table.
Over the next hour and a half, the singing and dancing acts became increasingly risqué; first the pasties went away, then the panties. All the songs and skits were filled with double- and triple-entendres, in addition to overt sexual references; but it was all in good fun, so I wasn’t feeling terribly aroused. I excused myself for a few moments during one of the dance routines, and when I returned, a fresh bottle of champagne was on our table, and my glass was full again. Collette removed a pocket humidor from her purse and offered me one of her panatelas, around seven inches long and somewhere around 40-ring gauge. She clipped mine before hers, which she placed into an amber cigar holder before waiting for me to provide the flame. She quickly got the cigar started and french-inhaled her first full drag, exhaling through her nose.
The next act began. A man wearing tights that showed his decent package started performing feats of strength. I was distracted by Collette’s cigar smoking as she french-inhaled almost every drag, with combination exhales now the norm, and the house lighting such that everything was very visible. I was so busy unsuccessfully trying to keep an erection from developing under the table that I didn’t realize he had been joined by two petite women—until I heard the audience gasp. He was supporting a standing daisy chain… while getting a blowjob! Judging by the expansion of his penis, the woman was definitely making his concentration difficult. The audience cheered, I gaped, and then peeped. Collette’s hand landed in my lap and started to massage the lump that was rapidly forming. I was going to protest, but the room got very warm all of a sudden. Collette took another enchanting drag from her cigar, and my erection surged powerfully. The ladies landed on the ground and skipped around the stage as the strong man strutted past the booths, his dick ramrod straight and glistening. Cigar clenched between her teeth, Collette held out her hand, stopping his promenade. After a couple of puffs, she put the cigar down and wrapped her free hand around his boner while continuing to massage mine. She leaned forward and bobbed her head over his dick a few times, and then looked at me inquisitively. My head was swimming, but I wasn’t drunk… yet for the first time in my life, I was strongly tempted. However, I had to unzip my pants to free my own first because it was getting painful, and by the time I looked up, he had gone.
Collette picked up her cigar, dragged, french-inhaled, and began to give me a handjob in earnest under the table. I moaned. At some point, she took my forgotten cigar away from me, and guided my right hand underneath her dress. She wore no panties, and was very wet. We urgently masturbated each other for a few moments; I had never felt so big, so hard, or so horny in my entire life! She drew on the cigar, leaned to my mouth, and exhaled into my lungs before kissing me, destroying whatever barrier had been keeping me rational and civilized in seconds. I made some sort of crazed noise in her mouth, dropped my pants, pushed her back into the booth, and pounced. Colette’s now salt-and-pepper hair, the scent of her perfume mixed with all the smells of her body, above all the exciting scent emanating from her fragrant pussy, and her low, throaty moans all served to make me want nothing else than to fuck her as long as I could, as hard as I could. Literally, nothing existed for me than her touch, her womanhood, her physical being. My cock felt like iron and big, longer and fatter than I could ever remember, and I fucked down at her with powerful strokes, feeling her hand on my back and one leg around mine. Suddenly I was groaning, and every neuron in my body was on fire as I poured what felt like a gallon of cum into a constantly groaning, gasping, moaning, cumming Collette, over what seemed like hours. I finally pulled out, cock covered in our thick, gooey mixed cum, and… my erection had only softened slightly.
“You really fuck well, William!” exclaimed Collette in French. “That was wonderful!” She picked up my cigar, three-quarters of which remained, put it in her amber holder, and brought it back to life. Any softness in my cock vanished by her second drag, which I found infinitely exciting, more than the sex taking place on the stage, and elsewhere in the room. I wanted—no, needed—to fuck Collette again. She placed a gentle hand on my chest, and called for some water. “You need to drink this,” she counseled, again in French, even as she allowed my hand to play between her legs. My mind was still on one thing. “Bois-le,” she reiterated with a gasp—my hand found a sweet spot. After about a half-liter, the overwhelming need to fuck Collette slowly receded, allowing me to think again. My cock was still rock-hard. What the hell is going on here? Collette grabbed my arm roughly, puffing wildly on her cigar as my fingers worked her to another orgasm, interrupting my musing. My dick twitched in its abnormal hardness, and I took the cigar away from her, dragging and inhaling, trying to figure out why I hadn’t gone soft. Unfortunately, the lady with the answers was having some strong aftershocks, and continued thrusting at my hand and fingers.
From what I could tell, I was in a sex club in Paris. The desire to fuck Collette was growing again; I ordered another liter of water from our now-naked attendant, and could smell the tang of his excitement, and something came over me when he returned… Suddenly, Collette was pushing at my head and had started sucking his dick. I grabbed her and she moaned something unintelligible before plopping herself onto my dick and bouncing urgently, while she continued to suck the waiter…
I woke up at one in the afternoon in a nice bed in somebody’s nice apartment in downtown Paris. The room smelled like sex, and my cock, finally soft, twitched in an abnormally powerful way with recognition as I stuck my head out of the bedroom to see the lady who had taken me out for a ride the night before in so many ways. “Collette… can I talk to you?” She shooed me back into the bedroom, saying that a dirty old man (who made no secret of his telescope) lived nearby, and he’d already gotten his show from us last night. She lit one of my Mores, which, aided by the memory of fucking Collette in the kitchen by the patio doors, quickly revived my erection—too quickly to be entirely natural. After noting how uncomfortable I was with a smile, and offering to take care of it, she confirmed, without apology, that she had indeed drugged me the night before. She also noted that judging by the extended after-effects, she may have given me “a little too much.” Her nostrils flared and she stared hungrily at my cock, which showed no signs of shrinking. “What the hell did you give me?” I snapped in French, angry, and more than a little frightened. I was also quite aware that, at this point, my cock wouldn’t go soft until I came.
Collette seemed very surprised at my agitation. “T’es pas bien amusé hier soir?” My cock impossibly swelled just a little more, spurred by the memories of seemingly never-ending sex with Collette. Yeah, I had a good time but… my stomach twisted at the memory of having sucked some other guy’s dick. However, my cock stayed rock-hard, while the analytical part of me said, “Different, but not fun enough to be something I’d do again.” Collette told me not to worry; she hadn’t given me anything addictive, it was all-natural, and it was not illegal. “At least not yet.” she added.
“Fine,” I growled, trying to wait for my stomach to finish turning. I grabbed my cock with one hand, and it felt like the handle of a Louisville Slugger. “Right now, this is one hell of a side-effect,” I snarled, proving myself very adept at being pissed off in French. “I can’t go through life like this. What was that stuff?”
Collette smiled, and explained that she had dropped about ten grams of a very expensive black market Asian aphrodisiac into my champagne at the club, freely revealing that it cost close to forty thousand dollars per 100 grams. “But the heat it brings, it is wonderful, is it not? It sets you so free, and makes you perform!” Her gaze returned to my dick, and I felt a little bit of answering desire, unsure if it was real or still remnants of the drug’s effects. I tried to keep on topic and on-task: maybe I could find an antidote. She continued to talk about the drug she called “Le sexe poudré”—powdered sex. It lowered sexual inhibition to an extreme degree, and brought on intense desire while providing the ability to fulfill those desires. The only real danger was dehydration—while still being compelled to have sex under the influence of the drug. For women, this would mean no lubrication, and for men, ejaculation without cum.
Dry heaves from the nuts. That would hurt. As usual, I tried to analyze it from my singular experience. I was pretty sure that it made a person incredibly more sensitive to human pheromones, as I remembered how strong the scents were, and how they had affected me. The most pronounced physical effect was the increased blood flow to certain parts of the body and the heightened pleasure at orgasm. Collette’s eyes had glazed slightly as she stared at my cock—I guessed aloud that she was also still being affected. She shook herself from her directed, lustful reverie and told me that she wasn’t being affected by the drug—she just found me “exciting.”
I asked her how she got hold of this drug. I figured that cost wasn’t really a limiting factor as she had spent roughly four grand to have me at her sexual disposal for a night. Her husband had apparently discovered this in a Bangkok brothel during one of his many trips, and routinely brought some home for her, along with a generous supply for himself. “Nous avons un accord,” Collette pragmatically shrugged, lighting another of my cigarettes. “He likes young women, I like handsome young men like you.” She exhaled a french-inhaled drag through her nostrils. My cock strained some more, feeling as if it was beginning to stretch the skin on my inner thighs. “Every so often we… indulge together, but most of the time, we fuck according to our own desires. He’s in Bangkok now with his secretary, and who knows how many other women. He will bring back more of it… for both of us.” She took a casual drag, unzipped my pants, and engulfed my cock, admitting, “I did not expect you to still be—affected after only about ten grams. But this is a good thing. Do not forget your water. If you drink as much as you can stand, it will help.” She dragged again on the More and immediately recaptured my cock, exhaling thick, thick streams from her nose as she bobbed her head, playing the iron bar in her mouth with her tongue. I groaned in happy pleasure. Drug or no, Collette gave fantastic head.
“Would you be willing to do me a little favor?” cooed my French cougar. She held a More in one hand, my cock in the other, and was tapping the head and glans with her tongue while she waited for an answer.
“Suuurrre,” I happily moaned, and gasped as she bobbed her head forcefully up and down a couple of times. Collette had me at an enormous disadvantage; I would have agreed to anything as long as it kept her working on my cock, which was beginning to boil.
“I want you to come to dinner tonight with me and my niece, Nathalie. She has just turned twenty-two, and is coming to Paris to spend some time with her aunt for the occasion.” Just then, Collette squeezed her thumb and forefinger at the base of my cock while working feverishly on the head and top half of the shaft. “Will you… make her feel like a girl?” Yes, it felt like blackmail, and a little like being pimped out, but Collette constantly assured me between licks that Nathalie was attractive and a nice young lady.
My balls were beginning to churn, while my dick sang with every move her mouth made. Having been unwillingly drugged by this dirty old woman, who obviously had more plans for me, became immaterial. “Yes,” I growled, grabbing her head and pushing it down over my cock with little resistance. Having gotten part of what she wanted, Collette pulled her pants down and climbed on top of me to get the rest. She bounced up and down rapidly, coating me with thick white cream, moaning my name rapturously. As close to cumming as I had been, Collette still managed to get there first, and somewhere among her internal and external shudders, I filled her with a large amount of my own white cream. About five minutes later, I softened enough to slide out of her, and asked, “What time should I be ready for dinner?”
She was still panting, and it took her a moment to answer. “I will collect you from the hotel at twenty-thirty.” I moved to wipe myself off and head back to the hotel. Maybe I can get five more hours of sleep. Six if I’m lucky. Collette touched me on the hip. “Drink much water, Guillaume. You will need it.”
I met both women in the lobby of the hotel. When Nathalie stood to exchange kisses, the word “amazon” did not do her justice. She had to be at least half a head taller than I, with everything else in proportion. She had perfectly coiffed, thick, medium brown hair, broad, athletic shoulders, an appropriate chest for her size, and… she was—pretty. Nathalie wasn’t gorgeous, but she wasn’t just cute, either, and unlike her aunt, who moved with a woman’s grace, Nathalie possessed an athlete’s grace. With an odd mixture of pride and pity, Collette pointed out that her niece made second alternate in volleyball for the national team. “Yes, but my parents think I should have been on the team for the Olympic year,” responded Nathalie, with a lack of enthusiasm that surprised me.
Once we arrived at the restaurant, Nathalie gushed just like a teenager, obviously thrilled to be going out with her cool aunt who treated her like an adult. It had stunned me to see her light a Fine 120, the cork-tipped superslim cigarette I remembered from my first sojourn in France. My cock responded with a strong surge. Still hasn’t quite worn off yet. It was evident that she didn’t smoke often or a lot, but she was doing her best to seem super-feminine about it, inhaling very naturally. The super-long and superslim Fine 120s seemed so tiny in her large hands! “My folks absolutely hate smokers,” Nathalie said, her tongue loosened by the wine, “But I love smoking. I think it’s sexy, and I smoke whenever I come to Paris on my own. My folks want me to be the good little athlete, and I’m sick of it! I’m a woman now, not the little girl they keep treating me like!” She wanted to be a sexy smoker, and it was exciting, evidenced by the half-erection I was sporting.
“My sister and her husband are very conservative and traditional,” explained Collette while Nathalie was powdering her nose. “They have guided her from a very young age into sporting activities because she was so naturally gifted, but at the cost of actively discouraging—the normal girl things. It is even worse because many boys are—intimidated—by her stature, so she is a lonely young woman, even though she is a very pretty one, yes?” I agreed. While Nathalie was a lot of woman to love at about six-foot-four, she was well put together, with curves in the right places, very fit, and pretty in a natural way. I could see some echoes of a younger Collette, who asked if I would be Nathalie’s date for the remainder of the evening. My cock weighed in, letting me know it was quite happy to spend an evening with Collette’s superslim-smoking amazon niece. “My niece needs to feel like the pretty girl she is.” So I lit Nathalie’s cigarettes, and gave light tie signs, touching her gently on the hands, and eventually my hand landed on her shoulder during conversation, and she responded by moving a little closer to me. A few times I caught her hand hovering near my leg, but she appeared to be too timid to let it rest there. Instead, she’d pull out a cigarette and let me light it. Her eyes started to sparkle when she looked at me, making her even more attractive.
After dinner had concluded, Collette asked Nathalie if she would like to go out to an adult club, since she was now 22, and hadn’t ever been to one. Her niece enthusiastically jumped at the chance. We stopped on the way so Nathalie could buy cigarettes, and she asked if she could buy some for me so she could try one or two, because she thought they were very chic. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything when Collette drove to a familiar neighborhood, and we walked down a familiar street to a very familiar nondescript alley.
We settled into the same booth at the club and a bottle of champagne arrived without asking. Collette was definitely a regular. Nathalie went to the ladies’ room, and that’s when Collette dipped a fingernail into a vial hidden in her purse, and scooped out a tiny amount of a fine white powder. “This is le sexe poudré. Better than any illegal drug,” she said, dropping it into her glass. She slapped my hand with her free one when I tried to cover my champagne. “No, Guillaume, you will need the heat tonight. Is it still affecting you?” I nodded. “Then I will just use a tiny bit.” I watched her put two generous scoops into Nathalie’s glass. “You will take care of her, yes?” I said yes, and was going to question her about what seemed to be a lot more than ten grams of the powder, but Nathalie returned to her place next to me and asked me to light her Fine 120, so I promptly stopped worrying about it.
Nathalie was slightly drunk by the opening number, having nestled comfortably against me, commenting how much at ease I seemed to be with the large size difference between us. I gave her a smooch on the cheek, and her eyes danced for me. “May I have one of your very chic cigarettes? I’ve never seen one until tonight.” The More had its usual effect on me, but my cock went to fully erect within a few drags, aided by the drug. Halfway through the second number, Nathalie’s hips had started to undulate, and she had forgotten about smoking. We were kissing shortly thereafter, and she pulled my hand underneath her dress to her panty-covered sex. They were soaking wet.
“Take them off,” I softly encouraged. She lifted her butt off the seat, and they were heaped on the floor at her feet. Nathalie grabbed my hand, put it back where it had been playing, and resumed kissing me. I moved the table out of the way, positioned myself, and slid into her, making her sigh girlishly with delight. I fucked her slowly, sucking at her pert, firm breasts, having forgotten about the show. Collette absently stroked my back, watching with almost maternal interest while I fucked her niece, who turned red, and then began to cum with quiet gasps. I withdrew, allowing her to recover from her orgasm, just waiting for the sex fever to hit me. Collette felt it first, just after she had ordered another bottle of champagne; she dropped her cigar and grabbed my face, kissing me with crazed passion. When she pulled away, Nathalie took her place. Two hands landed in my lap, but Collette aggressively mounted me, and Nathalie’s hand went to work feverishly between her own legs. She leaned over and kissed me while her aunt vigorously bounced on my lap. Moans started coming from around the room, much earlier in the show than the previous night. I felt very hot, and then shot an enormous load into Collette, who cried out in ecstasy and then shuddered through a powerful orgasm.
As soon as Collette shakily pulled herself off my dick, which was still hard, belying the amount of cum it had just fired, I saw Nathalie masturbating furiously and entered her again, sending her into a back-arching, howling orgasm after a few thrusts. I kept fucking her until she collapsed back onto the seat. I took the opportunity to drink from the large bottle of water on the table and catch my breath. Nathalie’s chest continued to heave and her body trembled. Suddenly, the scent of her pussy juice hit me, making my cock strain as more blood rushed into it. The heat had descended on me.
The second bottle of champagne arrived, and I sent the attendant away to bring more water, commanding Nathalie to drink, struggling to keep my promise to take care of her. I looked to my left; Collette was engaged in a sixty-nine with one of the bodybuilder’s lithe co-stars who had locked her legs around Collette’s neck and dangled upside down to lick her pussy. The smells of sex and arousal filling the room were excruciatingly exciting, almost painful to ignore, but I fought my every instinct and continued tending to Nathalie. When the attendant returned, I noticed his nakedness for the first time. The scent of his arousal hit me as it had the last night, and I suddenly understood that he was broadcasting his attraction to me. After making sure that Nathalie had finally stopped playing with herself and was drinking water, I motioned to him. No sense in being contrary out of spite. The scent got even stronger as he came closer. Thoroughly in the throes of the heat, I gently took his cock and began to suck it. He hardened with a moan as I bobbed my head the way I’d watched Daisy, and numerous other lovers do to me, and his sex scent grew even stronger, spurring me on. In the back of my mind, I knew that it was the drug’s doing because I had never found men attractive in the least, and this kid was nowhere near as attractive as Colin, the prettiest man I’d ever seen. Nevertheless, I kept giving him head for the second night in a row, this time very aware that I was doing it—and it was exciting.
I was so engrossed in giving him his blowjob that I had forgotten about Collette until cigar smoke swirled around me, and she pulled me away from him—again. “Don’t be selfish,” she smiled, “let Nathalie have some. She needs to learn.” Both he and I were annoyed by the interruption, but she stuck a finger in his surprised mouth, simultaneously distracting me with a french-inhale. Her niece dove for the shrinking dick in front of her, and the object of her interest showed a clear loss of excitement: I could sense the tang of his sexual scent recede from my senses, and a sharp increase in Nathalie’s scent. Cigar smoke swirled around me, and Collette had a hold of my cock. She gave me a smoky cigar kiss and whispered, “Fuck my niece again, this time… like you fucked me.” It took a little bit of direction and arrangement, and the waiter got a brief double blowjob from Nathalie and me to get him to move, but finally, she was on her hands and knees, bobbing her head rapidly over his rigid cock. He had grabbed her head and was fucking her mouth in time with her strokes. Collette dragged on her cigar, standing where I could see her, and with a decadent smile, whispered, “Fuck her good,” before kissing me and kneeling next to her sex-crazed niece. She began to play with the waiter and wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, forcing him to be gentle in this mouth fucking of Nathalie.
My bisexual lover was much further along than I was, and his release was hastened by Collette’s circled fingers. He moaned, Nathalie jerked reflexively with an, “MMMFFF!!!” and then he was no longer standing in front of her mouth. Collette had taken it upon herself to finish him, leaving me with no other immediate sexual outlet except her niece. Nathalie fucked back at me fiercely, our bodies making smacking sounds as we collided forcefully with each thrust. She grunted with exertion, her thick brown mane bouncing with every move. I was doing everything my body dictated, an unthinking sex machine, feeling more, and more intense sensation than ever before. I felt the knot begin, and redoubled my efforts. In response, Nathalie moaned loudly, “Ohhhhh… I am cumming, Guillaume!” and creamy white goo ran out of her, covering my dick. It smelled awesome, sending a massive charge through my body and triggering a strong pulse from deep inside of me. I shot three distinct, extended, searing streams of cum into her, and I was finished, but she continued to moan and shake around my erection, which refused to go soft. Nathalie finally melted into a limp, unconscious heap after a seeming eternity, allowing me to pull out. A sizzle shot through me—my dick was still hard and ready, sensitive to the touch, there was the smell of sex all around me, with the scent of attraction being broadcast from every corner. Now that I knew what I was up against, though, I forced myself to drink the remaining water while waiting for Natalie, whose scent was still the strongest to my senses, to move, but she did not stir. After several minutes, the sounds, sights, and most acutely, smells of sex were beginning to eat at my reason, and I was torn between watching out for Collette’s niece and finding a sex partner. The frustration of not having sex was literally painful. I looked around for Collette, but she wasn’t immediately apparent, while my male lover was two booths away. Our eyes met, he smiled at me and shrugged apologetically: a mature couple was sharing his cock the same way Nathalie and I had. Even from that distance, I could tell that he was rigid far too quickly; Collette had apparently dosed him as well.
A short, stocky, and somewhat dazed-looking waitress appeared, looked at my cock, and shakily asked if I needed anything. “More water, and a handjob. Not doing anything is killing me,” I replied in French. She returned with two more bottles, sat next to me, wrapped her hand around my cock, and began to provide the requested service, chasing the pain away. I asked her if she smoked.
“Oui, monsieur,” she said, drawing a shaky breath and glancing at my cock. I asked her to smoke for me, handing her a More. She acquiesced, and my excitement rose sharply, but after her third drag, she started to pant, “Oh… sir… oh… sir… what’s happening to me?” She wrapped her arms around my neck, leaned to my body, and drew in a noisy, deep breath through her nose. . “Ohh… You smell so… so… delicious!” She reluctantly sat back up and resumed her hand job. The next drag was brief, the exhale careless, and we started kissing. She gripped harder and rubbed slower, breathing shallowly, and I fondled her breasts in return. Her reserve broke a few seconds later. “Ohhh… god… Fuck me!” she urged, undressing hastily, and it was my turn to grant her request.
Collette finally happened by while I was pounding at the waitress. She grabbed one of my cigarettes, kissed me, lit it, and then kissed me with smoke. I lasted halfway through the More before filling the waitress with cum. She thanked the girl, who reached for her with mad lust. They kissed for a while, but my dick had gone soft, and I couldn’t smell the sex any longer—the heat was gone. Collette broke away from the poor waitress and said, “I’ll get the car, we need to take Nathalie home right away.” Her niece was caressing her breasts and rotating her hips, fucking a fantasy lover, all while apparently still unconscious. The waitress reached for Collette, who stopped her with a gentle push before grabbing her clothes and leaving the sexual melée. I could tell that the waitress was in the throes of the drug, so I pulled her to me and we kissed while I masturbated her to another orgasm. Then it was my turn to push her away gently so that I could get dressed. Nathalie was stirring, looking very groggy, and we led her out of the club via the emergency exit because she was still naked and wanting to masturbate. I drove around Paris while Collette ministered to her niece in the back of the car, getting her dressed and feeding her water, all the while preventing her from playing with herself. “That poor waitress,” commented Collette. “I wonder how much of patron’s drinks she sipped while cleaning up? I don’t know how much of the sex powder she might have unknowingly consumed. I hope someone recognizes her problem and feeds her water.”
Finally, Nathalie had settled enough that Collette was able to direct me to her apartment. I sat down, exhausted, but Nathalie was constantly whining that she was incredibly horny. Her aunt gave her a cigar in a holder, telling her that she would feel better after she had smoked for a while. “Cigars aren’t sexy for women,” complained Nathalie, but obeyed her aunt, inhaling each drag without showing any ill effects… or relief. On the other hand, I was hard again, and shifting to hide my pronounced bulge. While the mental effect of the drug had worn off, the physical effects hadn’t.
Collette fondled my bulge as I stood to rearrange it for comfort. “Nathalie,” said Collette, “this is what he thinks about women who smoke cigars.” Set up again.
Her niece’s eyes grew big. Nathalie took an enormous drag from the cigar and exhaled a long, thick stream of smoke across the room at me. She swayed over to me, holding her cigar at arms’ length, looking exquisitely feminine, and purred, “Do you like me like this? Are women who smoke cigars sexy, too?” There was no sense in denying it as her free hand dropped to slide over my bulge. “Would you like to fuck me some more? I would like that a lot.” We quickly retired to the guest bedroom.
I woke up at about one in the afternoon, praying that my cock was done. It was a little—tender. I had taken Nathalie’s anal cherry, and done her doggy-style again, this time while her aunt instructed her in the art of pussy-licking, which I found disturbingly hot. Collette served me lunch while Nathalie continued to sleep. As much as I wanted to judge the dirty old lady, I had been a willing participant and decided to leave that moral question alone. “I was thinking that was a lot of drug you added to her champagne,” I neutrally stated.
Collette replied that while comparatively it seemed like a lot, it would take more to have an effect, given her niece’s size. “Nathalie needed to experience being a woman for one night… or two, depending on if it wears off while she is sleeping.” She reached for a cigar. “It is always a guess the first time,” Collette admitted. “My husband used quite a bit more than that on me the first time because he had no idea how much they used on the girls in the brothel.” I raised my eyebrow. “I was fucking everything for five or six days straight—at the club all night every night, and when I wasn’t there, I was here with les gigolos de société, old boyfriends, old girlfriends, my husband and his girlfriends… I got very sick, and wound up in the hospital with dehydration. I was so sore that I could not stand to fuck for a month after that!” She smiled, “So you see, Nathalie will be fine. But she may have a—crush on you.” Collette’s eyes fluttered. “Ohhh, you fuck so well!” Watching her smoke the cigar with her customary full, deep drags and combination exhales filling the room with thick, swirling smoke was quickly making me hard again, and she clucked sympathetically. “My niece will be wanting that again, and I really should leave it for her.” She inhaled sharply. “If I do what I am wanting, you will probably not be in shape for her later. Can I take you back to your hotel?”
Daisy dropped by the hotel room that night. “I was beginning to worry. No response to my messages, never around…” I told her that I’d been Collette’s captive for the last 48 hours. “Ah… did she take you to the sex club?” At my raised eyebrow, she blushed, “That was my introduction to the Bourgeots in Paris. He invited me out for dinner, as the newest rep on the team for his company, and we wound up there.” She hesitated. “Did you… ummm… kinda… go sex-crazy? I mean, do things you wouldn’t normally—”
I interrupted her with a soft, “Yes,” now aware that Daisy had also been drugged by Monsieur Bourgeot. I told her everything: fucking in public, sucking cock, and being a stud pony for Collette’s niece… and getting super-turned on by the incestuous three-way that had occurred late that morning in Madame Bourgeot’s apartment. “Nathalie still thinks that her aunt is the coolest.”
“Small town, sheltered daddy’s girl. I know the type.” We were silent. “It still bothers you, doesn’t it?” she finally resumed. I blushed and nodded. “That’s some kinda mickey, isn’t it? At least I was already bisexual,” Daisy rejoined, empathizing. “I wound up bent over a table for him, hornier than I could ever remember… even when I was way coked up. Left the club barely able to walk, with cum dripping from everywhere… I lost count of the guys, but I remember having him three times—in one night! Had to take two days off from work to recover. Been to the club a couple of times since—not really by choice—once with both of them. Same results. I can’t sit there and drink nothing all night.” Daisy huffed. “He’s increased his company’s investment each time, and praised my—dedication to my boss.” She grabbed a More from the pack that was sitting on the table. “Made me feel a little like a whore, until Collette told me that they did it a bunch. She said I should be flattered that her husband thought enough of me to share with her,” said Daisy. “They’re a really strange couple, but it works for them. And as debauched as it all was, I can’t say that it wasn’t fun—on some level.” The room went quiet again until she finally lit the More, and my pants were bulging within two drags. “Still feeling the effects a little?”
“A lot… at least this one,” I grumbled. “It wouldn’t be so bad if my dick stopped being super-human after the heat went away.”
Daisy took a big drag, let a big ball of smoke drift out of her mouth before sucking it back in, and exhaled stylishly, quietly, posing for me. I got harder. She gave me one of her impish smiles. “Would you like me to help you with that?” She knelt, tossed her hair, and unzipped my pants to gently take my iron bar of a cock into her mouth to give me what I can only describe as the softest, lightest blowjob I’ve ever had, giving me the release I needed without irritating my slightly-sore cock. I asked if she wanted me to return the favor. “No, that’s okay. Don’t wanna start something you’ll regret. Let yourself rest now. No smoking women, no sexy thoughts, and you can take Nathalie out to dinner tomorrow. Anyway, I was trying to get a hold of you to tell you that I have to be in the London office for the next two weeks—something came up, so I have to leave tomorrow afternoon.”
I went to dinner with Nathalie the following night as arranged. She started out smoking the Fine 120s, but pulled out a pack of M menthols, the French equivalent of Mores, when she ran out, asking me if, now that I wasn’t drugged, I still found it sexy. I told her that I had always thought it was sexy when it was done properly. She smiled, and showed me a plastic bag with a little bit of white powder in it. “I stole some from my aunt,” she shyly smiled, “just for me.” Before I could protest, she wet a finger with condensation from her beer, dipped it into the bag, gathering some of the sex powder, and then quickly popped it into her mouth. “My aunt says that it works much faster and is more potent when it’s not mixed with anything.”
She was beginning to feel the effects by the time we made it to the Metro. Fortunately, the full-blown heat didn’t descend on her until we were safely alone in the elevator at the hotel. I regretted the urgency that the drug added to Nathalie’s passion; it would be fun to play with her wonderfully long and athletic body and take the time to discover her special places, ones that even she had yet to find. Maybe tomorrow, I thought, mounting her in answer to her beckoning arms, with her legs spread wide.
Nathalie’s heat lasted until early the next morning, when she finally collapsed after an extended orgasm prompted by a second round of assfucking. After lunch in the hotel room, I asked her if she would like to go out with me my last night in Paris, and got a genuinely thrilled squeak and passionate kiss. Nathalie apologized for not fucking me on the spot, and I chuckled that I also needed the time to recover. I told her to leave the sex powder at home, because I wanted to be out with her—and then let nature take its course.
Our final date took place in one of Paris’ many residential neighborhoods. She had returned to the Fine 120s, and there was something cute about Nathalie’s slight awkwardness when she smoked. She confessed that she was always worried that she wasn’t doing it “sexy”, because she couldn’t practice back home. I told her that I knew someone in Paris who might be able to help her with being a sexy smoker. Nathalie was so excited by the prospect that she seemed more interested in learning sexy smoking than me when we got back to the hotel. Daisy giggled when I called to explain the situation. “Seriously? You have a young woman who’s been hot to trot with you the past three days, and now all she wants is to learn how to smoke sexy? What the hell did you do tonight to screw this up so much?” I replied that I didn’t know. “Give the phone to her—then go to the hotel bar for a drink. I’ll have you paged when we’re finished.”
I almost missed my flight home. Nathalie smoked Mores the rest of the night with flamboyant open-mouthed inhales, and the erection effect of the drug still hadn’t worn off. I started by eating her pussy, and then mounted her anally yet again, something she told me she really liked. By the time we finished after a night full of ardent sucking and fucking, I only had enough time for a quick shower and hurried good-bye—anything more and we would have been fucking again. Nathalie was sitting upright in the bed, nude, smoking a More with a playful, come-hither air as I zipped out the door.
The flight was a little uncomfortable. Even though I had a business class ticket, any time a stray thought of Nathalie, Daisy, Collette, or the sex club flitted across my mind, my cock would respond. The drug didn’t wear off until very early the next morning, but that was OK. It got me laid yet again. I was having a cigarette while waiting for my luggage when a pretty, auburn-haired flight attendant walked over to me and asked for one. She smoked More menthols exclusively, had run out of hers, and they didn’t sell them in the terminal. “By the way, my name’s Erica,” she smiled, “and thank you for the cigarette. I thought I’d have to wait until I got home, and I was dying for one. Little bit of a rough ride in.” Of course, a beautiful woman smoking a More made the bulge appear, and I could only try to hide it as best I could and hope that she wouldn’t notice. Erica was just finishing her cigarette when I walked out with my luggage, and asked if I would like to share a taxi. When she found out that I had a train to catch, she told the cab driver to go to her West Side apartment first, and once there, boldly asked if I would like to stay the night. Erica had a wonderful smile, especially after orgasm, and her leisurely after-sex More, every drag finished with a lazy, natural snap-inhale, was highly arousing. She had a flight out late the following evening, but we exchanged contacts before our goodbye kiss. “I’ll call you when I’m back, I mean it, Will. Maybe you can make the hop up to see me.” The last effects of the drug finally wore off after I left her apartment, and my cock wouldn’t even stand up for the morning hard-on for two weeks. But it had been worth it.
It came as a shock to everyone except possibly me. Two months after Daisy had given me a much-needed, caring blowjob in Paris, she and François announced their engagement. The Woodfords’ arranged a party for everyone to meet the new addition to the family, and as usual, we were invited. As before, François hated the idea of me being within viewing distance of, let alone speaking to Daisy, sweeping her out of my sight any time our eyes would meet. He was also very careful about what he said around me. I was surprised to see Carole Lee and Marie Bishop, now both married with two children. Marie also had a bun in the oven from hubby number two. She’d never regained her slender princess figure from high school, but the soft roundness of a mother’s maturity suited her. “I don’t like him,” she snipped as we stood out of the commotion. “That should be you.” When I told her that it wasn’t meant to be, Marie took my hand and said, “If I had known that she was going to fuck it up, I would have taken you." The look on her face reflected sincerity--and a little bit of regret. After giving me a gentle peck on the cheek, she asked, “Any other prospects, now that you’re gonna be a hotshot super-brain, and I’m off the market?”
No, I didn’t have any real prospects. Erica flew in and out of my life as her flight rotation allowed. We had fun together, but it was just that. She enjoyed being with a guy who didn’t make fun (or disapprove) of her long brown cigarettes, telling me, “Sometimes the way you look at me after lighting my cigarette like a gentleman makes me just want to fuck you on the spot!” I didn’t know if she figured out that I had a smoking fetish, or was just content with me as a lover. Erica was energetic in bed, and if we were in New York at the communal apartment she shared with other flight attendants, sometimes I’d even get a bonus lover for a night. It was a standing long-distance fling with no chance of becoming permanent. She was gone at least three weeks out of every month, and professed on multiple occasions that she really enjoyed the freedom to fuck anyone she found attractive. “If it’s any consolation, you are my favorite New York lover.”
I hadn’t met anybody local since Sherri, and truthfully, at that point in time, I was content to put my love life to the side. I got intermittent passionate sex to take care of the physical angle, was about to start in the career of my dreams, and thanks to the patent, I was comfortably well off for someone who had just graduated with a doctorate. My student loan debt was vanishing at an incredible rate, I’d traded in Sam’s student apartment (as nice as it was) for a “real” apartment near the university, and a car that wouldn’t break down. I also sent my mother (and father) on the Caribbean cruise she’d been dreaming about. If I wasn’t too extravagant, I could go back to France for a couple of weeks at the end of the school year and maybe run into Nathalie again. All things considered, life was going well for me, and my contentment allowed me to be happy for my friend, which only left a tiny part of me to mourn the loss of my longest-term lover. Daisy and I shared a sibling-type hug when I left, while François stood where I could see him and glowered evilly at me. We were friends long before she met you, and that’s not gonna change no matter what you do. I’ll always have a longer history with her than you. Get over it.
I moved into my new life as “Professor Redmond” surprised by how much more responsibility I had, and the corresponding decrease in my free time. Preparing and giving lectures wasn’t the hard part—I’d been doing that for three-plus years, even if I had to give more of them. However, creating and grading exams, plus supervising and evaluating my teaching assistants took up a lot more time than I thought it would. Being “Professor Redmond” also created an entirely unanticipated problem: I had no one to socialize with. All of my peers were older than me, most with families of some type. I couldn’t hang out with grad students either, because I had to evaluate their performance and report on it to their advisors. For the first time ever, I was dependent on the real world for my social life, with no school ties to fall back on. Despite my success at picking up women, at heart I’m a shy nerd. I have a lot of trouble breaking my own ice with strangers unless they’re decent-looking women smoking attractively. While Erica and her friends provided enough of a sexual outlet to keep me from making lust-driven mistakes, I missed going out to meals and social events, and missed having conversations that weren’t necessarily linked to getting laid. I wanted companionship. Faced with a problem I couldn’t solve, I did what I usually did: threw myself into my work in an attempt to ignore it.
Daisy got married in November. All of the groomsmen were François’ friends, and I was relegated to a peripheral table with some of her London co-workers at the reception. François, assisted by his groomsmen acting as a personal guard, managed to keep me from interacting with Daisy except for the mandatory brief handshake in the reception line. It was Daisy's day, and even the smirking groom and his men failed to spoil the happiness I felt for her.
The only good thing about the wedding for me was that it coincided with one of Erica’s three-day turns, so she stayed with me all weekend. Marie Bishop gave me an impressed nod and wink, and Daisy’s mom spent some time speaking with us. “It’s too bad that Erica isn’t located here,” Mrs. Woodford gently hinted while my date was graciously dancing with the geekiest guy at our table. “You make a cute couple.”
“You have a nice, homey place,” commented Erica, standing nude in my kitchen with her coffee, her long auburn hair more than a little messy. She lit her morning More, drew deeply, and after a few seconds, exhaled audibly. “You were a lot more—physical—than usual last night. Don’t apologize, Will. It was actually kind of fun… seeing a different side of you.” I watched her snap-inhale her next drag. “Now I know what the bride’s mother meant when she said you were really cute when you blush." Erica paused to draw leisurely on the More, ending with her natural, slow snap-inhale. "Funny that such a close family friend would be stuck so far away. It looked as if the groom wasn’t happy to have you there,” she softly said. “I can’t fix it, but I can make it better,” Erica purred while holding the smoke deep in her lungs. She turned her head away, displaying the graceful curve of her neck as her hair fell to frame her face, and then exhaled a long stream skyward with the barest noise. Almost immediately afterwards, she looked down to glance at my growing erection. Well that settles that. She knows. Erica dragged again on the More, long and steady, with no snap-inhale. Narrowing her eyes, she exhaled through tightly pursed lips for what seemed like thirty mesmerizing seconds. Curling her fingers to summon me, she turned and lazily headed for my bedroom with an exaggerated sway in her hips.
“FUCK!” yelped Erica, grabbing my hair as my tongue scored yet another bullseye during an extended session of cunnilingus. Her hips jerked off the bed. My neck was beginning to get a little sore, so I started to pull away, but Erica shoved my face back between her legs, showing me that she was enjoying the hell out of the ride. I rolled my tongue around her pussy, sucking down her juice as I went, and played her clit with my fingers, making her thrust wildly at the sky, moaning. When she settled down, I began to circle a finger just inside her pussy, and my tongue around her clit. Erica gasped, held my head gently, and sang, “Oh…” in a very long, loud note, punctuated with a gasp or an expletive, before she hit the note, long and loud, again. She sang three more notes for me before gurgling and throwing her arms wide open and flat on the bed. Erica’s tummy tightened, and her note went up two octaves, turning into a delirious sigh when the tension in her tummy broke, flowing downwards, through her pussy, down her legs, curling her toes and she arched her back… and went slack onto the bed.
Her hazel eyes regarded me, sparkling, still full of sex. “Be gentle… I’m real sensitive right now.” My neck hurt, so I told her I could wait a while. “You’re too sweet,” she smiled, making my heart quiver from the way she looked. “You should be out-and-out illegal!” Erica finished with a giggle. “I’ve never had anybody give me head that good, for that long! I came for fifteen minutes straight!”
I pointed out that she had encouraged me to keep going. Erica struggled to a sitting position, and, almost psychically, began to massage my neck. “But most guys would have finished me off… made me go bang! You just kept me on this loooong, lasting, intense, beautiful plateau.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a great lover. Someday, some woman is going to get very lucky.” Her legs wobbled as she stood up. “Whoa! It was even better than I thought. Want some water, sweetie?”
Erica came back into the room carrying two glasses, and a burning More clenched in her lips. She dragged, exhaling a very thick stream of smoke through her nose, and repeated the action as she set the glasses down, removing the cigarette from her lips in the middle of her nasal exhale. She tossed her hair, and completed the rest of the exhale through her mouth, looking quite the essence of carefree smoking glamour. Untouched, my cock gave a jerk. Erica looked at me, then at my erection. An amused, horny smile played across her face, and she took a short drag from the More, letting a ball of smoke pop out before she quickly exhaled at the ceiling. My dick bobbed in approval.
“In a little bit,” she told it.
I went to see a French film on campus one night, having nothing better to do. The French department had sponsored the event, and I wound up in a discussion with some students and professors afterwards. My skill with the language impressed them, and I became an honorary member of the French Club. French graduate students weren’t subject to my oversight; therefore, it was perfectly legal for me to socialize with them. I became a regular in the romance languages building around lunchtime. I got a couple of tickets to a hockey game from the chancellor, so I asked one of the French grad students if he wanted to go. “Nah,” Kevin replied, “I’m feelin’ horny, so I’m gonna go to the pussy bar and get me some.” I asked him what that was. “There’s this bar in the burbs about a half hour away that attracts divorcées. If you don’t mind a few wrinkles, everybody gets a happy ending.”
I told him that was a little cynical and somewhat predatory. “The women are predatory. I don’t have to use any lines or anything. Just sit there and look like I have a pulse.” I found somebody else to go to the game, but Kevin kept bugging me, telling me how great it was. There still wasn’t any temptation for me until Erica was abruptly transferred to Chicago for a few months. “Hopefully I’ll be back in May,” she said. “If you’re really hard up, give Bev a call and set up a weekend turn. She likes you well enough.” Yeah, but she’s only fun as a third. It took a month for the combination of Kevin’s pestering and the annoyingly hot Daisy dreams I’d started having shortly after it became apparent that I no longer had a sex life for me to go out to this bar with him.
I was surprised. It wasn’t seedy like I had imagined. There were multiple, large rooms with comfortable chairs, sofas, and tables scattered throughout; empty, it would have had a living-room vibe. The bar was exclusively stocked with high-end liquors, well-poured by athletic, handsome bartenders, delivered by similarly attractive cocktail waiters. The staff was all-male, leaving no doubt as to the target audience, and they were there in droves!
I separated from Kevin and his friends early on, because the bar was split into equally large smoking and non-smoking sections. There were more people in the smoking section, indicating the age of the clientele. Almost all of the women I saw were probably ten to fifteen years older than I was at the least, and smoked with style. There was none of the hurried “suck-and-blow” style that was so prevalent among younger smokers. Even among so many enchanting smokers, while exciting on the one hand, I still felt out-of-place, and it wasn’t as if the women didn’t have many choices. There were about as many men there as women, and they were on the prowl. Although I shyly returned smiles that were sent my way, I wasn’t aggressive enough to take the opening before some other male pounced.
I was standing at the bar, about halfway through a More when a soft, throaty voice coming from next to me said, “That’s a brave choice for a young man.” I turned to see a woman with thick brown hair pulled into a broad ponytail looking at me. “That’s usually considered a woman’s cigarette.”
“High school girlfriend’s brand. We shared and I got used to them.”
‘It says that you’re very confident in your masculinity—or you’re gay,” she noted. “If it’s the latter, you’re in the wrong place—no matter how good the staff looks.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a box of Eve menthol 120s. I had the lighter ready when she extracted one. She drew hard and long, sending a jet of smoke through her nose, exhaling smoke with her, “Thank you.” She tilted her head and finished her exhale orally, but with a heavy nasal residual towards the end. “Can I buy you a drink? I’m Helene.”
‘Will.” Helene took another long, deep drag from her Eve, and after holding the smoke for a few seconds, projected a long stream of smoke upwards, again ending with simultaneous nasal residuals. I gently shook her free hand. Helene’s eyes showed more than a spark of interest, and suddenly, I knew I was going to get laid that night. She was pretty and slender, with only a few wrinkles to indicate her age. We spoke for an hour, with Helene turning down any other overtures during our conversation at the bar, and then I followed her home.
She kissed me passionately as we entered her house, the mint of the Eve strong in her mouth. Her ex-husband had taken the youngest kids to California for spring break, and her oldest didn’t live in the state, so she had a week to herself. “Don’t get much real sex… too awkward to explain to kids,” she panted in between increasingly hot kisses. “Toys can only do so much.” I fumbled with my shirt as she hurriedly stripped, revealing a surprisingly firm body. “Hope you’re not looking for a trainer or a replacement mommy.” I assured her that I knew my way around a woman’s body, pulled her on top of me, and guided my cock into her nicely wet, clinging pussy from below.
“I forgot to add that this can’t… be more than a one-time thing,” Helene stated after round one. She took a puff from her Eve, looking extremely content. “Although I am tempted to break that rule with you.” Her smoking was beginning to have the usual effect on me. I thanked her for the compliment. “So what brought you to the club?” she asked. “Looking for easy sex from horny divorcées like me, or bored wives looking for a little something on the side?”
“Neither, really. Got dragged out with friends looking for something,” I replied. “Nice place, but meat markets don’t appeal to me. I was going to leave as soon as I had finished my cigarette.”
“Lucky for me then that you smoke Mores and not king size Kools,” purred Helene. She took a drag, looked at my almost-ready cock, and crushed out the Eve breathing. “Will, I like my flings clean and neat, gone in the morning—but can I cook you breakfast tomorrow?” She wrapped her hand around my cock, surrounding it with the voluminous remainder of her exhale. “A very late breakfast.”
I wound up driving home Sunday morning before sunrise after leaving Helene watery legged and blissfully asleep. It had been nice; when we weren’t having sex or foreplay, we talked about everything except that. She loved her kids, tolerated her ex, and had worked her way from secretary to sales manager. “I’m sure you get this a lot, Will, but some girl is going to get very lucky. I’m surprised that you’re available.” I was surprised that I tap-danced around the story of the Daisy near-miss. Wow, it hurts now. Helene touched my hand. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. She must have been special.” She is.
I decided to wait for Erica from there on out. She already knew the whole Daisy story, never brought it up, and was content with what we had. Kevin was ebullient over my so-called success. “Didn’t I tell you? And you just stood there! A bunch of us are going back this weekend, you in?” He couldn’t understand why I steadfastly declined, but I realized that I was looking for more than just sex.
Early April was final exam time for me. I had to create four by the end of the month, and it was a challenge to make exams that were fair and would reflect a student’s comprehension of the course material. So there I was, sitting in my apartment by myself on a Saturday night with a Guinness, some Motown in the background, the Physics textbook and my class lecture notes. I was perfectly at peace with my existence. The bell rang, jolting me from my task as well as my comfortable state of mind. I was completely unprepared for the person on the other side of the door. “Hey, Will,” Daisy smiled. “How have you been?”
“What are you doing here?” I asked in shock.
“Well, won’t you at least let me in? Looks like a nice place.” I dumbly stood aside. Daisy walked in, spun and said, “Don’t I even rate a hug? I know I’m married n’all that, but you are my dearest friend.” I gave her a half-hearted hug, still stunned. She complained about that, too, and launched herself at me, forcing me to catch her. “Now this is more like it,” was her pleased comment. “What’cha doin’?”
“Working on the final exam for my physics class. I didn’t expect to see you,” I replied.
“And I didn’t expect such a lukewarm reception,” she shot back.
“Well… you’re married now,” I defensively justified.
“And you’re still my dearest, most valued friend,” Daisy calmly reiterated. At that, our embrace became warm and loving, as it had always been. My penis inflated a little and pressed against her, so I gently tried to separate us, but she just hugged me more tightly. “It’s always been flattering, Will. No need to weird out just because I’m married. Nothing’s changed between you and me… except maybe the crazed, frequent sex.”
Daisy sat on the sofa, picked up the pack of Mores and fiddled with it while I returned to my workbench, asking what brought her this way. “I was in New York for business, which, unfortunately, didn’t wrap up today, so instead of staying by myself in a hotel room over the weekend, I thought I’d come visit my folks… and you.”
“How is your husband?”
“He’s fine,” she lightly replied. “He just got back from Moscow. Wants to take me the next time he goes.” There was a silence. Daisy finally asked, “Can I have a More? It’s been forever.” I said sure, as long as she didn’t mind being flattered. Daisy blushed, making my heart do a little dance before she lit it. She didn’t do anything flamboyant, but her natural way of smoking was sexy, and I was affected.
“So why didn’t you invite me to dinner with your folks? It would have been nice to see them,” I asked, trying (and failing) to take my mind off of her relaxed, ladylike bearing, and how exciting she was. Would have been nice to have some sort of barrier to keep me from trying something stupid.
She casually acknowledged that she could have, but neither she nor her parents had thought of it. Daisy stood up and walked across the room to extinguish the half-smoked More, and then spun to face me. “It’s just as well, Will,” she began. “I needed to see you.”
I asked why, worried that she was getting ready to attack me and resume our sexual relationship—and praying that she would. “I was looking at my wedding pictures last week, and I noticed something. I have pictures of me with the new analyst from London who I worked with for three weeks—but absolutely none with you. You are not in a single picture. I remember you being there, but I didn’t remember where, and…” Daisy looked at the floor. “I need to apologize to you.”
“For what?”
“For letting my best friend get mistreated so badly at my wedding,” Daisy said. I told her that it was fine. I didn’t need an apology, and that it had been her day. “François and his family insisted on traditional groomsmen—even so, I wanted to have you in the wedding party. I should have fought harder—and I regret that I didn't,” she rejoined. “But there was no excuse to have you relegated to sitting with my London colleagues at an outermost table.” Daisy paused. “I only found that out yesterday, from my mother. You were supposed to be at the close friends table, and it’s even in the planning book like that.” I gently reminded Daisy that she had much more important things on her mind that day. “What really pisses me off is my husband’s going behind my back to cut you out. Your place was taken by a cousin from Angers who wasn’t even on the original guest list. François was seven the last time they saw each other,” she fumed.
I shrugged and told her to let it go; it was six months in the past, and I hadn’t been damaged by it. “I accept your apology, Daisy. Can I get you another drink?” She said yes. When I returned, she was standing with a freshly lit Virginia Slim 120 in her mother-of-pearl holder. Daisy french-inhaled, tilted her head back, and slowly exhaled through her nose. My knees wobbled. “Here’s your drink,” I said, fighting to keep arousal out of my voice. She smiled her thanks, took a sip, and then drew on the holder, opening her mouth to release, then recapture, a big ball of smoke. I watched her throat work; a burst of smoke shot from her nostrils, and then she leisurely lifted her chin, and a plume of smoke blossomed from her lips, creating a long, gray trail. “Daisy,” I breathed, more spellbound than annoyed, “please don’t do that.”
She put her drink down and faced me, arm extended downward with the holdered cigarette held perpendicular to the floor. “Why? Are you afraid that I’ll just leave you here with your erection and nothing but memories?” Daisy closed the distance between us. “Or,” she resumed, very softly, “that I won’t?”
Swallowing loudly, I responded, “Both.” Daisy took another elegant, mesmerizing drag, making her intentions apparent. “Daisy… I can’t.”
“Will Redmond,” she tenderly said with a look I knew well in her eyes, “my darling friend to whom I owe the most heartfelt of apologies, either you will, or I will seduce you into it.” There was no air of impish mischief about her, and it wasn’t that she was just horny. Daisy was going to apologize to me by reaffirming our relationship at its most intimate, letting me know just how close we would continue to be.
I lay sated, but feeling horribly guilty afterwards, with Daisy cradled in my arms. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I confessed. “This was only going to end one way, Will,” said Daisy, comfortable in my arms. “And that's where we are now. No sense in feeling guilty. I took advantage of your... interests. As for my husband, he has his illusions, not the least of which is that he controls me now that we’re married. I’m still required in London on a regular basis, but I don’t travel as much to the US—I can let my juniors do a lot of the grunt work and commuting now. He thinks it’s because of him, which isn’t entirely false, so I let him believe it.” I pointed out that she had only been married six months.
“Don’t get me wrong. I still love him—not the same way I love you,” Daisy answered. “It’s been good. It’s just that sometimes, he makes certain—assumptions—like about the wedding arrangements—that I don’t necessarily agree with. It’s all a part of being married.” She reached for her holder and Virginia Slim 120s, and my cock immediately perked up. “He’s not as—affected—as you are by this, either. I use my holder almost all the time now, and to him, I’m as beautiful as always. For you, it’s always special… and I admit, I like that. It’s nice to feel super-hot.” She sat on the edge of the bed and smoked without hurry, looking sexy as she always did, occasionally performing for me. She reached back to rub the head of my cock for her last couple of drags, completed with half-lidded eyes. “Got any Vaseline handy? I’m not finished apologizing.”
I stood in the middle of my living room as Daisy prepared to head back to New York on Sunday. “My mom told me that you were with a really beautiful redhead at the wedding. Have I…?”
“No,” I said. “Erica’s a flight attendant based in New York, and she’s out of town more than she’s in. I was lucky that she was available to go with me.” Daisy’s face fell. “Don’t feel bad for me, dear. Right now, I’m happy with the state of things. Job is great, I’m going to France in June to spend a week with Nathalie—and no Collette, no sex club, no sex powder.” I waited for a respectful moment. “Don’t expect me to call when I’m in town. Your husband’s made it very clear what he thinks of me.”
“That’s because he’s scared of you,” Daisy reflected. I told her that given what had happened, maybe he had every reason. “This won’t happen very often… if ever again, Will. But I needed to get the wedding thing off my chest.”
“You could have sent flowers and chocolate,” I deadpanned.
Daisy giggled before turning serious again. “Not good enough. You deserved better—you should have been a big part of my big day.” She kissed me on the cheek. “I also can’t promise that this won’t happen again.”
“I’m not your standing affair, Daisy. You’re married. That’s changed what we had. We can’t do this anymore,” I said, taking a deep, loud breath. “I don’t like François, I think you’ve made a mistake… but I have to respect his position as your husband.”
“You know I can seduce you,” she stated with confidence. The impish smile returned.
“Then I can’t see you again, period.”
Shocked by the declaration, Daisy stood ramrod straight. After studying me, she said, “Wow. You’re serious,” in a small voice. I nodded. “If I promise not to seduce you, can we still be friends?” I told her that as long as she respected her marriage, she could call or stop by any time. She heaved an unhappy sigh, and muttered. “Guess I missed on that one,” before adding with regret, “Half a loaf, right?”
I kissed her deeply and felt her melt into my embrace. “That was the last time, Daisy. As hard as it is to—leave you like this, I love you. I love you so much that I’m willing to save you from yourself.”
She sniffled. “My mom told me I was an idiot, y’know. I think I’m finally beginning to figure out why.” A brave smile came to her face, but she didn’t leave. I think she was waiting for me to sweep her back into the apartment.
I cleared my throat. “Goodbye, Daisy. Don’t say hi to François for me.”