Virginia Slim Daisy

By The Flying Pen ©, 2012-2019

The High School Years

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 she was drunk at the time, she was the first girl to touch me sexually (a hand job.) She was also the second girl I ever fucked—after working really hard to set me up with my first. Although we’ve never had what you would call a traditional dating relationship for more than a month at a time, we’ve been steady fuck buddies off and on over the course of our relationship, even after I married—with my wife’s consent, no less. Hell, if it wasn’t for Daisy, I probably wouldn’t have been brave enough to meet my wife in the first place. 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 to look, some of whom are young enough to be her son. 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.

Our history began innocently enough. It was the summer of 1972, and I had passed the citywide test to compete for one of twenty-four scholarship slots available among six different private schools, along with about one hundred fifty other local kids. However, my father had been working for Daisy’s father in the mailroom at his company for years, so Mr. Woodford had heard my dad brag about me a lot. It turned out Mr. Woodford was an alumnus and trustee for one of the schools giving scholarships, and asked to meet me when he heard I was a semifinalist. My parents thought it was an opportunity to get a leg up on the competition, so my dad accepted for me. The meeting was to take place at a party at the Woodford’s summer house. “Will, I want you to be on your best behavior,” my father said for the thousandth time since breakfast. “Mr. Woodford can help you get that scholarship, and all of us know how much that could mean to your education.”

Mr. Woodford wasn’t stiff and boring and snobbish like I had imagined all rich people were. He liked sports as much as my family did, and confided he enjoyed weekends because he didn’t have to dress up. I quickly realized he had been listening when my dad talked about me at the office because he already knew a lot about me. He made me feel comfortable, and so it was easy for me to talk with him about where I wanted my life to go, and how this scholarship would help. We spoke for about a half-hour and then he asked me if I had any questions. I wanted to know what going to his school was like, and he replied, “I could tell you what it was like for me when I was there, but if I can find my daughter, she can let you know what it’s like today. She’s just finishing up her freshman year. Let’s see if we can find her.” We went outside to the huge deck circling the house.

The first time I ever saw Daisy, she was pulling a Virginia Slim from her mother’s pack. She lit the cigarette before answering her father’s summons, casually snapping a ball of smoke into her mouth before lifting her chin and exhaling. She bounced across the patio to us. “Hi! I’m Daisy!” she smiled, extending her hand, just as friendly as anyone could be.

I remember stuttering for several seconds, partially because she never lets me forget, but she was easily the stuff of wet dreams for my pubescent self—the most gorgeous, feminine human being who had ever deigned to speak to me in my entire life. Even at fourteen, Daisy had a waist that flared nicely to her hips and a noticeable chest, but what impressed me the most was her obvious self-confidence. Nobody I knew would have the nerve to smoke in front of their parents, let alone take their cigarettes. Daisy was attractive, bold, and gregarious—everything I wasn’t. Her father asked if she would answer my questions and casually let it drop I would probably be a freshman there the upcoming year. “Sure!” she smiled, “give me a few minutes and we can go inside and talk.” Patiently, and in amazing detail, Daisy told me what and who to look out for, which teachers were good, and answered all my questions. She spent almost an hour with me, and never once did I get the feeling I was keeping her from her friends. When we were finished, she introduced me to her friends as “Will. He’s probably going to be a freshman at my school next year,” before returning me to my parents’ company. The day ended with her telling me she would be happy to see me at school. Yeah, right, I thought. She might have been willing to speak with me at her parents’ social gathering, but in the real world, I knew I was invisible to girls like her.

I got my acceptance letter a week later. When school started, it was hell. Being the new kid was bad enough, but not having any athletic prowess whatsoever and being very smart (and determined to prove it), quickly placed me in the “nerd” group. I was referred to by the unflattering nickname of “Charity Case,” oftentimes to my face, since everyone knew I was at the expensive private school on an academic scholarship. Being small, there wasn’t shit I could do about it. That was when I found out Daisy meant what she had said at the party. One day, about a week into classes, a bunch of sophomores were giving me shit, trying to goad me into a fight everybody knew I wouldn’t win. It was a group of the “privileged,” those who hit the trifecta of looks, athletic skill, and money, and used it to lord over those who didn’t have any of those things, like me. I was walking to the science building from gym, a path taking me past “The Wall,” where the girls who smoked would hang out between classes. One of the group harassing me took a run at me, knocking me off my feet and driving me into a group of girls like a bowling ball, toppling a couple of them, including Daisy. The boys thought it was great fun. “I thought all poor people could walk since they can’t afford cars, but ‘Charity Case’ can’t even do that!” they laughed. Daisy calmly picked herself up as I stuttered mortified apologies to the girls, fighting tears.

“Not your fault, Will,” she softly said, loud enough for the group of girls to hear. “As long as you’re here, stand up so I can introduce you to everyone.” Daisy did just that with the same placid self-confidence she’d possessed at the party, telling her friends our fathers knew each other, and I was a family friend. She purposely didn’t tell them my dad worked for hers, knowing that would have exposed me to more ridicule. The other boys stood watching, smart enough to know not to resume their game and interrupt her, and finally left when the one-minute warning bell sounded. This just happened to coincide with the end of Daisy’s introductions, allowing me to make it to science class in peace. I didn’t know it then, but I had just been labeled as, “A Friend of the Most Popular Girl at School.” It would be many years before I understood the concept of social intelligence, but if there had been an IQ scale for that specific trait, she would be considered a genius. Even as a sophomore in an environment with a well-established, extremely traditional hierarchy, Daisy negotiated among all of the social circles, crossing age, social class, ethnic, and all the other boundaries inherent to every high school with seeming ease. She wasn’t the most beautiful girl at school, she didn’t have the best figure, she wasn’t the richest, or the smartest or most athletic, but she had everybody’s public respect—quite the accomplishment in high school. My connection to Daisy forced the sophomore bullies to be less obvious at picking on me, and it stopped altogether. Bullying me impressed no one, least of all the popular, pretty girls who hung out with Daisy.

The Woodfords invited my family to several of their gatherings the following summer—my academic achievement had impressed everyone at the school, and as my father said, it never hurt to have a mover and shaker in your corner, so we attended most of them. Daisy was at some fancy summer camp, so I didn’t see her until the Fourth of July. “Will! Nice to see you! How’s your summer been?” she beamed, making me feel all warm inside as she shook my hand. Her mother interrupted the moment, which was probably a good thing. After greeting me, she handed Daisy something, and her daughter brightly thanked her. “Come on around back,” Daisy addressed me, “there’s a bunch of us from school.” I found myself in the middle of a group of ex-sophomores, including a couple of the bullies. Before I could get worried, Daisy pulled something long and brown from the red pack of what I thought were cigarettes she carried, and a couple of her female friends gasped.

“What, you smokin’ cigars now, Daisy?” guffawed one of the boys while she was lighting it. Daisy drew on the cigarette, tossed her head, and exhaled skyward. Then she looked at the guy who had commented with an expression of utter disdain without saying a word. He stopped laughing within seconds, and she took her next long drag, once again lifting her head before exhaling. “I ran out of Virginia Slims. These are my mom’s—she smokes these Mores.” Two of the other girls asked for one of the Mores, one eager, the other somewhat hesitantly. I didn’t smoke then, but it was the first time I really noticed smoking… and I was affected. I watched Daisy and her friends smoke several times in silent, increasing arousal. Later that night, as I lay in bed, an image of Daisy with the long brown cigarette held at the end of a gaily-extended arm, her head slightly reclined, exhaling a long trail of smoke popped into my head… and my dick stood straight up by itself. My first self-triggered orgasm occurred while images of Daisy smoking a long, slim brown cigarette played in my head. The image kept repeating at least three times a week when I went to bed, and I couldn’t go to sleep unless I relieved the tension. Masturbating to my fantasy Daisy became a ritual. It was all I could do to not cum in my pants at the Woodford’s Labor Day party, especially when Daisy, her mom, and three of Daisy’s friends, all of them smoking Mores, had congregated and were talking about some male movie star.

Sophomore year, I made a point of avoiding “The Wall” because my penis seemed to have a mind of its own, becoming erect at the slightest inducement, and I didn’t want to give it any encouragement. Unfortunately, Daisy and I shared two classes and we talked almost every day, which would invariably leave me with an erection and hours to go before relief. I never saw her react, but several years later, she confessed she had noticed and kind of enjoyed it. She also told me that was when she first got the idea.

My first high school parents-are-gone-let’s-party occurred that fall. Jimmy Ford was the “host,” and it was held at a cabin in a wooded area, with no other cabins nearby. I rode with one of the juniors I had befriended, a football player I was tutoring in two subjects. I knew I was going to miss my curfew before I left, but I was willing to live with the consequences. Thanks to my friendship with Daisy and association with her friends, I didn’t have the reputation of being a nerd, even though I was. It was well known I had been invited, and had a ride if I wanted it. Therefore, I had to go and be social to avoid being tagged as a nerd, which would have ended any hope of a social life. I was out-of-place at the party. Kids getting drunk on cheap beer (I didn’t like the taste), kids getting high (no attraction for me either), and kids making out (extremely interested, but not a snowball’s chance in hell of finding a prospective partner at the party no matter how drunk any of the girls got.) Nonetheless, I managed to find groups to speak with for a few minutes at a time, establishing my social presence. I wound up wandering outside, away from all the noise after an hour or so. It had been much more of an effort to be social than I had thought, and the solitude was welcome. After looking into the dark, moonlit forest for a while, I worked up the nerve to see where the path went, but Daisy’s familiar voice called my name before I could walk away. “You goin’ for a walk?” I nodded as she approached, tongue-tied. “I need a quiet walk to clear my head. Mind if I tag along?” Of course not, walking wet dream of mine, I thought, squeaking yes. She giggled and leaned against me, admitting, “Yes, I’m a lil’ drunk.” Daisy leaned to my ear and breathed, “You won’t tell on me, will you?”

I assured her my lips were sealed, and we headed down the obvious, well-groomed path. “There’s a lake here,” she explained. As we got closer, Daisy suddenly veered off the path and into the dark woods. “C’mere, I wanna show you somethin’ cool!” I had no choice but to grab her hand and follow. About ten feet off the road was a guard shack, lying on its side. “Used to be a fence all around the lake ‘cause it was private, but they knocked the shack over when they tore down the fence.” She got down on her hands and knees and crawled through a nearly invisible opening. “Been here lots. I’ve known Jimmy since third grade.” She held her finger to her lips. I cocked my head, but it quickly became evident why she had asked for silence. Soft moans and groans were emanating from the direction of the lake, less than 500 feet away. Daisy giggled, “Michelle McBain. Dunno who the guy is. I didn’t think you wanted to walk in on them, so I came here.”

After I commended her for her accurate instincts, she tossed me her lighter. “What’s this for?”

“A gentleman to light a lady’s cigarette,” replied Daisy, removing a Virginia Slim. Oh no, she’s gonna see! I lit it despite knowing what it would do to me, but she seemed not to notice my arousal. “I wanna thank you for giving me an excuse to disappear from the party for a while, and let me sober up a bit,” Daisy said, turning serious. “It also lets me—escape from a couple of boys without getting labeled a cocktease.” She took a long drag from the Virginia Slim, french-inhaling smoothly. “It’s called a french-inhale. Dawn Stewart taught me how to do it. How did it look?”

“Kinda cool,” I equivocated, with my penis growing rapidly. Seeming pleased by my appreciation, Daisy repeated the action, effortlessly producing a long trail of smoke from her mouth to her nose, her face now fully illuminated by moonlight emerging from a bank of clouds. “I hate smoke rings. Makes it look like you’re a pro at giving blowjobs,” she added, grinning, “Michelle McBain does’em really well.” We talked in generalities for a few minutes while she finished her cigarette. The noise from the lake reached its crescendo, leaving me more uncomfortable than ever, and desperately hoping Daisy wouldn’t notice. We remained silent until footsteps headed away from the lake crunched along the path. I had softened, and thanked whatever gods were watching over me the moonlight hadn’t fallen on my lap. “So, I’m guessin’ you’re not into beer or pot,” Daisy began as soon as we were sure we were alone again, “and you don’t have a girlfriend or any prospects to make out with. So I’m curious. What brings you to Jimmy’s party?”

I explained I thought this would help me avoid being labeled a nerd, pausing to light her next cigarette automatically without thinking about its effect on me. As for the girl thing, I explained no girl at school would ever look at me that way—I was a nice guy, but the school genius.

“Will,” she said, after lazily releasing a long ribbon of smoke skyward, “you shouldn’t ever let your own estimation of your attractiveness keep you from talking to a girl. You might be surprised at the response you get.” She glanced downwards at my bulge. “I mean, I’ve noticed you looking at me—” She casually snap-inhaled a huge ball of smoke. “—at my house and on the wall at school.” Oh my god! I thought, horrified. She knows! Daisy’s hand landed on my crotch. “And I gotta say, it’s kinda—flattering.” Daisy leaned forward, and drew on her Virginia Slim, giving me a close-up look at her french-inhale before turning her head to exhale into the moonlight. My cock pulsed strongly beneath her fingers. “An’ I think I wanna thank you for the help with school—and the flattery.” Daisy unzipped my pants, removed my erect cock, and began to rub it. “Just don’t yell, OK?” Her eyes twinkled in the darkness with drunken mischief, and she drew on her cigarette again.

Her touch was pure electricity, and when she took another drag, cum shot from my cock as smoke began to flow from her lips. I didn’t yell or scream as she had requested, but sighed her name deliriously as the reality far surpassed my nightly fantasies. She smiled at me as I slumped further down the wall, drained, and gave me a smoke-scented smooch on the cheek. “Y’know, it’s kind of a bummer our folks know each other,” she began. “That means we can’t ever talk about this—to anybody—ever.” She put her cigarette out. “It’s also too bad you’re just a sophomore. See you at school Monday?” I could only nod weakly as she crawled out of the shack. I headed back to the party a few minutes later, but there was no sign of Daisy, although Michelle McBain did give me a funny, suspicious look.

I got home well after curfew. My mother gave me hell and my father had a private talk with me. I think he instinctively knew something sexual had happened and could understand why I missed curfew (for the first time in my life.) Nonetheless, my mother was pissed and rules were rules. Grounded for a month. It had been worth it.

***

Back at school, Daisy showed no sign anything had happened between us. Any infatuated looks I had for her were dismissed as normal; she was showing signs of the woman she would become, like many girls in her class, so a lot of the boys at school looked at her and her classmates the same way. However, near the end of my punishment, something happened to take my mind off Daisy: Sharon Brown started smoking.

Sharon was a freshman and a new student who had just moved to the area. She was very smart, kind of rounded without being fat, and her wavy light brown hair was perpetually unstyled, and she wore purple-and-pink tortoise shell glasses. She was not particularly graceful physically, but socially, even less so, which immediately put her into the “nerd bin.” However, her approach to the problem of being an unpopular nerd girl was to start hanging out uninvited around the wall with the popular freshmen girls, which only underscored her social awkwardness. Of course, they all smoked, and so regarded Sharon with contempt as she didn’t, but she kept hanging around them with stubborn determination, blissfully ignorant of the social taboo, and no matter how hard the popular freshmen girls tried to dissuade her, she determinedly took her place at the wall. I knew who Sharon was because we both spent a lot of time in our school’s math lab, but I finally noticed her at the school’s Halloween dance. My parents had ended my punishment ten days early after another stellar grade report, and my dad drove me at my mother’s edict to insure there’d be no missed curfew. I saw Katie and Margot Hearst, Donna Gray, and Sallie Ryan, the boy-crazy freshmen girls who smoked between every class and flirted with any boy who was considered attractive standing outside the gym. I was surprised to see Sharon with them, and a part of the group. I didn’t think she was that type of girl. “… OK nerd-girl, if you’re gonna hang out with us on the wall, you gotta prove you can be cool. You gotta…” That was all I heard as I walked past them and into the dance. I played wallflower until Daisy made me dance, then went right back to the wall along with most of the boys. The room emptied when the band went on break.

I heard a bunch of girls giggling behind me and a whispered, “Go on… ask him!” I turned in time to see Katie push Sharon towards me. “Ummm… ummm… do you have a light?” she quickly asked as she bumped into me. I could see her blush, and it was obvious she was very nervous. More giggling came from the girls behind her. Daisy, who was standing nearby with her friends, must have heard Sharon because she called my name and tossed me her lighter. Sharon brought a long brown cigarette to her lips while the girls who had put her up to this now laughed openly. “Ummm… thanks,” she said, looking like she wanted to run away.

“You’re Sharon, right?” It wasn’t brilliant, but it was something. She nodded with a stupid grin on her face, and took a nervous, quick puff from the More. It dawned on me she thought I was cute and was having problems talking to me because of it! Knowing what it felt like made me take pity on her, and the fact she was smoking a More made me want to—do a lot more. Sharon may have been nerdy, but I noticed she had a nicely rounded body and healthy chest for the first time. Blood moved. “So where are you from?”

“Just outside of New York,” she quickly answered, obviously thrilled I wasn’t going to laugh at her. “My dad got promoted to manage his company’s office here. My mom’s a teacher…” She enthusiastically blabbed at me, overreacting at the attention, as nerds are wont to do, but I let her. In addition to being very flattered by her attraction, I was not going to let those four little bitches get away with using me to humiliate her. I suggested we move away from the crowd, and once we had a little more privacy, she thanked me for not freaking out over her brown cigarettes, explaining it was one of the things she had to do to be a part of their group. “I have to smoke these in public for the next month,” she sighed, looking ill at ease and unfamiliar with smoking, although she was committed enough to inhale on a regular basis.

“Well, I think they’re distinctive, Sharon,” I earnestly said, hastily adding, “for what it’s worth coming from me, the school nerd. Besides, you don’t wanna be like everyone else, right?” She gave me a goofy grin and nodded. Donna walked by just then and snipped, “Nerds in love. Gross!” in a haughty “I’m-cool-and-you’re-not” girl way, causing Sharon’s face to fall.

“Yeah, well at least she lets her brain do the talking instead of her pussy,” I mumbled under my breath, not quite brave enough to let Donna hear it, but scoring major points with Sharon. We went back inside after a while. The band was loud and neither of us was inclined to dance, so we stood next to each other without much conversation.

An hour later, we were back outside with me lighting Sharon’s More. Before we could talk, Daisy and her girlfriends spilled out the door. “Will!” she called as she saw me, and mimed the thumb flick of a lighter, reminding me I still had hers. She and her group weaved through the growing crowd to gather around us. Daisy removed a Virginia Slim from her purse. I lit it and watched as she french-inhaled her first drag. Daisy sent a long stream of smoke into the night air before asking, “So who’s your friend?” I introduced Sharon to Daisy and her friends. Although they were all juniors, I was Daisy’s friend, and helping three of them with school. Therefore, it was socially acceptable to be seen talking to the school nerd.

“So, who do you have for etiquette, Daisy?” asked Marie Bishop, apparently continuing a previous conversation.

“Mrs. Coxe,” was the bored reply.

“You have etiquette classes?” I blurted, causing several of the girls to roll their eyes.

Daisy replied, “Every Wednesday after school,” sounding peeved. “My parents want me to go to the debutante ball at the club, so it’s a requirement that all the debs hafta take these classes—kinda like a finishing school,” she expanded, making it clear her ire was directed at the class and not my ignorance. She took another long puff. “Get this,” resumed Daisy, sending two short bursts of smoke into the air before exhaling quickly. “I’ve been taking smoking lessons for the past week.” She rolled her eyes. “To make sure I do it like a lady.”

“You mean there’s a right way to smoke?” Sharon asked, looking and sounding confused. All the girls laughed, making her blush and she defensively said, “I just started.”

“Miss Brown,” Daisy began in a funny, high-pitched voice, “there are things a lady shouldn’t do when smoking, and never should she smoke a cigar.” The other girls laughed while Sharon and I looked lost. “Sorry. That’s what Mrs. Coxe would tell you,” Daisy explained. “Maybe I ought to show up with one of my dad’s Havana’s next week and give the old lady conniptions.”

“Oh,” Sharon said, crestfallen as she regarded her More. “So these are…”

“Oh, those are fine,” Dana casually interjected. “My mom and aunt smoke them.”

“Cynda—my oldest sister—does too. She started smoking them when they first came out,” said Carole Lee. “She says they’re a fashion statement.”

“My mom used to smoke Virginia Slims, but she smokes Mores now, too,” added Daisy after finishing a long, extended streaming exhale into the early evening. “I smoke them when I run out of mine at home—at least until I can get to a store. What does your mom smoke?” Neither of Sharon’s parents did. “Ohhh, I see,” Daisy responded, “We all started by sneaking cigarettes from our moms or older sisters, and I guess we learned how to smoke by watching them.” The other juniors nodded their agreement. “If you don’t mind my asking,” she resumed, “how did you pick Mores? It’s not like you’re getting them from your folks or sharing with another student.” Sharon turned red again, but Daisy lightly resumed, “Unless you’re trying to make a fashion statement like Carole’s sister or draw attention to yourself.”

Sharon seemed surprised by the apparent interest, but I gently prodded her to tell them why she was smoking Mores, and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She told Daisy and her friends what was going on. “… They gave me two cartons of More menthols and told me I had to smoke all of them in the next month if I wanted to hang out at the Wall,” she unhappily finished. Part of me wished Sharon would smoke Mores for a month so I could watch.

All the juniors looked at each other. “Y’know, freshmen really shouldn’t be on the wall,” Carole said. “At least not without asking first.” Dana made a pensive noise and agreed her younger siblings should definitely know better.

“Just what I was thinking,” smiled Daisy, turning to Sharon. “You just pick whatever cigarettes you want to smoke, and we’ll teach you how to smoke like we were your big sisters. Leave those four little bitches to us.” She waved at me. “Don’t worry, Will. We’ll take good care of your friend.” Within a week, Donna and gang were relegated to the woods for their smoke breaks while Sharon was hanging out with the juniors on the wall. She also continued to smoke Mores, primarily because the other girls had given her two cartons, but she looked a lot more comfortable about it.

My dreams mutated; I still dreamed about Daisy, but only once or twice a week. The rest of the time, it was Sharon, who, nerdiness aside, was smoking Mores, rendering her sexier than ever in my eyes. She was so enchanting I stopped talking to her except for perfunctory greetings in the hall because, like Daisy, she intimidated me. Sharon was a no-show for the following school dances: Daisy told me Sharon had been grounded for smoking. “Thank goodness my parents aren’t that strict,” she noted. I still saw Sharon smoking at the wall, but since she had finished her initial cartons by then and her parents wouldn’t let her buy her own, she smoked whatever one of the other juniors would share. I still looked, especially when Carole Lee would give her one of hers. Carole had been one of the More smokers at the Woodfords’ party, but had switched to Max Menthols when school started. They seemed just as long and slim—and sexy—as Mores, only in white. Now I had two dream girls, neither of whom I had the guts to talk to about it, both of whom would have been extremely approachable.

By March, the weather was changing and the girls were able to hang out at the wall more often, giving me lots of eye candy to look at while walking between classes, even if I didn’t want to. My penis still reacted forcefully to the sight of Daisy, Sharon, and Carole smoking, but I had gained a little more success at quashing the spontaneous erections. One day, I was working on making it go soft while Daisy and I were in the language lab alone during study session, prepping for our mid-term French exam. “So how are the etiquette lessons coming?”

“Almost finished,” she replied. “The debutante ball is the first week in April. Mom and I are going to pick out the dress this weekend.”

“That’s nice. Do you have to have a date or—”

“An escort,” she said, quickly adding, “somebody from the club. I’m going with Roberts Baldwin—he graduated last year—he asked me. At least I have somebody who wants to go with me. Doesn’t always work that way. Ask Diana. Peter Crane is her escort.”

“Isn’t he almost engaged to Elizabeth Symington?”

Daisy nodded. “It’s going to stink for her. She’d rather go with anybody else.” I half-jokingly volunteered. “Unfortunately,” Daisy said, “it has to be a club member.”

“Well, I’d like to see you all dressed up for once. I bet you’d look fantastic,” came out of my mouth before I could stop it. She told me I was sweet for saying it, but quickly added that we’d better get back to studying. Frustrated, yet oddly relieved, I agreed and kicked myself for reminding Daisy I thought she was attractive. I didn’t want her to think she had to remind me she and I as a couple weren’t even close to a remote possibility, because I knew she would feel bad about it.

Two weeks later, as I was walking past the wall, Daisy called me over and handed me a parchment envelope. “This is for you, because you gave me the idea. Please tell me you can come.” I watched her take a fetching drag from her Virginia Slim before opening it. It was an invitation to a suit-and-tie affair: a debutante party for “Miss Daisy Marie Powell Woodford” at her house, and I knew I was not going to miss it, no matter what my parents would say. I shouldn’t have worried: as usual, any event sponsored by the Woodfords was seen as having an advantage for my future. The usual gang was there, all of Daisy’s wall friends, a few junior boys… and Sharon. All conversation stopped when Daisy’s father announced her, and she appeared. He escorted her down the steps. Never having seen her dressed up, made up, and coiffed, I was awestruck, and completely forgot about all the other people there. She made a short speech at the bottom of the steps, concluding with, “Let’s party!” I tried to make myself invisible, being almost erect, but Daisy found me quickly enough in the small gathering, telling me this was all my idea as she pulled me onto the dance floor as a waltz began. “I need lessons first,” I complained.

“I’ll teach you right now,” she said, pulling me close and brushing against my erection. “Flattery like that can get you places, Will,” she flirtatiously whispered. I was mortified, but she didn’t miss a step, all the while looking into my eyes, radiant and breathtakingly beautiful. When we finished, she dragged me over to her mother, who told me Daisy said I was the reason she got an “A” in French. All I could do was blush and stammer because Mrs. Woodford was beautiful in the same elegant way as her daughter. “Mom, please can I use it tonight like I did at the ball?” Daisy pleaded, changing the subject, sparing me further embarrassment. “I promise not to break it and I’m wearing gloves tonight, too. It’s already in my purse.” Her mother returned a pained look, but acquiesced to whatever the request had been. “You’re great!” Daisy quickly, softly exclaimed, and excitedly turned to me. “Let’s go outside, I need a cigarette.”

We slipped outside unobserved, with me following mutely, perplexed. Smoking was certainly allowed inside, so why were we going outside? Daisy reached into her purse and handed me a lighter. “Just a sec,” she said, turning away and fiddling some more with her purse. With a quick half-spin, she smiled, posing with a Virginia Slim in a long ivory cigarette holder. “So how do I look?” I lit her cigarette with shaky hands, and absolutely no thoughts of any other woman. “Wow,” was all I could squeak. Daisy explained the holder belonged to her mother, and she’d allowed her to use it at the debutante ball. “Well, you said you wanted to see me all dressed up, so… voilà!” she smiled, posing once again with the holder held from beneath with her thumb and three fingers, looking very haute couture. The image burned itself permanently into my psyche, and still makes me hard to this day. After a couple more posed drags followed by obvious glances downwards, she resumed, “I also wanted to talk to you about Sharon—privately. I bet if you asked her out, she’d say yes.” I immediately blushed, and pointed out that ever since she had been hanging out with the junior girls, Sharon was getting attention from the junior boys. “So?” Daisy countered. “It’s not like she flirts with them like Carole does. You oughta ask her, Will. We can even double date. I bet she’ll be just as—flattered—by your-ahem—interest—” She cast another quick glance downward. “—as I am.” It took several minutes for my embarrassment to return to a manageable level and to stop blushing. We went back inside after Daisy had finished a second cigarette in the holder, each drag long and leisurely, and each punctuated with a slow french-inhale or equally slow open-mouthed snap-inhale, her eyes sparkling with mischief throughout. I knew then Daisy had figured out my secret and was teasing me with it, but I was too turned on to care. Daisy Woodford had become the siren of my every pubescent desire.

I did spend some time at the party with Sharon, because Daisy, my beautiful, unattainable goddess kept bugging me about it, and I didn’t want to seem obvious about my crush on her in front of everybody else, especially her parents. After Sharon introduced me to her parents, we fell into a comfortable conversation like we did at school, talking about pretty much the same things. She removed a long green cigarette pack from her clutch, and my heart started racing as she pulled out the slim brown cigarette my fantasy smokers all favored and lit it without any trace of the clumsiness she’d displayed when I first noticed her. I said I was surprised she was smoking in front of her parents. She grinned and replied they had lost the war of wills, and took a short, but surprisingly deep, puff from her cigarette ending in a quick, natural french-inhale. Sharon told me she’d also decided to keep smoking Mores because she didn’t want to be like everybody else, just like I had said. Her brand choice really bothered her parents, because they thought she was a “cigar smoker,” and their annoyance was worth something to her, too. “I don’t even bother to correct them anymore,” she said before taking another puff, tossing her head, and then exhaling quickly at the ceiling. “Drives ‘em nuts, but my grades are still almost perfect, and I’m not pregnant like the next-door-neighbor’s kid so they think they’re lucky and consider themselves letting me go through my teenage rebellion years. They’re hoping I’m smart enough to quit.” Sharon took another short, deep puff with her natural french-inhale, and tossed her head back to send a stream of smoke into the air. “Maybe later,” she grinned. Despite her fetching smile and carefree smoking style, I still couldn’t work up the courage to ask her out.

I gave myself blisters masturbating over fantasies of Daisy and her cigarette holder for a while even though I faded into insignificance in her life a week later—Roberts was coming home from college for the summer, and suddenly, it seemed he was the subject of every other sentence she spoke. My ultimate dream girl had a dream guy—and it wasn’t me. Maybe that was why I had the courage to follow Daisy’s advice and ask Sharon out, fully expecting her to laugh in my face, now that she had juniors around all the time and didn’t need to rely on a nerdy sophomore without a driver’s license or a car. To my complete surprise, she accepted anyway. Our first date was dinner at her house for the families to meet. I’m pretty sure Sharon’s dad had pretty much figured I would be a safe date for his daughter after Daisy’s party, but I guess he wanted to see how far the apple had fallen from the tree.

A month and three closely chaperoned cultural outings later, Sharon’s natural french-inhale, hair toss and silent, skyward, long streaming exhale, along with her continuing to smoke Mores had managed to recapture my fancy enough I started masturbating over her again. The Woodfords’ annual Fourth of July picnic was a painful affair for me. It seemed every time I turned around, Roberts and Daisy were sucking face. Worse, Carole Lee’s entire family was there, including Cynda, her twenty-seven-year-old sister, who worked in Manhattan for an entertainment law firm. Slender, sophisticated, and even more beautiful than her youngest sister, she smoked Mores with an effortless elegance. Her inhales were long and deep, held for several seconds before a few wisps of smoke would begin to escape from her nostrils, prefacing her exhale. Cynda would lift her chin by the slightest margin and only then would she deliver a perfectly formed, narrow stream exhale without a sound. I spent lots of time around her, as she and Sharon hit it off quite well, bonding almost instantly over their mutual affection for More Menthol 120s. Spending the night around two More smokers and a Max smoker left me with a hard-on that only faded after three rounds of solitary pleasure in my room that night. I never even thought about Daisy once.

***

Sharon’s parents finally gave their permission for us to go on a group date to the movies in late July. Cynda and her fiancé were to be the chaperones. Daisy and Carole immediately headed for the balcony with their boyfriends, while Sharon and I didn’t know what to do until Cynda urged, “Go on upstairs, you two,” with a smile, and so we sped up the steps to the balcony.

The balcony was more occupied than I would have expected, as the lower level wasn’t anywhere near full, but as I looked around, it was populated entirely by young couples. Once the lights went down for the movie, the real reason for coming up to the balcony became evident. Sharon and I were probably the only couple upstairs not making out. The other couple in our row was necking passionately, and my penis began to inflate. After a futile attempt to pay attention to the movie, all we did was look at each other. I asked Sharon if she was uncomfortable and wanted to go downstairs. She responded by asking me if I wanted to go downstairs. No, what I really want is to do what everybody else up here is doing, but I don’t know how to start, I thought. Besides, I only had Daisy’s word about Sharon’s interest in me. Somewhere in the middle of my racing thoughts, amid the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears, I answered no, it was OK if we stayed upstairs. Sharon gave me a goofy grin, and we settled in. Two minutes later, I was holding her hand. I don’t remember having reached for it, but then she laid her head on my shoulder. For some reason, I placed my hand gently on her cheek in response, and she immediately sat upright to face me. I worried I had done something inappropriate, but quickly realized there was no sign of anger on her face; she was leaning slightly forward, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. My first kiss ever took place in the balcony seats of the Century Theater, and was with Sharon Brown, fellow nerd. It was awkward, clumsy, and the most glorious experience of my life. We were also a lot less clumsy about it by the end of the movie we had forgotten about. The first thing Sharon did after we exited was to light a More, taking a long, deep drag with splayed fingers. Her heretofore-quick french-inhale was now long and flowing, a thing of enchanting beauty. Smoke began to flow from her nose, and then she tossed her head, tilted her head back, and exhaled a long stream past my head before giving me a quick, impulsive, smoke-scented peck on the cheek as we waited for our group to reassemble. I watched her smoke as people streamed around us, and she was—different from the embarrassed, nerdy girl who had asked me for a light under extreme peer pressure. Her cute, slightly ill-at-ease manner about smoking had changed into a relaxed, mature, and sensual style, full of confidence. It was a mixture of Daisy’s slow french and open-mouth inhales, Carole’s lazy tilt of her chin before the exhale, and Cynda’s extended-arm, limp-wristed grace, which made the More look so incredibly sleek and long between her fingers. Sharon’s original contribution was the slow, thick nasal stream issued while she pursed her lips for her long, streaming oral exhales. It was all done quite naturally and casually, and the effect was devastatingly sexy. August turned into a long string of nights filled with day and night dreams of Sharon—and a lot of masturbation. She and I only went out two more times during the summer, once with her parents and once with mine. There wasn’t any more kissing.

I had no idea just how sexy Sharon had become until I started seeing senior boys hanging around her all the time at school, most frequently around the wall or as she was walking to and from. I knew the nerds posed no threat, but Sharon had suddenly attracted the attention of a few of the “hot boys,” to hear Daisy and her friends tell it. Especially Charlie Carter, good-looking, great guy, varsity soccer captain, wrestling team captain, and baseball co-captain, whose mere name made Carole Lee swoon. Sharon and I still spoke every day because we were in the same French class, but I wasn’t sure where I stood. I couldn’t exactly kiss her to find out and I was afraid to ask her because, frankly, given the choice between going out with Charlie or me, I’d pick him. Not to mention his name was also permanently nailed to the honor roll like mine was, so I couldn’t even take my usual empty solace in academic superiority. It took Daisy, who was clearly Roberts’ girlfriend now, to shake me from my self-imposed defeat. During the first home soccer game of the year, where half the female student body was in attendance drooling over Charlie, she called to me while I was in my normal position on the bench. Since there was no way in hell I would get into an actual game, I went over to talk to her, knowing the coach wouldn’t notice I wasn’t, “supporting my teammates,” his favorite phrase to keep the scrubs interested. “What brings you to the game? I didn’t think you had the hots for Charlie.”

“I don’t,” she blithely replied, “but Carole does. Here for my friend.” Daisy took a drag from her Virginia Slim, punctuated with a quick snap-inhale. Despite her unavailability, my penis noticed as she tilted her head all the way back to exhale straight up. “Oh! Sorry, I forgot,” she instantly, softly, apologized, and moved so I couldn’t see her cigarette. “I wanted to ask what’s going on with you and Sharon.”

It took her less than a minute to destroy my efforts at tap-dancing around the question, something she is still very good at, so I told her the truth. “I figured it was just a matter of time until she started going out with Charlie since he’s been hanging out with her,” I candidly said, “and I don’t want her to feel bad about me, so I’ve been trying to keep a distance.”

Daisy huffed with exasperation and grabbed my jersey. “Not every girl in school is hopelessly in love with Charlie! I’m not!” she urgently hissed. I shot back she already had a boyfriend. “That’s right, and Sharon would like to think she does, too,” Daisy snapped in return. “This comparing yourself to other guys thing has got to stop, Will, because it makes you underestimate yourself. You’re the guy she necked with at the movies, and whose name makes her face go all goofy, not Charlie—although if you really want him to be that guy, keep doing what you’re doing. And that’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

Our next French class, I asked Sharon if we could meet at the upcoming school dance. I was rewarded with her goofy, but very wide, grin and a quick peck on the cheek. I’d been officially approved by Sharon’s parents, and I had gotten my driver’s license, so we went on our first unchaperoned date two weeks later. As we kissed in the balcony at the movie theater, she placed my hand directly on her breast, looking me purposefully in the eye when we came up for air. The next week, Jimmy Ford had another party sans parents at his place, and Sharon told her parents we were going to a movie. Instead, we went straight to the party and after a couple of hasty greetings, straight into the woods. Sharon’s virginity (and mine) came to a simultaneous end in the hidden shack in the woods. Her first-ever dreamy-eyed, after-sex cigarette, with big, moonlit open-mouth inhales and slow combination exhales assured she would get to have a second after-sex cigarette shortly thereafter. I still had her home by midnight as promised, getting a short peck on the cheek at her door for show.

We stole longer kisses whenever and wherever we could, causing us to get a quiet, unofficial reprimand from teachers on a few occasions. Since it was obvious our love affair had no effect on our grades, they made allowances for two of the best students in school. It was a major surprise when, although completely in character for Charlie, he backed off and was gracious in defeat, telling me I was a lucky guy.

“Nerd-girl” Sharon Brown hung out on the wall with the seniors, smoking as flamboyantly as Sallie Ryan, the easiest piece of ass in school, and it made her look like a bad girl, especially with her distinctive brown cigarettes. She had turned the effort at humiliating her into a personal declaration of style and pulled it off with confidence. Looking nothing like the nerdy girl who had arrived at our school a year earlier, Sharon had captured the imagination of several senior and junior boys, but ignored them all for me, her nerdy boyfriend. While she no longer appeared to be nerdy, her intellect and interests hadn’t changed, and we continued our shared pursuit of all things nerd. I was in love with a sexy More smoker, and Daisy Woodford became just a friend, one who proved quite adept at getting Sharon out from the watchful eye of her parents. Daisy could play the All-American good girl role to a tee for worried parents, and “slumber party” became a euphemism for “teens in the woods with no adult supervision and alcohol.” Being the nerds we were, Sharon and I had started reading about sex and those get-togethers became our laboratory. We tried different positions, oral sex, and a couple of times, anal sex, which, although we both enjoyed it, cleaning up afterwards was a hassle, and killed the possibility of, if not the mood for, having more sex. Sharon loved getting head while smoking, which also invariably left me hard and would lead to a long, extended fuck, frequently with her lying on her side, one leg in the air braced against my body as I pumped slowly at her. She would kiss me passionately during her after-sex More, and that’s how I started smoking. The best time for us was the long summer weekend where her parents went away for their anniversary, leaving Sharon at home alone. Her parents were thrilled she wasn’t dating the wrong kind of boy, and so they gave tacit approval for me to come over. They must have known we were sexually active by then, whether or not they were willing to admit it.

She wasn’t allowed to smoke in the house, but it didn’t matter—we spent a lot of time on the screened patio overlooking the pool at the back of her house smoking Mores and kissing, where the neighbors couldn’t see us. Friday night, Sharon took off her clothes, lit a More, and within minutes, was riding my rigid cock, but she dropped the cigarette shortly after finding how good it felt when she rubbed her clit against my pubic hair and belly, a benefit from the position we were in. She didn’t smoke very much over the weekend, but I got hard from just being around her, and she happily gave up her after-sex smokes. We were extremely into each other, to the point where Sharon and I discussed college together over the summer; I was going to look for a school we both liked, so she could join me in a year. The only two grades less than “A” on my transcript were from a physical education teacher who hated nerds, so I could go to any school I wanted.

Junior year started, and it was strange to walk into school without seeing Daisy or any of her gang on the wall. Sharon’s best female friends had all graduated, allowing her fellow juniors finally got to take their revenge for their ninth-grade banishment. I would hang out with her whenever I could to ease her social isolation, but other than French class, our schedules were different. It got much worse two weeks into school. Sharon’s dad got a huge promotion and the family had to move to Brussels immediately. Sharon and I were devastated by the news. Her parents pulled her out of school so she could have a fresh start in Europe, and they were gone by the beginning of October. The hurried nature of their departure left Sharon no opportunity for a date or any type of farewell event, save for a tearful, long, lingering kiss at her door the night before they left.

My grades dropped through the floor, and my parents worried. As usual, the Woodfords invited us to their Halloween party, but Daisy was in college, and besides, I didn’t want to see her anyway—she still had Roberts. My mother, who assured me she understood, tried to convince me to go. “Marie says Daisy will be there. She’s coming home for the weekend and she’s already said she’d be happy to see you, so you won’t be the only young person there.” I gave in the week before the party, because her gentle persistence turned into all-out nagging, and it was easier to capitulate than to suffer through her constant, but well-intentioned, lectures.

Daisy greeted me on the porch of their summer home. “I heard about Sharon,” she sympathetically said, giving me a hug. “I’m sorry.” I asked her how Roberts was. Daisy looked away for a moment before softly replying, “We broke up in August, right before I left for school. He said it would be too hard to stay together with both of us in college.” I immediately apologized; how could I not have known? “S’OK,” Daisy managed to smile. “You were kinda—involved, and I know how it can be. I wasn’t exactly interested in your life when I was with Roberts.”

We were the only non-adults there, so we pretty much stayed outside on the patio and to ourselves. Daisy expressed surprise when I pulled out a More Menthol after lighting her Virginia Slim. “So why’d you start?” I told her about Sharon and the smoky kisses as I watched Daisy smoke, oddly feeling nothing—something had changed. Daisy wasn’t my goddess any more. My answers turned into a long complaint. Writing to Sharon was the only connection we continued to have, and it was immensely unsatisfying—the world was a much bigger place then, no internet or cell phones, and international calls cost a fortune. Daisy patiently listened to me whine. When I had run out of things to say, she asked, “So has it really fucked with your grades?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “School’s just not— worth the bother right now.”

“Well, you only have the rest of your life to look forward to. I went to college—new people, new experiences, no Roberts, none of my old gang… kinda like a fresh start. You owe it to yourself to keep your future as wide open as you can. College is soooo different from high school. You have no idea what’s waiting for you. Be a shame to miss it because you’re still trying to get Sharon back.” As stung as I was by the lecture coming from Daisy, our quiet conversation continued, and the topic eventually turned to her life in college—and without Roberts. Although Daisy had seemed much more philosophical about her own breakup at first, it became evident it had hurt her much more than she showed. It was the first time ever Daisy had been rejected—for anything, let alone a relationship. Parents just couldn’t make that sort of thing better—but good friends could. I suddenly understood why she had come home for this party, and why it had been important for me to attend. I let my own hurt fade into the background to accept some of hers, and consoled my friend. As the night went on and Daisy drank more in her depression, her smoking became more stylish, the effortless french-inhales lasting several seconds reappeared, and the slow skyward exhales were directed with pouting lips. Despite my own depression and earlier apathy, it began to have its usual effect, and by midnight, I was trying to figure out how to leave politely so I could give myself some relief.

By twelve-thirty, the party had ended, but Daisy was still talking and smoking, so I waved goodbye to my parents, and continued to be there for my friend, talking until the lights inside had been out for quite some time. Now Daisy was definitely drunk and trying to turn me on with her smoking—and succeeding. “Ummm… Daisy,” I said, “you’re drunk.”

“Uh-huh,” she sang, with an impish sparkle in her eyes. Making sure I was watching, she took a big drag from her Virginia Slim, and performed an enormous snap-inhale. She lazily turned her head to the side, and, still regarding me, lifted her chin to exhale slowly. It was all I could do not to gasp. “Remember what happened last time I was drunk an’ we were alone?” Her hand dropped and gave my bulge a squeeze as she breathed into my ear, “An’ now we’re not virgins anymore.”

“Daisy, you’re really drunk,” I gently reiterated, unable and unwilling to protest.

She dragged on her cigarette, giving me another show as she french-inhaled smoothly for several seconds, well-lit by the deck lighting, and feeling my cock give a little surge against her palm in response. “I’m makin’ ya horny, aren’t I?” she breathed.

“You’re so hot,” was my retort.

Daisy crushed her cigarette out in the ash stand and swung in front of me. We kissed passionately, her standing on tiptoe as she pressed herself into my body with our arms wrapped around each other. She stepped back, panting, and quickly undid my belt to pull me to the two-person outdoor recliner, where she sat and efficiently removed her top and bra with an ease that said she had done it many times before, revealing a perfect pair of breasts. “Don’t worry, I’m on the pill,” Daisy panted. She was naked in the time it took me to remove my shirt. Smiling as she lay on the chair, Daisy stroked her clit while I fumbled in my haste to kick free of my jeans—a long-held fantasy was on the verge of realization, and I was afraid it would disappear before I could undress, intensifying my innate clumsiness. It seemed like it took forever for me to get naked, but the slight chill of the October night only registered for the merest of instants as she spread her arms and legs to welcome and receive me. “Ohhhh… wowwwww…” happily sighed Daisy as I easily slid into her depths, making her eyes go wide. I began to lap at her breasts, hips working automatically to move me in and out with long, gentle, persistent strokes, driven by muscle memories created with Sharon. “Ohhhhh…. Will… ohhhh… you feel sooooo… soooo… ohhh… ohhh… ohmigod…” Her face turned red, her arms flopped to the side, and Daisy came, gripping me tightly, forcing me to stop lest she push me out.

Quickly regaining control of her body, she pulled my head to hers for an aggressive, hungry kiss. “No wonder Sharon was pissed,” Daisy giggled, gasping when I resumed my fluid pumping. “Ohhh fuuuuck…” We moved slowly together, her body matching my steady rhythm, her soft moaning providing counterpoint. Our lustfully crashing mouths gave way to shorter, more tender kisses, both of us mindful of the need for stealth. Daisy’s soft sighs of pleasure became gasps of electric thrill, and her breathing became louder in the still night. I felt a tingling through my cock telling me this magic time would soon end. My lover’s hips began to roll, and her eyes were losing focus as her face reddened again, a much deeper shade. Daisy began to make increasingly higher-pitched noises, and I remember thinking I needed to do something to keep her quiet—then I came with a long, quiet moan, and forgot about her until my own orgasm subsided.

Daisy whimpered loudly, arms and legs locked around me, her hips jerking and her beautiful face bright red as her orgasm washed through her, with me still inside her and still relatively hard. I hugged her tightly and tried to kiss her to keep her from waking her parents (or anybody else around,) but she continued to cum every time I moved. I tried to pull out, but she moaned, grabbed my hips, and forcefully pulled them back down, causing her to have another orgasmic convulsion. I was beginning to worry Daisy wasn’t going to stop—Sharon was multiply orgasmic, but there were definite stops and starts, and Daisy’s writhing was making me hard again inside of her, and making me want to fuck some more. Her orgasm finally began to fade, and she relaxed her grip—both of them. With a final contented sigh, Daisy’s eyes cleared, and we kissed, slowly, deeply after which, both of us held our breath, frozen, waiting for any sign of discovery. “Sorry,” Daisy said, “I got a little loud.” We both giggled, but quietly. “Ummm… Will?” she asked as we calmed.

“Yes?”

“Can you—ummmm—pull out?”

I stifled a laugh and regretfully complied, drawing a hiss and shudder from her. “Ohhh gawd that feels…” Daisy loudly sucked in air and looked at my erection longingly. “We’d better go inside before I do something that will wake up the neighbors,” she throatily finished.

My erection had disappeared by the time I got inside, carrying my clothes. Daisy asked me if I minded sleeping on the sofa, then watched me dress in their basement. “I gotta go up to my room,” she apologized with a kiss on the cheek. Daisy paused, and then put her arms lightly on my shoulders, looking into my eyes for a long moment until she softly declared, “You are cute.” Then she leaned forward, closing the space between us along with her eyes, and we kissed some more before she gently pushed herself away to go up the steps. Not only had my unattainable goddess descended from Olympus, she had also just intimated she might be interested in making the trip more often. It was a restless, excited night in spite of being satiated. I left early the next morning before the house had stirred, thanking whatever providence had kept our lovemaking secret. I didn’t think Mr. Woodford would have approved, and he was still a big supporter of mine. Still, I wanted his daughter, and the feeling wasn’t exactly one-sided. However, she was a college girl, and I knew I couldn’t be her one and only.

I suppose our Halloween escapade allowed me to leave Sharon in my past; my grades got better, and my own college choice loomed large. My social life, non-existent since Sharon’s departure, stopped being important, and since Daisy was away at school, I could avoid thinking about Halloween. Everything was back to normal until after Christmas. My folks had won a charity raffle for a romantic New Year’s Eve at the ritziest hotel in town, complete with an overnight stay. The Woodfords were disappointed my parents wouldn’t be attending their party, but also made it clear I was still invited, and expected. It would be the first time I had seen Daisy since we’d fucked, so I definitely had mixed feelings about attending, worried she realized the mistake she’d made on Halloween. However, it was obvious all the adults would be disappointed if I didn’t go, so I dutifully drove to the Woodfords’ on New Year’s Eve.

Daisy met me at the door, cigarette in hand. “Will! I’m so glad you made it! You can be my date tonight.” Without saying a word, I was once again in the company of my goddess, and she settled comfortably on my arm as we circulated through the partygoers. We hung out with Carole Lee, her boyfriend, and a few other people from school. It seemed to be accepted Daisy and I were paired only because we were friends with no other romantic attachments. Mrs. Woodford came over and chatted with us for a long while. Ever the gentleman, I lit her More, and Daisy responded by taking one of her mother’s, “for a change of pace.” By the time Mrs. Woodford left us after smoking another More in her elegant way, I had a half-full erection. Daisy gave a surreptitious glance at the front of my pants and winked. I blushed. At midnight, all the kids were in the basement, Daisy maneuvered me underneath the mistletoe and we kissed, long and deep, out of her parents’ view.

The party was still going strong at two, but most of the people our age had left for their own private celebrations. Despite our long kiss to ring in the New Year and her dewy-eyed look immediately thereafter, Daisy had shot down any ideas I had of a repeat of Halloween earlier by pointedly noting she was being careful about how much she drank. “Can’t afford to get too drunk tonight. Not here.” By three, the basement was empty, save for us, and the party upstairs was on its last legs. Daisy sat and lit a More from the pack her mother had left. It seemed Mrs. Woodford had spent a lot of time around us, especially the more she drank. I idly wondered how Daisy had ended up as an only child—I could easily see what Mr. Woodford saw in his beautiful wife. “Daisy,” I began, “am I imagining things or did I talk to your mother more tonight than I have in the last three years?”

Daisy did one of those show-and-heart-stopping slow, open-mouth inhales, but turned bright red at the question. “My mom got a little drunk tonight, sorry.” I waved my hand to indicate it was no big deal. She gave me a funny look and leaned forward as if she were going to say something, but then it changed to one of internal debate. Finally, she softly began, “We woke her up. She knows.” My jaw fell as Daisy delicately put her cigarette out. “She wasn’t really mad about it, but she’s always been more realistic about that sort of stuff than my dad.” I asked if I should leave and she shook her head energetically in response. “She likes you—a lot. She’s dropped hints from time to time she wouldn’t be disappointed if we were to… ummmm… start dating.” Before I could get my hopes up, Daisy quickly added, “But we’ve already discussed it, and we agreed now is not a good time because of college. We’re going to be a thousand miles apart for eight months out of the year, and we might miss something out of—obligation.” All of the merriment of the evening faded as our quiet discussion turned serious.

“Daisy…” I hesitated, afraid to say how I felt about her, and unsure of how she would receive it. Casual sex was one thing, but having a high school kid say he was in love with you and having to break his heart was definitely not something you wanted to carry around when you went back to college.

“I know,” she interrupted in a tone of voice that indicated she did know how I felt about her. “I smoke around you the way I do because I like the way it makes you look at me. I know you like me, and you stopped being the little freshman who my dad told me to keep an eye out for that night at Jimmy Ford’s party. And Halloween was… more than I thought it would be.” She gave me a complicated look and inhaled noisily before asking, “Where on Earth did you learn—?”

“As ridiculous as this may sound, Daisy,” I said, “I’m a nerd. My ex-girlfriend was a nerd. Do you have any idea how many sex books there are for two nerds to study and then experiment? We’re very scientific, y’know.”

She guffawed and grinned, “I shoulda known. You always were an honor roll student.” Daisy looked at me with a predatory sparkle in her eyes. She reached for a More, but decided against it. “I don’t know if this will make you feel better or worse, Will, but the only reason we aren’t naked now is because we have no privacy and I know I’d be loud, not because I don’t wanna do it with you again.” She looked directly at me and confessed, “There was nobody here I wanted to kiss at midnight more than you.” I asked her what all of this meant. “It means if we’re done with college and we’re in the same place… maybe we can see what happens, OK?” We slept together fully clothed on the sleeper sofa in the basement, with me feeling oddly comfortable with her nestled next to me, and Daisy showing no sign of unease at having my erection pushing gently at her.

She called me a couple of days later, asking if I’d like to go to dinner and a show at one of the theaters in town. “I’m kinda bored,” she admitted. “Most of my friends from high school already have plans.” She picked me up at my house and immediately headed away from the city. The theater tickets she had showed to my parents and me at my house were forty bucks apiece. “Ummm… Daisy? Where are we going to dinner?”

“The woods,” she casually replied, keeping her eyes on the road. “And I promise you’ll definitely get a show.” I said something about her wasting money, and she turned to me. “Will, I know I don’t act like it most of the time, but I’m a rich kid. Eighty bucks is nothing, especially if I get to spend a night with you.” Now it was my turn to be flattered. Dinner was burgers and fries we picked up from a local restaurant. “I figured it would be safer than eating my cooking,” she explained as we sat at the dining room table in their summer home. “One of these days, I’m gonna learn how.” After dinner, Daisy opened a bottle of champagne she had liberated from New Year’s Eve. “If you share, there’s not enough for me to get drunk. I think I wanna be sober for tonight,” she smiled. I settled on the sofa. “Just a sec,” she called, reappearing with evening gloves and a Virginia Slim in her mother’s ivory holder. “Told ya you’d get a show,” she purred, taking an enormous drag and snap-inhaling very slowly. “You like?” she unnecessarily asked.

Our first time that evening took place in the living room on the fluffy, warm rug in front of the fireplace. Like our first time, I was giving Daisy long, steady strokes and she reacted pretty much the same way, only louder. Much. “Sorry if you’re a little deaf now,” she giggled, handing me a More and taking one for herself, despite it being menthol. She smoked lazily, content in her obvious afterglow, and as much as I tried not to, I got hard again from watching her, as much as I tried not to. She noticed. “Maybe this is none of my business, but—was it Sharon or these?” asked Daisy, showing me her cigarette.

“Sharon,” I answered honestly. “I know you might not think so, but she was really attractive if you looked past her nerdiness.” Somewhat surprisingly, Daisy concurred, pointing out the boys at school didn’t really notice Sharon until she stopped looking like a nerd by smoking at the wall. “She was a lot of fun to be with. We had a lot of common interests,” I reflected, noticing Daisy’s presence muted the pain of losing her. “I was never embarrassed to be with her, even when she got going about something from biology class most kids would think was gross, and I think she knew it.”

“Do you think she ever—knew about you—and what smoking does to you?”

I shook my head. “She smoked because it wasn’t something people would expect her to do, and she picked Mores because it made her different from everybody else. Sharon is really smart—and she hated being a stereotypical nerd. Smoking brown cigarettes and having lots of varied sex let her feel more like a normal rebellious teenager.” After a pause, I added, “Not every smoking girl affects me like you and Sharon do. There’s something—erotic—about the way you smoke.”

She didn’t react, instead sending a long trail of smoke skyward, extinguishing her cigarette and husking, “So what else did you two little nerds learn from your sex books?”

Five minutes later, we were upstairs in her bedroom and I was introducing Daisy to cunnilingus. Despite her initial hesitation, it was quite successful, and as she was catching her breath, I rolled her on her side, lifted one leg, and entered her with a noisy slurp. “Ohhhh… that feels nice,” she sighed, “but I don’t think I can hold my leg—” I wobbled her clit with a finger. Daisy gasped, jerked, and came forcefully, shooting me out of her. Another try ended up with the same result within a few moments.

“I need a cigarette after that!” she exclaimed, panting. “I don’t think I can take much more! Let’s do it normal.” Instead, I had her climb on top of me and do the work, something else Sharon and I liked to do. Daisy quickly settled into an easy rhythm, sometimes stirring, sometimes bouncing, until she figured out how to slide herself along my length. It wasn’t long before she was leaning forward, we were kissing constantly, and I was thrusting slowly from beneath.

“Uhhh… ohhh… ohhhh… Daisy!” I came for the second time, less copiously, but more intensely, as my toes curled and cramped. She didn’t cum, but wrapped me up and we rolled over, kissing some more until well after I’d gone soft.

“We gotta clean up and get back,” she said with obvious regret. “Play’s almost over, and I can only blame so much on traffic.” A couple of hours later, alone in my room, I lay on my back wondering how to turn myself into Daisy’s boyfriend. However, she headed back to school the following weekend, giving me no chance to declare my love. She called from college to tell me I was the best friend in the world and promised we would see each other when she came home for the summer. I told her I loved her, but she only replied, “The girls are gonna love you when you get to college,” she giggled. “Just make sure you keep your options—and your mind—open. We’re going to be a long ways away from each other for the next few years. Come see me after you’ve graduated if you’re still interested.”

Daisy had made it clear she wasn’t ready to settle down, and that, as a friend, she thought I shouldn’t make the commitment, either, so I put girls out of my mind to focus on finishing strong. There were AP exams and scholarship competitions to deal with, and I decided I was fine with it—until the first announcement for senior prom came in the mail and my mother became an enormous pain in the ass. I didn’t really care to go, I had no one to go with, and I had better things to do than to find a date who wasn’t the least bit interested in me. Unfortunately, my mother attached a great deal more importance to the event, regarding it as a major coming-of-age milestone. After about a month of argument, I capitulated to keep the family peace, and devised a plan: I’d only ask unattainable girls who would turn me down, and then I could truthfully report to my mother I couldn’t find a date.

Everything was going according to plan: I had asked six girls to prom, and had been turned down six times, only once with the cutting ridicule I had expected. The others were surprisingly apologetic, all noting my girlfriend had moved away suddenly, and so they understood why I would ask. That made it even less painful, so when I approached rejection number seven, I figured it would take ten rejections for my mother to accept my defeat. Wendy Phillips, slender and model-beautiful with café-au-lait skin, stood at the wall smoking a Marlboro Light 100, and prom was three weeks away. I would only need three more rejections after Wendy turned me down. I approached and brightly asked if she would consider going to prom with me. “Oh! Will, I’m flattered—really, but I’ve already got a date,” she apologized. “He goes to a different school.” I cheerfully thanked her and turned to go. “Will!” she called, stopping me. “If you need a date, my little sister Cheryl would love to go to senior prom with you.” Shit! I hadn’t counted on actually finding somebody. Cheryl was a freshman, shorter and rounder than her sister and very cute, with the promise of looking a lot like her gorgeous older sister, but had not yet blossomed. It was a big deal for a freshman to go to the senior prom, and I figured the boost it would give to her social standing was why Cheryl wanted to go. Nevertheless, I had put myself in the position and it would have been cruel to say no. It’s difficult for guys like me who are used to rejection to pass on the same pain and humiliation to anybody. Most of the time when we accept an overture, it’s not out of desperation; it’s compassion. The Phillips family loved me; being class valedictorian, extremely well-mannered and well-spoken, polite, sober, and with a bright future, I was seen as—safe. My infrequent smoking wasn’t an issue with them—they all smoked, even Cheryl, who smoked her mother’s Salem 100s the night I met them at their house. She hadn’t yet developed any real style beyond quick drags and immediate oral cone exhales, but I knew that would come with experience, and guys would be standing in line when she started to lose her baby fat. I took Cheryl to a movie as a precursor to prom, but we didn’t even hold hands because I was sure she just wanted to go to the prom.

So my mother got her wish, and I showed up at the Phillips home on prom night with corsage and roses in hand. Wendy was riding with her date, while I was to drive an obviously excited Cheryl to my house first for more pictures. After the Phillips’ final pictures, Wendy handed a box to her sister, saying, “I even got you some cigarettes to match your outfit—like mine.”

Cheryl squeaked with surprise and immediately pulled one of the cigarettes from the box, a blue Nat Sherman’s Jubilee. Wendy lit a pink one, matching her own dress and counseled her sister to have fun. My date babbled non-stop on the way to my house until I warned her about smoking in front of my folks. She tolerated my mother’s gushing and the second round of photos, even giving me a kiss on the cheek for show. The first sign things weren’t exactly what I thought they were came on our way to the prom. “Will, can you stop and get me some cigarettes? These are cute, but they’re not menthol.” I said sure and asked her what kind she wanted. “I wanna smoke those tonight,” she replied, indicating my Mores. “Yours.” Great, a whole evening sitting next to a More smoking girl who’s not really interested in me, I glumly thought. Can this get any worse? Nonetheless, I stopped at a mini-mart and purchased two packs of More Menthol 120s.

“Thank you!” bubbled Cheryl, and she kissed me on the cheek when I got back into the car. Once at the prom, suppressing my erection was a constant battle. Despite her unremarkable smoking, Cheryl handled the Mores with appropriate femininity, and I couldn’t help but watch. We talked with each other a lot more than I thought we would. Cheryl was smart—much smarter than her sister. She was on the same advanced math and science track I was about to finish, and gently pumped me for information about teachers I’d had, showing a seemingly genuine interest in me and my future plans. Instead of the disaster I had been expecting, Cheryl was turning the prom into a nice date with good company. I lost my apathetic mood quickly, and we danced to the fast songs. However, we sat out the slow songs, and by the middle of prom, we were two of a handful of people left sitting during the “lover’s choice” songs, where we would sit, actively avoiding looking at each other. During one of the slow songs, I happened to look at the young girl sitting next to me nervously smoking a More while looking anywhere but at me. She was definitely cute. “Ummm… Cheryl?” She jumped as I tapped her on the shoulder. “Ummmm… would you like to…?” Her eyes went wide and then began to sparkle brightly as she suddenly lost the ability to speak and could only grin, in an echo of Sharon’s goofy, infatuated one. I heard Daisy’s voice going, Will, you’re such an idiot, as I finally realized just going to the senior prom as a freshman wasn’t why Cheryl had jumped at the chance to go with me. She melted into my body as we moved slowly around the floor, and I became a permanent part of her memories by giving Cheryl her first real kiss, from her first real crush. She was eager and excited, although not ready to go any further than a few breath-taking wet kisses. I felt no need to push her. While I didn’t get laid like several of my classmates, it was OK. It had been a fun night.

Cheryl was also a fourteen-year-old girl, and her crush on me fizzled out quickly. I ran into her by accident outside a movie theater a few weeks later, kissing Chip Simms, another freshman. She apologized profusely but I assured her there were no hard feelings. Truthfully, it saved me the angst of having to break up with her; after all, I was college-bound, and having a girlfriend back in high school for three more years just wouldn’t work. Graduation day came and went, and I got a summer job working in a lab at one of the local colleges.

“So, are you ready?” Daisy asked at her folks’ Fourth-of-July party. I told her I was as prepared as I could be. Mrs. Woodford came over to congratulate me, smoking one of her Mores. The drags were longer and deeper, snap-inhales were slower and smaller than her daughter’s, and Mrs. Woodford gave a brief stream from the nostrils before her raised-chin silent oral exhale, but it was obvious where Daisy had learned her smoking style. It also made me a little horny, a situation rendered more awkward by knowing she was thinking of me as a potential family member. She asked about my plans and what I wanted to study, and why… “Mom, Will just graduated from high school,” Daisy finally interrupted with a giggle. “It’s not like he has a roadmap for the rest of his life already.” She looked at her mother and pointedly added, “I know I don’t.”

That was enough to get Mrs. Woodford to blush and leave us alone. “Thanks,” I sighed. “Is she that—persistent—with you?”

“You don’t wanna know,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “By the way, I heard you went to prom with Cheryl Phillips. Isn’t she a little young for you?” I gave her the short version of how it had happened. “Only you can try to not get a date for prom and fail!” Daisy laughed, grabbing my arm and linking it with hers. Our eyes met, and for an instant, her eyelids drooped, her lips parted—and it disappeared. Just like that, it was gone. “You’re still really cute, Will. We’re going to have to see a show or two this summer,” she quietly said. Daisy pulled out a Virginia Slim and let me light it for her, giggling I was such a gentleman. I was rewarded with a flamboyant open-mouthed inhale, and slow, skyward exhale. Daisy inconspicuously brushed the front of my pants with her free hand, and whispered, “Maybe as soon as next week. There’s a new show opening.”

A week later, Daisy lay next to me in her bed early in the afternoon. Her parents were at the summer home, and we’d told my parents we were going to be at the amusement park for the day. “Wowwwww,” she exhaled, “You are really good, Will. I think I like being fucked slow better than fast.” Her eyes fluttered. “If I have a cigarette, will you be ready quicker? I wanna try the leg-up thing again. I’ve been readin’ the ‘Joy of Sex’—but I need a study partner.” She lit the Virginia Slim and drew steadily, breasts rising, and then opened her mouth to show me the big ball of smoke swirling inside before making it vanish. She made sure I was watching as, eyes sparkling, she tilted her head back and released a long stream of smoke into the air. “Never met a guy like you who’s so affected by cigarettes… I mean, it makes some guys look, but you…” Daisy’s voice trailed off and she looked at my cock, which was slowly responding.

“It’s more the way you smoke,” I corrected. “There’s something about it that makes you—even sexier than you are.” She took another drag, french-inhaled, and I gasped. “Like that.”

Daisy giggled and began stroking my cock, making it grow faster. “Once word gets out about how-ummm… good you are in bed, you are gonna be sooo popular,” she said. “There are lots of girls like me at college who like sex, an’ don’t wanna like… settle down an’ have babies yet. And no parents to work around, so you can find allll the privacy you need.” She leaned into me. “Just promise you won’t forget me, OK?” I told her there was no way in hell I could ever forget her. Daisy beamed, putting out her cigarette after one last luxurious exhale and lay on her side. “Ready?” she purred. “I tried to help.” She sighed happily as I moved and slid into her again. “Ohhhh… yeahhhhh… do the clit thingy, Will!”

We “saw” two more plays during the summer, although we actually had to go to a third when her parents bought tickets once they found out we were “going.” I was coming to view sex and love as separate concepts, because Daisy made it clear she wasn’t ready to pursue a deeper relationship with me, but it was equally clear she loved to fuck me.

A week before I was to leave, we went out for the night. I told my folks I was meeting Daisy, and they shouldn’t stay up for me. My father hushed my mother’s worries by telling her I was growing up, and he simply told me to be careful. Daisy met me at her door in her debutante dress and white opera gloves, with a Virginia Slim in her mother’s ivory cigarette holder. “Come in,” she sensuously purred. Daisy dragged on the holder, letting some of the smoke curl into her nose for several seconds before tossing her brown hair, and posed, chin lifted, arm extended with an appropriately limp wrist. Then she slowly, carefully, exhaled through her nose and mouth. Only then did she look at me for a reaction.

“Wow,” I breathed in near-awe. “If there was such a thing as perfect smoking… that was it.” I was so affected that, although turned on more than ever, my usual physical response didn’t happen. Daisy just smiled and led me to the sofa, then asked if I would like to see her do it again. I nodded, voice still trapped.

We waltzed around her living room to Strauss and Mozart, she elegant, me in blue jeans, looking into each other’s eyes, and when we were done, she brought me some water and lit another Virginia Slim in the holder. With a toss of her hair and a seductive over-the-shoulder glance, Daisy turned to go upstairs, stopping to give me one final posed drag, big snap-inhale, and flowing oral exhale. I didn’t need a second invitation.

That was the night, I learned how to undress a lady properly, lace garters and all. Daisy and I had the entire night to ourselves, so lust could be satisfied without frenzied hurry. Daisy and I put her dress away with care, kissing, and then it was my turn to be undressed with equal care. She knelt as she removed my pants and quickly took me into her mouth without teasing glances or impish smiles. She lovingly fellated me, taking me as far into her mouth as she could, then withdrawing slowly. She stopped when I was rock-hard, and moved to the bed, reclining and leisurely spreading her legs. “Wherever you want to start,” Daisy purred.

I dove in head first, lapping and gently fingering her, making her sigh and undulate until she came. Daisy pushed at my head, and spread her arms and legs wider. I mounted her, increasing the potency of her orgasm. “Ohhhh… yeaahhh…” she sighed, finally relaxing. Daisy wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered, “Faster.” Sharon had loved the long, easy strokes so much I hadn’t ever considered pumping faster, and I was uncoordinated at first. Daisy giggled playfully, hung onto me, and set a rhythm with her hips for me to match. It didn’t take me too long to find it, and soon I was huffing with each rapid, forceful stroke. “Huh-huh-huh,” Daisy panted in time with me, high-pitched and exciting, spurring me on.

Soon, I was feeling my orgasm approach, and the different pace shortened the climb. My breathing became hoarse and ragged, and I growled her name… and “Marry me!” shot from my mouth as my cock erupted. Daisy wailed constantly in her own matching orgasm, until she issued a long, satisfied groan. The room was full of panting.

“No, I won’t,” Daisy finally declared. “I’m not marrying anybody yet,” she smiled in reply to my orgasmic imperative, kissing me as she bounced across and out of the bed. “Not even gonna think about it ‘til after graduation! I’m grabbing your Mores, but they don’t fit in the holder. Be right back!”

When she returned, she lit two of the long brown cigarettes and handed me one. “I can’t decide whether they’re sexy or dykey,” said Daisy as she contemplated hers. “I know I’m not as brave as Sharon—I couldn’t smoke these in public all the time. I’ll just stick with my Virginia Slims.” She dragged long and deep on the More, exhaling smoke as she noted, “But these aren’t too bad for being menthol.” The room became silent while we smoked, with Daisy carefully performing large open-mouth inhales for my benefit. Near the end of her cigarette, she glanced at my recovering penis and asked, “So, is there anything we haven’t done yet?” I thought for a moment and finally mentioned anal sex, which drew a look of obvious distaste from her. “You’ve tried that?!” she exclaimed. I nodded and asked her the same. “Ummmm… yeah,” she quietly replied. “I was way drunk, and he was… big. It wasn’t a… pleasant experience.”

“Would you be willing to try it again, under the right conditions? With somebody you trust?”

She looked doubtful. “Do we have to?”

“We don’t have to do anything,” I gently replied. “I was asking if you would consider doing it with me. I promise I’ll stop if you ask, and I promise I won’t just—do it.”

Daisy thought about it for a moment. “Ummm… maybe? I’m not sure exactly what you mean by just doing it.” I went and got some petroleum jelly to use as lubricant, and then kissed her. We necked until she relaxed, and then I carefully worked a finger into her tight asshole, constantly asking if she was OK. “Y-y-yeah,” she stuttered. “It doesn’t hurt— not really.”

“Remember to tell me to stop if it does. Anal sex isn’t something you want to try without preparation,” I counseled. I worked my finger in and out for a couple of minutes, and then I tongued her asshole and perineum.

“Oh wow!” Daisy immediately exhaled, “that feels—that feels… reallygood!” She began to quiver, so I kept doing it until she was definitely excited. Then I worked two fingers into her, and she started rocking back and forth, making little moaning noises as she forced my fingers deeper. I stopped to coat my erect cock with petroleum jelly and resumed flicking my tongue around her asshole. “Oooooohhh!” Daisy moaned and vibrated, splaying her arms and thrusting her ass towards me. She immediately tensed when she felt the head of my cock push between her ass cheeks, but moaned, “Ooooh…. Will… p-p-put—put it—inme!” to let me know she still wanted to try this.

I granted her wish—very slowly. “Ohhhh… ohmigod… ohmigod… ohmigod…” she panted heavily. I asked if she wanted me to stop, getting an urgently hissed, “No!” in return. I carefully worked my dick deeper, and stopped when it was all in. “N-n-not too fast!” warned Daisy. Smoothly and slowly, I pulled my hips back and she drew a loud, hissing breath, and when I pushed forward while gently holding her hips, she groaned, “Don’t sto-o-o-o-op!” I began fucking her ass as gently as I could, the same way as I had the first time with Sharon. This time, there was no sex book on the bed for me to follow, and as she relaxed, I picked up speed, making Daisy howl loudly, singing, “Ohhhhhh!” for several seconds, punctuated with loud gasps. She grunted, huffed, and arched her back, and then she began rocking on her hands and knees, working my dick inside her without much effort from me. Her back turned almost sunburn red while she made animalistic grunts and it felt so good—and then I started playing with her clit. Her voice went up two octaves and she squeaked, “Oh! Oh! Oh!” in orgasm, her body rendered too uncoordinated to maintain its rhythmic rocking. Suddenly, it didn’t matter as I felt an electric shock go through my inner body, and my dick spurted fire into Daisy’s ass and I lost all awareness of anything else.

“Hoooo-leeeeee shit!” Daisy managed to gasp, “that was… incredible!” She gave me a hungry kiss and shuddered. “Whew! I’m still feelin’ it! You fit soooo much better—it only hurt for a moment—an’ then you played with my clitty and—wow!”

“Ummmm… Daisy? You said the last guy was big…” I hesitantly began.

“I know what you’re gonna ask because that’s the way you are,” interrupted Daisy. “Honestly, you’re not as big around—which is a good thing if you like anal sex—as a lot of guys I know, but you’re long enough.” She gave me another brief, wet kiss, smiling, “What makes you special is you know how to use what you’ve got to make a girl feel reeeeealllll good. That’s all that matters, Will, and any girl who doesn’t know that isn’t worth your time, let alone you obsessing over the comparison.” She pulled another More from the pack. “And now it’s time for Will to make Daisy feel good—some more.” She lit it, drawing hard enough to send jets of smoke from her nose. Daisy exhaled noisily, and then dragged again, long and smooth. She rolled a big ball of smoke outside of her mouth before snapping it into her lungs, holding it for a seeming eternity, and finally, with a look of “I-know-this-makes-you-want-me,” she eased her chest forward as she exhaled, with the long, slim, brown cigarette held effeminately at the end of an extended arm and slightly cocked wrist. My cock surged at the sight, telling Daisy she would get exactly what she wanted as soon as she finished her cigarette.

We showered together the following morning, with Daisy trying to spur me into fucking her in the ass again, but only half-succeeding: she got me hard, and we did it doggy-style. “Just remember,” she said after the first of several parting kisses at her door, “no thoughts of saving yourself for me. A lot is gonna happen over the next four years, and you won’t want to miss any of it.”

“After those four years?” I breathed.

“Mmmmm… we’ll see. But you’re cute and you’re smart. Don’t let any girl tell you you’re not good enough for her. I have a funny feeling you’ll meet a lot of them who won’t be good enough for you.”

“Daisy,” I declared after some more kissing, “you’re good enough.”

“If I was ready,” she admitted, giving me the complicated look she always did when it came to the subject of being romantically involved with me. “I could—” Daisy sighed loudly. “—fall in love with you, Will. I think you’ve figured that out. But I don’t know what the future holds for me, and I just—can’t limit myself to a life with you right now. I hope you—no, I know you can understand it.”

Even though I didn’t understand, I kissed Daisy on the forehead. “Then we’ll talk about this again in four years—one way or another.”

As I walked away, she called, “Will? I may need a date for next New Year’s Eve.” She lit a Virginia Slim and took a flamboyant drag, leaning sexily against the doorway. “I hope you’re free.”

“Count on it, Daisy,” I laughed, and then resumed walking towards my car, on my way to college.

The College Years

Freshman Year

College started with a whimper, not a bang. Thanks to AP exams and a placement exam administered by the university, I was able to accumulate almost one semester’s worth of credits before the first week of classes started. Although my mother disagrees, I’m not some sort of genius—at my school, the geniuses had their own residence hall, which was mostly lab space and computer terminals. Yes, I’m smart, but change-the-world-Nobel-prize brilliant? Not by a long shot.

The first thing I had to get used to was having a roommate. Jeff McShane was a California kid, tall, rangy and athletic-looking, with long blond hair. He also loved to surf, and that was why he was at our landlocked Midwestern school. His dad wanted him to get a degree in business, to grow up and be responsible, and get a degree in business so he could make lots of money and not waste his time on “that damn surfing.” Jeff was also a stoner and his father was under the illusion it would not be anywhere near as easy to get marijuana in the “good old heart of America,” as opposed to California. His dad was wrong on everything. Jeff easily found all the pot he wanted, enough to be high whenever he wasn’t in class, while I quickly learned pot wasn’t for me. The mellow effect made me feel as sharp as a beach ball, taking the edge off. I’d grown up with that edge, and it’s a part of who I am, so I don’t like the feeling of not having it. On the other hand, Jeff didn’t like tobacco smoke. On the surface, it looked like a match from hell, but neither of us is particularly territorial. We quickly agreed on a “no smoking” policy in the room, and he showered and washed clothes—a lot, and used Ozium liberally. I asked him about being exiled. “My dad doesn’t get me, but he’s coming from a different time, y’know? I’m here, so what’s the use of complainin’?” he shrugged. “Like, I know I’m not ready to be out on my own, man. He wants me to get a degree in business so I can make the bucks like he does. I figure if I can make decent bucks, I can surf when I’m not workin’. It’s only four years, an’ I can go home and surf on breaks… not what I want, but it’s what I got.” His easygoing, agreeable nature made it easy to strike up a solid friendship (which has lasted since and had an incalculable impact on my life) in spite of our obvious differences.

College was also a painful revelation for me: in high school, I hung out with beautiful girls, accepted for who I was. It didn’t work the same way here. The most beautiful smoking women circulated around me every day… and meeting them was impossible. The sorority girls may have looked like Daisy and her gang, but the dividing wall between those who were beautiful and those who weren’t was even higher at college. And it had its own police force— fraternities. I lost a paperback textbook when some jock ripped it apart just because I spoke to some sorority girl in one of my classes, implying the next time it would be me. It was much worse than freshman year in high school. I called Daisy to complain, feeling lost, alone, and now aware just how important she had been to my high school experience as my “guardian angel.” There, she had opened a door in the fence between nerds and the beautiful for me: here, I was just a nerd.

“I’m sorry, Will,” she said over the phone. “But you can’t stop trying. Maybe you should think about setting your sights on non-sorority girls. There are lots of pretty girls out there who won’t care if you’re not in a fraternity or if you aren’t a jock.” I noted she was in a sorority. “The sorority thing is—difficult to explain. It won’t matter in four years, but you’re gonna go nuts if you wait.” I heard her light a cigarette and began to get hard from the rush of memories. “Besides, with your skills… well, girls talk,” she resumed. “You’re gonna be popular, trust me. Just remember, any woman who won’t give you the time of day isn’t worth your time.”

Instead of making me feel better, I felt worse—and acutely aware I was horny as hell. As an engineering student, my opportunities to meet like-minded girls were limited: in those days, only about one-fifth of the engineering students were female and the lines of guys waiting to date them were long. Available female freshmen engineers were quickly snapped up by upperclassmen. When I confided my frustrated state to Jeff, he dragged me to a party off-campus with his stoner friends to get me laid. I immediately figured out I would be spending a lot of time out on the balcony trying to keep the second-hand high under control. About an hour into the party, a woman with unkempt, frizzy blonde hair about my height and wearing wire-rimmed glasses, came onto the balcony and greeted me with a soft, “Hey.” I shyly returned the greeting. “Name’s Maia, M-A-I-A,” she immediately said. “Haven’t seen you at Digger’s before.” I explained Jeff had brought me to the party. “Oh, yeah… he’s a cool guy. From California, right?” I nodded as she reached into her purse and started to roll what I assumed was a joint, but when she lit it, it was just tobacco. “What? Never seen anybody roll their own before?”

I said no, and sheepishly explained I didn’t like pot. Maia asked what the hell I was doing at this party, so I elaborated, “It’s not for me, but I’m OK with people who do. Jeff’s my roommate, and we’re friends.” She seemed surprised, but agreed I was still being social, as people had been circulating on and off the balcony all night. Maia took a large drag from her cigarette, but the breeze destroyed any chance at seeing if there was any style associated with her smoking. As we talked, I noticed she was generously round everywhere. I thought she could have made herself look better, but from our conversation, her disregard for society and its conventions were obvious. Maia was twenty-three, a college dropout working as a waitress and bartender, who spent her free time “working for Mother Earth. I want to change my name to Gaia, the old magical name for Earth.”

I listened to her earnestly as we conversed. Maia was completely different from anyone I’d ever met, and I found her interesting. The breeze died down a little later, so I finally got to watch her smoke her “rollies.” Her smoking was like her personality: absolutely no hint of style or glamor. She held her cigarette between her thumb and forefinger like a joint, and everything about her smoking was about as far away from Daisy’s Virginia Slim haute couture smoking as you could get. Maia did nothing to make herself more alluring because she did not care to. Her hair wasn’t styled, she was virtually shapeless in a billowing paisley skirt and matching vest, and she didn’t give a shit what anybody thought about it. Therefore, it took me by complete surprise when she asked me to walk her the three blocks to her home. We left the party via the outdoor stairs, her concession to my dislike of pot smoke. About halfway down the block from the party, she casually said, “Will, I asked you to walk me home because you’re such a normal guy, but I figured out you’re not gonna ask, so what I really wanna know is if you wanna fuck? I mean, you’re pretty cool, even if you don’t get high, and you’re kinda cute—for a kid.” Maia stopped walking. “Or are you a virgin? I don’t wanna be your first.”

She was not the type of girl I had envisioned meeting at college and having sex with. Frankly, I found Maia much more interesting as a person, not a lover, even if it was for just one night. On the other hand, I was horny, and had enough of a contact high not to care she wasn’t a sexy-smoking, gorgeous woman. I casually, but honestly replied, “You’re not my first and I’m not lookin’ for a wife.”

“Cool!” she softly said, and pulled me to her for a quick, minty kiss. My penis surged, and it took forever to get to her door. “This is my pad. Ain’t much, but I don’t have any roommates to worry about,” said Maya as we entered her efficiency apartment. She locked the door and we immediately began shedding clothes. “C’mere… Mama’s horny.” Maia kissed me again, aggressively, much more so than Daisy or even Sharon at her horniest. “By the way, I don’t suck cock. It’s demeaning,” she gasped, breaking away and flopping onto her unmade bed.

“I don’t care,” I shot back, “I love giving head.” Kicking off my pants, I dove for her spread legs and began to lick at her.

“Mmmmmm… ohhhh… that feels nice,” Maia sighed. I slipped my index finger inside her. She responded by loudly sucking in air and rotating her hips, grinding at my face. I added my middle finger. “Ohhh… Will… ohhh… Willlll…” Her hips began to move up and down, she took a loud, hoarse breath, and then she started to cum. “OHHHHHHHHH!” she howled continuously and her pussy spasmed around my fingers. I kept licking her clit and finger-fucking her, keeping her in orgasm. Suddenly, Maia yelped, “SHIT!”, jerked, and a gush of woman cum hit me in the face. I’d only read about female ejaculation before then, but making it happen was cool. I kept at it, and she growled, “Awwwwwww…” before exploding with a loud, high-pitched, “FUCK!” and another, longer stream of pussy juice.

While making Maia squirt was fun, my dick was very, very hard and beginning to ache, letting me know it was time to fuck. I climbed on top of her in the middle of her orgasm and pushed into her sloppy, juicy pussy. Maia groaned, her eyes rolled up into her head, and she bucked, driving me deeper. Slow, steady fucking never entered my mind, and I pistoned at her, panting. She hissed and gurgled and groaned, far past being able to verbalize anything. “SSSSSSSTTTTT!” Maia jerked again, her muscles quivered as she froze, and soaked my pubic hair. And I kept fucking her hard, giving my body the physical pleasure it craved. “HNURGGHHHH!” A particularly violent spasm shot me out of her, along with more woman cum. I grabbed my cock and rammed back into her.

She arched her back and screamed, cumming around my cock some more. I lost track of her ejaculations, and when my cock started to sizzle, I urgently gasped, “Maia! I’m—I’m—” She wrapped her arms around me with surprising strength, smashing me against her plush, round body, trying to merge with me. The world went white as I shot torrent after torrent after torrent into Maia’s greedily welcoming depths. I rolled off her with a final gasp, drained, while she continued to writhe in the final stages of her final orgasm. Maia gave me a weak smile of satiation… and then she stuck three fingers between her legs, scooped out some of our mixed cum, and put them into her mouth. It was easily the most decadent thing I’d ever witnessed, made even more so by the happy purr she made as she sucked her fingers clean.

“I like to taste myself mixed with my lovers,” Maia throatily explained, repeating the action. My dick twitched, and on some level, I was extremely turned on, but I was already falling asleep, unable to keep my eyes open. The last thing I remember was her face hovering over mine and a gentle brush of her lips across my cheek.

Maia presented me with a steaming mug of tea the next morning. “Thought you might like this,” she cheerily said, still naked, and I finally got a good look at the body I’d been playing with. She was a—healthy—girl, big breasts and large curves, about my height, but bigger than I was. After a cigarette and a shower, I was ready to leave. “You’re one hell of a fuck, Will, and you’re a cool guy—druggie or no. Maybe I’ll see ya ‘round.” There were no goodbye kisses, just a “been-sexed-to-Nirvana-would-do-you-again” smile as she closed her door. I never saw Maia again.

***

Although Maia had been a great fuck, she was not a sexy smoker, and my fetish began to clamor for attention. I would steal clandestine looks at the sorority girls as they smoked their Marlboro Light 100s, Virginia Slims, and Salem Light 100s, so excitingly feminine and graceful as they paraded around campus with their long white cigarettes. One day, after French class, Gloria, the grad student leading our conversation class pulled me aside after class. “Will, I think you should consider our Summer Language Experience,” she said. “I think you would really benefit, because you already speak the language well.”People began to file into the classroom. “If you have the time, let’s go downstairs to Harrison Lounge and talk about it,” she suggested. “I need a cup of coffee and a cigarette.”

Harrison Lounge was next to the foreign language building. A former library, it had high ceilings and bookcases built into the wall, but had been converted into a small café, with an assortment of tables and sofas, as well as a counter serving sandwiches, snacks, and drinks. I’d never gone there because the café wasn’t included in the meal plan and most of my classes were held in the engineering buildings ten minutes away, full of good places to study in solitude and computer terminals. I stepped inside with Gloria and had to suppress a gasp of surprise. It was full of smokers, only two or three of whom I’d ever seen on campus. All-white and cork tips seemed to be displayed in equal measure around the room. “This is half-jokingly referred to as ‘the artsy-fartsy’ lounge,” said Gloria. “Us non-scientific people hang out here between classes.” We sat at one of the smaller tables, and I lit her Marlboro. She told me the Summer Language Experience was a six-week, invitation-only, language and culture immersion in France. They would teach two classes and it was worth six credits, but the experience would be invaluable. I told her I needed information about costs for my parents, not really believing it would be affordable. Although I normally didn’t find short, cork-tip cigarettes exciting, Gloria naturally french-inhaled each long, deep drag before her equally long oral exhale, and I decided I could watch her.

However, over the half-hour I spent conversing with Gloria in French, more women entered the lounge for their early morning smoke, some of them gorgeous, although it was impossible to watch them clandestinely unless they were in my direct line of sight. I realized most of the women I saw probably weren’t in a sorority, so there was the distinct possibility of meeting some of them. I had found my college hangout.

Actually meeting these lovely female smokers was a different matter. I sat in Harrison Lounge daily with my books, but being naturally shy, I had trouble saying more than “Hi,” even when I had to share my table. I got more than my share of strange looks, but oh, the women I sat with! There was Melissa, the freshman art student who smoked Virginia Slims, Louisa, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed southern belle who adored Winston Menthol 100s, Nancy, tall, with curly black hair who alternated between Salem Light 100s and Marlboro Light 100s, all of them smoking with feminine grace. Masturbation came back into style with a vengeance—Jeff was an absentee roommate most nights, affording me the needed privacy. I even kept a secret list of the sexiest smokers and dreamed of meeting them.

I finally met one in late October. I was speaking French after class with my language lab partner, a guy named Mark, when a gorgeous girl came to our table. She was model material, a perfect, hard body and long, thick, shiny black hair to the middle of her back. The girl greeted Mark with a hug and a peck on the cheek before sitting at our table. “Sorry to interrupt,” she quickly apologized. “Hi, I’m Elaine. Mark and I went to the same high school.” I was dumbstruck, but managed to give her my name. She’d stopped to give Mark a rundown of some apparently juicy gossip about their former principal. I didn’t mind because I could have looked at her adoringly for days without a word. When she finished, she reached into her purse, increasing my anticipation a thousandfold. You mean this angel smokes? Maybe even Virginia Slims! She looked inside for a few seconds, then hissed, “Shit! I can’t believe I left them in my car again!” I was disappointed too, until Elaine noticed the green pack sitting on the table. “Hey, can I bum one of those from you?”

Mark offered her one of his Marlboros, but Elaine declined, citing her preference for menthol and saying she smoked Mores for a while in high school and liked them. My dick made me uncomfortable right away as she lit it herself, took a long initial drag, then exhaled a long stream of smoke upwards through her beautiful lips. “Thanks, Will,” she smiled, and a chorus of angels broke out. I watched her smoke half the More in a hurry before crushing it out. “Got enough time to grab a Tab and get to my next class!” she breathed, grabbing her stuff. “Thanks for the cigarette!” Elaine called over her shoulder as she left. I was even more disappointed, but I had a great image in my head for the night’s masturbation session.

Meeting Elaine turned out to be a game-changer. She would usually sit at my table and her friends and classmates would join her between their classes. I met several more women within two weeks; most of them smoked. Although none of them was as devastatingly beautiful as Elaine, who smoked Marlboro Menthols when she wasn’t bumming a cigarette from me, which was most of the time, a few of them made it onto my sexy smoker list. I hadn’t quite screwed up the courage to ask any of them out, but being around so many cute smoking girls was making me hornier by the day.

Then I finally met Suzanne, an architecture student. Although she had stopped by my table several times, I barely had enough interest in her to know her name. She was over six feet tall, big-boned, yet small-chested and neither graceful nor gangly. Thick black glasses masked her sharp facial features to a point, but did not hide her thin lips surrounding a small mouth. On a scale of one to ten, Suzanne was at most a four on her best days, but the disinterest seemed to be mutual because she only ever seemed to stop by my table to speak with her roommate, Mercedes. Mercedes was Spanish and one of the sexiest smokers to grace my table, a Benson and Hedges 100s devotee who took enormously long drags. Every time, she would open her mouth to lazily roll out a decent-sized ball of smoke, which would quickly vanish into her nose. Her exhales weren’t carefully sculpted, but she was beautiful, olive-skinned, with shoulder-length dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a slender, but round, curvaceous body. If Elaine was a ten, Mercedes was a 9.8.

Therefore, I never paid much attention to Suzanne until she asked me if I was Jeff’s roommate, and if I could get her an introduction. I cheerfully agreed, hoping to score points with Mercedes. That night, I introduced them at a dorm party and went upstairs to study. About three hours in, Jeff came up to the room, his characteristic cool completely gone. “Man, you gotta save me from that Suzanne chick!” he urgently hissed in near-panic. “She’s been puttin’ the moves on me all night!” I asked him what was wrong with that. “She’s—ugly!” he whispered. “All amazon and shit. I’m scared she’s gonna carry me off to her room and shit! Plus, she smokes! You introduced me, you gotta fix this, man!”

I went back to the party trying to figure out how to save face with Mercedes. Suzanne was sitting by herself in one of the rooms adjoining the lobby where the party was winding down. Even from a distance, I could see her dejected bearing; she had already realized Jeff wasn’t coming back. What she did next transformed her evening; moreover, it redefined my entire college social life. She picked up a green box, pulled a cigarette out, and put it between her lips, causing time and my steps to slow. Suzanne turned to the side to light it, and I recognized the 120 length, if not the cork tip. It took six tries to strike her Bic lighter, replacing her dejection with obvious exasperation, but she finally got her cigarette lit. Her draw was long and smooth, she lifted her chin by the slightest—and then smoke flowed from her nostrils in thick streams, followed by a very brief, thin, oral exhale. It was almost the exact inverse of Sharon’s style, and it forced me to think hard about reaction rates to suppress the lust and my developing erection, something I’d become quite proficient at while spending so much time in Harrison Lounge surrounded by sexy smokers. Suddenly, I was standing in the doorway, watching her third nasal exhale. Suzanne looked up, startled. “Hey,” I quietly said.

“Hey,” she replied with a little sniffle before taking another long drag from her cigarette, a Saratoga menthol, as I read the pack on the table. She may have been Amazonian in stature, but her handling of the long cigarette was decidedly feminine. “Jeff send you to give me the bad news?” she quietly asked after exhaling, immediately dragging again.

“Yeah,” I acknowledged. “Sorry ‘bout that. But he doesn’t like smokers,” I added, feeling bad for her. “I didn’t know you smoked.” That was true; she’d never spent enough time in Harrison to have a cigarette.

Suzanne looked up at me, exhaling with her unique style. “Oh.” Her eyes were slightly red and unfocused. Probably got a little drunk trying to get her courage up, and he just ran away from her. He should be the one doing this, not me. Feeling genuinely sympathetic, I asked her if she needed a hug. “Yeah.”

She stood, a good three or four inches taller than me, and we hugged for several seconds until I let go. Suzanne wobbled on her feet with her arms still around me, and then suddenly leaned forward and kissed me, catching me by complete surprise. My response was weak, although the reaction rate tables instantly evaporated in my head. Just as suddenly, she let go as if I had turned white-hot. “Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to… I… I… It’s just Mercedes is at an off-campus party and I thought I could… I would have… I…” She stopped stammering, having gone beet red. “Now I feel like a complete id—”

I pulled Suzanne back to me, stood on tiptoe, and kissed her, reflecting the lust I was feeling, making no effort to keep my erection from pressing against her. The Saratoga and nasal exhales combined with my horny state had pushed her past a six on the proverbial scale. She stepped back, still red, but eyeing me as if seeing me for the first time. I asked her if she still felt like a complete idiot. “Kinda,” she panted, grabbing a fresh Saratoga. I lit it for her as we sat. Suzanne looked around to see if we were still alone. “I—I mean, we all figured you were—gay,” she quietly explained, “what with the Mores and not making a pass at any of the women who sit at your table. You have an awful lot of female friends.”

I shrugged. “I smoke Mores because they last a long time, and nobody except Elaine bums them from me. I have lots of female friends because I’m a nice guy. But gay? Not hardly,” I finished with a derisive snort.

Suzanne took another long draw from her still-long Saratoga. Unlike most women I observed, she never seemed to actively inhale, although she definitely did. Her eyes narrowed as she exhaled through her nose again, and turned her head to send the rest past my face in a fine stream. “So… ummmm…” She leaned forward, lips slightly parted.

Twenty minutes later, we were alone in her room, with me sliding in and out of her with long, slow, steady strokes as she lay half-reclined with one long leg braced against my body. Her inexperience had become obvious as soon as our clothes had come off. Suzanne had timidly wrapped her hand around my cock and tentatively, very lightly, rubbed it, breathing heavily. I helped by thinking of her unique smoking style, and gently eased her to the bed and into position without any reluctance or hesitation on her part.

“Ohhhh… Ohhhhh… Ohhhh… you’re so long…” she girlishly whimpered, in complete and surprisingly erotic contrast to her speaking voice. I did not last very long, but I came buckets. It had been a while since Maia. “Thank you, Will,” she gently, genuinely said. “I was going nuts.” Suzanne sat up. “I think I like that position.” She gave me a smooch on the forehead and turned to have a Saratoga.

“Are we finished? I wasn’t under that impression.” Suzanne’s nasal exhale turned quick and noisy, and she turned to me with happy, horny eyes, excitedly, decisively crushing out her cigarette with a snap after one puff.

Suzanne and I sat talking in her room after getting up around noon the next day, having first awakened at seven. I had started to eat her pussy, but then she reciprocated, allowing me to discover the upside to Suzanne’s small mouth, which hid an equally small, but very lithe tongue. Her slight awkwardness due to inexperience was overwhelmed by her enthusiasm and natural gifts. and then we took a nap. I lit Saratogas for each of us after we’d dressed. “Really, if I had known you smoked, I wouldn’t have introduced you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t know,” Suzanne giggled. “It—turned out nicely for both of us. You can thank my older sister.” I watched the smoke flow from her nose, feeling turned on, but physically unable to do anything about it. “She forced me to start. I caught her when I was twelve. She made me smoke with her so I couldn’t tell on her, and I’ve smoked pretty much what she does ever since.” The door opened and Mercedes walked in brightly saying, “Hello, Suz—” She stopped and gaped at us.

“Mercedes,” Suzanne throatily said, “he’s definitely not gay.”

The following Monday, my table was a lot less lively. Mercedes sat elsewhere. I wondered if I had suddenly become radioactive. Elaine stopped by around noon. “So I hear you’re ummm…” I confirmed the rumor. “Well, so much for your being safe,” she said, noting how many women no longer sat at my table. “At least I know I’ll have a seat from now on. You were gettin’ a little too popular,” she grinned.

As I packed to go home at Christmas, I reflected on my first semester of college: it hadn’t been anything like I had expected. My best friends at college were one of the most beautiful girls I—or anyone else—had ever seen, and a stoner roommate. I hadn’t found the casual sex Daisy had said was waiting for me in bunches, and my popularity with girls vanished when it became known I wasn’t gay. While it wasn’t crushing, it was depressing, leading me to think, Maybe I can graduate in three years.

***

I arrived at home very early on Christmas Eve due to flight troubles, and so did not see my parents until the afternoon. At our traditional midnight opening of a single gift, my father handed me a large, thick envelope, saying, “Other than some new clothes your mother insists you need, this is it for this Christmas.” I opened the envelope and gasped in shock. “I made arrangements to forego my Christmas bonus,” he smiled while I stared at the Summer Language Experience pamphlet, and as I pulled it out of the envelope, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. It was a paid invoice. I was going to France in June! Another envelope fell out with my name on it. I removed a Christmas card with a handwritten note on the inside facing page reading:

Will,

Before you can do great things in the world, you must first see and experience it. Your parents believe you have that potential, and we share that belief.

Merry Christmas,

The Woodfords,

Alastair, Marie, and Daisy

Each of them had signed their names, with Daisy turning the “y” into a cute little heart with a tail. They weren’t home Christmas day for me to thank them, but we would see them New Year’s Eve.

We were greeted at the door by Mrs. Woodford, looking stunning in a beautiful black evening dress, which showed off all of her mature curves to arousing effect. Even my dad looked. “I can’t thank you enough for the gift,” I began, trying not to cry. She hugged me tightly, saying it was their pleasure and telling me they all felt that as Daisy’s high school tutor, I deserved something for the time and effort I had spent in helping her go from a “C” student to an “A” student in French. Mr. Woodford joined us at the door and I spoke with Daisy’s parents for a while, allowing me to realize why I had always liked the Woodfords so much: they had always treated me like an adult, not some young genius, not as some kid from a middle-class family they had taken on as a charity case, but as a responsible adult. As our gathering broke up, I heard Daisy exclaim, “Will!” and she came bouncing through the crowd to throw herself into my arms. She gave me a short, but wet kiss and pulled back with the complicated expression she seemed to reserve for me in her eyes. None of our parents reacted, save for a knowing smile from Daisy’s mom. Apparently, our secret somewhat-relationship wasn’t secret anymore, nor was it “somewhat”.

“It’s nice to see you again, too,” I smiled. She excused us and immediately dragged me off to her room.

“I’m really, really happy to see you, Will!” It surprised me a little because she had always been demure around her folks and their guests. “Am I freaking you out?” I told her I was happy to see her, too, but hadn’t been prepared for the uncharacteristic enthusiasm. I asked if we were officially a couple. “My mom sorta let it slip to my dad,” she blushed, “and he told your folks. He likes you too.” She gave me a sexy smile, and I forgot she hadn’t answered my question. “Wanna go somewhere private tonight? Grab a coupla bottles of champagne, an’ I’ll grab some hors d’oeuvres, an’ we can be alone?” Somewhat unnecessarily, she nibbled on my ear, excitedly breathing, “Let’s go tell our folks!”

We found them still chatting together with drinks in hand. As we approached, Mrs. Woodford smoothly brought her More to her lips from her side in a graceful arc, drew on the slender brown cigarette, and slowly, with a dreamy expression, let a creamy ball escape, before leisurely cocking her head and exhaling upwards and to the side. I felt Daisy tug my arm. I had been so enraptured I had actually stopped moving to watch. “There’ll be some of that from me for you, too,” she giggled. “Mom, Dad, Mr. and Mrs. Redmond,” she said when we reached them, simultaneously linking her arm loosely with mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “Will and I are going to meet up with Marie Bishop tonight.” My mother fretted, as she usually does when I drive in winter weather, that the roads were unsafe. “Don’t worry, we won’t be driving late. We’re sleeping over.” I found it interesting no eyebrows rose at the pronouncement.

“You two be safe,” counseled Mrs. Woodford, taking another of those dreamy drags from her More. “I’m sorry none of your friends could come over this year. Please do give Marie my best wishes.”

We gathered coats and Daisy took me through the house and into the kitchen. “Hi George,” she greeted one of the caterers. “I’m ready for my order. Please have someone load it into the red BMW.” Obviously, she had planned this ahead of time. She tossed me the keys as we left the house. “15 Westlake Drive. I’ll direct you, and then to the summer house. You’re driving.”

“Ummm… Daisy,” I began in the silence of the car, “what am I getting into here? This seems awful elaborate for just the two of us at your summer house.”

“You’re always so cautious, Will,” she smiled. “An’ I kinda like that. I always feel safe with you. But,” she sighed, “you’re right. I kinda lied to you about the alone part. We are picking up Marie Bishop. She’s had a really shitty Christmas on top of a shitty year, and she needs a friend or two real bad.” The car went silent again. I wasn’t sure of how to react; Daisy had given me every reason to expect a night of sexual bliss, and now she was relying on our friendship. I sighed, loudly. “Disappointed?”

“I’d be lying if I said no,” was my honest answer, although delivered without malice.

She gave me a peck on the cheek. “I couldn’t just leave you at the party by yourself. And you’re the best friend I have.”

I pulled over as we arrived at an apartment complex, which was the address Daisy had given me. Marie’s family lived in a ritzy neighborhood. “Daisy, did I take a wrong turn or…”

“It’s complicated, Will,” she interjected. “Please… I really need you to be the guy you are tonight. Whatever happens, please just figure it out and go with it.” She directed me to park at one of the buildings. “Can you bring the suitcase in the trunk?” she asked with purpose. Whatever was going on, it was serious. She knocked on the door to apartment 2D as sounds of New Year’s Eve merriment coming from various units filled the hall. I could also detect this particular apartment was silent. “Marie? It’s Daisy. I’m here to pick you up.” There was no response for a little while, and I saw worry on Daisy’s face. Finally, the door opened, revealing someone who wasn’t the lively, pretty, slim, vivacious, stylish brunette princess I had known in high school. Looking at least thirty pounds heavier, disheveled, and worn, Marie invited us in.

“Oh, hey, Daisy Marie,” she slurred. “Got started a lil’ early. Isn’t that what you’re supposed t’do on New Year’s? Get shitfaced drunk?” She cocked her head and peered at me for at least ten seconds, finally saying, “Will? Will Redmond?”

“Hi Marie,” I gently said as she looked back and forth between Daisy and me.

“Really? The two of you?”

Daisy smiled at her friend before giving me her complicated look, and said, “Kinda.”

“Huh!” snorted Marie. “I never woulda guessed, but you were a lot shorter and scrawnier a couple years ago. Like how I’ve blossomed?” she self-deprecatingly sneered as she turned away. “Wanna drink?”

“We have champagne for later,” Daisy said. “And I thought we were going out. You’re not even ready.”

“Yeah, well, I kinda decided it was too much trouble,” Marie replied, reaching for an open bottle of scotch on the table. “‘Sides, it looks like you have better things to do tonight.”

“Nothing better than helping out a friend,” I gently, sincerely, said.

Marie snorted derisively. “Friend? I wouldna had the time of day for you if it hadn’t been for her! How can you call me a friend?”

“Because you’re Daisy’s friend,” I evenly responded, although Marie’s assessment of our high school relationship was accurate. She definitely would have been in the “Charity Case” camp had it not been for Daisy’s obvious brotherly affection.

Marie almost dropped her glass as she started laughing. “Daisy Marie, you fell for a Boy Scout? That’s too funny!”

“Well, he’s not a complete Boy Scout,” Daisy shot back, full of intentional innuendo. For a moment, I could sense the old friendship between the pair, but then Marie, sounding extremely depressed, told Daisy to go out with me and have fun before she turned away. Daisy’s face reddened. “The hell we will!” she angrily snapped, stomping over to Marie and yanking the glass out of her hand, hissing, “All of us are going out tonight! I have enough champagne and food for three well into the first week of January! You’re coming with us, and we are going to get you ready right now! First thing is we have to clean you up.” Marie was stunned by her friend’s anger, and after a few seconds of resistance, allowed herself to be dragged into a bedroom. “We’ll be out in a little bit, Will,” called Daisy.

I heard the shower come on, and Marie’s protest, which turned into a long, painful squeal followed by loud sobbing, which continued even after the water stopped. I heard Daisy’s voice, soothing and calming, and eventually, Marie’s sobbing stopped. “Will, hand me the suitcase through the door, please?” I complied, but returned to the living room, not wanting to eavesdrop. Marie cried a little more, but eventually, Daisy poked her head out of the bathroom, looking relieved. “She’s calmed down, and a little more sober now. Thank you, Will. I don’t know anybody else who I could ask to do this.”

Thirty minutes later, and with a little bit of cajoling, Marie stepped out of her room, looking completely transformed in a simple black dress. I could see her natural beauty again, and a very fetching, shy smile. No trace of her high school princess’ bitchiness remained. “You look nice, Marie,” was my sincere, quiet comment.

“I’m fat,” she complained, but smiled at the compliment. She reached for a pack of Tareytons next to the bottle of scotch.

“I also brought you a carton of Virginia Slims,” Daisy said, “‘cause I know how much you like your Mom’s cigarettes.” Marie tossed the pack back onto the table as if it was a time bomb. I put both women into the back seat and played chauffeur, but was able to hear enough of Marie’s story to feel sorry for her. Her father blew a fortune on his young mistress, and had completely turned his back on his wife and daughter, leaving them out in the cold, and forcing Marie to drop out of college after her freshman year. Marie and her mother had moved out and were largely subsisting on their combined savings and Mrs. Bishop’s secretary’s salary while the divorce awaited court. Marie was helping out by waitressing at a popular nearby diner. Oh, how the high have fallen. Still, what Mr. Bishop is doing isn’t right.

It was almost eleven by the time we got to the summer home, and the champagne immediately started to flow. I kept my distance to let the girls catch up, wondering why I was there. When midnight arrived, Daisy and I kissed deeply to ring in the new year. Then Daisy went to check on the food, leaving me alone with Marie. “Y’know, there was a time when I thought you didn’t belong at our school, and certainly not in our group,” she confessed, slightly drunk, but sounding genuinely apologetic. “But Daisy Marie just wouldn’t let it go… so I thought it was just—y’know, she was doing her good social deed, looking out for the charity case kid… an’ now I look at the two of you an’…” Marie paused. “I’m kinda jealous of her. You grew up cute, and I bet you’re still really smart. Funny how life is.” The gloom that had lifted as the girls were talking old times returned.

Daisy reappeared. “The food’s gonna take another half-hour. I think it got a little frozen while we were getting you ready.” She reached into her purse. “Guess what I’ve got?” Marie sadly turned as Daisy pulled out… a cigarette holder? “Remember our eighth-grade retreat and Helene Sabol?”

Marie’s sad air evaporated. “Ohmigod! You got one of your own!” Daisy put a Virginia Slim into the black holder and lit it, apparently oblivious to my pleading looks. She slowly snap-inhaled a huge ball of smoke, making my penis start to grow as she slowly turned and exhaled skyward in profile. I prayed Marie wouldn’t notice. When Daisy repeated the action, obviously posing, I began to shoot daggers at her with my eyes. Ignoring me, she offered Marie the cigarette and holder. Marie took it, and, holding it from beneath between with her fingers and thumb, drew steadily, and raised her chin casually before easing her chest forward to exhale a long, long, thick stream of smoke through perfectly pursed lips. “Remember that?” Marie excitedly asked. “And trying to learn how to do this?” She dragged again on the holder, but opened her mouth a little so she simultaneously french-inhaled while dragging on the holder. Another casual lift of the chin, silent exhale, and I was hard—and more than a little pissed off at Daisy. Marie handed the cigarette holder back to Daisy and explained the story. On the eighth-grade girls’ class trip, at least half the class sneaked into adjoining woods to smoke. One of their classmates had swiped one of her mother’s cigarette holders and brought it along. “It was red and like ten inches long,” she recalled, “and we all played around like we were movie stars n’ stuff.”

My annoyance with Daisy did not fade over the next hour as she and Marie reverted to those eighth-grade girls playing with a cigarette holder, keeping me uncomfortable while constantly trying to keep Marie from noticing. Daisy smoked in the way she used to make me horny, but I also noted the change in Marie’s style from her first Virginia Slim. She had quickly regained the same regal, effortlessly elegant style she had in high school, and her comfort with the cigarette holder made me wonder if she had ever used one on a regular basis. The thought of her using a holder as her high school princess self did nothing to diminish my fetish-driven excitement. By one a.m., Marie was definitely drunk and almost chain-smoking with the holder, while Daisy continued smoking in the way she knew drove me crazy as they continued to talk about their younger exploits. Uninvolved in the conversation and reduced to fetching more champagne, I felt unnecessary, but the smoking spectacle kept me watching and almost completely hard. “Remember what else we did on the trip?” Daisy cooed. Marie said no, and Daisy continued, “You an’ me… alone in the woods?”

“Daisy Marie! I… I…” She looked at me, and then back to Daisy as if to say, “this isn’t something I want to talk about in front of him.” I noticed Daisy’s free hand had moved from her friend’s shoulder and was now lightly stroking her arm. You gotta be kidding me! “Daisy Marie… I… I… I really don’t… think…” Marie’s mouth hung open, and everything went into slow motion. Daisy leaned forward, opening her mouth, and she kissed her friend. My dick threatened to go nuclear. Marie gave a little jerk of surprise, hesitated, and then kissed back, brief, but wet. “Daisy Marie, I don’t know what you think you’re doin’, but that… that… well, I’m not—” Daisy interrupted by pointing out the mistletoe over her head and referred to some rule the girls had made several years ago. “So do I have to kiss him too?” Marie complained. Daisy only pointed at the mistletoe, grinning. “Fine!” snorted Marie angrily, and then she grabbed my head and kissed me. It started out sloppy and careless, but quickly turned passionate, leaving her panting softly when we broke. “Daisy Marie… thass not fair,” she whispered. “He’s yours… an’… an’… I’m fat!” Marie looked as if she was going to cry.

“The word is ‘zaftig.’ It’s German for sexy round girl,” Daisy encouragingly countered, lighting another Virginia Slim in the holder. “Maybe if you reach down…” She reached across Marie’s lap and loosened my zipper. “… and unwrap something…” She reclined against the sofa, cigarette holder held high, and crossed her legs. “…you might find another Christmas present—from me—and him.” I watched Daisy snap-inhale a large ball of smoke, toss her head, and exhale slowly towards the ceiling at an angle, holder casually and effeminately held between her fingers. She knew I loved to see her like that, and her statement in the car on the way to Marie’s finally clicked.

“B-b-but… he-he—” Marie stole a glance at my crotch in the middle of her protest, but her words died as the glance turned into a look. That’s when I knew Daisy’s plan was going to work. “N-n-n-no,” she breathed as I leaned in for another kiss, but her lips parted and her eyes closed indicating how much she wanted what we were offering. She was flushed and her chest was heaving when I pulled away. Daisy gently encouraged her to unwrap her present. My dick sprang free, making Marie gasp, “Oooohhhh! He’s big!” She licked her lips.

“And he’s goooood…” Daisy purred.

It didn’t take too long for the three of us to end up naked on the carpet by the fireplace. I was pumping slowly at Marie while Daisy gave her friend little kisses and stroked her body, occasionally sucking on a nipple. “Oh… Oh, Daisy Marie… I can’t… I can’t believe… you’re doing this for me… Oh… oh shit… oh shit Will… that feels good… Ohhh…” Despite the weight she had gained, Marie was still beautiful, if no longer the perfect, slender little princess, and her breasts had become fuller. Her body began to undulate with my steady, slow fucking and when she came, her pussy became very wet, she yipped in a series of high-pitched squeaks, and I slid out. “Ohhhh… Will… I shoulda dated you,” she sighed, kissing me, and then her friend.

“Not that I want to cut your fun short, Marie,” Daisy said, “but we don’t want you getting pregnant, so it’s my turn now. Roll over, baby,” Marie gasped as Daisy settled onto my cock with a happy purr and began to move her hips. She leaned forward and kissed me hungrily while her friend watched us. I hardened quickly inside of Daisy, and, having been close with Marie, didn’t last long with Daisy, who kissed me and whispered, “Thank you.”

We moved to Daisy’s bedroom after having a snack and some more champagne, keeping Marie awake, yet still drunk enough her inhibitions were still lowered. I had to admire Daisy’s deviousness, even if she was taking advantage of my fetish. She handed Marie the holder, and took one of my Mores. “He likes to watch women smoke… especially when they’re sexy about it,” she smiled, making me blush. Marie immediately asked me if she was a sexy smoker, and I admitted I thought she was when I first met her. She took one of her princess-like drags from the cigarette holder, exhaled regally, and my body reacted.

“You really like to watch women smoke, don’t you?” she exclaimed, looking at the growing bulge and then at Daisy. “Daisy Marie, can I… can I… touch it again?” breathed Marie.

“Not yet,” Daisy replied. “I want him to take care of you first. Remember the thing we did to each other after eighth grade?” Marie gasped no, turning red with embarrassment—but her slightly unfocused gaze never left my crotch. “I just told you his secret,” continued Daisy after a quick, casual french-inhale from the More. “It’s only fair he gets one in return. And he does it wayyy better than I did.” She gently took the holder and half-finished Virginia Slim from Marie, and then turned to me, cooing, “Take good care of her.” I shifted and moved between Marie’s thighs and began to lick her pussy.

“OH!” Marie jerked in shock, but quickly relaxed and sighed happily. Within minutes, she was calling my name in passion as her arousal grew, and then she squealed in orgasm, with her cute little yips. Her juices flowed freely, making my eyes sting, but I kept using my lips, tongue, and fingers to prolong her ecstasy. “UH! UH! UH! UH!” Marie’s hips bucked in time with her voice until she groaned very loudly and collapsed, melting into the bed, unconscious.

“Wow,” Daisy said in a small voice, after waiting to see if Marie would open her eyes. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but otherwise, she wasn’t moving. “That was impressive.” I wiped Marie’s pussy juice off my face, my erection all but gone. “Have I told you you’re awesome? I owe you one—no, more than one.” Daisy kissed me. “You want to start collecting? It’s going to take me a while to work tonight off,” she purred and promptly revived my erection with a loving blowjob. We made slow, quiet love next to the passed-out Marie.

“You could have told me about your plan, y’know,” I said afterwards.

“You would have said no, because you want to be faithful to me,” was Daisy’s matter-of-fact answer. “I figured I’d get you to a boil first, and then see if you’d figure it out. You’re smart… and horny. It wasn’t much of a stretch.” The room was silent, except for Marie’s deep, regular breathing.

“So Daisy… did you really—give Marie head back in eighth grade?” I quietly asked.

“Marie makes a big deal out of it, but we sixty-nined for less than thirty seconds,” Daisy replied with a soft chuckle. “We’d gotten into her dad’s liquor cabinet so we were buzzed, and did it mostly out of curiosity because we heard some boys talking about ‘fish tacos’.” She giggled, “We weren’t any good at it,” and burrowed into my body to sleep.

We spent the next day at the summer house because the weather and road conditions had deteriorated. Daisy and I had a champagne brunch; poor Marie was hung over. “So did you and Will cook this up together?” asked Marie over coffee and a cigarette. I noticed she had pretty much laid claim to Daisy’s cigarette holder and would glance at me as she smoked.

“No, it was all my idea,” was Daisy’s reply. “Will didn’t catch on until you two kissed under the mistletoe.” She took a deliberate drink from her coffee. “I figured you could stand to get laid, and Will is really good.” Marie nodded energetically, casting an obvious look at my crotch. With the holder held from beneath, she arched her back, striking a pose eerily reminiscent of Bette Davis. Regarding me with narrowed eyes, Marie performed her now-signature concurrent drag-and-french-inhale, held the smoke for a few seconds, and sent a long stream of smoke through her pursed (and freshly painted) lips. She smiled at me with sparkling eyes. “So how are you feeling, Marie?” Daisy grinned. “We’re going to be spending tonight here, too.”

We dropped Marie back home late the following afternoon. “I can barely walk,” she complained with a smile. “Daisy Marie, don’t fuck this up. He’s special.” She paused. “Oh, and thanks for the cigarette holder. I may just need it if you do fuck it up.” She winked at me and walked into her apartment building, hips swinging.

“At least you’ve got options now,” giggled Daisy, and suggested I stop by her house for dinner with her folks. The atmosphere around the table was strange, but I couldn’t quite figure out why. Dinner conversation was strangely superficial, with Daisy much more subdued than normal. I also noticed her mother was wearing some make-up and a dress, which was unusual for her at casual occasions. She had two after-dinner Mores with flair, leisurely letting smoke escape through slightly parted lips after her drag, and then sucking it back in with a casual grace. She would tilt her head to the side as she had New Year’s Eve, and exhale without any sound. I tried my best to avoid being obvious about how distractingly attractive I found her while we were discussing France after the meal, but I wasn’t sure how well I succeeded. I politely suggested it was time for me to go home as her mother lit her third More. Daisy quickly tossed me the keys to the BMW.

The ride was eerily devoid of conversation for five minutes. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer, and pulled to the side of the road. “Daisy,” I said, “I have to ask: what’s up with your mom? She seems—different.”

“I saw you looking,” she smiled, but it faded quickly and she took a deep breath. “Dad had an affair—they’re not getting divorced or anything over it—he says he’s not gonna do it again—but it made Mom realize she needed to—remind Dad of why he married her in the first place.”

“At the risk of grossing you out, your mother looked really good,” I candidly admitted.

“She’s told me she knows you look—maybe not exactly why—and she’s flattered,” Daisy grinned. “She said it makes her feel like she’s still attractive.”

“Your mother is a very beautiful woman, and if that’s what you’re gonna look like in twenty years, we’ll still be having kids—or at least trying to every chance we get.”

She popped her seat belt and gave me a torrid kiss, leaving me out of breath. Daisy throatily said, “Will, in a lot of ways, I love you and it’s not just friends—but… I’m just not ready.” I assured her I understood, even if it wasn’t true. “So,” she said, refastening her seat belt, “you wanna go to a show tomorrow night?”

I almost spent more time over Christmas break at the Woodford’s summer house than at my own because Daisy preferred it to staying at her house. She confided her mother’s newly reaffirmed sexiness was having the desired effect—much to her chagrin. “Now I know why I have a really high sex drive,” she had glumly said one night, “I got it from her. She even gets almost as loud, so right now… I feel like I’m in the way. Besides, eeeuw!” By the time I got to college, I was actually looking forward to the break from sex.

It was back to hanging out and secretly admiring the smoking women of Harrison Lounge. My only college lover, Suzanne, had switched to Benson & Hedges Menthol Lights over the break, but more importantly, had been claimed by a tall, broad-shouldered, blond-haired guy who apparently had the hots for her. I resigned myself to celibacy until summer and Daisy. My non-gay status was still scaring most of the girls away, except for Elaine. It seemed as if I was her boyfriend: we went to campus events together, spent time in Harrison together, we did everything possible together short of intimacy. She drew a hard line when it came to kissing beyond a friendly peck on the cheek; moreover, I never got the feeling she was waiting for more. When the Valentine’s Dance came, I gathered my courage, heeding Daisy’s words about my own attractiveness. “Elaine, would you consider going to the Valentine’s Cotillion with me? I can be a perfect gentleman if you’re worried about me getting aggressive like some guys do. I’m not making a pass at you or anything, but I like you. Not just because you’re gorgeous, but you’re funny and sweet.”

She looked at me, startled. A sad smile came to her face. “I’m really flattered, Will. I mean, really. And I like you. But…”

“—you already have a boyfriend,” I interjected, anticipating what was coming. After all, she was a local student.

“No, that’s not it,” she slowly drawled, and said nothing else.

It finally dawned on me what the other possibility was. “Nobody will find out from me, but the offer still stands,” I shrugged. “I don’t need to get in your pants to enjoy an evening with you.”

“Well… I would like to go out…” she said. “Promise me no icky touchy sex stuff, and you’ve got a date.” She gave me a peck on the cheek and apologized for misleading me. “But it’s nice to not have to shoot guys down… or worse, those dyke grad students in woman’s studies.” I cocked my head. “It would be different if they were cute,” she grinned. “It’s also nice to be able to smoke Mores again—I love More Menthols. I can blame you, and nobody thinks I’m a dyke—like they did in high school.” Now I understood everything.

Showing up at the Valentine’s Dance with the incredibly gorgeous campus ice queen, who was quite effeminate in her dress instead of her usual blue jeans, gained me quite a bit of notoriety. There was nothing like being perceived as the boyfriend of a gorgeous woman to get the attention of other beautiful women. It didn’t take long for me to realize my popularity was artificially induced, and so I chose to keep the façade of being Elaine’s boyfriend for the remainder of the semester. My lesbian girlfriend happily played along, telling me it was nice to not get hit on by people who didn’t interest her. Her only complaint was her women’s studies TA had turned downright icy, and her grade had dropped. It seemed her assignments were now only worth a “B”. “It’s okay,” she said as we took a break from studying for finals, “she wasn’t ever gonna get any, and it’s not like I’m majoring in the department.” She gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek while I waited for the taxi to take me to the airport in full view of some of the hot sorority girls in my dorm, eyes sparkling with mischief at the deception.

I had twelve days between my flight home and my flight to Paris. I wasn’t ready, but my mother insisted I spend an evening with the Woodfords to thank them again. After her parents had greeted me and left us in the foyer, Daisy and I kissed. She told me dinner wasn’t going to be ready for an hour. “Mom! Dad! I’m taking Will up to my room to show him my pictures of France!” True to her word, Daisy handed me a stack of photo albums as soon as we were alone. She sat next to me and lit a Virginia Slim with a carefree drag and noisy exhale. For a minute or so, she was playing tour guide through her photos. “Hey… Will…”

I turned to see her draw hard on her cigarette, cheeks hollowing. Eyes sparkling mischievously, she opened her mouth to let me see the smoke swirling, before sucking any escaping smoke back in. With extreme deliberation, she turned her head to the side, paused, lifted her chin, waited… and silently released a long silky ribbon of smoke skyward. My stomach did flip-flops. “Daisy!” I hissed urgently. I did not want to show up at dinner with a visible erection, especially with her mother’s erotic smoking. Daisy just smiled and took another arousing drag. Then she slid to her knees, unzipped my pants, and without a word, took me into her mouth. My protest turned into a quiet sigh as she began to glide her mouth over my rapidly-rising cock. Laying her hands on my knees, she shifted position, and with a loud snort, drove down onto my cock, taking the head into her throat. The sensation of her tongue near the base of my cock was completely different and intensely pleasurable. After a few more seemingly effortless excursions to my pubic hair, my lower body tightened, and I sighed in bliss as the flood rushed out of my loins, filling her mouth.

I collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily, but quietly. Daisy gave me a kiss, and then wiped my leftover cum from around her lips, observing, “You came a lot.” I replied I hadn’t had sex with anyone except my right hand since Christmas vacation. Her tongue peeked through her teeth and she smiled, looking pleased. “I figured you could use a little relief before dinner. Guess I was right. Wanna go downstairs now?”

Just like last time, Mrs. Woodford’s after-dinner smoke was lazy and dreamy-eyed. What was unusual was how obvious Daisy’s father was in watching her. Daisy volunteered us to clean the kitchen, and when we finished, we caught them kissing clandestinely like… well, we did. I left a little while later after making a date to see a show with Daisy two days before I was to leave. She picked me up with tickets in hand, and we headed directly to Daisy’s house since her parents were at the summer house for the weekend. She lit a More when we walked through the door. Although I couldn’t spend the night, Daisy made sure I boarded the plane in a satiated stupor.

***

Everything I’d heard about the European attitude towards sex proved disappointingly untrue. Our group was sequestered in a small town, where the local girls were used to the yearly invasion of American students, and so were scarce. While they were friendly enough, they made it was clear nothing more was possible. The girls in our group were cautious of the boys as well. It wasn’t a problem for me until Leigh, the only female smoker in our group, ran out of the Salem Lights she’d brought with her. Leigh wasn’t a particularly arousing smoker, adding almost no style to the act. Unfortunately for me, she discovered, and became fond of a local brand, Fine 120s. The extra-long, super-slim, cork-tipped cigarette was noteworthy in and of itself, but it also seemed to have a transformative effect on Leigh’s smoking; she would drag while letting smoke escape, then, with a little roll of her tongue, inhale, and quickly exhale with raised chin. It was—inflammatory, and one night, after a lot of wine with dinner, Elizabeth Grace also smoked a few.

Elizabeth was a gorgeous, willowy, girl-next-door type who wore her golden hair in a long ponytail. She didn’t look like a smoker, nor had she smoked for the first month. Her first deep inhale erased all of those thoughts, immediately making me want to ask her out first thing sophomore year. With her head tilted slightly upward, smoke began to flow from her perfect lips, and then her nostrils in a fashion somewhat reminiscent of Sharon. “These are so cute!” she slurred. “They almost make me want to start smoking again!” Elizabeth smoked a half-pack of Leigh’s cigarettes that night, sending me to bed wishing for some privacy so I could relieve my aching balls, but the barracks-style accommodations afforded none. I wasn’t sure if I was frustrated more by how sexy Elizabeth had been when she smoked, or by the fact that she somehow never picked up another cigarette the rest of the summer. I did my best to avoid watching Leigh smoke, even if her newly acquired penchant for showy snap-inhales fueled a hot dream or two every week. It helped, at least until the finishing school shared our accommodations for a night. One dozen fifteen- and sixteen-year-old beauties, all of whom smoked… and did so exquisitely, appearing practiced beyond their years. It was a parade of elegant smoking, with slow, thick, creamy, french-inhales the standard, performed with practiced ease, lazily inclined heads directing ribbons of smoke through nostrils and pouting lips… it was all so gloriously alluring, bordering on the erotic. It was also quite clear they were the elite, well-bred and educated, all of them possessing great beauty and sophistication. They were all prissy, bitchy rich girls, too good for those not privileged to share their rarified orbit.

Not one word was exchanged between the two groups in the common entertainment area before dinner or during the meal in the dining hall. Their chaperones (all female) looked down their noses at everybody, but with extra malice if any of our group (male or female) so much as looked in the general direction of their charges. The entertainment area wasn’t big enough to avoid committing that crime, so most of our group bypassed our normal after-dinner haunt. However, it was the only indoor smoking area, and it was raining, so I sat by the door in my favorite chair enjoying a More while reading the Alexandre Dumas I had selected for my literature project, ignoring the girls, the noise, and the matrons’ dirty looks. At some point in my study, a sweet, melodic voice next to me coquettishly asked the room, “Qui a une cigarette pour moi?” In response, I lazily picked up my pack of Mores on the table and held it aloft. Only then did I look up from my book to see a beautiful young girl with a creamy complexion and thick blonde hair spilling to her shoulders. She turned and gave me a haughty, disdainful glare of contempt, wordlessly expressing, “How dare you speak to me, peon!”

I’d had enough experience with snobbish rich girls in high school I wasn’t intimidated, and evenly replied, “you asked, and I was only being polite,” in French, with a shrug.

She was clearly shocked I had the gall to speak to her, but after a moment, her face softened, and she quietly, politely thanked me, declining because she didn’t like menthol. She thanked me before proceeding into the room to accept a Marlboro from one of her compatriots.

No names were exchanged, our interaction had lasted maybe thirty seconds at most, but it was enough for one of the chaperones to come over and berate me, threatening criminal charges and deportation. I left without saying anything before she could get really wound up. The next day, I still had to answer a formal complaint lodged by the matron. The head of the local gendarmerie arrived, quickly took my statement and told me not to worry, because “this happens every time those damned girls show up.” No wonder they all seemed so snobbish. They weren’t allowed to speak to anybody who wasn’t royalty. The remainder of the summer passed without incident, even though Leigh looked hotter and hotter with every passing day as she continued smoking Fine 120s. I was very horny by the time I returned to the U.S. at the end of July.

I went to the Woodfords’ summer home for a party shortly after I returned; Daisy’s parents were renewing their vows and we were invited. I cursed the fact we would not be able to get away discreetly, but it would be good to see her. Daisy wore a white summer dress and her face broke out into a brilliant smile when I came around the corner. My heart did a little dance in my chest, and that was when I knew I was hopelessly in love with her. “How was France? Can you still speak English?” she smiled. Daisy told me I was important because I was the maid of honor’s escort. “Guess who gets to walk me down the aisle?”

At the reception, Daisy hung on my arm while we talked to some of our friends from high school. Carole Lee was there with her boyfriend. She had exchanged her beloved Max Menthol 120s for Benson and Hedges Menthol Lights. Marie was there smoking Virginia Slims and looking considerably happier than she had at Christmas. Her father had lost big in the divorce case, primarily because he had tried to hide his assets, so she and her mother were back in their old house, and she was going back to college. “I left the cigarette holder at home,” she whispered, “but only because Daisy Marie gets first dibs. Just remember, I know what you like, too.” She took one of her princess-like drags and smiled at me, ejecting a series of thick, perfect smoke rings, and it did indeed make me think of her lips wrapped around my cock as they had been on New Year’s Day. Mrs. Woodford came over to the group and excitedly chatted with us for a while. As she turned to go, she asked me to light her ivory-holdered all-white cigarette, and temporarily interrupted my fascination with her daughter by giving me a smooch on the cheek and a wink after I did. I resolved to make Daisy stop telling people about me.

My parents left me with Daisy around nine assuming I’d be spending the night with the Woodfords. The reception began to peter out around ten, with many of the attendees feeling the effects of the freely flowing champagne. At eleven, a limo picked up her parents, and Mrs. Woodford, tipsy herself, kissed both of us and smiled, “Now don’t do anything I wouldn’t, you two. We’ll be back in a week.” The remaining guests and the caterers headed home immediately after the happy couple departed, leaving Daisy and I alone with about a half-dozen bottles of champagne and a refrigerator full of leftovers.

“Gimme a More—I’m out of Slims—and some more champagne!” Daisy commanded, giggling. I gave her a More, fetched a half-empty bottle and filled her glass. She slowly snap-inhaled an enormous ball of smoke, destroying any thought of what I was going to say. With champagne flute in one hand, and freshly lit More between her index and middle fingers of the other, she leaned forward and gave me a long, tender kiss, proclaiming afterwards, “I’m really drunk, Will. Help me upstairs?” I got hard just from watching her walk up the stairs with swaying hips, still with drink and cigarette in hand. She didn’t need my help. Once I entered her room, she sat, looking very ladylike, with the still-long brown cigarette pointing straight up at shoulder height, held with cocked wrist and bent elbow, and the champagne glass held in mirror image with her other hand. She took a sip from the glass, and then a drag from the More, looking very much like her mother as smoke escaped in a ribbon from her nose before she pushed her chest forward to exhale. “Hold these,” ordered Daisy. She stood and began undressing me, pausing between shirt and pants to take a sip and a puff.

“You’re not drunk, are you?” She looked up at me with a coy smile and took me into her mouth, somewhat unnecessarily, but it felt too good to argue. Daisy pressed her nose into my groin, once… twice… then a third time, grabbing my hips for emphasis. She released me, drooling, regarding my cock hungrily for a few instants, finally shaking herself from her contemplation of my dick to undress herself quickly.

I was inside of her as soon as she reclined, thrusting eagerly, and Daisy wrapped her arms and legs around me moaning softly in rhythm with my gasping breaths, giving me frequent More-flavored kisses. “Ohhh… Will… Ohhh… Will…” she began sighing over and over, and her face quickly turned red signaling the rapid approach of her orgasm. Daisy wailed, cumming long and loud, making me stop when she grabbed my waist and slammed her hips into me, shuddering inside and out. “Uh… uhhh… uhhhhhh…AAAUUGGGHHHH!” Another cum, and she finally relaxed, panting for breath. I held her tenderly through her aftershocks and recovery, still hard inside her. “Ohhh you are so good!” smiled Daisy, kissing me. I started moving again and she loudly sucked in air. “Mmmm… and you’re not finished being gooooood…”

After breakfast, Daisy pulled a More from my pack. “Guess it’s time to leave. We’re down to one cigarette. When do you go back to school?” She swung in front of me, arms loosely around my neck. “And can we have one last fling before you and I leave for the semester?”

We managed to spend almost an entire “day at the amusement park” a few days later. Even though it was clear from my father’s expression he knew I was headed out to have sex with his boss’ daughter, he let me go without comment. Daisy sat in the bed having a post-orgasm Virginia Slim, looking incredibly cute and sexy. “You should teach guys how to give head.” Her eyes rolled involuntarily at the memory of the thrills I’d just finished giving her.

“Daisy… I have a favor to ask. Please stop telling people about me… the smoking thing. Like your mother.”

She told me she hadn’t said a word to her mother about it, and promptly made a big, showy, open-mouthed snap-inhale. “Any girl who sees you a lot, and who catches you looking at her a lot… can figure it out by your reaction,” countered Daisy. “You need to figure out how to be… less obvious, or you’re gonna get yourself teased a lot.” She french-inhaled her next drag. “I may tease you with it, but I like taking advantage of it a lot more. C’mere, and I’ll prove it…”

I headed back for my sophomore year silently committed to celibacy. Even though Daisy continued to tell me I should not ignore the opportunities college had to offer, that aspect of my freshman year had been unimpressive, and so it seemed just as easy to wait for Christmas break, when Daisy and I would be together again. I had been away for much of the summer; nonetheless, the complicated look she used to give me had been replaced by stars in her eyes. We had been acknowledged as a couple by our parents without any negative comments, and our liaisons had gained a tangible intimacy, losing the feel of two horny teenagers experimenting with sex. I knew Daisy Marie Powell Woodford and her Virginia Slims were the only ones for me.

Sophomore Year

Taking a vow of celibacy for the sake of one particular girl you’re not even engaged to is perhaps the stupidest thing a nineteen-year-old boy can do. It was put to the test not more than thirty-six hours after I arrived. At the dorm’s orientation party, I met Julia and Karla, freshmen, roommates, and smokers. Julia was tall and stocky, with short, straight black hair, while Karla was short and petite, wearing her sandy brown hair loosely beneath her shoulders. Julia smoked True menthol 100’s, Karla, Silva Thins. Karla was the more beautiful of the two, and she tossed her head gaily before exhaling skyward quickly. Both were extremely friendly, and I spent a lot of time with them at the party.

The next day, I went to the pinball room in the school commons, and met Chrissie, a sophomore transfer student, along with her friend Mary Anne, a sophomore in business. Mary Anne drew long, hard, and steady, fingers splayed, in lighting her Salem Light 100. Smoke jetted from her nose as she handed the lighter to her friend. I instantly recognized the cork-tipped cigarette she produced as a Saratoga. She lit it and sucked a small ball of smoke back into her mouth, turning her head to the side for her initial, noisy exhale. I pulled out a More, and Chrissie exclaimed, “Oh! Mores! I used to smoke them, but I didn’t like walking around with something that looks like a cigar. But I like longer cigs, so I switched to Saratogas.” She was talking my language, had gorgeous green eyes, and a slender, well-proportioned body reminiscent of Elaine’s, although Elaine was taller. We talked in between rounds of pinball, with me mostly listening while watching them smoke. Chrissie inhaled deeply, with the slightest wisp of smoke seeping from her lips as she finished her draw. Then she would turn her head to the side and send a marvelously thick trail of smoke through her lips. Mary Anne’s exhales were completely oral and thick. I was happy I had lucked into a single room, because the images of the four new smokers I’d met made my cock hard in the middle of the night.

Harrison Lounge also gained a new bunch of sexy smokers, so it didn’t get any easier. Most of them smoked long all-whites, attracting my hopefully improved clandestine attention. Chrissie hung out there, too, but with Mary Anne and a different group of girls. She and Elaine exchanged greetings, and Chrissie would greet me as well. “You should ask her out,” my friend said after a week. “She likes you.” I hemmed and hawed, because I already had had a couple of fevered dreams of me and Chrissie fucking like rabbits. After Elaine persisted, I asked Chrissie if she was going to the upcoming campus toga party, and all I could do was a weak, non-committal, “Maybe I’ll see you there.” Elaine punched me in the arm with a look of disbelief as soon as Chrissie left. “You were supposed to ask her! She was waiting for you to ask! And that was the best you could do?”

The movie “Animal House” had just been released, so the school held an officially sanctioned toga party early in the year, to take place on fraternity row. All you had to do was to wear a toga and show a school ID. So there I was dressed in a sheet with at least a thousand other college students, but amazingly, I ran into Chrissie within fifteen minutes. She greeted me with a big smile and hello, but she was with five other people including Mary Anne and a couple of big guys, so I didn’t linger, even though she looked awesome in her elaborately done toga. I wandered around looking at all the beautiful girls, occasionally sipping on a beer and wondering who else was going to be my masturbatory fodder for the night. I had some awesome sightings committed to memory, and was just about ready to call it a night when I literally bumped into Elaine while trying to discern what brand of cigarette a very tall, thin girl was smoking. “Heyyyy! Willlll! How are ya?” She gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, leaning heavily against me.

“I’m doin’ great,” I lied.

“Well, I thought you were gonna meet up with Chrissie,” she said, wobbling on her feet. “Didja ever find her?” I told her I saw her with another guy, and Elaine lectured me about blown chances. “I mean, I’d fuck her if I had the chance,” she loudly declared.

“You’re drunk,” I grinned.

“I guess that frat house over there was trying to get me outta my toga, but I escaped their diabolical heterosexual clutches,” giggled Elaine, linking her arm with mine and relying on me to keep her from falling. “But I think I better go home now before I wake up in some frat boy’s bed.”

“You can’t drive as drunk as you are,” I said, alarmed. She told me she was fine enough for fifteen minutes’ worth. I countered she couldn’t stand very well without my support. We quietly argued, but I gave her a More as a stalling tactic and then maneuvered her between two frat houses to point out the police stationed at the exit. We watched as they pulled over a car leaving Frat Row and made the driver get out. “You’ll never make it out without a drunk driving charge.”

“Well, shit,” Elaine said in a quiet voice, “I guess you’re right. But where else can I stay tonight?” I offered my bed, telling her I could sleep in the dorm’s lounge, and we set off arm-in-arm. As we walked, she argued against kicking me out of my room because she felt really bad about it and told me she would be fine on the floor. We were still arguing when we got to the dorm. I went to open my door, but Elaine stepped in front of me and leaned against it, keeping me from the lock. I started to complain, but she put her arms around my neck and drew her body to me, and we kissed, her tongue gently fencing with mine. My cock surged against her. She broke the kiss, regarding me with her deep, dark, hypnotic eyes. “Lesss go inside n’ talk about it s’more,” she slurred.

“I didn’t think you were… bisexual,” I softly said, trying to will my cock soft while I opened the door.

She lit a More and casually snap-inhaled. “Only on the third Sunday in September between midnight and six a.m.” Her eyes followed me around the room. “So how about it?”

“Elaine, you’re drunk.” She acknowledged that. “And I don’t want you to wake up in the morning hating yourself… or me.”

“You’ll hate yourself even more in the morning if you don’t,” she accurately noted with an intoxicated giggle. Elaine dragged on the More, finishing by sucking in air before she turned her head away for the exhale, accentuating the graceful curve of her neck. She pointed at the front of my toga with the cigarette and grinned, “I can see what you want.” Elaine undid the knots of her toga, letting the sheet fall to the floor, declaring, “Plus, I like to sleep naked.” I gaped, frozen in awe at the sight of the firmest, roundest, most perfect female body in the world, whose owner took a puff from my favorite cigarette, gently grabbed my erection with her free hand, and kissed me with her exhale, smoky, fruity, and alcohol-filled. “You aren’t my first guy. Just don’t treat me like a nail, OK?” We fell to the bed.

I lay on my side, fucking Elaine as slowly and as gently as I could. She was tight—almost as tight as Sharon’s ass had been, only slicker. “That feels… nice, Will,” she calmly commented. I suddenly realized Elaine was doing this for me; there was no answering thrill for her beyond the normal physiological response to stimulation. I tried to make it last as long as I could, hoping to stimulate her to orgasm. Nonetheless, Elaine somehow retained enough control and coordination to light a More. I gasped, feeling my cock expand. It grew more sensitive with her next puff, and I groaned her name.

Elaine shifted, and slid off my erection with a hiss. “Can’t risk pregnancy, even if it feels good.” She sat up cross-legged and started masturbating me while smoking, I growled, my hips started thrusting, and then I saw smoke start to flow from her lips… I bucked, uncontrollably, and again… and again… and again… She gave me another smoky kiss, and I squealed into her mouth as more burning cum spilled from the tip of my dick. Finally, I groaned and relaxed onto the bed.

“Never seen that before,” giggled Elaine. “You almost cleared the bed when you shot. You always—?” I gasped no. She gently toweled my groin and her hand, giggling some more as more cum dribbled out at her attentions. When I went soft, she cuddled against my back and whispered, “Told’ja I’m not kicking you out of your room.”

The following morning, Elaine asked me if I wanted a handjob since I seemed to be hard again. “You need to see more girls,” she teased before wrapping her hand around my cock. I was going to tease her about her familiarity with male sex organs, but she grabbed a More and lit it, saying, “I hope you don’t mind if I smoke while I do this…” Of course, I got rock hard in less than a minute and came before she got halfway through. “Am I really that hot, Will?” she smiled, taking another deep drag, still naked. I told her she knew the answer. Since all she had arrived with was a sheet, I loaned her a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. A few people gaped as we left my room, causing Elaine to kiss me, wet and long. Gay or not, she was a great kisser. When my world stopped spinning, I could see the mischievous sparkle in her eyes—she was just putting on a show. “Figured your reputation could use some help,” she gaily said as we walked arm-in-arm across campus to where she was parked. “I know how girls think. Stick with me, buddy—a few more public kisses like that, and they’ll be knocking down your door,” giggled Elaine.

“Ummmm… Thanks?” I said, not really knowing what to say as we stood at her car.

“Don’t mention it… literally,” Elaine replied with a giggle. “Might mess up a chance with some yummy freshman I haven’t met yet.” She turned to get in, but stopped. “Will… it was fun… in a way. But don’t get—” I held up my hand and told her I understood. It wasn’t going to happen ever again.

One thing I have always found perverse is how women seem to judge a man’s attractiveness by the attractiveness of the women he’s with. It took about a week for the story to hit Harrison Lounge—Elaine didn’t even have to kiss me a second time. A few sorority girls gave me the eye, but one non-sorority girl in particular stood out for me. She was nicely round, not fat, cute, with thick, frizzy brownish-blonde hair. Her name was Dee; she smoked Benson and Hedges Lights with deep drags, and a big smile. Holding her cigarette down by her hips, she would bring it to her lips in a grand arc, drag, hold the smoke, lift her chin, wait, and exhale through pursed lips, looking blissful. Her smile was as attractive as her smoking, so I asked her out. She seemed surprised, but quickly accepted. I took her to a movie on campus for a second date; and we were necking within an hour and fucking within two. Her after-sex smoke was taken with her usual display of pleasure, and then I pleasured her some more. We went out the following two weekends, but the second time, she hesitated outside the theater. “Ummm… Will… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I mean it’s a lot of fun but…”

“You’re worried I’m getting serious.” Dee nodded. “I like hanging out with you, but I am not looking for a college sweetheart and all that jazz, if it makes you feel better.” I could see her relief. She lit a cigarette and I asked her what she wanted to do next.

“Can we go back to your room?” Her free hand dropped to my growing bulge. “I really like the way you give head.” Dee snap-inhaled her next drag, something I’d never seen her do before, and her eyes were full of sexual intent. I happily gave her what she wanted, and then she spread her legs wide for me. “H-h-h-harder! Ohhhhh… SHIT! Ohhhh… giveittome! Ohhh… ohhhh!” Her pussy slurped and sloshed, juices soaking my groin and the sheet.

I continued to hang out in Harrison with Elaine, who was very happy to point out which women were checking me out. “We’re good friends, but that’s all,” was her standard statement when other women would join our table.

Dee occasionally joined us and infuriatingly, concurred with Elaine, encouraging me to expand my horizons. “Just make sure you leave room for me on your dance card.” She looked at Elaine, blushed, and added, “Oh, and Elaine, too.” My lesbian girlfriend narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, and blew me a kiss. Then she held a More aloft for a light.

I volunteered to help with a Halloween party for disadvantaged kids; one of the sororities on campus had also chosen it as their charity event for the semester, so forty sorority girls participated with varying degrees of interest. Some of the girls were their usual arrogant selves, most were civil in a cold, detached way, but a couple were pleasantly engaging. I was standing outside taking a cigarette break when one of the pleasant girls came over and asked me for a light. “Thanks… Will, right?” I couldn’t tell what brand she was smoking, other than it was an all-white 100. “You’re really good with kids. My name’s Jennifer, by the way.” Even though I did not know who she was, she had apparently noticed me (and Elaine) from Harrison. I could tell she was well-to-do from her clothes and manner, similar to Daisy and some of her friends. Therefore, it took me by complete surprise when the beautiful junior invited me to her place for dinner, “because you deserve something for being so charitably involved.”

Jennifer’s long blonde hair and beautiful face stopped being intimidating two days later at her apartment when she easily removed her top in the middle of necking without any prompting from me. When we were naked, I arranged myself to lick her pussy. “Oh! You don’t have to… I mean… ohmigod… you… you…” After her orgasm, she gasped, “Do you do this… to all the girls?”

“Just wait for act two,” I grinned, rearranging myself. Jennifer moaned when I entered her, hips moving slowly. Apparently, she was used to the typical frat boy faster, harder, quicker sex, and my slow, long strokes puzzled her for about two minutes. Then she began to sigh, her hips began to roll, her chest turned red, followed by her face. “Uh… ohgod… uhh… ohgod… ohhh… I’m… I’m… FUCK!” I kept fucking, and Jennifer kept cumming. When I started panting as my own release approached, she wrapped her arms around me and whimpered encouragements to cum inside her. I slammed into her with one forceful stroke, and shot the first of my load into her. Jennifer squealed, arching her back in one final, spectacular orgasm. “God I hurt,” she breathed. “I think I screamed my throat raw. You’re… wow. Are you sure your—friend—doesn’t mind?” I truthfully told her no. “Fantastic.” I dated Jennifer, a Salem Light 100s smoker, for less than a month; evidently, I was there to make some frat guy jealous. It worked. I got threatened, he felt better, and he got the girl.

However, the tall girl I had seen at the toga party was also in the same sorority, and I finally identified her brand: she smoked Max Menthol 120s languidly, looking Audrey Hepburn elegant, with easy drags followed by long, flowing oral exhales. Emboldened by my brief success with Jennifer, I asked her out. What she told me promptly destroyed my self-esteem. “I talked to Jennifer. You’re not big enough for me.” She spun and paraded away, with her Max held away from her body at the end of a femininely cocked wrist. I was crushed, and opted out of sex for the rest of the semester.

Daisy and her family went on a cruise over the Christmas holiday, so I did not see her until the day before their New Year’s Eve party. She dropped by to visit. “I left your present at home. Would you like to come say hi to my folks?” Their house was dark when we pulled up. She opened the trunk and said, “Grab a bag.” I carried one of her suitcases in. Daisy spun, put her arms around me, and kissed me. “I caught an early flight. Been thinking about you for the past week. My folks are still in Miami. I figure we’ve got about three, maybe four hours.” She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a cigarette holder and a pack of Mores. “So come n’ get your Christmas present, baby.”

Daisy lay on her side, sweat cooling, having a post-sex smoke, a More, in the cigarette holder she brought back from her vacation. “Ohhh… Daisy… you… you look…” I peeped, enchanted.

She fixed me with a smoldering look, holder and More at the end of a sexily extended arm in a classic cheesecake pose. She tossed her head, letting her hair arrange itself so her nipples played hide-and-seek. “You like?” My cock twitched, answering her question. “My mom found one for her Mores during the cruise.” Daisy slowly french-inhaled, easing her chest forward, and gave me a coy smile. “You know how much she likes to play with cigarette holders.” The holder made a mesmerizingly slow, graceful trip to her lips. “So—” she began, pausing to suck in air as she held the smoke, and exhaled very slowly. “—I went back to the store and got one for myself since I know someone who very much enjoys watching both Woodford ladies smoke elegantly.” Daisy took her last drag, and exhaled through her nose, huskily noting, “You’re almost ready again. Let me help some more.” She put the holder away and took me into her mouth, quickly accomplishing her goal. No more words were necessary.

We had enough time to shower, drive around, pick up dinner, and return to her house to greet her parents about an hour after they got home. “I coulda gone for three,” Daisy impishly said as she dropped me off at home. “See you tomorrow night.”

New Year’s Eve was a splendid affair at the Woodfords’, as usual. Unlike the previous year, however, Daisy’s closest high school friends were able to attend, and so there was no pretext to be alone. Marie Bishop, Dana Hearst, and Carole Lee, who was showing off her engagement ring and her fiancé, were all there. Dana looked at Daisy, who was quite comfortable on my arm. “I had a funny feeling there was more going on between you two than Daisy let on,” she commented. I lit her Merit 100. “But I see you’re still the gentleman,” she smiled as she snap-inhaled with a little roll of the tongue.

Jimmy Ford gave me a real dirty look. He had been talking with Daisy when I arrived, but she immediately left him to kiss me, short, but wet, and had remained perched on my arm ever since. “Charity Case! Haven’t seen you since graduation day!” he tried to sneer. It fell flat, especially when Marie arrived five minutes later, greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, and took my other arm.

He hadn’t seen Marie since high school either, and it was evident he was impressed by her rounder figure—especially her breasts. A little later, while Daisy was upstairs, Marie and I found ourselves together in the basement alone. She smiled, “By the way…” Marie pulled a 120mm white cigarette from a pack with the word “Tall” on it. “…you still like girls who smoke?” she asked, waiting for me to light it for her. I did, and she took her usual, easy drag, pursed her lips with a coy expression on her face, and exhaled in a tight stream. “I seem to keep forgetting my cigarette holder.”

I gave her a long smooch on the cheek, letting her feel the surge of blood to my cock and whispered, “You’re hot, Marie… but late. Maybe you can help Jimmy out. He seems a little pissed about Daisy being with me.”

Jimmy made one last effort at Daisy. Right before midnight, he called, “Hey Daisy! Look where I am!” from under the mistletoe. Daisy rolled her eyes, but before she could move, Marie stepped in and swapped tongues with him, leaving Daisy and I to our now-traditional long, wet kiss. Jimmy left us alone for the rest of the night, enraptured by Marie’s sexy roundness and her breasts. She did nothing to discourage him, either. Later, as the four of us were congregated, Marie sent Jimmy to get her another drink. She pursed her lips at me in a little kiss, and softly said, “Have fun you two. I know I will.”

I slept on the sofa in the basement, while Daisy slept in her room. “I want you… but my folks aren’t quite ready for that yet.” We were up early the next morning to attend the New Year’s Day parade in town, and headed for the summer house.

Daisy handed me a glass of champagne and removed a cigarette from a box. “I thought you were dedicated to Virginia Slims,” I pleasantly commented.

“I am,” she replied, lighting it. “These are Virginia Slims Lights.” She exhaled noisily. “But don’t worry… I’ll still smoke Mores from time to time… just for you.” She looked at me. “You’ve been pretty subdued this holiday. I’ve been nice n’lovey n’sexy, but you’re behaving like a 1950’s guide to dating. Normally by now, you’d at least be drooling over me, if not inside me. What’s up?” At my silence, she crossed her legs, cigarette held high. “You know you’re going to tell me, one way or another, so you might as well give in now.”

“Well… I… I… You said I was long enough for you,” I admitted, feeling ashamed.

“No, I said ‘long enough’,” she countered. “I remember what I said very clearly, Mr. Insecure. I thought we’d settled that once and for—” Daisy’s face showed sudden comprehension. “Ohhhh… I see now… Did you run into a size queen?” I asked her what that was. “It’s a girl who’s so preoccupied with the size of the boat she doesn’t bother to consider where the cruise could take her. Did she even look?” I told her the brief story of the summary rejection. Daisy looked at me and asked, “Out of curiosity, just how big are you?” I truthfully told her I didn’t know. “Well then, let’s find out. C’mon upstairs.” She grabbed a measuring tape from her mother’s sewing machine, we went into her room, and she ordered me to strip as she lit a fresh cigarette. Taking a big drag with a slow, open-mouthed snap inhale, she began to fellate me. With each drag, I grew, and Daisy began to take me into her throat between puffs. She stopped to measure when I started to make noises. “You’re a hair over nine inches.” She grinned. “Probably nine and a quarter if I’m using a cigarette holder or smoking a More.” Daisy lit another Virginia Slim Light, and resumed, “If I remember my Sex Ed class correctly, normal is six to eight inches. You’re well ahead of the game.” I mumbled something about not being thicker. She wrapped her free hand around my erection and stroked it lightly. Suddenly, Daisy throated me with ease, making me gasp. “I’m tired—” She dove for the root of my cock. “—of your—” A quick, hurried drag and noisy exhale, and she was tickling my pubic hair with her nose. “—insecurity about—” This time, she swirled her head around my cock with me buried in her throat, gasping, “—your manhood!” as she released me. “I’m gonna show you the good thing about your size. Get the Vaseline.”

In short order, I was easing into her asshole, “Ohhh… mmmmm… I can’t—wouldn’t do this if you were thicker.” I began to thrust at her slowly, and Daisy panted, “Will… Mmmmm… you feel really good tonight.” She began to rock counter to me, fucking my cock with her tight asshole. “Uhhh… uhhh… Oh shit… ohshit… ohshit… OHSHIT!” She screamed, shuddered, and her back turned red. Gasping, Daisy resumed her rocking, more energetically, with grunts coming from her mouth. Her body locked, oscillating, until she convulsed once, massively and yelled, “AARRRRGGGHHHH!” I felt my knees get damp. “Ohshit ohwow ohshit…” babbled Daisy, finally exhaling, “Whewwwwww…” I was still hard inside her ass, and started moving again, making my strokes longer as her ass relaxed, and Daisy began to pant, thrusting back at me and suddenly, I was filling her ass with cum, grunting in my own release.

We both melted onto the bed, exhausted and panting. It took a few minutes before either of us could speak. “First time I’ve ever done that,” Daisy said. “Guess I know how to get to my G-spot now. See? You’re a great lover. Don’t ever believe some size queen who tells you otherwise.” She lit a cigarette and took a luxurious drag, letting me watch. “Sorry… couldn’t wait.” I asked her for what. “To get cleaned up so we can make love some more. The parade only lasts so long.”

Daisy and I had no other chance to be alone before the end of the Christmas break, but I did attend a black-tie charity event with Daisy and her parents as her escort. It was significant, because it was a very public declaration we were a couple. It was weird seeing my name and our picture in the society page of the newspaper. On the other hand, I enjoyed the slightly ill look on Roberts (Who the hell names their kid in the plural, even if it is a family name?) Baldwin’s face as Daisy and I chatted with him, her arm linked with mine as if it was the most natural thing in the world, especially since he was attending solo with his parents.

As usual, Mrs. Woodford looked resplendent and elegant with her Mores and cigarette holder, held at the end of an effeminately extended arm, taking long, easy drags, and exhaling leisurely with her head cocked to the side. However, she was not the only holder user at the event. Daisy introduced me to Mrs. Coxe, her former etiquette teacher from the country club. I lit her cigarette, removed from a silver cigarette case and placed in a short, jet-black cigarette holder with a sparkling metal band in the middle. The very petite, silver-haired woman had to be in her sixties, but she smoked carefully, almost delicately. I could see why Mrs. Coxe was the debutantes’ “smoking instructor,” bringing a very old-fashioned glamour to the act. I had never seen a cigarette holder like hers, and so I commented on it. “It’s quite nice of you to notice, Mr. Redmond,” she smiled. “My late husband had it made for me. It’s made from onyx, and these are diamonds around the center.” She looked at Daisy. “It’s a relic from a time of distinctly feminine conduct, which, sad to say, has all but vanished from the younger generation.”

Blushing at the slight reproach, Daisy excused us and we circulated through the upper-crust crowd. “I should have brought my cigarette holder. I would have fit right in.” Leaning to my ear, she whispered, “Except you’d be walking around all night with a limp,” and gave me a peck on the cheek. However, she did manage to put me in the presence of the other two holder smoking women at the event and her mother at the same time. Mrs. Woodford was by far the sexiest smoker of the three, but the other two women also had interesting cigarette holders: one was gold with a red tip, the other was polished silver, and about eight inches long. I didn’t pay much attention to what or how the other women were smoking, because Mrs. Woodford was so beautiful in her maturity, and her elegant smoking style with the Mores was always arousing. As the Woodfords pulled up to my house to drop me off at the end of the evening, the car became awkwardly quiet. Mrs. Woodford broke it by saying, “Go on Daisy, walk him to his door. After all, he is your boyfriend. We promise we won’t watch. Just don’t take too long. Goodnight, Will.” With a genuinely excited smile, Daisy hopped out of the car, and walked hand-in-hand with me to the door.

“So…” I exhaled, “we’re official now.” She smiled and agreed, eyes sparkling. She stood on tiptoe to kiss me.

Daisy rested her arms on my shoulders and took a deep breath. “Will Redmond, I love you.” There was a pause and then she said, “Too bad it’s not summer break—then we’d have more time together.”

“Mid-May we’ll be back,” I gently noted. “I can wait that long for you.”

“Ummm… Will. I can’t make that promise to you,” she hesitantly said, all the while looking into my eyes. I told her I understood, but she put her finger on my lips before I could say anything else. “And you shouldn’t either. I don’t want you to.” Daisy turned to leave but stopped after a few steps. “Besides, more practice at finding G-spots wouldn’t hurt either of us.”

***

It was a good thing Daisy absolved me from guilt, because my self-imposed celibacy did not last long. Karla introduced me to Mary, an equally short, curly haired brunette who smoked Benson & Hedges Lights with a cute awkwardness saying she wasn’t very experienced at smoking, but her long, flowing exhales with raised chin definitely pegged her as a smoker. A little later on in the party, Karla found me and said, “Mary thinks you’re cute,” throwing back her head and sighing a fluffy cloud from her Virginia Slim Light Menthol. Her eyes narrowed and more softly, she added, “And so do I.” Three nights later, Karla’s lithe, four-foot-ten body lay on its side, leg braced against my body as I slowly fucked her. My pillow was stuffed in her mouth, an adjustment she had quickly decided was necessary within the first few strokes. “Mmmmmf… MMMMMFFFF!” Her tiny pussy was tight, easing only slightly as it became wet. Even though I couldn’t fit all of my cock into the pretty pixie, it thrilled her nonetheless when I moved. Karla arched her back as she came, her pussy locking me in place halfway inside her. I started moving again and she came again. When I started to make noise, her eyes came into focus and she urgently whispered, “Pull out! Pull out!” I did in a big hurry, causing her to bury her face in the pillow as another orgasm hit her. Karla quivered and shuddered for a few minutes, and by the time she recovered, I was only half-hard. “Oh! I’m sorry!” blushed Karla when she noticed. She licked her hand and wrapped it around my cock, jerking furiously. She probably thought I was like most guys, and only wanted to get off as quickly as possible. She brought me to ejaculation within a couple of minutes, wiped off her hand with a tissue, and stood up to get dressed.

“You don’t have to leave tonight,” I suggested. “If you just want to crash on my bed, no sex, I’m OK with it, but I’m not kicking you out.” She gave me a happy smile, hopped back into bed, and curled up against my back.

When I walked into Harrison Lounge on the first day of classes, it appeared to be filled with a preponderance of Virginia Slims Lights smokers. Many of the smoking girls I knew had apparently given up their brands for the new ladies’ cigarette. Elaine dropped by my table. “Happy New Year!” She sat and quickly lit a More. “I want to tell you I may not be hanging around a lot this semester. I’m going to be working on the crew for the musical, and there’s a lot of shit we have to get done before March, and of course, we’re short-handed. Think you can hold the fort by yourself?” Suddenly, she stood up and waved at someone.

A tall, lean young man brightened as he saw Elaine and walked over to our table. “Hello, dear! How’s the head of my stage crew?”

“I’m fine, Colin, but I’m gonna turn into an evil bitch on February first,” she smiled. “Will, I’d like you to meet Colin. He sings, he dances, he acts… he’s incredible. I think he’s the most talented guy on campus.”

Colin looked at me as if evaluating me, until his face settled into an expression I’d seen before, although usually from girls. “Sorry, Colin,” I smiled, “but the answer is no—despite my smoking Mores.”

His face fell. “Pity,” he minced, “A guy can hope, can’t he?” I laughed, thanked him for the compliment, and told him Elaine’s recommendation meant a lot. I promised to attend the Theater Arts’ production in April. The three of us talked for a few minutes until I stood to head to my next class. Colin stood, shook my hand, and asked, “Not to beat a dead horse, but are you sure—?”

“He’s definitely sure,” interjected Elaine, her face inscrutable.

Colin’s head snapped around and he gaped at her. “You naughty girl! Keeping secrets, are we?” Elaine’s expression belied absolutely nothing, not even the slightest twitch, as she remained silent.

“Good-bye, Colin,” I laughed, leaving.

Without Elaine there, more women came to my table, the majority of them seeming to smoke Virginia Slims Lights. Chrissie sat with me for a week or so. She had given up her Saratogas for Vantage 100s, making her a little less interesting, but she abruptly stopped sharing my table. Her friend Mary Anne seemed to be avoiding me; and then I accidentally overheard her telling Chrissie it was weird the way I paid attention to smoking and cigarettes. She had also traded in her Salem Light 100s for Virginia Slims Lights menthol.

Daisy called me on Valentine’s Day. “Hi Will,” she giggled, sounding a little drunk. “Happy Valentine’s Day! I miss ya!” I told her the feeling was mutual. “Hey, how would you like to spend spring break with me in Florida? I got a credit card!” By some miracle, our schools had almost identical schedules, which hadn’t been the case my freshman year. I thanked her, but even if she bought my ticket, I sadly told her I couldn’t afford the hotel or food. “Will Redmond, you are my boyfriend, and I’m rich. If I invite you to Florida for a week, it’s my treat. Surely your male ego can handle it.” There was more girlish giggling in the background. I asked her who it was. “My roommate. Sheila, say hi to Will.”

Another female voice came on the line and sunnily said, “Hi, Will!”

Daisy’s voice came back on the line. “So how ‘bout it, stud? A week of sun n’fun on the beach by day… and at night… mmmmm….”

Dee asked me out about an hour after I hung up, but I declined, citing schoolwork. I was celibate again; after all, I would be seeing Daisy in a little less than four weeks.

***

I arrived at the hotel mid-afternoon on Saturday to find a single king-sized bed in my room. Daisy had said she would meet me at the hotel around six and we would go out to dinner. So I waited, killing time by reading French poetry and making notes for the paper I had to write on it due the following week. The halls were more or less quiet, with only an occasional, “WOOO! SPRING BREAK!” as new revelers arrived. It was getting close to the designated meeting time when I heard the door to the room next to mine open and close. A few seconds later, there was a muffled knocking noise. I looked up and listened. The knocking noise repeated itself, but it didn’t seem to be coming from the door to my room. It happened a third time, and I realized it was coming from the door connecting my room to the one next to it. “Hello?” I called.

“Hi,” came a giggling, girlish voice, slightly muffled by the doors. “Open the door so we can come visit you!” I chuckled, answering I didn’t think it was a good idea. “But it’s spring break,” whined the girl. I heard a second, more distant muffled giggle in the background. “We want to party with you! You’re right next door to us for the whole week!”

“That’s OK,” I smiled. “Like I said, it wouldn’t be a good idea. You don’t know me.”

“But we’re cute,” was the answering giggle. It turned sweet and inviting a couple of seconds later. “We’re two really, really hot babes an’ we wanna party with you! Pleeeease open the door!”

I didn’t want to see if the girls lived up to their self-description. It had been almost two months during which I had refused to relieve myself, despite having intense Daisy fantasies, waking and sleeping, for the last week. “I’m sorry ladies, but I’m here to hang out with my girlfriend, and she’s supposed to be here any minute. I’m afraid the door’s going to have to remain shut for the week.”

There was a little more pleading, and the sound of one door opening; fortunately, both rooms had a door. She started knocking continuously. “Yoo-hoo! Cute guy next door… we’re even closer now…” I sighed inwardly, hoping I could spend the rest of the week in Daisy’s room, and ready to pick up the phone to call the front desk to see if they could connect me to her room.

The cajoling died down after a few more seconds. Suddenly, I heard a very familiar voice call, “Will Redmond, you open this door right now!” I opened the door, mouth agape as Daisy burst through and threw herself into my arms. “Surprise! Like how I got us rooms together?” We kissed, hot and wet for a few instants, and then Daisy stepped back, looking delectable in her bikini. “Will, I’d like you to meet Sheila, my roommate and best friend at college.”

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Sheila was a couple of inches taller than Daisy, and had long, thick, auburn hair to the middle of her back. Her eyes were glowing, almost jade in their color and intensity. Her body was trim, with breasts larger and fuller than Daisy’s without being out-of-proportion to her willowy curves. A dazzling smile and cute, upturned nose highlighted a beautiful, flawless face dotted by a few freckles, one that could compete for attention with her trim body even from the most glandular male. “Hi Will, Daisy’s told me so much about you. I’m happy to meet you.” She extended a narrow, delicate, lady’s hand, and I bowed and kissed it. Sheila giggled and flashed a palpitation-inducing smile. “Classy. Nice change from today.”

I asked Daisy what Sheila meant, and she said, “Guys trying to impress us on the beach by doing stupid shit.” She pulled out a cigarette, and I lit it for her. Her second drag ended in a huge, slow, snap-inhale. She waited, eyes sparkling with mischief, and turned her head to the side, slightly inclined, and exhaled a slow, sculpted stream from her lips. Sheila asked if she could get a light as well, and I lit her Marlboro Light 100. There was nothing spectacular about her drag, other than it was long, smooth, and deep. She lifted her chin to exhale, pursed her lips… and nothing happened. Suddenly, smoke flowed, first from her nostrils in a stream, and then from her mouth in a long, gray, silky ribbon as her breasts pushed forward. While it wasn’t as flamboyant and sexy as Daisy’s smoking, Sheila was a twelve-and-a-half on a scale of ten, so it was beyond spectacular. My girlfriend gave me a knowing smile. “We’re gonna get cleaned up, and then the three of us will head out for dinner.”

Being a mere mortal in the company of two goddesses, one on each arm, does wonders for one’s ego. The men we passed gave me looks of envy, while the women had predatory curiosity in their eyes as we walked to the restaurant. After dinner, the girls wanted to go out for drinks and dancing. I worried about being underage, but Sheila told me not to. “I know which clubs usually don’t check ages.” We walked a little ways until we found a place with music blaring and people dancing inside and out, and Sheila indicated this looked like a place I could at least hang at. The doorman looked at me first, then at Sheila and Daisy on my arms, and waved us in, giving me an impressed nod. By some miracle, we found an unoccupied table, and three different packs of cigarettes hit the table. I lit Sheila’s Marlboro Light 100 first, then Daisy’s Virginia Slim Light.

I took turns dancing (as much as you could call it that) with the girls, with Daisy declining all offers when I was on the floor with Sheila. After two drinks, I switched to soda, while the girls continued to party. Daisy lit a cigarette, french-inhaling forever, and gave me her special smile before tossing her head and gaily exhaling. A few minutes later, the night just—fell apart. A boisterous group of well-muscled boys joined our table uninvited, and quickly positioned themselves to surround the table, relegating me to the periphery. I got a glimpse of Sheila and Daisy doing their best to ignore the boys and their juvenile behavior. I pushed my way into a small gap to retrieve my soda from the table, and all of a sudden, I was pushed back—hard by a muscular, sandy-blond kid who screamed at me. He pushed me again, still yelling at me, trying to start a fight. “Whatever,” I said, and turned to walk away. He grabbed me, and all of a sudden, I was at the bottom of a heap of bodies.

There was a lot of shouting and yelling, and I was roughly pulled to my feet and dragged towards the exit by an enormous bald-headed guy. Resigned to being ejected, I didn’t resist and said nothing, hoping once outside, I wouldn’t be assaulted by the guy who had started everything, and the girls would find me before too long. We stopped near the door as the testosterone boys were being forcibly funneled onto the street. Once the doorway was clear, I saw the doorman—the big guy who had let me in—look outside, then at me. Before the bald-headed guy could resume dragging me out, he asked, “He given you any trouble?” The answer was negative, and he nodded, saying, “Then he’s OK. Let him go back to his table,” and the bald-headed guy let go of me, looking surprised, as was I. The doorman leaned to me and quietly said, “It isn’t a good idea for you to leave just yet. Give those guys a chance to go to some other bar and find someone else to pick on.”

Daisy and Sheila were gathering their things when I returned. “Are you all right?” Daisy asked, hugging me. Sheila also gave me a hug. I assured them except for some minor soreness from falling at the bottom of the pile, I was unhurt, and relayed the doorman’s comment. “That’s unusual,” said Sheila. “Normally they just throw everybody out, let it get settled on the street and leave it for the cops to clean up.” The table got quiet, the earlier festive mood having been broken. Unbidden, a round of complimentary drinks arrived at the table, and I saw the doorman standing discreetly nearby, watching our table. I raised my glass to him, and he returned a brief, stone-faced nod. Sheila opened a fresh pack of Marlboro Lights 100s, and reached for the lighter. I gently held out my hand to stop her, saying, “please allow me,” and she returned a brief half-smile as I lit it for her. I showed the lighter to Daisy, who replied, “No thanks, Will, I’m OK.” Sheila smoked quickly, taking her usual deep, smooth drags, but she turned her head to the side to exhale, and they were hurried, noisy, and directed downwards towards the floor. Amid little conversation, and left alone by other patrons, we finished our drinks and left under the watchful eye of the doorman.

We started to walk back to the hotel, but now it was later at night and the girls drew much more attention from alcohol-infused males. There were catcalls, less-than-polite overtures, and outright rude propositions. One guy yelled, “BITCH!” at Sheila after she politely rebuffed his advances. “I gotta get off the street,” Daisy said, upset, and she ducked into a small grocery store. We picked up some juice, soda, and a couple bottles of booze while trying to regain some equilibrium. My girlfriend hesitated at the door for an instant after we paid.

I gently put a hand on her arm, put my bag down, and hailed a taxi for the short ride to the hotel. I gave the driver a sizeable tip, more than the fare, and got a card in return. “Name’s Frankie D,” said the driver. “You need a ride, call the company and ask for me.” He watched Sheila appreciatively as she stepped out of his cab and gave me a smile before driving away. Daisy asked me why I had tipped him so much, and I showed her the card. “We have a designated driver for the remainder of the week. I’m hoping it’ll prevent a recurrence of the problems we had tonight.”

As soon as we got back to our rooms, the doors between them opened. Sheila immediately lit a Marlboro Light 100 and took a couple of drags, still exhaling downwards in a hurry. “Maybe we were dressed up too much,” she dejectedly offered.

“Sheila, you’d make heads turn at a blind man’s convention,” I countered, adding, “It’s not the clothes,” with finality.

She blinked and turned to Daisy. “Wow. Does he always—?”

“Uh-huh,” my girlfriend replied. “Now you know why I like my men smart n’eloquent.”

Sheila took another drag, long and deep. This time, she sent the exhale towards the ceiling, with a thick stream coming from her nostrils at the end. “I dunno about you, but I need a drink after that. Too many drunk juvenile frat boys on the street tonight.” The girls fixed drinks from the supplies we’d picked up, and then Daisy asked me for a cigarette. I picked up her Virginia Slims Lights; she hesitated, looking at her pack, then shook her head and pointed at my pack of More menthols. Giving me a surreptitious wink, she pulled two out when I gave it to her, allowing me to light both of them before handing me one. “I thought you hated menthols,” Sheila noted.

“These actually aren’t bad for menthols,” Daisy casually replied, taking a drag punctuated with a quick snap- and french-inhale combination followed by a free oral exhale. “It’s a—” I gave Daisy a pleading look. “—change of pace. I might pick up a pack of More regulars while I’m here. That’s what my mom smokes, and I’ve smoked enough of hers that I kinda like them once in a while.” She drew on the More and tilted her head all the way back, leisurely releasing the smoke straight up.

Sheila returned, “Well, I’ve never tried those—regular or menthol. It reminds me of a cigar.” Daisy told her she should take a chance because it was spring break, but she looked unconvinced. “Well… maybe,” she finally equivocated. “If you promise not to tell anybody I was smokin’ a cigar.”

After two more drinks, the girls were laughing and giggling as if the night had yet to start. Daisy was smoking with flair, checking on my reaction with each slow snap-inhale; it was getting difficult to hide my arousal from Sheila, so I was relieved when she announced she was going to bed. The interior door closed and Daisy lit another More, taking a huge second drag, showing me the smoke swirling inside her mouth for an eternity before swallowing it, and sending it through the little “O” of her lips in a narrow, long stream.

I was excited, but before I could get to her, the door reopened, and Sheila stood there, still dressed. “The girl on the other side of the door is loud,” she complained. Indeed, with the interior door open, I could hear the sounds of vigorous lovemaking coming from the room next to hers. Daisy looked at me and shrugged, but didn’t spare me her next stylish drag and exhale, looking cute and sexy with the still-long cigarette held vertically, away from her body.

Once the interior door was closed, the fucking noise was muted. Since Daisy and I were not going to have sex, I climbed into the bed, fully clothed, citing fatigue, and quickly fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning sandwiched between the girls, with my erection pressing against Daisy’s ass, and Sheila’s arm across me from behind. Carefully, and slowly, I extricated myself and went to the bathroom. Sheila shifted, occupying my space, but did not wake.

I fetched juice from the grocery store we had stopped at, and coffee and fresh croissants from a nearby pastry shop for breakfast. Daisy and Sheila were hung over, but were in bikinis by noon, and we were on the beach by one. “Need to get to bed earlier,” observed Daisy. “Otherwise, I’m not gonna get a tan.”

The three of us lay on the beach, Daisy next to me, holding my hand. Boys circulated around us trying to get the girls to pay attention. Sheila would leave with a group from time to time, returning with drinks. Some asshole made fun of me, trying his best to impress Daisy, but she just tightened her grip on my hand and smiled at me. After being ignored for five minutes, he kicked sand at me, trying to start a fight. Daisy pulled her sunglasses down and sweetly, sincerely smiled, “Do you believe the totality of sex can only be fully realized in the sanctity of marriage? My friend and I are committed to keeping our virginity until—” He quickly walked away. “Wait! Do you want to get together with us and play some board games later?” she called, giggling only after he was well out of earshot.

Frankie D drove us to an upscale Italian restaurant with an attached nightclub for dinner. Daisy thought it would help avoid a repeat of the previous night, since it was a little too expensive for most students. We went to the nightclub after dinner. Basically, we were surrounded by older people in a calmer environment than any of the clubs on the strip, and they left us alone. I lit Sheila’s Marlboro Light 100 and was rewarded with a bright smile and sweet-sounding, “Thank you.” She drew steadily on it and lifted her chin. Smoke streamed from her nose in thick ribbons, and then she pursed her lips and blew. It was almost mesmerizing despite its lack of flair. Her beauty and grace made it spectacular.

The girls taught me to foxtrot, and although I was underdressed, the patrons and staff seemed not to care. I went to buy our second round of drinks while the ladies “powdered their noses.” As the bartender busied himself with our order, a guy sitting by himself quietly asked, “Are they—local?”

“No,” I replied. “The brunette is my girlfriend, and the redhead is her roommate. We’re just here for spring break.”

“Pay up, Al,” the bartender interjected. The man handed him a twenty. “And the round for the gentleman and his companions.” Al waved grumpily and said, “Yeah, yeah,” without meeting my eyes. I looked inquisitively at the bartender. “He bet me twenty your friends were—rented. I told him the brunette definitely wasn’t, so he upped the ante—said he’d buy you a round if neither of ‘em were pros, otherwise he drinks on the house. It was a sucker bet.”

“How’dja know, Gus?” Al dejectedly asked in defeat.

“Been bartending for almost forty years,” was the reply. “Seen a woman in love enough to know what it looks like, and buddy, the brunette is all yours for the askin’.” Gus garnished the drinks, and said, “Free advice for ya kid, the redhead may be a ten, but don’t pick her over the brunette; she’s the one who’ll stick with ya.” I had a big smile on my face when I walked back to the table. Daisy and Sheila appeared about a minute later, laughing and giggling, dragging me onto the dance floor for an awkward three-person foxtrot. Sheila pulled a fresh pack of Marlboro Light 100s from her purse, but an older gentleman interrupted her by asking her to dance while she was tamping the pack. She flashed him her dazzling smile, and held out her arm to be escorted onto the floor.

Daisy pulled a More from my pack and coyly held it aloft, waiting for me to light it. I kidded her about changing brands, but my thoughts died mid-sentence as she performed a slow, yet casual, creamy, french-inhale and turned her head to the side for a lazy oral exhale, again looking very much like her mother. “I’ll buy you another carton—and definitely some regulars for this week. I know what you like,” she throatily intoned. Hidden by the table, her free hand gave me a fondle, and before I could protest, Daisy drew smoothly on the More, tilted her head back a little, and exhaled twin streams from her nostrils for several seconds, eyes narrowed in dangerous invitation. Her intentions were clear. I asked Daisy if this was our last round of drinks, and she answered by drawing on the slender brown cigarette again, slowly letting a creamy ball escape, before leisurely cocking her head and exhaling upwards and to the side, just like her mother.

Sheila interrupted the moment by returning to the table, excitedly panting. “He’s a really good dancer! No offense, Will, but you should dance with him, Daisy!”

My girlfriend put out her barely-smoked More, and looked at her roommate. “No-o-o-o,” she said, drawing out the word, “I think I wanna leave after this drink and go back to the hotel. Make it an early night.”

Frankie D had us back in the hotel by ten. The doors were open between the rooms, drinks were flowing, and the girls were excitedly chattering, wondering if it was worth renting a car to go to an amusement park for a day. “Will’s a great driver!” enthused Daisy. “Plus, he’s cool with being a designated driver.” Sheila was torn, vacillating by the minute. They seemed almost hyper. Even though she wasn’t trying to arouse me, watching Daisy smoke her Virginia Slim Light made me wonder what Sheila was going to do when Daisy and I were—occupied. I got up to hit the john—the girls were still talking animatedly, so it would be a while before I could get Daisy alone. When I came out, Daisy was saying, “He’ll say no. He doesn’t do that kinda stuff.”

“Do what kind of stuff?” I jovially asked.

“Cocaine,” Daisy brightly answered. “Sheila scored some on the beach for us and was willing to share.” I shook my head vigorously and asked her why she did coke. “It makes partying funner.” Noting my air of disapproval, she continued, “You know what else coke does to me?” in a soft voice. I said no. Daisy leaned close and whispered, “It makes me extra horny.” She kissed my ear, making me tremble.

“Ummmm… Daisy…” She had started kissing me on the neck and my cock was waking up, so it was getting difficult to think. “Ummm… Sheila’s here.” Daisy ran her hand lightly across my chest.

Daisy lazily got up and walked over to her roommate. “Y’hear that, Sheila? He’s concerned about you. Didn’t I tell ya how sweet he is?” She turned to me with eyes full of sexual intent. “But you don’t hafta worry, Will. Sheila gets super, super horny on coke—an’ let’s just say boys aren’t always—” Sheila leaned to Daisy with an open mouth, and they kissed, mouths locked, tongues dueling. You have got to be kidding me! “—a good option. Especially drunk, horny frat boys. They tend to forget about you an’ only pay attention to their dicks.”

My mouth hung open. Who is this woman? This isn’t the Daisy Woodford I know. She uses coke and has sex with girls— My dick interrupted, saying, —the last one’s good enough for me! Time to stand up and salute!

“I hope you don’t mind sharing tonight,” Sheila breathed seductively, her smile and eyes now incredibly erotic. She gave Daisy an eagerly accepted, short, wet kiss. “From what Daisy tells me, I’ll be very disappointed if you don’t wanna share.”

Daisy returned to the bed and immediately started playing with my bulge, still restrained in my jeans. “When did you decide you were—ummm—” Her ministrations were extremely distracting. “—bisexual?”

“Let’s talk later, Will,” Daisy purred, her eyes broadcasting incredible lust. “Sheila asked you a question. Y’gonna be selfish and kick her out?”

I wanted to be with Daisy more than anything else in the world. I’d spent the last two weeks having almost-constant fantasies of her and me pleasuring each other for six nights. None of them involved a third party. My dick began to ache, Daisy kept rubbing it and kissing my neck and ear… “Shecanjoinus,” I exhaled with a lust-fueled growl and heard Sheila squeal excitedly. Daisy ordered me to take my pants off.

“Oooohhh!” Sheila cooed as my cock was revealed. “I like that! Can I go first?” I was going to protest, but she dropped to her knees and completely engulfing my still-lengthening dick in one effortless stroke. Sheila bobbed her head without a single pause or gasp, deep-throating me until I was hard. I collapsed onto the bed, my dick standing straight up. “Who do you think taught me?” Daisy whispered, hastily climbing onto my erection. This time, she was facing away from me, and I missed seeing her face as she slid up and down my dick, moaning sweetly—until I felt something soft and wet intermittently flicking along the exposed underside. Daisy’s strokes became shorter, she got wetter and louder, and then she started gasping “Oh! Oh! Oh!” rhythmically in time with the jerking of her hips. “OH! Sheila!”

The realization that Sheila was licking Daisy’s clit, and she was the cause of the soft, wet sensation earlier sent a surge of blood to my rigid dick. After a while, Daisy groaned, and her body relaxed. “Wowwwww…” she exhaled with me still inside her, showing no signs of softening.

“Well that was fun,” Sheila growled, and she lit a cigarette. “Here, Daisy, have a hit—it’s one of yours. With Daisy on my lap, I had no line of sight, but I did see smoke flowing from the side of her face, the movement of her back and the profile of her breasts. Sheila asked if it was her turn.

“Sorry, dear,” Daisy replied, “I get his first cum. But…” She asked me if I was close, and I said no. Daisy dismounted with a hiss, turned around, and eased back onto my cock, cigarette in hand. Taking a quick puff, she tossed her head back and exhaled noisily. My cock twitched inside her, and in response, she smiled, and drew steadily on her Virginia Slim Light, slowly snap-inhaled, waited a couple of seconds, before lazily turning her head to the side and pushing the smoke through her lips in a long, narrow stream. I made a noise, and she playfully slapped my chest twice with mischief in her eyes. “Hey roomie, y’want some o’ this?” Daisy asked, indicating the cigarette.

Sheila took the cigarette from Daisy, and they kissed deeply. I moaned and wiggled my hips. “Isn’t this hot, Will?” Sheila cooed. The gorgeous redhead took a carefree drag, shook her hair out, and exhaled thick trails of gray smoke from her nose and mouth before hungrily kissing Daisy. Pinned, all I could do was moan, my initial trepidation overwhelmed by the sheer heat of the situation. The girls finally separated, and Sheila took a drag from the cigarette before putting it out, tilting her head all the way back for another combined exhale. My girlfriend leaned forward, kissed me, and purred as she started to move her hips lazily.

Sheila complained about being left out. “Why don’t—mmmmm—you—ohhhh—let Will—” Daisy’s suggestion was interrupted by a jolt of pleasure; she gasped and shuddered. Kissing me again, she smiled, “You always feel so good!” and stopped moving for a moment. “—Sheila, let Will lick your pussy.” I saw the skeptical look, and so did Daisy. “Who do you think taught me—” She shot me an amused glance. “—from the receiving side, anyway.” That seemed to convince Sheila. Her roommate eagerly climbed aboard, arranging herself to face the headboard, away from Daisy, and all fuck broke loose.

Churning her hips with increasing urgency, Daisy came first, filling the room with soft, passionate cries. Sheila humped my face driving her hips forcefully, but slowly, downward to meet my questing tongue, her tangy juices trickling steadily onto my face. A long, high-pitched sigh accompanied her orgasm, and she melted off me onto the bed, giving me some needed oxygen. I shifted and began fucking Daisy from beneath while firmly holding her hips, pounding up into her. “Huh-huh-huh-huh!” whimpered my girlfriend in time with my frantic thrusts. She began to quiver at the hips, and then I felt a huge, fiery blob of cum tear through my dick, and shoot into her slick, hot, gooey pussy. “HRRNNNGGGHHHH!” A low, guttural grunt was torn from my throat as I bucked, burying me all the way inside her as the dam holding back over forty days of cum burst, flooding Daisy’s pussy. She tossed her head wildly, and suddenly her eyes went wide, her body vibrated like a tuning fork, and she came again, soaking my pubic hair with the mixture of our cum as she panted, “Ohshit-ohshit-ohshit-ohshit,” repeatedly.

Finally, sweat-covered and panting noisily, my legs gave out and my butt hit the bed with a soft thump. A few seconds later, I heard the click of a lighter, and saw Sheila pacing around the room, taking a deep drag, exhaling through her nose and mouth at an upwards angle and repeating the cycle as the last wisps of smoke were leaving her nose. It was too soon to have any physical effect. Daisy lay on top of me, shuddering with aftershocks, kissing me from time to time. Sheila disappeared into the bathroom. “She doesn’t know, Will,” Daisy whispered. “It’s our secret, unless you decide to tell her.”

“Still coke horny?” I asked.

“Not so much after that,” smiled Daisy. I asked her about her newfound bisexuality. “You’ve seen how hot my roommate is,” she began. “And Sheila’s… not picky between boys and girls when she’s horny, which is a lot. When I told you about Marie, what I didn’t tell you is I wanted to do more, but she weirded out, so I stopped. So… it’s not really new.” Daisy hesitated. “Does this make you—love me any less… or—”

“—It just makes me wonder how we can—fulfill—that side of you moving forward,” I replied. “I don’t love you any less—and I never will.” Daisy grabbed me and we kissed until I felt the first faint stirrings of arousal.

My girlfriend pulled away with stars in her eyes. “Speaking of willing third parties… hey, you OK in there, roomie?”

The toilet flushed, and Sheila stepped out, still naked, complaining, “So I guess it’s bedtime now.”

Daisy lit a Virginia Slim Light and wrapped her hand around my dick. “Only if you want it to be.” She snap-inhaled slowly, holding the smoke while she lightly masturbated me. “Will’s got a lot more left,” purred Daisy, ejecting bursts of smoke coming with each word. Sheila watched my cock lengthen with open interest. “So.”

“Lemme help,” her roommate cooed and knelt, replacing Daisy’s hand with her mouth and throat, eagerly fellating me, making my dick disappear in a rush of red hair. I was hard again in a couple of minutes. Sheila looked up at Daisy questioningly,

“I’m gonna have another cigarette. It was so good I need another,” smiled Daisy with a nod, at which Sheila bounced to her feet and dragged me to the bed, kissing me as we fell.

She cocked her legs and I accepted the invitation without any hesitation, plunging into her. She wrapped her arms around me. Sheila’s body moved with mine perfectly, maximizing the length of my strokes without letting my dick escape the velvet of her pussy. Soft growls came from her throat culminating in an alto sigh as she came. “Oh!” Sheila squeaked in surprise when I resumed thrusting at her.

“Told ya,” Daisy smirked from somewhere out of my sight. “He cums once, he can fuck for a while.” I continued driving my cock into Sheila, stopping to change position to my favorite. Bracing one of her legs against my chest, I slow fucked Daisy’s roommate nearly insensate, intermittently playing with her clit while my hips moved, bringing her to the brink of orgasm and letting her come down a little before starting again. Sheila’s fair body was almost completely red, her rounded tits an even darker shade, the nipples rock-hard and angry-looking.

“Noooooooo!” she cried as I pulled out, reaching desperately for me, but I didn’t leave her empty for long. Putting Sheila on her back once again, I spread her legs wide and slid back into her, forcing air through her vocal cords. “GRNNFFFF!” Her creamy complexion quickly turned red as I pounded away at her some more.

I lost my rhythm as something flashed on the periphery, and then, to my shock, Daisy perched on the side of the bed by the headboard, crossed her legs in a ladylike fashion, and lit a holdered Virginia Slim Light. She pursed her lips and mouthed, “Fuck her.” I obeyed, redoubling my efforts while watching Daisy pose for me, smoking elegantly, most effeminately. Unaware, Sheila began growling; suddenly, she sighed, “Ohhhh, I’m gonna cum again,” and promptly went into orgasm, grabbing me with crazed strength and kissing me so hard I saw stars. I looked up to see a trail of smoke blossom from Daisy’s lips, legs still crossed, holder at the end of an extended arm, and my second orgasm of the night quickly welled up in my loins. With one mighty thrust, I shot into Sheila. I pulled my hips back, neurons frying, and Sheila grabbed my ass. I slammed into her again, firing another burning load deep into her pussy. She held me in place until I had given her every drop and had softened too much for her pussy to keep me inside. Daisy had vanished.

“Ohhhhhh…” moaned Sheila, “I think I’m going to sleep now…” Daisy re-entered the room from their side of the suite. “Got a cig Daisy? I can’t move,” Sheila happily crooned. “Will… that was… great. Now I know why she’s so picky!”

The following night, we went to dinner as a foursome, because Sheila found a tan, well-muscled blond guy from Arizona on the beach, and spent the night with him in the other room while Daisy and I had agreed to spend the night without sex. Sheila was a very quiet lay: I told Daisy if a guy was counting on making her scream to indicate how good he was doing, he’d lose all self-confidence.

“Yeah,” Daisy concurred with a giggle, “I can hear him more than her right now.” She looked at me. “So… what didja think of my little act last night?” I said I was shocked, but enjoyed it… and it probably cut Sheila’s fun short by a few minutes. She beamed, proudly saying, “Her pussy didn’t get you off, but my holder smoking did.” Daisy kissed me. “Y’know, Sheila didn’t get my attraction when she first saw you. Now she thinks you’re a sex god. She loved your slow-fucking thing… and you fucked the coke horny out of her, too. She was thinkin’ she needed to be pretty hot to get into being with you. Now I think she’d like to get slow-fucked again without coke. Did you want to tell her about—?”

It didn’t take me long to agree; ménage-a-trois sex was hotter than hell. I wasn’t sure how to tell Sheila about my fetish, but Daisy told me to leave it to her. Before we went to the beach the next day, Daisy told Sheila I was interested in “a fun evening.” Her roommate’s response was to decline every advance made on the beach She bought room service dinner so we didn’t have to leave our suite and throatily advised me to, “Eat light.”

Daisy tossed a carton of More menthols onto my bed. “I’ve smoked enough of them this week I figure I owe ya.” She also pulled out a pack of regulars, and fit one into her holder. Sheila remarked how long Daisy’s smoke seemed as I lit it, and Daisy countered with, “It makes me feel sexier… and Will thinks it makes me look sexier.” By midnight, Sheila had smoked half the pack of Mores, and developed an amazingly huge french-inhale, which was immediately followed by a voluminous combination exhale. The highlight for me was seeing thick streams of smoke flowing from Sheila’s flared nostrils, as More in hand, she worked her way down to my pubic hair, my cock disappearing in her throat. Daisy went to sleep in the other room at about four while I tortured Sheila deliciously with her second exclusive long, slow screw of the night. No amount of sexy posturing or deep throating could revive my cock over the next thirty-six hours. Thursday, I assfucked Sheila while she ate Daisy, Daisy rode me while smoking Virginia Slim Lights through her holder (and passing it off to Sheila when the feeling got too intense,) and, pardon the pun, we daisy-chained oral sex, with Sheila getting my dick hard for Daisy’s subsequent ass fuck.

Saturday morning, Sheila stood naked between the rooms with a Marlboro Light 100 and posed, with a very fetching coy expression on her face. “I know tonight’s reserved for Daisy, but…” I looked at my girlfriend, who smiled, gave her roommate a short, wet kiss, and closed the door behind her as she left for the beach.

I returned to school exhausted and fucked out. Neither Elaine’s sexy More smoking nor Karla’s increasingly insistent attempts at seducing me were enough to raise the flagpole. Instead of worrying about taking care of my horniness, I concentrated on school and had enough free time to make a decent amount of money from tutoring inspired by the panic of approaching exams.

Daisy waited three days after I got home for summer break to come visit. After being the All-American Good Girl while chatting with my parents, we headed to her house for dinner for my reciprocal visit—with a stop at a nearby park to neck for a while. She apologized for leaving me horny, but we weren’t going to have a chance to be alone for another week—there was work being done at the summer house. I admitted my extreme disappointment, and told her I’d been chaste by choice since Spring Break due to sexual exhaustion. “Then you’re all recharged now?” Daisy grinned. I put her hand on my groin, which surged at her touch, and she exclaimed, “Oh, goody!”

Daisy’s parents greeted me with their usual warmth; it almost seemed as if I was a member of the family already. I told them I was leaning towards graduate school because I enjoyed teaching, and I was moderately successful at tutoring. Daisy sat next to me; she would wait for me to light her Virginia Slim Light as an expected courtesy. Her mother was still smoking Mores with a feminine grace her daughter had yet to match. The slow arc of her arm as it brought the cigarette to her mouth for a long, steady drag, followed by a slow parting of the lips as she removed the long cylinder, returning it to its resting place by her hips. Smoke drifted from those lips for a few seconds, only to be pulled back in, and then Mrs. Woodford lazily cocked her head slightly upwards, simultaneously turning to the side just a little. Her nose sent gray-white trails into the air, joined by another thick ribbon from her lips… and it was all done so… naturally. While Daisy’s flamboyant smoking may have excited me more, it was something she worked at, and paradoxically, it made it less… sexy.

I returned to my summer lab job while Daisy worked for her father, so we didn’t see each other during the week. We finally got a chance to be alone after two weeks. Her parents went to the summer house for the weekend early Friday afternoon—and did not invite her. I arrived at her house after work. She met me at the door in a sundress, with a Virginia Slim Light in a new white holder. “Welcome home, honey! How was your day at the office?” Daisy smiled. She asked, “Can you see yourself coming home to this?” as she dragged on her holdered cigarette, looking delectably beautiful, young, and rich. “I have dinner—real food, not the other kind—ready. Let’s eat and then we can—discuss—plans for the rest of the evening.” The sparkle in her eyes said talking was the last thing on her mind.

“Sheila wants to come visit for a week,” she sighed after we’d greeted each other with a vigorous good morning Saturday. “I’m not sure if I’m up for it. What do you think?” I was non-committal, pointing out we both had jobs. Daisy countered her roommate knew hers was optional—her father would let her take a week off, especially to host her college roommate. “I think she just wants to fuck you again,” Daisy confessed. “I let that genie out of the bottle, so to speak. I’m sorry.” I noted the three of us had fun over Spring Break, and our relationship hadn’t been damaged because of it.

“Besides, where else are you going to find a willing, gorgeous bi-girl this summer?” I smiled. “The challenge is going to be hiding your bisexuality from your parents, Daisy. Sheila isn’t exactly the most discreet person.”

Daisy managed to negotiate Sheila down to a long weekend. I didn’t see her until Saturday afternoon at the summer house, and it was a repeat of the last days of Spring Break. Both girls were in sexual overdrive all weekend; although they did not use coke in front of me or offer me any, it wasn’t hard to guess how they got there. It was also forgotten as Daisy dragged on a More and kissed Sheila, who broke the kiss to exhale to the side through her nose and mouth before pulling my girlfriend’s mouth back to hers for another greedy kiss. She gave me a smoldering look and took the cigarette from Daisy. Sheila’s first drag ended in a huge open-mouthed, snap-french inhale and thick smoke poured from her nostrils and mouth, and she filled Daisy’s mouth with her second, as they kissed some more. “Lemme show you my trick, Sheila,” Daisy hurriedly breathed, coating my cock with Vaseline. I worked my dick into Daisy’s asshole feeling harder than I could ever remember. Sheila hungrily kissed me and then took another of her flowing drags. As I started to establish a rhythm, Sheila held the cigarette for Daisy to puff. There was nothing stylish about her exhale. Daisy was busy rocking on her hands and knees, fucking my cock with increasing energy. “Ohhh… Ohhh… god, Will… That’s it… Oh, Will… Ohhh… Ohhh…” Her back reddened, and I knew what was about to happen. Suddenly, Daisy slammed herself back into my hips and vibrated. I slowly pulled back, and then pushed forward, and—”AAUUUUGGGHHHH!” Daisy squirted forcefullyShe relaxed with a shudder, but started moaning when I resumed my gentle thrusts in her ass, continuing to go as deeply into her ass as I could. Within a few strokes she was red again. “Ohhh… shit… Will… I’m gonna… I’m gonna… SQUIRT!” She did, with a loud splat, her legs turned to jelly, and she slid off my dick with a loud gasp.

As frustrating as it was for me, Sheila was absolutely speechless. My girlfriend pushed herself back onto her hands and knees after a few seconds, presenting her ass once again. “Ohhhhhhh…” The deep, throaty moan as I re-entered her energized me, and as soon as I was able to move freely inside her ass, I was pumping steadily at her, feeling the familiar tingle start. Then I felt something inside me, moving— A bright flash of light was all I could see, my hearing disappeared as my balls lurched mightily, filling Daisy’s ass with lots of cum. Next thing I knew, Sheila was alternating kissing me and Daisy from above as we lay on the bed, spent.

“W-w-what the fuck was that?” I managed.

“Prostate massage,” Sheila replied with a smile. “Always wanted to do it to a guy since I first heard about it.” I told her to warn me the next time. “You didn’t like it?” she worried. I reassured her it was just because it had been so unexpected. I admitted it had made me cum harder than ever before—it had almost felt like my heart was exploding along with my balls. The gorgeous redhead chain-smoked three Marlboro Light 100s while waiting for Daisy and I to recover enough to sit up. An hour later, it was Sheila on her hands and knees. Daisy lay beneath her roommate, licking her clit and the underside of my cock while I pounded away at Sheila’s pussy from behind. She came twice, and I didn’t last as long as I had during Spring Break. My slightly painful ejaculation produced little cum, but more dribbled out when Sheila rolled onto her back and I watched, spellbound, as Daisy continued licking Sheila with my load in her until she came a third time. We all slept well.

The next morning, Sheila and Daisy shared a cigarette while deep-throating my cock, instigating a pre-breakfast round of sex, with Sheila riding my dick and Daisy my face. After lunch, we returned to the bedroom, where I fucked Daisy while she attempted to eat Sheila. I had intended to do the same to Sheila afterwards, but I was worn out, and could only watch while the girls made love next to me. My cock showed very weak signs of interest around six p.m. when Daisy shared her More in its cigarette holder with her roommate. I knew it would still be a while before I could play, so I said my goodbyes, necking with each of the girls, and regretfully left after showering early Sunday evening—only because I had to go to work Monday. Tired, sore, and extremely satiated, I shut the door as Sheila was burrowing between an eager Daisy’s legs yet again.

That was also the start of a long dry spell for both of us. By now, everybody except my mother knew Daisy and I were sexually active with each other. I think even she knew it, but just didn’t want to admit it. Nonetheless, we still had to keep appearances, and it was difficult to find a pretext to be alone. Since Daisy and I were almost engaged, the families spent more time together, so we found ourselves going out in the company of one set or the other of parents. To be fair, my dad had always kept a respectful distance from Daisy; after all, she was the boss’ daughter. My folks didn’t know her anywhere near as well as Mr. and Mrs. Woodford had gotten to know me, so Daisy spent a lot of time with my family. Unfortunately, after those events, we would return to our respective homes, unable to share more than short, but intimate, goodnight kisses. The fourth of July party coincided with the fiftieth anniversary of the company, so instead of the usual summer house party, it was held at a park, and we couldn’t steal away.

Fortune smiled on us two weeks later; my parents and I had been scheduled to go to New York City on vacation, but I had to drop out because there was an important experiment at work that needed to be monitored until it finished sometime Saturday. Daisy was there at one-thirty Saturday afternoon to pick me up, amidst envious looks from my lab compatriots. We went directly to the summer house, where she let me sleep until dusk.

“God, Jimmy Ford is such a pain,” Daisy grumbled as she made dinner. “I had a thing at the club last night, and he wouldn’t leave me alone. Just because we played doctor back in fourth grade and spin the bottle in sixth…”

“He thinks you’re hot—which you are,” I replied. “I take it Marie isn’t interested anymore?”

Daisy said Marie’s interest ended shortly after sunrise on New Year’s Day. “He thinks his looks and money should get any girl he wants. Just like in high school. He thinks we haven’t changed.”

“He just doesn’t believe you’d fall in love with ‘Charity Case’ from school. The lower-class scholarship kid.”

“Oh, but I have fallen in love… with Will Redmond,” Daisy returned, pausing her dinner preparations to rest her arms lightly on my shoulders. “A better class of person than Jimmy Ford, Roberts Baldwin the fourth, and any of those other guys from the club.” She lit a Virginia Slim Light after dinner, and placed it in a long black holder. “Ice cream or sex for dessert?” Daisy grinned as she reclined into the sofa, holder held high, knowing the answer before she asked the question.

“How many cigarette holders do you have now?” I asked with surprise, feeling quite turned on.

“Four,” she said. “I figured you might like the variety. Besides, it made Mrs. Coxe feel like she’s relevant. Since we’ve been so busy and apart this summer—” Daisy took a deep drag from her holder, held from beneath, and silently eased her chest forward, producing a long stream from pursed lips. “—I asked her about them because I almost never see her without one at the club. Did you know she has almost two dozen?” She tapped the ash off with a single flick of a ladylike finger, and, breasts rising, drew again. Lazily turning her head to the side like her mother, she pursed her lips and noiselessly blew. “She was so thrilled I asked, she gave me this one along with a lesson on how to use it properly—like a lady.” Turning to face me, she posed, sitting forward, back slightly arched, which pushed her chest forward, with the holder held at mid-stem from beneath, with thumb on one side and three fingers on the other. “Since you like it so much, I thought I should do it right for you.” I immediately told her to put it out because she was doing it right.

Daisy’s parents went out of town over the last weekend we had before returning to our respective schools, implicitly leaving us our choice of places to play. She lay beneath me, arms wrapped around my back and her legs cocked, thrusting her hips to set our fucking rhythm. Panting softly with each thrust, she whimpered, “Iloveyou… Iloveyou… Iloveyou…” into my ear. We were too busy making love over the weekend to smoke very much. Daisy had brought her holders, but they went unused as we would glance at each other and be ready for more sex. It was as if our bodies knew they would not be together for the next three months, because my refractory period seemed to be the amount of time it took Daisy to smoke a post-orgasm Virginia Slim Light. We showered thoroughly Sunday night before she took me home, washing the sex-filled weekend’s scent off so she could visit with my folks for a little while.

“See you at Christmas,” I said, kissing her at the car. “I may just wait for you until then—it’s my choice, Daisy Woodford.”

“And I wanna wait for you, Will Redmond. I’ll try my best,” she solemnly promised.

“Oh, and Daisy—Sheila doesn’t count,” I lightly added.

“That’ll make it a lot easier to wait ’til Christmas,” Daisy smiled.

Junior Year

A new year meant a new batch of smoking freshman girls, and temptation was everywhere. Harrison Lounge seemed to attract them in droves, regardless of where their classes were. Karla had also discovered my hangout and joined my table. She had switched to Marlboro Lights, the short ones, and so I was even less interested in her than the previous year. She’s cute, she was fun, but it was a mistake. Colin also dropped by my table, flattering me with his attention, and making me laugh. I asked him why he came to our school instead of going to another school, one more renowned for its arts program, because he was genuinely talented. “I grew up here and got a scholarship. Besides, with my ego? Better to be a big fish in a small pond, Will,” he replied. Dee continued to stop by, but had found a boyfriend, and made it clear she could no longer be on my dance card. She sounded slightly regretful, improving my ego, and was still an arousing Benson & Hedges Lights smoker, with her long drags, big smile, and thick, streaming exhales. Chrissie was still a monitor in the arcade, smoking Winston Lights 100s. Mary Anne would still visit her there, with her big draws on her Virginia Slim Light menthol, long, thick, billowing all-oral cone exhales, and weird looks at me.

With Harrison being full of Virginia Slim Lights, Marlboro Lights 100s, and Benson & Hedges Lights smokers, as well as Elaine smoking Mores with me, hanging out was becoming overly distracting. The last straw was seeing a gorgeous, lithe Chinese girl take up residence there. I had seen her before, smoking Benson & Hedges menthol lights. Then one day, she pulled out a long brownish pack: Saratoga 120s. Her inhales were shallow, her exhales thin and fast, but she looked awesome with the cork-tipped 120 held high between her fingers. Being around all these sexy smokers was going to drive me crazy, so I picked what I thought was a good alternative: I made myself available as a tutor for several classes, figuring I might as well make money off my celibacy—besides, there was no smoking in the study carrels.

I was surprised by the response. Within a week, I had six students, among them Colin, who had put off taking the mandatory Calculus class and now only had this semester to complete it, because his final semester was going to be dedicated to the school musical. Wendy, a gorgeous blue-eyed blonde freshman flummoxed by BASIC programming and Calculus, booked two hours a week. Of the four girls I tutored, I could tell three of them smoked by a light scent of tobacco around them, but I was careful to avoid them in public whenever I could. All of them were attractive, and from a distance, looked like they were sexy when they smoked—especially Wendy. The net result was I had less time to hang out in Harrison—or anywhere else—so I saw fewer girls smoking. There was less temptation, and I dreamed about Daisy more often.

Daisy called me every other week or so, usually on Saturday. I had to remind her I did not have a private telephone and I wasn’t in my room a couple of times. She had started to describe her smoking for me in a very sexy tone, and there was enough traffic around it would have been awkward getting back to my room. Although I missed her and loved hearing her voice, her calls didn’t always leave me with the best feeling; the closer to Saturday night she called, the weirder she sounded. Daisy would either talk very fast, jumping from subject to subject, or sound vaguely distracted. Occasionally, I could hear Sheila giggling in the background, and she would yell hi. As much as I tried not to think about it, I couldn’t help but wonder what drugs Daisy was using now, and how often. By all accounts, it hadn’t affected her grades, for she was on her school’s Dean’s List, and the expectation was she would replace her father as the president of Woodford and Family someday.

Nonetheless, I put the doubts away and eagerly awaited her Saturday calls. The Saturday before Halloween, Daisy sounded a little drunk and kept trying to shush a distinctly male voice in the background. Of course, trying to control a young, hormonally driven male had the opposite effect. “C’MON DAISY, LET’S GO!!!” he bellowed. Suddenly, I heard her say, ‘No! Give it back!” before he came on the line and threatened, “She’s busy tonight with me. FUCK OFF, DUDE! DON’T CALL HER AGAIN OR I’LL PUNCH YER FUCKIN’ LIGHTS OUT!” The phone slammed in my ear. I waited for a few minutes, but she didn’t call back.

I was crushed. It was Halloween party weekend around campus, and there was a lot of juvenile behavior going on in the dorm. After opening my door for three different monsters trying to scare me, I sullenly dragged myself out for a walk around campus. She sure didn’t sound like she was trying to be faithful. I don’t care how coked up she was, I took my promise seriously. At least she could have tried. My bitter musing and aimless footsteps carried me past the Rathskellar, and after watching revelers there for a minute, I decided to head back to the dorm. There I could at least hide from the rest of the world where everybody seemed to be in a good mood.

I spun and almost ran into Amber, one of the girls I was tutoring. She had gone into the Army to pay for college, so, even though she was a freshman, she was older than all but a handful of undergraduates. “Hey, Will!” she brightly greeted. Amber was from Texas, about my height, big-boned, but trim and muscular, and she was pretty in a fresh-faced, natural way, even with her large round glasses. She wore her thick brown hair straight and trimmed just below the nape of the neck. Not that I had really noticed during our tutoring sessions because I had been so Daisy-focused, and not that I really noticed now. What did capture my attention was the burning white cylinder between her fingers. She hadn’t shown any signs of being a smoker during our tutoring sessions. “I didn’t know you smoked,” I listlessly said.

“Only when I drink,” she happily replied. “I get it out of my system, and then I’m good for the next while.” She took a shallow puff, tossed her head, and sent a fine stream upwards into the night. “What brings you to the Rat? I didn’t think you were legal.” I told her I wasn’t, and I was just getting out of the dorm for a walk. “You sound pretty down in the middle of all this Halloween partying. What’s wrong?”

“Is it that obvious?” Amber nodded. “Girl trouble,” I sighed, adding I didn’t think I’d been dumped, I was just—disappointed.

“Will, you sound like a man who needs a drink,” Amber rejoined, lighting another Marlboro Light. I agreed, but noted the age problem made it unlikely. “I can fix you one at my place. I owe you more than you’re charging for getting me through Physics. Bishop is a real bastard.” Anybody who hadn’t wanted the seven-thirty a.m. class got saddled with George Bishop. Bishop read from the book and wrote exams to challenge Ph. D. physicists. “Hell, just saying the man’s name makes me wanna go get drunk,” she grinned. I told Amber I was going to leave her to her Halloween Party and continue my walk. “Sure you don’t want that drink?” she asked. “I feel a little out-of-place at the frats. Some guy from one of my classes invited me, and I met him here at the Rat.” I immediately apologized for keeping her from her date. “No, I ditched him. Too juvenile.”

After a very brisk walk to her apartment, she fixed me hot cider with a generous amount of dark rum added. We talked over a couple of mugs each, the warmth and alcohol loosening our tongues. I complained about Daisy while Amber talked about her Army experience. I got hard when she revealed she started smoking by having cigars during coed poker games in her unit, explaining the faint scent in her apartment. She offered me a third mug and I followed her into the kitchen. There, completely out of character, my reserve weakened by Daisy’s betrayal (and rum,) I reached to Amber’s waist, pulled her to me, and kissed her. Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done—had my advance been unwelcome, Amber was more than capable of hurting me. Instead, she gently pushed me away, breaking the kiss, softly asking, “You wanna spend the night?” as she removed her glasses. I nodded, enchanted by her simple, unadorned beauty. We kissed again, hungrier, more passionate, more urgent this time. Amber pulled away, turned, and headed down the hall to her bedroom, where we undressed without hurry. I kissed her, she spread her legs, positioned me, and then I pushed forward. We both moaned as the thrill of being intimately connected registered.

It wasn’t long before lust came into play, however. I pumped at Amber with long, hard strokes, our pubic bones crashing with intense force, her hands locked onto my hips as she moved to meet my downward thrusts. Grunting with the effort of fucking Amber as hard as I could, I greedily fed my body’s need for physical pleasure. She responded in kind, fucking back at me with equal ferocity, moaning throatily in counterpoint. It was as if we were competing to see who could make the other cum first. I lost. When I started to moan, “Uhhh… uhhhn… ohhh… Amber… Amber,” she bucked—hard, and suddenly her hand was wrapped around my cock; she squeezed, cutting off my ejaculation, but only for an instant. She started stroking again, and I exploded, losing sight, hearing, and everything else for an ecstatic eternity. I collapsed sideways, seeing puddles of my cum all over Amber’s body and a huge smile on her face.

“Been a while, huh?” she noted. I told her sometime in August. “That’s not so long. You must be a lusty kinda guy.” She looked down and playfully ran her fingers through one of the larger puddles of cum on her tits. “So what’s next?”

I walked back to campus the next afternoon, not feeling guilty in the least. I worried more about what Saturday meant for Amber’s tutoring sessions than anything Daisy-related., I found out. As soon as the door to the study carrel closed behind Amber Monday morning, she grabbed my shoulders and crushed me to her for a kiss. “Let’s get that out of the way first,” she declared, stepping back. “Yes, I had a great time, yes, I would do it again, and yes, I still expect you to get me through Bishop’s class because you’re a better teacher than you are at fucking—” She pulled me close again and lowered her voice. “—and that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

Daisy didn’t call the following weekend. It didn’t matter because I spent it with Amber, giving her some extra tutoring in between rounds of sex, and hoping she would smoke again. She didn’t—but I didn’t care because sex with her was intensely physical—she fucked back with an enthusiasm bordering on manic, and her size, firm body, and physical strength made it a completely different experience from Daisy—or any other woman I’d been with. She was so straightforward and honest when we talked, however, I got the courage to ask what made her pick me on Halloween. “Will, it’s in your eyes,” she replied. “If a girl bothers to look, she can see you can thrill her.” I told her I noticed she’d only cum once in all the sex we had. “I’m impressed you noticed, but don’t feel bad about it,” Amber said, “I—don’t cum easy. You may have only made me cum once, but you definitely kept me thrilled throughout.” She regarded me. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Will. As much fun as this is… I’m not looking for anything permanent. I’m here for a college degree to get me through the rest of my life, not a husband, and sex partners are a dime-a-dozen. I have no problems finding a guy to fuck, but I need you to get me through Bishop’s class.” Amber kissed me and put my hand between her legs to feel the dampness and the heat. “Although,” she slowly began, “you’re worth a little more than nine cents out of that dime.” Her eyes took on a horny cast, and we panted, growled, grunted, and moaned together for the better part of an hour.

I debated calling Daisy on my own, but I was still hurt—and a little angry, and didn’t want to explode at her. I knew I would melt into a puddle of goo the next time she called and her voice would push my doubts about her behavior away. On the other hand, if I called, I might say something I’d sincerely regret first. I also knew I was eagerly awaiting her next call—whenever that would be. Until she called, though, I had no sense of obligation to her, and my dick stepped into the void, fed by my fetish.

Two weeks after Halloween, a Math grad student accused me of cheating because all three of my Calculus students had scored significantly higher on their second exam than their first. The review board quickly determined I hadn’t stolen the exam questions; the head of the math department said I was just plain good at tutoring. Nonetheless, I was insulted strongly enough I was in the arcade late on a Friday night, still trying to blow off steam. Suddenly, Mary Anne, drunk and crying, staggered in looking for Chrissie. Her friend wasn’t there, apparently having traded shifts with another monitor. Even though I creeped her out, I was the only person there she knew. After answering her questions about Chrissie’s absence, I calmed her before campus security showed up, since they would have just taken her to the tank to let her sober up, and that was no place to be hurt and lonely. We walked outside to a secluded part of the dormitory commons building.

Mary Anne immediately lit a Virginia Slim Light menthol, took a long, heavy drag, and exhaled noisily. Sympathetically, I asked her if she needed to talk about it, and, after another massive draw and loud exhale, she related how she had just caught her now ex-boyfriend in a compromising position with another girl, and during the ensuing argument, he had told her she was too fat and not all that pretty. “You’re a guy,” she accusingly spat. “You don’t think I’m fat or ugly, do you?” I truthfully replied no. Round, yes, but not fat, and definitely not ugly. She looked at me with unfocused, red eyes for a moment. Then she drunkenly pulled me to her and rammed her tongue into my mouth, tasting strongly of Virginia Slim Light menthol. I thickened at the unexpected, but welcome, eruption of passion, and when we broke the kiss, she was flushed and regarding me with horny eyes. Mary Anne lit another cigarette after we necked outside the commons for several minutes, causing my dick to go from thick to hard. Her next exhale sent thick smoke billowing into the cool evening. “So,” she said, pausing to take another drag, “did you really mean that or are you just trying t’be nice?” I put her hand against the front of my pants and let her feel the bulge she’d inspired. “I have roommates at home. Do you?” she excitedly whispered. Her eyes glowed brighter than the end of her cigarette when I told her I had a single dorm room. We quickly walked to the dorm without talking, Mary Anne showing no signs of inebriation. I knew she wasn’t really interested in me, but my dick would certainly validate her attractiveness. She carelessly threw her cigarette away at the dorm entrance, then undressed as soon as she walked into my room.

Drunken revenge sex is sloppy, nasty, and hot. The room was filled with sloshing sounds as I fucked her, in and out, hard and fast, nothing fancy. There was a huge wet spot on my bed within minutes. “Ohhhh… youfuck… youfuckme… soooo goooood,” Mary Anne softly panted in my ear. I began groaning, warning her of my impending ejaculation. “Notinme!” she urgently hissed. “Fuckmytitties!” She mashed her large round boobs together, creating another tunnel for my dick, nicely warm and slick with sweat. I erupted onto her face and chin after several frenzied strokes.

“Ohhhh… wowwww,” sighed Mary Anne happily. “Chrissie was right… you are good in bed—don’t tell her I said that.” Now that’s interesting. I haven’t even touched Chrissie. Maybe Amber was right about the eyes. Mary Anne sheepishly asked for a towel, her eyes still hazy with alcohol and sex. After wiping my cum off, she stood and reached into her purse for another Virginia Slim Light menthol, but pulled out an empty pack. She continued rummaging until she looked up. “Shit… I must have left my other pack at the bar,” she complained. After hesitantly regarding the green pack on my desk, she glanced at me for a reaction, and when I waved at her, finally decided to reach for it.

“Wow, these are strong!” she quietly exclaimed, sending the smoke from her first drag out in bursts. “But they don’t taste like I thought they would—it’s not like a cigar.” Mary Anne got used to the More after a couple more drags, smoothly exhaling her long cones with uplifted chin, as was her custom. I’d never had a chance to watch Mary Anne smoke from such close range, and noticed the small amount of smoke seeping from her nose towards the end of each exhale, indicating the hidden depth of her drag. My dick also noticed. As she took her last drag, snapping a small ball of smoke into her mouth with a quick roll of her tongue, I’d hardened enough to fuck her again. Mary Anne noticed, too, with a soft, “Oh!” escaping her lips. She gave me a look that said she wasn’t so drunk she couldn’t recognize what happened. “So that’s why.”

Dammit. “Please don’t tell anybody—especially not Chrissie,” I pleaded. She throatily asked me why not, and what I would do for her to make it worth her while to keep her mouth shut. “Because I don’t want every cute smoking girl on campus to get weird around me. I’ll lick your pussy if you promise not to,” was my response. Her eyes lit up at the words, “lick your pussy,” and she threw herself back onto the bed, legs spread wide. I immediately got to work.

“Oh… ohmigod… oh… ohIlikethat!” she merrily babbled as I lapped around her clit and pussy lips while slowly finger-fucking her. “Ohhh… Howie never did this unless I let him fuck me in the ass first,” Mary Anne dreamily sighed. I found she really liked having me tongue the area between her pussy and asshole while simultaneously stimulating her clit and pussy. Mary Anne started rotating her hips slowly, repeatedly moaning, “Right there… like that… don’t stop… don’t stop…” until her body jerked and she squeaked, “OH!” several octaves higher than her normal speaking voice. Mary Anne shuddered, eyes squeezed tight, and turned bright red from her breasts to her forehead. I licked at her clit and moved my fingers inside her vibrating pussy until she threw her head back with another squeak. After one massive shudder, she melted onto the bed, chest heaving. The room smelled like pussy. I looked at my bed and knew I would have to buy new sheets and a new mattress cover later in the day. The two wet spots were merging.

She stirred a few minutes later, sitting up to regard me through sultry post-orgasmic eyes. Mary Anne glanced at the Mores on the desk. “If I…?”

Deciding to come a little clean, I replied, “Yes, it’s been long enough for me to recover. I don’t know if this makes any sense, but I can’t help it unless I’m actively fighting it.” I looked away from her and mumbled, “Frankly, sometimes it’s a pain in the ass.” That surprised her. She hesitated before asking if I had the same reaction to every girl who smoked. “No… it’s… much more complicated. But I have to think the girl is cute without smoking, and if she smokes… the right way—it makes her go from cute to hot,” I haltingly explained, hoping Mary Anne wouldn’t press me for details. I was already embarrassed enough.

Mary Anne thought for a moment, and then took a More from the pack. She gave me a coy, come-hither look, and with mock innocence, asked, “Light me?” A few minutes later, she briefly resisted when I moved her into my favorite position. Mary Anne giggled, “This is different,” when I entered her, but soon discovered she had invited a long, slow screw with lots of clit stimulation. She soaked my sheets some more, cumming with me locked inside her. I held off my orgasm as long as I could, pulling out just in time to shoot cum onto her belly and ample chest.

“Why would I want to tell anybody else about that?” she asked afterwards as we tried to find a dry spot on the bed. “I wanna keep it a secret so I can have it all to myself!” Mary Anne narrowed her eyes. “Ummmm… Will… do you have a girlfriend?”

“Kinda,” I answered. Her face fell, so I added, “Back home. We’ve agreed not to force ourselves to go without sex while we’re away at school.”

“Oh,” she said, but there was no mistaking the disappointment in her voice. She grabbed another More and posed fetchingly, chest proudly pushed forward, while she expectantly waited for me to light it. Her face fell again when I told her I was worn out. I lit her cigarette, and she put it out after a few drags, admitting, “I couldn’t smoke these all the time. Too strong.” The room went quiet. “But maybe once in a while…?”

I kissed her, declaring, “I’d like that.”

Mary Anne smiled. “You think I’m cute!” she giddily whispered, half to herself, and we settled in to sleep, giving up on finding a dry area big enough for our bodies.

Shortly after Mary Anne left the next morning, somebody knocked on my door. I had opened the window to clear the heavy smell of smoke and sex in spite of freezing temperatures outside. “Will, phone call, room 2!” It was Daisy, and she sounded straight and serious. “Hi, Will. Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?” I told her no. “Would you like to? I’ll pay for your ticket.” I asked her why, and if her parents knew she was spending money so freely on me. “Spring break, no, but this, yes,” she immediately replied to the last question, and then paused. I asked her why again, and heard the click of a lighter. Daisy audibly sucked in smoke on the other end of the line, and exhaled loudly. I felt a surge of excitement go through me at the mental image. Finally, she said, “I wanna talk with you—but not over the phone. I’m not trying to break up an’ I’m not pregnant, so I don’t want you to worry about that.” Then what the hell else could be so important?

“I’m sure my folks would be happy to see me,” I said, indirectly accepting her offer. I was still a little hurt over Halloween.

Daisy asked when I could leave so she could make the arrangements. After a long silence, punctuated only by the sound of her smoking, she said, “Will?” I hummed neutrally. “I’m really sorry—about last time. I… tried—”

I cut her off with, “—It’s OK, Daisy. I don’t love you any less,” leaving the hurt, betrayal, and anger it had caused me to feel unspoken. “I can’t love you any less.”

She sighed, relief tinged with something else I couldn’t figure out. “I love you too. See you at Thanksgiving.”

The Woodfords invited me to dinner the night after Thanksgiving—without my parents. They had assured us nothing was wrong, and Daisy wasn’t, nor had she ever been, pregnant. Anything more they deferred to Daisy, who hadn’t said anything yet. I rang their doorbell with a fair bit of trepidation. Mrs. Woodford greeted me with a warm hug, Mr. Woodford a firm handshake and smile, but… where was Daisy? She appeared a few moments later, and hugged me tightly, almost unwilling to let go. “I love you so much, Will.” Daisy looked like she was going to cry, but her mother called us to dinner before we could talk.

The table was eerily silent, with Daisy’s parents casting glances at their daughter, who seemed to be fascinated by her food. I couldn’t take the mystery anymore. “At the risk of being rude, would somebody tell me what’s going on?”

Daisy looked up, startled, and then away from me. After a few more moments of silence, her father cleared his throat, and began, “Will, it’s actually good news—”

“—but as a member of the family,” Mrs. Woodford chimed in, “all of us thought you should have a chance to voice an opinion as well.” Member of the family, heh. I blushed. “Daisy has something to tell you,” she finished in a tone that ended her daughter’s efforts at avoiding the issue.

My girlfriend looked ill. I gently took her hand, mouthed, “I love you,” and waited. “I won a post-baccalaureate fellowship.” That’s great new— “In London, working for the European branch of a financial house based here. For two years,” Daisy glumly added. “I have to make my decision by December first.”

“Of course you’re going to take it, right?” I asked. The silence that descended on the room told me my assumption was premature, if not downright incorrect. “Why wouldn’t… oh.” It finally hit me why everything was so serious and somber. What’s Daisy going to do about me? About us? My heart fell through my chest, but I took a deep breath and gravely said, “Mr. and Mrs. Woodford, with your permission, I’d like to take Daisy someplace where we can talk about this—alone.”

While Daisy and her father seemed surprised, her mother did not. “Certainly, Will,” she responded. “After dinner, you two can have the summer house to yourselves until tomorrow evening, since both of you have to go back to school on Sunday.” The matriarch had spoken.

The ride to the summer house was silent. Completely against character, Daisy didn’t seem to want to talk at all, not even after we got inside. “You should have told me right away,” I finally said, without malice or accusation while starting the fire.

“You’re gonna tell me to take it, aren’t you?” she mournfully sighed.

“That is my first thought,” I replied. “I don’t want to stand in the way of your life, Daisy. I want to be a big part of it, but… I understand. I want you to tell me what this fellowship would do for you—and the company you stand to inherit. I know this can’t be just about us.” She lit a Virginia Slim Light, inhaling deeply, and began to talk about the benefits of this fellowship. I only stopped her when she would begin a sentence with the word, “but.” It took an hour, after which I asked her to tell me all of the problems with taking the internship that didn’t involve me in some way. There were a couple of insignificant ones, leading me to conclude this would be a great opportunity for her. I said, “So it’s settled then. I’ll wait another two years—as long as we understand we have our own physical needs during that time. Like we do now.”

“I figured I was done with all that,” she confessed. “I was gonna go to work for my dad after I graduated, an’ wait for you to finish school. It wasn’t so hard to be faithful—if you don’t count Sheila.” Daisy pulled out another cigarette and waited for me to light it before continuing. “But then I got the news and I kinda freaked out over what I was gonna tell you and then Sheila—” I stopped her, knowing I could guess the rest. “Will? It was only the one night, I swear. I felt so bad about it and everything else I was afraid to call you.”

“You don’t ever have to be afraid to tell me anything, Daisy Marie Woodford,” I gently stated. “I know who you are, and your—quirks. And I still love you. Always will.”

“I wanna be Daisy Marie Redmond so bad,” she pouted, frustrated. “I’m worried you’ll find someone else while I’m away, and you won’t—”

“I’m not looking for anybody else,” I argued.

Daisy smiled at me; a sad one. Cradling my face in her hands, she gently said, “Will, as much as I hate to say this, you’re a great guy, and it won’t take other women long to figure it out. It took me a little while because we met when I was a girl, but now I’m—a little more mature, and I can see beyond the sex, and the whole ‘I-want-the-best-looking-guy’ thing. My mother knew long before I did.” She let go and looked away. “Once you get out of college, you’ll be as popular as your shyness will let you be. Or as aggressive as the girls you meet are.”

“I’m going to graduate school for my master’s degree, so I will be in school for a year after you get back,” I defiantly noted. “I was planning to come home for grad school, so I should be able to keep myself well-hidden until then—assuming an international finance superstar who looks like a model would still want a starving geek.”

“How do you always do that?” quietly asked Daisy. She put my hand on her chest. “We’re having a serious discussion and then boom! You say something that gets my heart racing and my insides all warm and gushy.” She gave me her coy, “I’m-horny-for-you” look. “I know you’ll love me if I go to London for two years. What I wanna know is, if you would still love me if I stayed here to marry you, Mr. Redmond?”

“I’d question your sanity, Miss Woodford, but I’d start saving for a proper engagement ring tomorrow.”

Daisy dragged on her cigarette, slowly french-inhaled, and, after pursing her lips, filled the air over my head with smoke. “You just did it again, Will,” she throatily husked. “Now I have to fuck you. Right now.” She undressed me first, efficiently removed her own clothes, and after hurriedly giving me just enough head to get me hard, climbed on top of me as I sat on the sofa. We returned to the Woodfords’ around noon the following day.

The last three weeks of the semester were unusually stressful—while I had a good handle on my own finals, I had to bolster the confidence of six other people in addition so I was definitely ready for the break. It was a welcome surprise when both my parents and the Woodfords met me at the train station. Completely by chance, Daisy was arriving twenty minutes after I did, so the six of us went out to dinner as a group.

“No family cruise this year,” Daisy said the next day as we went Christmas shopping together. “Mom thought I’d rather spend my vacation here, with you.” We went to the summer house to wrap our gifts in secrecy, she upstairs, me down. She called for me after a half-hour, saying she needed an extra hand. I trotted up the steps and froze when I saw her leaning in her bedroom doorway with a lit cigarette in her long holder, a huge ribbon with a big bow across her shoulder—and no clothes. She dragged on the holder, held the smoke for a few seconds, and elegantly exhaled, instantly entrancing me. “Merry Christmas, Will,” she purred. “C’mere so I can give you your first-day-of-Christmas present.”

The next day, she stopped by my house to drop off gifts for my family, and we went out for coffee—which turned into a twilight blowjob in her car. On the third day of Christmas, we went to a charity gala at the club. Daisy feigned innocence as I had to stand and speak with her and her mother while they smoked Mores in matching holders, as well as Marie, who was smoking Tall 120s through a long red holder in her usual princess-like fashion. While neither Daisy nor Marie were especially flamboyant about their smoking at the club, both were bewitchingly, excitingly elegant in dress and manner. Fortunately for me, this was not an occasion for tight pants; nonetheless, I spent a lot of time thinking about my trusty reaction rates. Daisy and Marie went to get drinks, leaving me alone with Mrs. Woodford, who asked me a question and then immediately drew long and deep on her holdered More. She waited, the barest wisps of smoke escaping from her nose, tossed her head, and slowly raised her chin, slightly pushing her chest forward, before forming a small “O” with her lips. Only then did she exhale a long, mesmerizing stream of smoke. I belatedly realized I hadn’t answered her when Mrs. Woodford gave a soft girlish giggle and looked at me knowingly. I turned red, thankful the girls weren’t there. “Don’t worry, Will. I didn’t find out from Daisy, and I haven’t told her,” she smiled. Mrs. Woodford leaned forward to give me a maternal peck on the cheek and whispered, “But it’s always flattering to an old lady like myself when a handsome young man like you—notices. And all ladies do like to be flattered.” She walked away, holder held elegantly—and then added some wiggle to her hips for a stride or two, shooting a mischievous, playful smile over her shoulder at me. The wiggle, cigarette holder, and smile made me wonder for the thousandth time how my girlfriend had wound up an only child. Daisy and Marie rejoined me to circulate some more.

We ran into Mrs. Coxe, who was smoking an unfiltered cigarette through a long holder with a floral design. She was thrilled to see both of her former smoking students using cigarette holders—and properly. “Why, Miss Bishop, you showed no interest in anything beyond accepting lights from young gentlemen—although we must get you something a little more— appropriate, hmmm?” Having been alternately praised and chastised, Marie blushed appropriately. It was extremely cute—and a little arousing. “And my word, Miss Woodford!” the older woman said as she regarded Daisy. “You look splendid! Most ladylike and elegant.” Daisy smiled without a hint of irony and squeezed my hand. Mrs. Coxe continued, “I know your gentleman friend certainly appreciates the effort from our previous discussions.” After an appropriately brief conversation with Mrs. Coxe, Marie left Daisy and I to mingle as a couple, giving me an extended smooch on the cheek.

“Marie still likes you,” Daisy observed. After a meaningful pause, my girlfriend softly added, “and you still like her.” I opened my mouth to plead innocence, but she placed a finger on my lips. “Who do you think told her to bring the holder?” Daisy smiled impishly. Looking around to make sure we were alone, she leaned to me and whispered, “I think three is a great number for the third day of Christmas. It seems we have to drive Marie home tonight.”

I woke up Christmas Eve morning at the summer home nice and warm with Marie in front of me, and Daisy behind. “A bit of a selfish Christmas gift, Daisy,” I noted with a grin over breakfast.

“The present was for Marie,” she fired back. “You just did what comes naturally.”

Marie struck a flirtatious pose with her cigarette holder. “And now,” she drew, looking regal, exhaling skyward before fixing me with fiery eyes, “it’s time for your present from me.” A few minutes later, I was on top of Marie’s soft, round body, pistoning in and out. Her moans rose in pitch, culminating in a series of orgasmic yips and squeaks. I rode out her orgasm, still excited and hard, immediately resuming my frenzied thrusts, unmindful of my girlfriend. Marie responded with more squeaks of passion until she began to wail, “Ohhh… ohhhh… ohmigod… OHHHHHH!” Her body convulsed and she wrapped herself around me, digging her nails into my back, and Marie came with a loud, throaty, “AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!” I answered her scream with one of my own, spurting burning gobs of cum into her pussy as Marie had locked her arms and legs around me, and I could only sigh happily in my release. As soon as the afterglow faded, I felt a moment of panic; I had never cum inside Marie for fear of impregnating her, but her orgasmic embrace had prevented me from cumming anywhere else. “It’s OK, Will,” she softly said, still holding me on top of her body. “I’m—protected now.” Tears were in her eyes. “I wanted to feel what Daisy feels,” she said. Even more softly, she added, “I soooo missed out on you in high school. I should have taken the chance she took—I know it’s too late, and she’s my best friend, so don’t worry… I’ll never let her know.”

A few hours later, Daisy lit a Virginia Slim Light in her longest holder, signaling she had run out of patience waiting for my recovery. “I wanna get one more in before Christmas,” she husked, knowing how much she was exciting me. Marie also lit a holdered cigarette with sparkling eyes, and told Daisy she wanted to join us. It wasn’t long before my girlfriend was riding my cock, facing away from me at Marie’s request.

“Merry Christmas, Daisy Marie,” purred Marie, crushing her mouth to Daisy’s and kissing her sweetly, but deep. “I know you’ve been wanting this since eighth grade.” My girlfriend began bouncing urgently as Marie continued kissing her, and I could feel Marie’s hand stimulating her clit. Daisy’s orgasm was sudden, brief, and very intense. With a grunt, she shot off my cock like a rocket, and collapsed onto the bed, unconscious, leaving me hard and covered in her pussy cream. When she came to, she and Marie shared a cigarette in Daisy’s long holder, along with my cock, and despite having cum three times in the last thirty-some-odd hours, I spurted all over both girls’ faces for my final act. We cleaned up quickly and rejoined our respective families in time for Christmas Eve.

I spoke with Daisy on the phone Christmas Day, who giggled, “No golden rings for you today. I have something you’ll appreciate more—no sex!” She took me to a fancy steakhouse and a play the next night, kissing goodnight sweetly at my door. “I wanna, but my legs are still sore,” she explained, huskily warning. “You better get some rest tonight, too.” Our combined families went to a basketball game the next night, sitting in the Woodford and Family corporate box, keeping Daisy and I celibate a day longer than anticipated. On the eighth day of Christmas, she remedied that. I drove her home after dinner at my house, and talked with her and her parents until they went to bed. I asked for my coat, and in response, Daisy husked, “And just where do you think you’re going?” She put a Virginia Slim Light into a holder, and waited for me to light it. We made love down the hall from her parents.

“I gotta go back to school early,” she complained the next morning. “It’s a special session for the fellowship winners—don’t pout. It was either this or do it over Spring Break—and I was hoping to spend it with you in Florida—our schedules are the same again.” I kissed her, and we necked, getting hotter—until the illusion was shattered when her mother called us down to brunch—by name.

Embarrassed, but resolved to show no remorse, we dutifully cooled down, dressed, and went downstairs. If Mr. or Mrs. Woodford had any problem with me spending the night, it wasn’t apparent, for they both acted as if I was supposed to have spent the night in their daughter’s room. Daisy and I agreed that while her parents’ casual acceptance of our sexual relationship was empowering, we felt awkward enough at brunch we decided not to do it again. Maybe their strategy worked. Daisy returned to school for her last semester a week before I did, but after her “Twelve Days of Christmas” gifts, I needed the rest. Spring Break would arrive soon enough.

My first day of second semester classes found me in Harrison, as usual, discreetly (at least I hoped so) ogling the smoking girls. Virginia Slim Lights ruled the day, and some of the women I hadn’t noticed smoking before were sitting with cigarette packs next to their books. It was a glorious time to be a smoke fetisher. That afternoon, Colin walked in and when he saw me, he ran to me, gave me a ferocious hug and a big kiss on the cheek. “Colin,” I quietly said, “either be European about it or don’t do it at all.”

He stepped back, stunned for a moment, and then waved one hand dismissively, mincing, “Oh, you are such a guy!” He pecked me on the other cheek. “There! Happy now? You should be. Thanks to you, I got a B-plus in Calculus!” His face broke into an enormous grin as I congratulated him. “No, Will, you don’t understand. Me, and a fucking B-plus—in fucking calculus—and it wasn’t luck, either!” he gushed. “I haven’t done that well in a Math class since third fucking grade!” He hugged me again. “You are one hell of a teacher! Straight or no, I gotta kiss you again!” I blushed, not at the kiss (both cheeks this time,) but at the praise. “I’d even kiss your ass—but it might prove to be too much temptation,” Colin wickedly grinned. “Anyway, yours truly is hosting a little soirée a week from Saturday chez moi, and I would really like you to come, Will. I mean, without your help, no spring musical for my portfolio, and no graduation.”

Two weeks later, I was knocking on his door. He greeted me effusively, and took me around the party on his arm, introducing me to everyone as “the man who made me get a B-plus in fucking calculus!” As stereotypical as it may sound, my first gay/bi party had awesome food and great music, as students and instructors from the music and arts departments took turns playing the piano and a couple of guitars. I was surprised at my lack of reaction at being one of very few straight people at a party where so many were obviously gay. It wasn’t even odd being the only stranger. I got a few dirty looks, but Diane, a beautiful, tall, heavyset girl told me not to worry: it was just jealousy. Either I looked at someone, or someone looked at me too long. Her partner Lynne, a short, gorgeous rounded girl with long chestnut hair agreed. She thanked me for looking at Diane. “I keep telling her she’s beautiful. Now maybe she’ll believe me.”

About eleven o’clock, Elaine walked in wearing a dress, looking even more beautiful than at the cotillion—closely followed by a girl who looked faintly familiar. I weaved my way through the crowd to greet my friend, who was holding the other girl’s hand by the time I got there. “Hi, Elaine!”

She blanched. “Umm… Hi… ummm… Will,” she replied with a clear lack of enthusiasm. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“Colin invited me,” I replied with my best, frendliest grin. “He got a B-plus in Calc, and he blames me.” Never being one to ignore the elephant in the room, I brightly asked, “Who’s your friend?”

“Kelly,” the girl immediately said, and I suddenly realized why she looked familiar—she was the captain of the women’s swimming team. I had seen her picture in the school paper. I shook her hand, and although her grasp was feminine and light, I could feel the strength in her arm. She was about my height, with thick reddish-brown hair, and a thick, muscular body. Kelly was wearing light brown knit pants and a floral shirt. I found her attractive, not the tiniest bit masculine in bearing or voice, and she had a cute smile that reached to big brown eyes. “You did good,” I smiled at Elaine.

Elaine still looked a little ill-at-ease, so I wished Kelly a good night and decided to find someone else to hang out with. There was a covered patio with heaters for smoking, so I went outside. Twenty minutes later, Kelly and Elaine joined me, but Elaine still looked uncomfortable, which I found odd. It’s not as if I don’t know. Giving Elaine an expectant look, Kelly removed a lighter from her purse. Shyly, and without meeting my eyes, she removed a long, narrow, pale green box from her purse and extracted a slender 120 with a floral print on the filter. Kelly lit it and whispered, “Pretty cigarettes for a pretty girl, right?” Elaine blushed, but Kelly was right; I had never seen Elaine look more effeminate—or lovely. Then Kelly removed her own box from her bag: Tijuana Smalls. She lit the tiny tipped cigar, daring me to comment with defiance in her eyes. I was more surprised she was smoking, period, and while the cigar may have been unusual, her handling of it and comportment were still quite feminine. Kelly would turn her head to the side and exhale through her lips after audibly inhaling the thick smoke. I made a point to avoid mentioning the cigar, only saying it was unusual for such an accomplished athlete to smoke. “It’s division three, not like I’m going to the Olympics,” she casually replied, exhaling a long cone of smoke past my ear. “I quit every semester, except for special occasions—” she glanced at Elaine, who was still red. “—like tonight.” It was awkward, and I had the feeling I was being toyed with. Kelly took a drag ending with a small, natural french-inhale, and my fetish noticed. Fortunately, Colin rescued me by announcing the dancing was about to begin, and he dragged me back inside.

I waltzed with him, surprising him with a confident lead from my lessons with Daisy. “My god, Will, about the only thing you don’t do the man of my dreams does, is men!” He threw his arm across his forehead and dramatically exclaimed, “O Fate! How cruelly doth you tease me!” Every time I started to have fun, though, I would see Elaine and her unease—it made me feel strange—and a little sad. I said my goodnights and started to leave.

On my way out, someone hooked my arm, making me spin. It was Kelly, who looked at me with interest. “Leaving so soon, and without saying goodbye to Elaine?” I explained I thought my presence was causing her discomfort, and I didn’t want to ruin the night for them. Kelly studied me for a moment, and then kissed me on the cheek, whispering, “You’re a sweet guy, Will. I’ll tell Elaine you said good night.”

My tutoring business ramped up again with Wendy, the gorgeous blonde freshman finding me in Harrison in the middle of the second week of classes. “You still have time for me, right? I haven’t seen you until today, and I was worried you already had a full slate,” she said, lighting a Benson & Hedges menthol 100 and sending a thick stream into the sunlit rafters. Wendy held the cigarette high, legs crossed as we spoke. I told her I would be happy to tutor her for Calculus 2. She drew steadily on the cigarette, raising her chin to exhale a long stream of smoke, leaving no doubt she wasn’t playing at smoking like several of the other drop-dead beautiful girls on campus. I got hard watching her, and thanked providence there was no smoking in the study carrels that served as my tutoring office.

Elaine was a no-show in Harrison for the week, but Mary Anne dropped by my table Friday morning. Her purse fell off the arm of the chair as she pulled a pack of Virginia Slim Light menthols out, spilling some of its contents onto the floor. I leaned over to pick it up for her and spotted a very familiar green pack peeking out of the top. Her blue eyes sparkled when they met mine. “Wanna go out tonight?” she breathed.

“Chrissie’s out of town,” Mary Anne gaily said, dangling the More from her lips as she opened the door to her apartment after our dinner date. She dragged on it and arched her back as she removed it to exhale.

“Don’t you think we should at least—MMMMFFFF!” She kissed me hungrily, smoke trailing from her nostrils. “—take our coats off?

 In response, Mary Anne put the More between her lips, dragged and exhaled through her nostrils while shucking her coat and letting it fall to the floor carelessly. She took another drag as she undid her blouse, removing the cigarette as a button popped off to comment, “Fuck it, I can sew it back on,” ejecting a small cloud of smoke with each word. She put the More back in her mouth and dragged, exhaling from her nose and around the cigarette clenched in her teeth as she undid her bra. “Are you just gonna stand there and watch me get naked?” asked Mary Anne after a noisy, deep inhale, producing little smoke. Then she lifted her chin and exhaled smoothly.

I undressed deliberately; her enthusiasm was a little scary, but I quickly warmed to the task as Mary Anne, from her knees, alternated licking my cock with taking deep, exquisite drags from a fresh More, obviously playing to my fetish. When I was hard, she led me to the bed, kissing hungrily, and taking one last quick snap-inhaled drag before pulling me on top of her. Sober and happy, Mary Anne was just as sloppy and wet as she had been when she was drunk, lonely, and angry. And hotter, fucking back at me with coordination and purpose, eyes alight with lust. I began to sigh and groan with the beginning of my orgasmic climb. Mary Anne churned her hips, eyes locked on mine, sparkling with delight. “Cum in my mouth, Will. I want you to cum in my mouth,” she lewdly panted, speeding me on my rise, kissing and licking my neck and ear, breathing personalized, obscene descriptions of her desires, intentions, and our impending actions. I pulled out, cock twitching over her open mouth, an expression of decadent anticipation on her face. Nothing happened. “I want you to jack off into my mouth,” she helpfully instructed, and I was shooting cum into it a minute later. Mary Anne wrapped her lips around my dick to finish what I had started, dutifully bobbing her head until I ran out of semen. “Mmmmm,” she lewdly purred, having left nothing but saliva on my dick. Mary Anne hopped out of bed and fetched a More, taking a couple of deep, heavy drags before returning to the bed. The smoke trail went clear across the room, and she began to play with my cock. As arousing as her smoking was, it was too soon for me to have any physical sign of the fetish-driven lust she inspired.

“Ummmm… Mary Anne,” I began, stopping as she took another long drag followed by a long, oral exhale. Damn, she does that sexy. “Two things: first, it’s too soon, and more importantly, you know you don’t have to do that for me, right?”

She gave a little jerk of surprise. I guess she didn’t know. Mary Anne looked at the More between her fingers for several long seconds, as if contemplating some mystery it represented before softly confirming my suspicion. “So I don’t have to smoke Mores?”

“I think you’re cute and hotter than hell, Mary Anne. You don’t have to smoke anything for me at all.”

In response, she took a long drag on her cigarette, exhaling slowly and silently, chin slightly raised. “But you don’t mind if I do smoke?” I said no. “Good,” she quietly replied without looking at me, “because I kinda like it. I like the way it makes you look at me. I like that it makes you look at my face, not just my tits. I like the feeling I get when I light a More in front of you… it’s like I’m seducing you—you’re not just grabbing for the 38D’s like most guys.” She looked away. “Guys see my tits and forget about me. Howie did it, too, but then he’d be sweet for a while, and I’d forget about it.” She finished the cigarette with a slow snap-inhale. “I gotta ask—you still have that girlfriend back home?” When I confirmed it, she apologized, “Sorry. But a girl can hope, can’t she? Maybe I can be your sorta-college girlfriend?” I said it wouldn’t be fair to her. “You are too sweet.” I redirected the conversation to the topic of free time, and my lack of it due to tutoring. She lit another More after we talked for a while about school. “Guess I better take advantage of you while I’ve got you here, then,” smiled Mary Anne, her eyes sparkling with the slow snap-inhale she performed.

I left her the next afternoon after she had enthusiastically introduced me to the delights of her asshole in the morning, taking me with surprising ease and fucking back with a shocking, although very exciting, ardor. “Will, I’ll be around if you need to get some ya-yas out,” Mary Anne quietly said after some extended kissing at her door. “Keep me—and my Mores—in mind.”

School pretty much settled down after that weekend; I was into my academic routine. My libido, although stimulated every time I walked into Harrison and its preponderance of all-white 100s smokers, barely made a dent in my overall focus. For once, I had a couple of well-taught, interesting, and challenging classes, so sexy smoking girls faded into the background, with the exception of Daisy’s weekly phone calls.

“Sheila’s coming with me,” Daisy sighed unhappily when we made our Spring Break plans. “And I can’t figure out how to tell her we were wanting to be alone without pissing her off—and she’s still gonna be my roommate until May.” We tried to figure out how to let Sheila down easy, but neither of us could see a way to stop it without pissing Sheila off. “She says she’s swearing off sex for two weeks before we fly down,” Daisy grumbled. “I think you’re going to be the highlight of her break.”

“She’ll owe you some serious head for this,” I half-jokingly noted. “It’s no sacrifice for me. I’ve been mostly good all semester, so I’ll be up to the challenge.” Daisy playfully questioned me about the “mostly” part, and I could feel myself blush as I told her about my one night.

“Wow,” she said, “just one? I wish I had your willpower. I mean, it’s just sex at this point, and I hope you’re still good with our—agreement.” I told her I was. “I’m not looking for a husband here, and a lot of guys are fine with that,” she confessed. “But once we—” Daisy hesitated. “—tie the knot, there’s no more fucking around for either of us. I can make that commitment.” When I told her girls wouldn’t be off-limits, she giggled, “Especially not if I share.”

Two days later, I was walking past the Rathskellar on my way back to the dorms after a late night in the computer lab when Amber waved at me. She had been with a classmate who had been kicked out for underage drinking. “I finished my beer and now I’m heading home. Got a cigarette?” I gave her a More and lit it. “Thanks,” she said, audibly sucking in smoke before exhaling quickly. “I always wanted to try one, but I don’t smoke cigarettes often enough to justify buying a pack just to try one.” She held the cigarette in front of her for inspection, and then took another drag. “Not as much like a cigar as I thought it would be,” she finally pronounced.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

She took another audible drag and exhaled quickly. “Probably a good thing. Cigars are their own limiting factor, especially the good ones. These are easy to smoke in comparison, so I’d probably smoke more often.” She looked at me. “Sooooo… you wanna walk me home to make sure I get there safe?” I noted she would probably end up protecting me if anything were to happen. After a brief consideration, Amber agreed. “OK, so let’s try it this way,” she rejoined, “you wanna come over n’spend the night at my place? I’ve had enough to drink I’m remembering how horny I am, but not enough to pick up some dumb frat boy. I still need quality.”

It felt a little like an ambush: between our sexual history, how cute she was when she smoked, the More, and the fact I still wanted to see Amber with a cigar, the willpower at which Daisy had marveled was quickly overwhelmed. She kissed me as soon as I put my books down on her couch, and five minutes later, Amber was grunting as she drove her hips forward to meet mine. There was something about her that seemed to bring out my inner animal-in-heat, making me grunt with each crazed thrust. This was two people fucking each other hard and fast. My grunts became louder, smoother, turning into moans as I felt the quick rush to orgasm begin. “Ohhh… Amber… Amber… gonna… gonna cum!” Suddenly, I was on my back, and she was leaning forward, sitting on my legs, stroking my cock a few times and—! I watched with delirious fascination as my first spurt hit her in the chin, and then her balled fist moved and her free hand brushed the tip of my cock… “UHHHNNNGGGH!” A gigantic, burning pulse shot from deep inside my nuts, frying every nerve it passed as it burst from the opening and hit Amber’s chest with enough force for me to hear it. She kept rubbing my cock, using both open hand and fingers around the rim and head while continuing to stroke my length, and was rewarded with a steady drool of cum. Eventually, the drool turned into a dribble, and, chest heaving, I went soft. “You sure you don’t want to be a courtesan?” I weakly asked, only half-joking. “You’re very skilled at giving pleasure.”

Amber smiled coyly, “Self-defense wasn’t the only thing I learned in the Army. Let’s just say I know a thing or two about handjobs.” She left the room, returning quickly with water and a couple of rum andcokes. “Thought you might like a drink. How’s school been?” Amber was good at having a normal conversation immediately after sex, almost as if it hasd never happened. “Ummm… would you mind too much if I smoked—a cigar—while we talk? I know it’s not really feminine, but I kinda want one…” Her eyes danced and she smiled, wordlessly telling me we would be fucking again tonight. She removed a cigar from a humidor in her nightstand. “Don’t tell anybody, but these are from Cuba—real cigars, not the drugstore kind. Can’t tell ya how I got ’em, so don’t ask.” I watched, fascinated, as she took a tool and sliced the rounded end off—I’d only ever seen tipped cigars, or cigars that were ready to smoke. It took her a couple of minutes—and three matches to get it started to her satisfaction. Amber puffed a few times, filling her mouth with smoke, and then exhaled through her nose. “Would you like some?” We shared the cigar while talking about school for an hour. It wasn’t as sexy as I thought it would be—until she stood up, saying, “Gotta rinse my mouth—you don’t wanna be kissing me after I’ve smoked a cigar—MMMFF!” I kissed her assertively, and my cock shot to erection.

“Damn, you’re a good kisser,” she panted. I just rolled onto my back and waited. “Me on top? Sure, why not?” Amber moved her hips tentatively after settling onto me. “Mmmm… I think I could like this,” she commented. A few moments later, Amber’s hips were churning furiously with my cock buried all the way inside of her. She was gasping, huffing, whimpering, and turning red. “Oh-ohshit-ohshit-ohshit…” I steadied her hips with my hands, and suddenly Amber slowed her frantic movement and began to roll her hips forcefully, moaning girlishly, “Ohh… ohhh… ohhh… Will… I think-I think-I’m… OHHHHHHHH!” Her pussy squeezed my cock as she shuddered on top of me with her eyes and mouth wide open. It relaxed for a moment, and Amber bounced urgently on my lap before her pussy tightened again. She quivered, eyes shut, hands pressed against my chest, me still hard and buried inside her. Amber gave one big shudder, her eyes opened, and she melted forward with a sigh to lay limply on top of me, breathing hard, finally giving me a weak kiss. I was still hard inside her. “Ohhh… myyyyy… gawwwd,” Amber exhaled. “I can’t… I can’t…” I told her it was OK, and she slid off. “You deserve a medal, and here I am all wiped out—and you’re still hard.” I kissed her on the cheek and thanked her for the evening. She quickly fell asleep.

I missed my Friday classes because Amber gave me a slow, very caring, extended blowjob the next morning. “Since you said you don’t need an apology, consider this a big thank you.” Afterwards, she cooked breakfast and told me she’d only ever cum that hard from masturbation. “I don’t get there often and it’s usually a little one, but when I do have a big one—it’s pretty much nap time. As you found out. Anyway, I’m happy I waylaid you outside the Rat last night. Sorry about your missing class today.” She grinned, indicating just how insincere her apology was.

I left for Spring Break right after class; the girls were going to meet me at the airport in Florida. On seeing me, Daisy dropped her bag and ran into my arms. We kissed hungrily in the middle of baggage claim, reluctantly stopping when Sheila interrupted. She hugged me and gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek, hoping I’d give her the kiss she wanted. Disappointed, she hung behind while Daisy and I retrieved my bag. We checked into the same hotel as before, again with adjoining balcony rooms, and as soon as the door between them opened, Sheila announced we weren’t leaving the room for the rest of the night. “Dinner and drinks are on me. Can I get a real kiss now, Will?” she pouted, resting her arms lightly on my shoulders.

My girlfriend looked at me. It’s your decision, her eyes seemed to say. While it wasn’t the romantic getaway we wanted, at least we were going to be together for a week, if not alone. I nodded briefly, and she resignedly sighed, “Go ahead.” Sheila wrapped her arms around me, and pulled herself against me for a long, surprisingly tender kiss. “I’ve been waiting since summer for that,” she smiled, “and I’ve been saving it all for you—and Daisy—for a month. But, unless you’re hungry now, I think you two deserve some privacy. I’ll be back in about an hour, and then I’ll be ready for dinner.” She blew us a kiss and closed the intermediate door, calling, “Please don’t lock me in here by myself!”

Daisy put her arms around me and we kissed, getting increasingly hotter by the minute. She broke away panting, “I don’t wanna be rushed—but—but—”

“—I want you, too,” I gasped, removing my pants to relieve the pressure on my almost-fully developed erection. We fell to the bed, and she aggressively drove her hips forward to meet my downward thrusts, our eyes locked. Slurping noises filled the room, and suddenly, I was cumming forcefully in fiery bursts, repeatedly groaning, “Ohhhh, Daisy…” Daisy’s quivered, inside and out, her face bright red, her mouth and eyes open. I raised my hips, sending me to nirvana, and as the next lava-like blob tore through my cock, she cried out.

The next thing I knew, we were cuddled up together, and Sheila wasn’t due to return for almost twenty-five minutes. “Wow,” Daisy exhaled, rousing herself from afterglow, “that was quick!” She pecked me on the nose. “Was it that good for you, too?” I could only nod. After we dressed, Daisy lit a Virginia Slim Light, and exhaled noisily. “Sheila and I agreed no smoking until later. We didn’t want you to boil over too early,” she smiled, “but I think it’s safe now.” To underscore her point, she dragged deeply, opened her mouth, and lazily snapped a big ball of smoke back in before turning to the side for a long, carefully shaped exhale. My cock didn’t twitch, although my insides did. The sparkle in her eyes went out. “About Sheila… she’s paying for your trip this year, but she knows we won’t have too much time together after this, so… she says she’s gonna give us alone time, as long as you don’t shut her out completely.”

I worried I would be less than enthusiastic. Daisy cocked her head and responded, “There are literally hundreds of guys here who want her after one look, but she’s already picked you. You and me… well, we’ll be all right. We have been so far.” It was flattering—Sheila was the most gorgeous woman I’d ever been with. Nonetheless, I wanted to spend every possible moment with my girlfriend. Daisy poked me, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Don’t forget… I think she’s hot, too, and we can share together, if nothing else,” she grinned with the impish smile that said she was ready for mischief—sexual or otherwise.

Sheila returned to find the doors between the rooms open. “I come bearing booze and cigarettes,” she announced. “But we hafta eat first. I don’t want anybody to run outta gas.” After dinner, she unpacked the “supplies,” including breakfast breads for the next morning. “Will, I got you a half-carton of More menthol, right? And Daisy, I got you a carton of Slims—and a couple packs of More Regulars—for us—and—because Will thinks they’re sexy.” Sheila smiled at me. Another, unfamiliar, carton appeared, reading, “Eve Lights 120’s” with a floral design on it. Daisy asked about it. “Oh, I saw a girl smoking one while I was on my way to the store and I thought they looked cute with the flowers and all,” Sheila lightly explained, pulling a pack from her purse. “She let me try one and I liked it, so I bought a carton.” She lit one and dragged deeply, opening her mouth to let a thick swirl of smoke slowly drift out and curl into her nose. There was a pause, she tilted her head back, simultaneously releasing immense streams of smoke through her nose, followed by an almost equally thick stream from her lips. “I can see how some guys might think this is… sexy.”

I was transfixed, gaping, and turned on as she stood, back slightly arched, long white cigarette between a lady’s fingers at the end of a cocked wrist. My cock was growing, out of my conscious control. Sheila repeated the action, amazing me with the sheer volume of smoke she produced, and making the bulge apparent in my jeans. She put out her Eve after her third drag, came close, and said she was ready, unnecessarily confirming the expression on her face. “Go ahead, Will,” breathed Daisy. “It’s all right.”

Released from restraint, I pulled the slender redhead to me and hungrily kissed her, spiced with her Eve smoke, immersing myself in her blended scent of perfume and smoke. Sheila responded eagerly, whimpering into my mouth, pressing her body into mine. We undressed very quickly and fell to the bed, where she quickly positioned us and placed my erection at the tip of her pussy. I gasped as I entered her, already slick with excitement. We started fucking, and I forgot about Daisy. Sheila cooed and moaned softly as I moved, steadily sinking myself in, and pulling almost all the way out, heightening our pleasure, wrapping her arms around me while spreading her legs wider in encouragement. Sheila grunted, “N-n-n-nnnggghhh!” high-pitched and quiet, arching her back in orgasm, tightening her grasp on me, keeping me from moving while she was riding the wave. She relaxed as it crested and broke, giving a deliciously blissful sigh. I resumed the long, deliberate strokes, still a ways off from my own release, and still incredibly turned on by Sheila’s beauty and responsiveness. I wanted to fuck her all night, and it felt like I could. She began to undulate beneath me, signaling the approach of another orgasm, but this one took a while to arrive. Sheila’s body moved in waves, and soft, strangled, inarticulate cries came from her mouth as she danced along orgasm’s edge, her obvious pleasure almost as exciting to me as the physical and mental thrill of fucking a goddess.

Daisy moaned loudly from somewhere nearby, and it seemed as if her moan triggered Sheila’s orgasm. She immediately arched her back and vibrated, inside and out. Daisy moaned again, louder, and all I could do was hang onto Sheila while her orgasm continued. She finally collapsed with a huff, and her body lost all tension; her head lolled to the side with unfocused eyes. I started to move again, still hard. “Ungh!” was Sheila’s initial reaction, immediately followed by feeble attempts at pushing me away. “Stop… Will…” she managed to gasp. “Need… needa… break.” Buried inside of her, I complied, frustrated, as my withdrawal made my dick sing, and triggered a large aftershock for Sheila.

“Are you finished?” I turned to see Daisy, naked and legs splayed, in the large chair, lightly playing with her clit.

Before I could answer, Sheila happily groaned, “I am.”

“Good,” Daisy husked. “Do you know how sexy watching that was?” She was still gently wobbling her clit with one hand, and used her other to indicate my dick, still standing at its full length, parallel to the floor. “C’mere, baby. I want some o’ that.”

The next morning, as Daisy slept, I watched Sheila have her morning cigarette as she stood on the sunlit balcony. Her Eve 120 looked slim and long between her fingers and her casual, natural, yet mammoth, combination exhales the next morning were amazingly energizing. I stepped onto the balcony, wrapped my arms around her from behind as my cock pushed against her tight ass. Sheila quickly put out her half-finished cigarette, kissed me hungrily, and let me drag her into the adjoining bedroom for a fast pre-breakfast fuck.

I thought I was done for the day, and even apologized to Daisy after we returned to the room from dinner at the Italian restaurant. All of us were tipsy because Gus, the bartender, remembered us from the year before and gave us our first fortified round on the house. Three progressively formidable rounds later, I called Frankie D, and we managed to make it back to our shared rooms without incident. Sex was the last thing on my mind, especially given how weakly I had cum that morning with Sheila. The girls, however, had other plans. Daisy lit a holdered More, while Sheila tried to put an Eve into one; when it fell out, she said, “Fuck it,” and lit it, taking a heavy, cheek-hollowing drag. Sheila opened her mouth and slowly sucked the smoke back in through her nostrils. Immediately, smoke began pouring from her nose in thick, long streams as she raised her head, and expelled the rest through her lips. She hadn’t done it all night while we were out.

“Don’t you think it’s sexy the way she smokes, Will?” Daisy breathed, removing my pants as I stared at her roommate, taking another massive drag and releasing the same fascinating, voluminous exhale. “I do. She’s been practicing just for you.” She pushed me to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, and, from her knees, drew on her holder, and engulfed my flaccid, supposedly worn out, cock. Sheila quickly joined her and gently pushed her way to my dick. After yet another drag, Sheila took me into her mouth. Smoke poured from her nostrils and my cock began to swell as she bobbed her head. The girls smoked and sucked until I was as hard as I had been the night before. Daisy lit another holdered More, told me to lie back and mounted me, moving her hips without urgency, stopping occasionally to take a luxurious, elegant drag from her holder. Sheila climbed onto the bed sans cigarette and kissed Daisy, who pulled back to take a drag on her holder and exhale into Sheila’s mouth before they kissed some more. Sheila exhaled through her nose and began to play with Daisy’s clit. I was in heaven. Daisy was too wet for me to notice how tender my cock was, genuine, spontaneous lesbian lust was going on above me, all sending me on a rapid climb to orgasm. My hips began moving, slowly, powerfully, thrusting upwards on their own. Suddenly, the burn was flowing through my dick and the rest of the world vanished for a while.

When it returned, Daisy was sliding off me, and I heard her say, “Time to make a payment, baby.” She lay down on the bed next to me, and I saw Sheila flash past the edge of my vision. I struggled to a sitting position so I could watch the gorgeous redhead clean my girlfriend’s gooey pussy with her mouth, only stopping her oral attentions after Daisy had cum. Sheila stood and grabbed Daisy’s holder and a More, looking at me. I shook my head; I just couldn’t have any more sex. She steadily drew on the holder… and drew… smoke jetted from her nostrils as she continued to draw, mesmerizing me. Finally, Sheila lifted her head and exhaled slowly through her nose yet again. Lightly resting her free hand on my chest, Sheila smiled down at me and softly said, “I know.” She dragged again and exhaled, long and oral this time, arm extended with the holder held from beneath. “Just wanted to make sure you had sweet dreams.”

The next day was my day off. I slept late and spent the majority of the day alone in the room while the girls were on the beach. They returned and cleaned up in the other room after greeting me without any trace of the sexual energy that had marked our vacation to this point. Sheila smoked the way she had the year before, nowhere near as spectacular as the style she’d apparently developed for the express purpose of seducing me. The evening consisted of dinner in the room, a short discussion of whether we would go to a nearby theme park the following day, and a three-way game of Uno. The girls left to pick up a rental car so we could leave early the next morning, but I fell asleep before they got back. They woke me briefly to kiss me goodnight before settling in to sleep with me on the bed. I slept face-to-face with Daisy, while Sheila wrapped her arms around me from behind.

One of my favorite photos ever came from the day at the park. The three of us were soaked from the water ride, and Daisy and Sheila kissed me simultaneously on each cheek, the outline of their nipples quite visible through their tops. The best part was the grin I got from the photographer: he clearly did not believe Daisy’s story I was her big brother. That night, Daisy took out her long holder, put a Virginia Slim Light in it, and reclined in the big chair. “Oh Sheila, dear,” she called with her legs crossed and the holder held vertically, looking—to use a term I didn’t know at the time—dominant. “It’s time for your next payment.”

Her roommate grinned, took off her clothes, and knelt in front of Daisy, who moved to let Sheila take off her panties. Any doubts I had about still being worn out disappeared as Daisy took a deep drag, lazily leaned back to rest her head against the chair, and casually exhaled while Sheila started to eat her pussy. My dick jumped, and was hard by the time Daisy finished her cigarette. Sheila paused, shook out her hair, and noticed I was masturbating. “There are better things to do with that,” she growled, lifting her ass for emphasis as she went back to work. I took her invitation, and after some hasty preparation, was buried in her ass a few moments later.

“Ohhh,” sighed Sheila, as I moved with ease, “Willllll… that feels sooooo gooooood,” she crooned, now distracted from her original task. I watched Daisy grab her roommate’s hand, and in response, Sheila slid two fingers into my girlfriend, who moaned and began humping them. I got harder inside Sheila as my strokes became longer, making her pant softly and move in time with me, quietly singing, “Nngh! Nngh! Ohhhhh!” She began shuddering, and warned, “Ohhh… Will… Will… you’re… I’m… I’mgonna… gonna…” Sheila gave one big shudder and softly crooned, “Ohhhhhh…” as I kept pumping, feeling her pussy twitch on the other side of my dick. Suddenly, Daisy cried out, fucking Sheila’s fingers with gusto, and as I watched my girlfriend cum gloriously, radiant, beautiful in her ecstasy, my orgasm came out of nowhere. With a loud grunt, I shot into Sheila’s ass. “Cummmmm,” she purred, bucking gently, and with one final crazed thrust, I buried myself into her, dick sizzling, causing her to squeak and cum some more.

Afterwards, they caringly cleaned me up, and I was ready for bed, worn out. However, they had other ideas. Daisy started to dry my groin, first with a towel, then with her hand long after the stated goal had been achieved. My protests were muffled by long kisses from her roommate, who proceeded to smoke an Eve 120 in the devastatingly erotic fashion she’d cultivated for my benefit, while Daisy took over kissing and masturbating me, making sure I could see Sheila. My cock began to respond, and then Sheila took over with her silky mouth, effortlessly throating me as I grew. For her part, Daisy smoked a More menthol, giving me smoky kisses and playing with my nipples. She put the More out, got on her hands and knees, and it was her turn to have me in her ass.

I didn’t last long enough to make Daisy cum. When I started moaning, fighting the urge to ejaculate, Sheila slid her finger into my asshole and played with my prostate. “Ohhhh… fuck!” I fired a great big blob of cum into my girlfriend’s ass, then a tiny one, and then I collapsed.

“You owe me one,” giggled Daisy. I remember wanting to say something witty in return, but all I got was… darkness.

Both Daisy and Sheila proved more than adept at using my fetish to get me to exceed my physical limits. At times, I felt as if I was only there to be their sex toy, but it was a happy five nights, and there’s no sense in pretending I wasn’t an eager participant. Thursday morning, Sheila smoke-enchanted me into giving her head and then rode me to a couple more orgasms while I ate Daisy. Afterwards, she packed her things, kissed each of us, and went to the other room. “Daisy, come get your stuff when you’re ready. You guys get this room, an’ I’m stayin’ on the other side. I’m keepin’ my promise.”

She had given us our alone time, and Spring Break became the romantic, just-the-two-of-us getaway I had envisioned with Daisy. However, we both got a look at Sheila, dressed to thrill for her Saturday evening, inspiring us to seduce her. Not that it was too difficult. “Hey Sheila,” called Daisy, “do you have some extra lip gloss?” Her roommate came through the suite door to find Daisy licking my cock like a lollipop as I lay on my back. “Wanna share?” she purred, adding, “Both of us.” We were the only people to see the gorgeous redhead in her slinky, sexy black dress—and I got to remove it.

The next morning, we packed in a hurry to make our flights. “See you in May—we’ve got a few days together before I leave,” Daisy said. “And Sheila says thank you for this morning.” I admitted her roommate was hot, and apologized for giving up our last night together. “She says you’re way sexier than you look, too.”

The rest of the semester passed quickly, and suddenly, I was home, greeting my newly graduated girlfriend at her graduation party. “My flight leaves Thursday,” she glumly said when we had a moment to ourselves. “I wish you could come with me—at least for the summer.” I made her put our melancholy away for the duration of our time together. Daisy’s parents left us alone at the summer house for the remaining few days we had together; her only commitment was to make sure she was packed.

She used her cigarette holders consistently, looking casually elegant and rich, even in jeans. Wednesday, neither of us left the summer house. That afternoon, Daisy lay on the bed gaminely reclined, slowly, demonstratively smoking a Virginia Slim Light in her longest holder. “Will?” she began after a particularly elegant lazy drag and skyward exhale, holder held mid-stem from beneath, arm slightly extended, wrist naturally cocked. Naked, and looking incredibly comfortable portraying the essence of 1920’s glamour, she had my full attention. “I have a confession to make.” She paused, regarding the holder for a moment. “I think I’m gonna miss this the most. Don’t get me wrong, you’re wonderful, and the sex is innn-cred-ible.” Slowly, Daisy raised the holder to her lips and drew. Holding the smoke in her lungs, she turned her head to the side a little, and raised her chin by a scant two inches. She pursed her lips, and smoke began to flow through them in a shaped, well-defined stream, joined after several seconds by twin, very visible trails from her nose, during which she returned the holder to its resting position. “I love doing that. I love the way it makes me feel—almost too sexy for words—because of the way you react to it. No other guy has ever communicated so much sheer—desire for me, smoking or not, with just a look or an expression.

“But you’re also the one guy who makes me feel your interest in me goes far beyond this—desire I can provoke, and it’s always been like that. In fact, I felt it from early on… I used to think it was a schoolboy crush, and you were never annoying about it, so it was cute back then. But it never went away, and I finally realized it wasn’t just infatuation that made you such a nice guy around me. So here I am, about to leave the man I love, I love to be with, and who I absolutely adore seducing, and it sucks.”

“I have faith we’ll always find each other down the road, Daisy Marie Woodford,” I softly replied. Trust me.” She drew one last time on the holder, creating my favorite image of her that I hold to this day. The subsequent sex was tender, caring, loving, and long, after which we cleaned up and regretfully left the summer house. I dropped her off and said my goodnights to the Woodford family. Alone in the car, I tried to convince myself it was all for the better.

Both families took the long trip to JFK in a limousine her father had hired. Daisy turned at the gate, smiled, and blew me a kiss. I had never felt more secure in our relationship, and knew it would last for the rest of our lives.

Senior Year

Summer without Daisy was boring, and needless to say, celibate. She wrote me twice a month, and I faithfully wrote back. It sounded like they were keeping her busy at work, but she missed the food. Her first letter complained about British cigarettes: “No Virginia Slims, and they have Mores here, but they taste like shit.” By the time I had to go back to school, fantasy and masturbation had become unsatisfying—and horribly depressing. I missed Daisy, who reported a happy end to her cigarette dilemma—she had convinced a co-worker who made frequent trips to the U.S. to supply her with her beloved Virginia Slims.

When I got to school, I headed to the arcade after getting settled in for my senior year, hoping to find Mary Anne. Instead, I met a new monitor, Pam, who was friendly and chatty, with dark eyes and dark hair worn in a shorter version of the Farrah cut. While not slender, her nicely-rounded body was appealing—and then she pulled a cigarette from her purse. It was beige! I lit it for her and one of my own while going through reaction rates in my head. “I used to smoke those,” Pam cheerily admitted, not knowing what she was doing to me as she took a drag, lifted her chin, and slowly, a thick plume of smoke blossomed from her lips. “These are More Lights,” she resumed, producing a beige pack of 100s. “Dunno what I’ll smoke when I run out of these; they don’t have them at the store in the commons yet. Probably go back to Virginia Slim Lights.” I immediately started scheming to get her into my bed, my summer-long celibacy having worn my steely dedication to Daisy into wisps of fabric. I saw her in the commons a lot over the first few days, either in the arcade or at the info desk, and, unbidden, Pam began to visit my dreams.

I didn’t see Mary Anne until the first day of class, in Harrison Lounge. She asked me for a cigarette, and took a long, glamorous drag, exhaling luxuriously, all the while watching me. Pam who? My plans for a weekend of hot, juicy, smoky sex evaporated when she apologized for the tease and said she was going away for the coming weekend. “But definitely the weekend after that, Will,” she purred, the light in her eyes telling me there would only be a delay in my plans.

Wendy, the gorgeous blonde now-sophomore, booked me for an hour of French lessons. She had switched to Virginia Slim Light Menthols, and her drags were even deeper, her exhales more voluminous. My schedule otherwise filled quickly with football players forced into Calculus. They paid a lot better than the sexy smoking girls because the school was footing the bill. Even though I had regrets, it was probably for the best. There were far too many hot smoking girls in Harrison, I needed relief, and it was two weeks away.

However, much to my surprise, Colin came prancing into Harrison Lounge on Thursday, interrupting my contemplation of three beautiful blondes sharing a pack of Marlboro Light 100s across the aisle. I asked what he was doing back here after graduating. “I’m saying my farewells before I go on the high seas. I got a job on a cruise line, so I’ll be sailing around the world for the next year!” he enthused. “There’s a party Saturday night, and you’re invited!”

Great, I’m insanely horny, and now I’m going to a party where I’m guaranteed not to get laid, I snidely thought. Nonetheless, I accepted; it would be good to see my friends in the Arts and Music schools again, particularly Diane and Lynne.

Once at the party, my merrymaking was cut short when Elaine walked in with Kelly. I hadn’t seen Elaine since the cast party for the musical; she no longer even stopped in Harrison. Upon seeing me, she once again looked slightly ill, as she had the first time I’d seen her with Kelly. Her girlfriend also saw me and waved happily, seemingly ignorant of Elaine’s state. I waved back, but attached myself to a nearby conversation so I could ignore them.

A few moments later, Kelly dragged an embarrassed, reluctant Elaine to my group and gave me a hug. I compounded Elaine’s distress by admiring her appearance, once again looking beautiful and feminine in a cute pink dress. “Let’s go outside and have a smoke,” suggested Kelly. Elaine hesitated, then lowered her head and meekly followed Kelly’s lead. Kelly lit both my More and Elaine’s Eve 120 menthol with a gallant flourish before lighting her own Tiparillo. “How have you been?” she asked after her first drag, spouting cigar smoke. I only replied after she finished a thick residual stream of smoke, lying I was OK. Elaine immediately distracted me with a stylish, feminine, deep drag and lazy, yet carefully formed, exhale. She caught me looking, glanced down, blushed furiously, and turned away, looking very uncomfortable. I stammered an excuse, and went to put my cigarette out so I could flee the increasingly awkward situation, but Kelly stuck her hand in the way. “What’s the hurry? You forget something? Does it bother you to hang out with Elaine and her girlfriend?”

Cornered, I chose the most direct of my options, “No,” I sighed, “that’s not it.” I turned to Elaine. “You just look so—uncomfortable around me when you’re with Kelly, I feel bad.” I left out our sexual liaison; after all, it was the probably the source of her discomfort. “I miss you as a friend, but if this makes it easier for you, then I do understand.” Turning back to Kelly, I finished apologizing for killing the mood. She took a quick puff from the Tiparillo, ending in a brief french-inhale before exhaling casually to the side. Oh jeez, I wish she wouldn’t do that… She gave me a brief smile, and let me go back inside.

I regained some of my earlier merriment by hanging around the piano with Diane and Lynne, marveling at the talent of Colin and other students. I lost track of time, and the songs became increasingly bawdy and funny as hell. Lynne was kind enough to let me in on some of the inside gay jokes, and I laughed as hard as anyone else. I even forgot about my horniness. Kelly stopped at the piano, and I told her I was sorry for ruining another night. Kelly leaned to me and whispered, “Oh, it’s not ruined,” and invited me out for a smoke. She grabbed my arm and dragged me back to the smoking area where Elaine was standing. “Hi, Kitten,” she purred, removing another cigar. I could see Elaine pale even in the dim lighting. Kelly lit it, took a huge drag, and kissed Elaine, exhaling into her mouth. Watching that was hot, and I became acutely aware of my frustrated state. They both exhaled, leaving Elaine slightly flushed. “Now, give your friend a goodnight kiss so he knows there aren’t any hard feelings,” Kelly said.

Elaine turned bright red and shyly stepped in front of me. I began, “You don’t have to do this—”

“—Yes, she does—besides, she’s done it before,” interrupted Kelly authoritatively. Neither Elaine nor I could have blushed any harder. I protested, knowing Elaine wasn’t bisexual, but the swimmer just snapped, “Kiss him now, Kitten.” Elaine’s kiss shocked me with its passion, its heat, so unlike the sweetly teasing one we had shared a year ago. “I’m bisexual,” Kelly softly declared as she leaned to my ear. “My little kitten here has been creaming her panties all night because you know her as Elaine, not my little kitten. I couldn’t figure out if keeping the secret was what got her all hot n’bothered, or if revealing it to you was it. Her submissive streak is funny that way.” She looked at Elaine. “But I really like it when she’s like this. Wanna come n’play with me n’my little Kitty?” Kelly placed my hand on Elaine’s breast. Her nipple was already rock-hard, and she groaned. “You’re a big part of it,” Kelly smiled, “so I’m inviting you to share in the reward.” She puffed on her cigar.

I wasn’t sure what was going on; I’d never heard of submission in a sexual context, but I was too horny to refuse. I left the party with them after saying a quick farewell to Colin, kissing him on one cheek. He dramatically sighed, “I’ll never wash my face again.”

Kelly attacked me in the back seat, provoking a passionate make-out session while Elaine drove. As soon as we arrived at Kelly’s surprisingly nice apartment, Elaine took our coats. When she returned, I couldn’t help but gape at my beautiful friend, wearing makeup, a dress, and heels, looking every bit the feminine ingénue, with an arousing air of fragile innocence about her. Still mute, she blushed at my scrutiny. She was so—beautiful I began to get hard from just looking at her. “I like her as a girly-girl, too,” whispered Kelly, noticing my obvious fascination. She sidled next to me and added, “But I like you just as you are.” Elaine undressed Kelly with some enthusiastic kissing and fondling, and then was ordered to do the same for me. Kelly sensed my reluctance, and placed my hand squarely on Elaine’s exposed, wet pussy. “Saturdays are no-underwear nights for Kitty,” she smirked. Elaine moaned, grabbed my head, and kissed me hungrily. Gently, but decisively, Kelly separated us with fire in her eyes after a few moments of kissing that left me rigid. “Now it’s time to play,” she growled. “Watch us, my little Kitten—and don’t play with yourself. I have plans for you.”

Underneath me, Kelly showed no sign of the commanding dominant who dictated the very being of another woman. As well-muscled and athletic as she was, Kelly was softer and much less physical than Amber, but no less responsive, and she encouraged me to be less gentle. She was tight, slick without being sloppy, and I couldn’t hold out very long. Regretfully, I stopped moving, and warned her I was close. With clear, intense brown eyes, she told me, “It’s OK. I want you to,” and Kelly cried out in rapture, arching her back, her muscles strong enough to lift me off the bed on top of her. After I climbed off, she ran her hand between her legs happily purring, “Lots of cum….” It had been a while, and I’d left a mess.

“Kitten, bring me the cigar box,” called Kelly after our breathing had returned to normal. “They’re menthol—Dino Gold Label,” she explained, offering me a long, slim, tapered cigar. “I like them much better than Tiparillos and Tijuana Smalls, but I can’t get away with smoking these outside the apartment.” I asked what about Elaine, very much wanting to see her smoke one of the long cigars, but Kelly shook her head. “Kitten, tell Will why you’re not allowed to smoke my cigars.”

“Pretty girls can only smoke pretty cigarettes,” was Elaine’s embarrassed, yet demure, soft reply, delivered with downcast eyes.

Kelly turned to offer me a light, our eyes met, and suddenly, we recognized each other as kindred spirits. She smiled, blushing as was I, and lit her cigar with a prolonged snap-inhale. “Kitten,” husked Kelly, without taking her smoldering eyes off me, “C’mere.” She drew on the cigar, impossibly long, and then pulled Elaine to her, breaking eye contact only when her eyes closed for the kiss following her cigar exhale into Elaine’s receptive mouth. Both women exhaled leisurely, turning their heads in opposite directions. Elaine looked rapturous. They kissed like this four more times, and my body began to prepare itself anew. Kelly took one more drag, playfully tapped Elaine on the lips, and turned to me. Her eyes went dewy, she opened her mouth, and we kissed, her taste spiced by the cigar smoke she exhaled into my mouth. “Kitten… come and suck his cock,” cooed Kelly, authoritatively, yet softly, adding, “Now.” Elaine was so hot at this point her sexual preference no longer mattered; she only wanted to do whatever Kelly said. She started to bring me to full hardness with surprising proficiency. “She’s had practice… but you’re her first real one. The others were rubber,” Kelly explained, smiling, taking another drag from the cigar. She exhaled twice from her deep drag. “But I have a question for you… Can I fuck you—with one of my toys? It’s always been a dream of mine to fuck a guy… like a guy,” she softly husked in my ear, the scent of cigar hanging heavily on her . Her excitement at the thought clearly showed on her face and body. “I’ll be… gentle. I promise.” Then Kelly raised the stakes. “I’ll let you fuck Kitten at the same time.” Elaine gasped around my cock and abruptly sat up, having gone white. “Kitten,” came Kelly’s soft, yet stern voice, “you have no say in the matter.” My dick hardened even more at the sight of Elaine’s flared nostrils… and the beginnings of sexual flush. She couldn’t fuck me and retain her sexual identity… but obeying Kelly gave her the perfect avenue to realize her own forbidden fantasy. I warned them what was going to happen based on my previous experience with prostate massage. “Then you definitely need to be fucking her while I fuck you,” declared Kelly. She looked at her cigar, still very long, and panted, “It’ll take me too long to finish my smoke, and you’re ready now. Let me go get ready.” She fixed Elaine with a look and snapped, “Kitten! Spread your legs.” Elaine looked ill, but Kelly snapped, “Don’t give me that look, Kitten. Remember, I know he’s the only guy you’ve ever wanted inside you again.” She gave me a wry smile. “And now he knows it, too. Fuck him, pretty kitty. You know you want it.” She pulled Elaine to her feet and kissed her hungrily. “And I wanna watch my pretty little girly-girl get fucked lying right next to me in our bed.”

I don’t know what erased her reluctance, but Elaine launched herself at me, and we kissed with a desire I thought she reserved for women, whimpering into my mouth, trying to merge her perfect body with my flawed one. She broke the kiss, lay on her back and wordlessly invited me in. Kelly vanished; I could only see Elaine, and promptly forgot about my part of the bargain. I entered her with ease, sliding all the way in with a slurp, indicating her excitement. It didn’t matter where the excitement came from; she was warm, wet, and willing, undulating in ecstasy beneath me. I settled into an easy, gentle rhythm, mindful of not “treating her like a nail,” and was rewarded, first with a full-body flush, and then with a wailing, churning orgasm. Kelly padded into the room, showing me her dildo, still smoking her cigar, and leaned forward over Elaine’s face to whisper something. In response, Elaine began moving even more. I watched the swimmer take a casual, steady draw, only to exhale slowly over her girlfriend’s body, ignorant of my existence, leaning forward and gently, but deeply, kissing Elaine. She whispered some more; Elaine’s flush returned. Kelly began to speak to her lover while I smoothly, steadily, gave her all of my cock, harder now than any time during the night. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but Elaine began to hump wildly, eyes open, and unable to focus. I felt her juices coat my cock while Kelly continued her soft commentary to Elaine, driving her orbital. It was like fucking one long orgasm. Finally, Kelly looked up, smiled and throatily cooed, “Are you ready?”

Suddenly, Elaine grabbed me and wailed, and I once again forgot about Kelly—until she lubricated my ass. Slowly, the swimmer began to work the dildo into me. I could hear her soft, excited panting, and my asshole parted at her gentle persistence. She began to thrust at me, moaning loudly, and I began to feel… more physically excited than ever, with Elaine beneath me, cumming in waves with loud cries. My lesbiangirlfriend’s eyes popped open and cleared for a second. “Will,” she gasped, “fuck me!” I redoubled my efforts, and the three of us were one long chain of fucking, with my dick going all the way in and all the way out with each stroke, and Kelly thrusting at me with quiet, excited whimpers. Despite the glorious physical sensations emanating from my penis and amplified by Kelly’s prostate stimulation, my orgasm stayed out of reach for a seeming eternity, until I could take it no longer. My cock exploded into Elaine; I was aware long enough to recognize the expression of shock and sheer joy on her face—a long-denied dream was coming true for both of us. She began to wail, arching her back—and I simply ceased to exist. When I came to, Kelly was greedily kissing Elaine, and moving on top of her. I saw Kelly had changed dildos, this one longer and thicker, and she was a lot less gentle than I had been, but Elaine screamed in ecstasy, and I knew what had just happened between her and I had been very special. Elaine came with a long, long, high-pitched cry and collapsed with a huff onto the bed, slack, arms and legs splayed. She lay, chest heaving, eyes closed, naked, and awesomely beautiful. Kelly gently withdrew, and glanced at me, looking down. Both my cock and hers were still covered in Elaine’s drying juices, and she gave me a sultry smile. “Wanna share a cigar?”

An hour later, Kelly broke my fascinated contemplation of her now-sleeping girlfriend with a wet kiss, heavily tasting of cigar smoke. “You’re hard again,” she throatily observed, before lying on her side and cleaning my cock with her mouth, pausing for a final puff on her cigar. Her exhale temporarily obscured my view of her face buried in my groin, but I felt it just fine. After disposing of the last inch and a half of our cigar and shooting a glance at Elaine’s still body, Kelly coquettishly asked me, “Again?” already knowing the answer as she reclined onto the bed.

Elaine woke me the next morning with breakfast in bed while Kelly was out on her morning run. I again noticed how much Elaine had changed, from her distinctly effeminate dress to her shy bearing. She asked if I wanted anything else, so I asked the question on my mind since I first saw them together. After a while, she responded, “Kelly likes me like this. And I like doing it—for her.” There was a silence. “I was afraid you—wouldn’t understand, and you’d—try to change me back,” she finally revealed, answering the unspoken question. “And it got too—awkward—to try and patch up the longer it went. Then I saw you at Colin’s, and I didn’t know how to handle it. A lot of guys who seem fine with the concept of me being a lesbian often weird out when it hits them in real life.”

“You happy? With Kelly?”

“More than I ever thought was possible, Will,” Elaine answered with conviction in her deep, dark eyes. I honestly told her I was happy for her, and she resumed, “It’s like when you used to talk about your girlfriend—I get it now.” I asked her about having sex with me, and got a blush in return. “I guess I could say I only did it because she told me to—but that’s not true. There’s a part of me that’s—sexually curious—about guys. And you were the gentlest guy I’d ever been with, so, when Kelly asked me about doing a guy with her, the answer was you.”

“But she didn’t tell you how hard it was to get her to admit it,” Kelly interrupted, having silently entered. “I was hoping to catch you two at it again—you’re pretty hot together—so I came in the back door.” The women kissed like the couple in love they were, and my cock enjoyed watching. “Go clean up the kitchen, Kitten, and meet me back here after I get cleaned up.” She waited until noises came from the kitchen. “Nobody says anything to anybody—ever, right?” she softly directed, and I nodded. “I know I had no clue about you and Kitten until I made her tell me.” She paused, and quietly resumed, “Ummm… Will… I don’t know if this will happen ever again. I don’t know if it can.”

“I understand, Kelly. Better than you think.”

“I’m sorry Elaine can’t be… the girl you want her to be.” I shrugged philosophically. “But thank you for last night. From me and Kitten.” She showered, and the three of us had lunch together while Kelly told me about herself. “My family’s well off, obviously,” she said, waving her arm to indicate the nice apartment. “I’m more or less exiled here; it’s not public knowledge back home I’m… not exclusively heterosexual, but my dad is worried it could come out, and it would be a major scandal. He thinks he can’t afford the negative publicity because he has ambitions. It’s always been about him, and the perfect family is just an accessory. He was mortified when I started smoking, not because I smoked, but because I preferred his cigars to my mom’s Virginia Slims. Not a girl thing and all. I figure the only reason he hasn’t disowned me is because it would raise too many questions back home. On the other hand, my mom doesn’t care about me being more into girls than boys, and wanted me to have a life, so the compromise was I would come here to college. Far enough away as to be invisible, some place where I would be unheralded and unnoticed, as long as I left any… relationships here. I didn’t expect to fall in love.” Elaine blushed. “Kitten and I are going to stay here after graduation, which will suit my dad just fine.”

I spent the following Friday night with Mary Anne as promised, and she felt… wonderful. She smoked divinely, eyes sparkling with teasing, lecherous intent. But something was missing, something I had lost because I didn’t have Daisy. Ultimately, I realized it was purely physical, and other than the fun of fucking and having my fetish catered to extremely well, I didn’t care.

As for Daisy, she didn’t call, and had stopped writing weekly. This wasn’t a surprise: we knew we were going to get busy. She wrote longer monthly letters about how fabulous and fascinating London was, and how much she wished I was there to see it with her. In November she wrote she wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas—her break was short and it was far too expensive for such a brief visit. The rest of the letter was full of melancholy. She missed home, her folks, and me—and London was a poor substitute. I chose not to go home for Thanksgiving, spending it with Elaine, Kelly, Diane, Lynne, and a few of their friends. Kelly took an occasional puff from the after-dinner cigar she gave me. “If it wasn’t for Kitten n’me being—exclusive, I would,” she softly apologized, knowing what her drag and exhale did for me.

“There’s always masturbation and fantasy,” I quietly admitted as I left. Despite Mary Anne’s best efforts, my sexual malaise lasted through the end of the semester, and stretched through Christmas break. We went to the Woodfords’ for New Year’s Eve as usual, where I spent most of my time commiserating with Daisy’s mom over her daughter’s absence.

Daisy didn’t write in January, but I began to get concerned when I didn’t hear from her in February as well. She wrote a short note in March,to let me me know she was fine, but hadn’t written sooner because, “I’m so busy I barely have enough time to write my folks.” The letter made her absence resonate acutely, but it also ended my sexual malaise. I’d been chaste since Mary Anne in September, substituting schoolwork and tutoring for sexual thoughts, even going so far as to avoid Harrison Hall completely. Something had to give, and two weeks before Spring Break, I took up residence in Harrison Hall, spending every free minute (and a couple of classes) hoping to, at the least, find current fantasy material. I got something better. On the second day of my vigil, I had found a group of four girls who sat together, all smoking the beige More Lights. Given the enormous surge and swelling of my largely forgotten dick at the sight, it was going to be a hot night in my room. I even contemplated finding some pretext to meet the rotund blonde in the group so I wouldn’t have to fly solo.

“Will!” Mary Anne’s voice snapped me out of my musing. “I haven’t seen you around in like forever! What’cha been doing with yourself?” I told her how busy I’d been and offered to buy her coffee, unsure of how she regarded me after such a long time. We sat and she told me what she and Chrissie had been doing, and their plans for Spring Break. “Goin’ to Florida for like, one last fling. Pretty sure I won’t get to do it again after graduation.” She paused before innocently asking, “C’n I have a cigarette? I haven’t had a More in a long time.” I gave her one, and was going to ask if she had tried the More Lights, but Mary Anne lit the More, drew long, lifted her chin, and exhaled a thick trail of smoke through her lips with the softest, “ffff…” The long brown cigarette sat between her fingers as her extended arm rested on the table. Mary Anne grinned with dancing eyes; evidently, we were still good. More Lights were instantly forgotten—along with our remaining classes for the day. As soon as she had gotten halfway through the More, she softly husked, “Wanna get out of here? Chrissie’s gonna be in studio ‘til late workin’ on her senior project.”

We headed to her apartment at one-thirty in the afternoon, stopping on the way so Mary Anne could pick up a couple of packs of More Menthols for herself and her seduction. Five minutes later, she was on her knees, More in one hand, the base of my cock in the other as she alternated bathing my cock with smoke and her soft, warm mouth. Painfully rigid, I warned her she was going to waste my first erection if she didn’t stop. She looked up at me and took a playful puff ending in a quick french-inhale. My cock twitched. “A little sensitive today? Guess it’s been a while for somebody,” she grinned after a hurried, noisy exhale. Giving the head a mischievous lick, she looked at my cock, then up at me before taking a long, long, deep drag, sending smoke streaming from her nostrils in twin, thick ribbons. Her eyes sparkled as she opened her mouth to let smoke escape before sucking it back into her mouth and lungs. My cock pulsed strongly in her hand as she eased her prodigious chest forward and exhaled more smoke through her lips. Mary Anne paused… and then engulfed my cock and bobbed her head steadily along my length, only stopping for a final, glorious drag and thick, oral exhale. She resumed sucking, intent on her task. I moaned, my butt tightened, and I rammed my cock into her mouth as the first massive burst of cum tore through it. She kept bobbing her head, and my second volley filled her mouth to overflowing. I think I cried out when she started stroking, and I plastered her tits with more cum.

When it was over, Mary Anne giggled and ran her fingers through the goo dripping from her neck, tits, and mouth. “That was fun! When was the last time you got laid? It looks like a few months!” As soon as I caught my breath, I answered her question, to which she perkily responded, “You’re so sweet, saving yourself for me.” I asked her why she hadn’t stopped at foreplay. “You were really into it and it was fun making you make all those noises. I wasn’t expecting six months of cum.” There was a brief pause. “Besides,” Mary Anne huskily resumed, “I know you’ll be ready soon enough,” picking up the pack of Mores before heading to her bedroom.

A bathroom break, some water, and a smoky handjob later, I was fucking Mary Anne as we lay spooned, slowly pulling my dick almost all the way out, and, equally slowly, pushing it in to the hilt. “Ohhhh… Wiiiiilllllll… you’re sooooooo gooooood,” she softly crooned on her steady climb towards orgasm. Mary Anne turned red, shuddered, and whimpered through an extended one, immediately asking me to stop when she came down. I pulled out of her with a loud slurp, her juices covering my cock (and a large spot on her bed.) Mary Anne looked at my undiminished erection with inviting lust, rolled onto her back, and spread her legs. I repositioned myself, and a resounding “PHBBBLTTH!” from her pussy signaled my reentry. I went faster, she got louder and redder and I began fucking her with reckless abandon and then she cried out and wrapped herself around me, her pussy convulsing massively around my cock.

“UFFFFF!” Mary Anne collapsed onto the bed, her orgasmic seizure over. “Fuckme!” she urgently hissed, panting in rhythm with my thrusts, my own orgasm nowhere in sense. She came twice more from my enthusiastic fucking, and feebly pushed at me to stop. She groaned when I pulled out, still hard. “Ohhhh… wowwwww… Will… that was… that was… fan-tastic! But I can’t… take anymore!” I kissed her, said it was all right, and shifted to lie on my side. Mary Anne pushed herself to her knees, grabbed a More from the nightstand and snap-inhaled as she lit it. Taking a long, smooth drag with splayed fingers, she gaily tossed her head and exhaled towards the ceiling. I began to masturbate, but she gently placed her free hand on mine. After her next drag, Mary Anne opened her mouth to engulf my cock as smoke poured out of her nose, with the More somewhat incongruously held daintily at the end of her outstretched hand. “I seem to remember you really enjoy this,” she teased. She lit a second More as the first one burned down, and a few puffs into it, I came. Mary Anne let it spill out of her mouth to run down my cock, purring lewdly as I shot a second and third time up into her mouth, only to resume sucking and stroking until I ran dry. She licked her hand clean, and took a final drag from the More. “Next time,” she throatily declared, “it’s your turn to give.” I left her apartment quickly because neither of us wanted Chrissie to catch us, and I was very much looking forward to Saturday, when it would be my turn.

Mary Anne asked if I wanted to ride to Florida with them, but I didn’t want to be a third wheel, so I stayed behind at school. Friday night, the pinball room was virtually empty, save for Pam, who was the monitor, and a couple of foreign grad students playing foosball. I guessed she was feeling stressed out because she lit Eve menthol 120’s on a steady basis while poring over a Calculus book. I moved to a machine that gave me a vantage point to watch clandestinely, but she was too absorbed in her work to notice my attention, only raising her head briefly when one of the grad students shouted in triumph. Embarrassed, he apologized, and left with his friend, leaving Pam and I alone.

She reached into the pack sitting on the desk and angrily crushed it, pissed it was empty, and only paused her studies long enough to reach into her purse for another pack. Wordlessly, she tapped it on the desk a couple of times before efficiently opening it and pulling out an Eve, lighting it without breaking her contemplation of calculus. I watched her drag, short, but deep. Pam looked up from her book, inclined her head slightly, and exhaled with a soft hiss. Cigarette held high, near the end of the filter with effeminately cocked wrist, she returned her attention to her book, repeating her actions with a practiced familiarity for each puff. I watched Pam smoke more than I played pinball, but she was so engrossed in her studies, I don’t think she looked at me once. She acknowledged my presence by giving me the standard fifteen-minute warning before closing. Pam heaved a heavy sigh before turning to go back to her desk. I asked her what was wrong. “Oh, I’m way behind in this stupid calculus class. I was thinking I could catch up over the break while I worked, since it’s pretty quiet here, but it still doesn’t make sense,” she grumbled in frustration.

“I tutor in calc,” I helpfully offered. “I can probably help you catch up.”

“Really? You can?” I nodded. “Can we start now?” she asked. “I’m wide awake—too much coffee and cigarettes, and I’m too nervous about this to sleep.” It was an odd request, but given how much I’d seen her smoke over the last three hours, one I could understand. I wasn’t tired either, so I invited her to my room.

Pam put her books and purse on my desk, turned to face me, and put her arms lightly on my shoulders. “So.”

“I thought you wanted tutoring,” I said.

“And I thought you were just saying it to get me to your room,” she replied. “So.”

“I do tutor,” I reiterated, “and since most of my students are out of town this week, my offer still stands. But very early on a Saturday morning is a rotten time to do it, regardless of how awake we are.” Pam stood on tiptoe, and we kissed. “You don’t have to pretend to get me to help you.”

After considering that for a few moments, she coyly asked, “What if I’m not pretending? Can you help with that, too? I think you’re cute. Really.”

While it wasn’t as extreme as my previous two Spring Break experiences, Pam spent a lot of time in my room over spring break, almost equally divided between tutoring, sleep, and sex. “So, is Chrissie’s friend—your girlfriend?” she asked after we returned from an off-campus movie. I told her no. “Not that I’m implying it woulda changed anything this week. I’m almost caught up in calc, and it’s only Thursday! And,” Pam huskily continued, “I’m havin’ the best sex of my life after studyin’s over. Every night.” I lit her Eve 120, and watched her toss her head before she exhaled noisily in a quick cone. Her dark eyes acquired a sultry cast, followed by a long, deep drag and leisurely exhale performed sensuously. “So why change anything now?”

She bummed a More from me the next afternoon as I quizzed her about integration rules. Reclined in my guest chair, cigarette held high near the filter, she looked relaxed. Her drags were moderate in length, but deep; the sunlight coming through my window illuminated her nasal residuals. Pam always lifted her chin by a few degrees after her drag, pursed her lips, and once the cigarette was again held high in its resting place, only then would she exhale. It was the natural way she smoked when she was relaxed, and it was enchanting. It wasn’t that Pam knew about me, but like many girls in those days, the sensuality of smoking was a part of its allure, and it was something many women cultivated, whether consciously or not. “I used to smoke these for about six months,” she reflected, studying the More. “But my friends n’ me were the “girly” cigarette bunch, so we all switched to Virginia Slim Lights, an’ then More Lights came out. Now Eve 120s—the flowers, plus they’re as slim and long as Mores, so I guess I’m still into girly cigarettes. I’m gonna go get some more after I turn in the assignments.” Pam dragged again, still relaxed, unknowingly and unintentionally heating me up. “So y’wanna meet for dinner at Wolverton Center at about six-thirty?”

Pam faded into the background by silent, mutual consent, with the only sign of our torrid week being the occasional wink and sly smiles exchanged in the arcade. Mary Anne took over, taking care of my sexual needs for the rest of my college career. While she had given up on being my girlfriend, she was quite happy to take advantage of my fetish right up until an hour before my parents arrived for graduation. I would have left her place sooner, but she had smoked a More with stylish flair while laying naked on her bed, and eyes full of lust. “Will…” she said as we kissed at her door, “it’s been… a lot of fun. I promise never to tell anybody—but I just might find another guy to use it on. Good luck with your girlfriend.”

Mr. and Mrs. Woodford sent me a generous graduation gift via my folks, but oddly, Daisy did not even send a card. She had dropped me a postcard from Amsterdam in late April I hadn’t gotten around to answering, so I figured she was as busy as I had been. I left college bound for graduate school in my hometown, and the day when Daisy and I would be together was a year closer. I replied to her postcard as soon as I got home, the first page full of apology for not having written her sooner. I got my reply a month later, another short note congratulating me on graduation, and wishing me luck in graduate school. The July fourth party at the Woodfords’ summer house wasn’t much fun without Daisy. Apparently, there was something major going on at the financial house, and all the interns were needed. “Daisy said they postponed her vacation,” sighed her mother. “She’s not coming home until the second week in August.” Mrs. Woodford allowed me to light her cigarette. “That’s not going to give you two much time before you start grad school, is it?”

“No, it won’t,” I dejectedly confirmed. “I definitely don’t want to screw with my first week in grad school.” She patted my hand in a gesture of comfort… and then whispered in my ear we would have the summer house for the week, and winked as she walked away, hips swinging, with her More effeminately held, inspiring an entirely inappropriate thought. Living at home wasn’t going to be fun, but my stipend wasn’t extravagant, and I would save a fortune in rent. I sighed. Getting laid was going to be nearly impossible, and I hoped Daisy would give me a week or two of fond memories to tide me over until her internship ended.

What I got changed my life. I arrived at the summer house to meet Daisy in August. I saw her waiting for me at the front door as I got out of the car. She had grown up; she wasn’t the fresh-faced girl I had known. Daisy was made up, dressed up—in a professional way, and she looked… older. “Will!” she exclaimed, Virginia Slim in hand, “it’s so good to see you again!” We hugged, and she kissed me—continental-style, on both cheeks. I was puzzled, because it wasn’t the greeting I had expected. Maybe she’s just used to British reserve and propriety now. “Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested, taking my arm as we walked away from the summer house into the woods nearby. “How have you been?”

We walked and talked for quite a while, catching up with each other. However, she made no move to hold my hand, or wrap herself around me as she usually did, nor had we kissed other than the brief cheek-to-cheek greeting. Daisy hadn’t even lit a Virginia Slim. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Why don’t you just say what you need to, Daisy?” I asked. “I’m a big boy, and I’ve always been a realist when it comes to you and me.”

She stopped walking and quietly swore, “Damn you, Will Redmond. You’re too damn perceptive for your own good.” I pointed out she had been treating me like a hot potato. “I thought it would make it easier,” confessed Daisy, “on me. I was kinda… hopin’ that when you didn’t write back right away, it was because you found another girl. I shoulda known better.”

“Found somebody in London?”

“Ummm… I’m not sure… but maybe? I don’t know.” The words spilled out in rapid succession. “We get along really well an’ he’s helped me get used to being over there an’—” I held up my hand to interrupt her, having no need to hear her tell me how wonderful she found some other guy. “It started out as me being lonely,” Daisy whined. My heart fractured a little. I had always known the possibility existed from the night she told me about her internship, but had chosen not to dwell on it. In that sense, I was prepared for this, and had fortified myself in advance. The prefabricated shell was holding everything together—but it still hurt. A lot. “I haven’t told my parents yet—or yours,” she sighed. “My mother’s gonna kill me.” The woods went silent. “Will,” Daisy hesitantly began, “I don’t think I’m the right girl for you—please, let me finish.” I leaned against a tree and kept my frustrated counter to myself. “You remember Carla Bosetti from the club—the lady with the cigarette holder and the guy almost young enough to be her son?” I nodded. Where Mrs. Woodford had a mature, relaxed sensuality about her, Carla was the girl your mother warned you about—all grown up, with her looks mostly intact. “She’s only there because she married a guy from the club—a really nice guy, one of the sweetest you’d ever want to meet. He adored her. Six years later, they got divorced—she broke his heart and took half his money while she was at it. He’s just always so—sad now it hurts to see him.” Now the thinly disguised contempt I felt from other club members whenever I was around Ms. Bosetti there made sense. She was a pariah, albeit one who obviously reveled in flaunting it. That also explained the boy toy.

“Her ex is walking around with this gaping wound everybody can see except him,” Daisy continued. “He’s still successful, and the way Carla spends money, he better be. But to get to my point, I may not be her exactly, but I know right now, there’s a chance I could break your heart in a big way a few years down the line. I can’t do that to you. It’s been a year, and I feel tempted and seduced way more than I should.” Daisy sniffled, tears beginning to fall. “And I hate myself for messing with the nicest guy I know. You deserve somebody better than me.” I reached to console her, but she half-heartedly tried to spin away, babbling about how she had led me on for the past four years and how despicable it was and how sorry she was. Finally, she allowed me to hug her, and cried into my shoulder. “Please… don’t hate me, Will,” she pleaded.

“I could never hate you, Daisy,” I quietly declared, as I realized she wasn’t the type of girl who would be content sharing my life. Daisy had outgrown me. It’s the right thing to do, and now is the right time, my brain analytically supplied. You have the rest of your life ahead of you. Plenty of time to find the right girl. I could now see our differences, seemingly complimentary to this point, would always cause tension between us. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman with a strong sex drive, one who would never want for sex partners. Daisy was now at home in the halls of money and the financial capitols of the world, constantly surrounded by rich and powerful men, and no longer limited by the geography of our home town. I was an average-looking bookworm, more or less, most at home in a classroom, and tied to that same home town, at least for the foreseeable future. She hadn’t ever been able to remain exclusive during our separations because of her formidable libido. We were going to be separated by the Atlantic Ocean for at least one more year, and I wasn’t sure she would ever come back. It was time to let the long-distance love of my life go. “I think we better be getting back to the party,” I softly suggested. A little while later, Mrs. Woodford paled noticeably when she saw me, and Mr. Woodford shook his head, but none of us knew what to say to each other. I hung out enough with Daisy to keep a façade for my parents—I didn’t tell them until the next day. When Daisy would smoke, it was with quick, almost-furtive puffs from her Virginia Slim Lights, fast stream exhales aimed forcefully at the ground without any hint of her usual elegant, sexy style. She was smoking to fill a need, highly aware of the importance of not inciting anything else. That’s when I knew, without any hope possible to the contrary, it was over.

Life Without Daisy

Graduate school started out really sucking. The work was more than challenging, my lab mate barely spoke English, I had to be a teaching assistant for two classes… and fraternizing with undergraduates was grounds for immediate expulsion. The dean of the engineering school made it clear at orientation; you could not make friends with any undergraduates, lest they wind up in your section at some point during your academic career, creating a conflict of interest. Farewell, black-haired beauty I saw at the quad smoking an all-white with playful flair. Only in my dreams, you softly rounded, curly red-haired girl with the pack of Max menthols sitting on her books. However, the worst thing of all was that, even as unapproachable as they were, they inspired fantasy, and I had no privacy at all to relieve my aching cock and balls. I was living at home, so by the time my mother went to bed, I was either too exhausted or too busy to masturbate. If she was up, she’d drop by my room a few times a night to see “how I was doing.” As frustrated as I was, I didn’t miss the sex anywhere near as much as I missed Daisy. I wasn’t sure what was worse: not expecting to get a postcard or a letter, or getting one from her.

Will,

I’m back in Paris! I’ll be here for the next month, working in the main Paris office of the company. They sent me because I speak French better than any of the other interns, so I appreciate all the time you spent helping me with my French more than ever! I hope school is going great for you – you’re a really smart guy and I know you’ll do really well!

Drop me a line sometime, OK?

Daisy

Just great. I was once again Daisy’s brainy friend. That was a dream come true when I was a geeky freshman in high school, but as her ex… it just sucked. Even worse, my car died, forcing me to commute to school via public transportation. This also denied me the ability to get away from home for more than an early evening. My life became a seemingly endless cycle of school to home (where I did more schoolwork) to school. No friends, no social life, and no motivation to do anything about it, because even the remotest thought of social activity made me think of Daisy, and it hurt. When my office mate praised my seeming dedication with, “You like me. You do good in school, not like other students who go to parties,” I knew I had to do something. I asked one of my fellow Calculus TA’s if there were any parties for grad students coming up. He looked at me with shock. “Why would you care, Redmond? You wouldn’t go even if you were invited.” I told him I needed to blow off some steam. “Bioscience is hosting on Saturday, but it’s invitation-only. Nobody even knows who the hell you are. You and Huang spend all day in your office, then you go home. Do you even know what to do at a party?” Fortunately, another TA interrupted and told me who to find in order to get an invitation to Saturday’s party if I really wanted one. The girl, a physics TA and biology grad student, was surprised since I had made no social impression, but gave me the location nonetheless, with the instruction to, “Bring a couple six-packs of good beer and something to share in lieu of an invite. We’ll let you in.”

The party was just what I needed. As in high school, my appearance resurrected me from the “hopeless nerd” list, and I was quickly accepted by my fellow grad students as one of them. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders. We drank and laughed, making fun of brown-nosing pre-meds and egotistical professors alike, common experiences making for fast new friends. I was in a group of my fellow physics TA’s, sharing some amazingly good home-brew ale made by one of them, a chemistry Ph. D. student, when a big girl staggered into the group, obviously drunk. “Anybody got a cig’rette?” She was tall, about my height, and generously round everywhere, but very cute. I offered her one of mine, causing her to blink and ask. “Izzat a cigar? I’m not that drunk… yet.” She took a Marlboro Light instead, but let me light it as she weaved unsteadily on her feet. After a quick drag and long, but immediate oral exhale towards the ceiling, she gave me a smooch on the cheek, inciting a round of catcalls. The young woman winked and staggered away, wide hips swaying in an exaggerated fashion.

“Who was that?” I asked when the catcalls subsided after she had vanished into another group of people congregating around the “punch bowl.”

“That’s ‘Katie Does-it’,” Steve Scott, one of my compatriots said. I returned a blank look. “Man, you really don’t get out much, do you?” piped in someone else. “Katie Parham. She’s like this super-brain, working on two Ph.D.’s at the same time in Neurology and Biochem.” I noted she wasn’t much older than I was. “Told’ja, she’s super-smart.” I asked about the nickname, and Steve just pointed at her as she headed into one of the other rooms—accompanied by two male students. The door quickly closed behind them. “She works insane hours, and suddenly, she’ll show up at a party, drinkin’ and smokin’ like a fiend, and once she’s lubed up… well, let’s just say I’ve seen her disappear with more than two guys… more than once at the same party.”

“I’ve done her,” another student broke in, stopping to relate his experiences. “Big girl, big appetites. And then she’ll go for weeks actin’ like she doesn’t even see you. It weirded me out the first time, but I’ve figured it out. The rest of the time, she’s concentrating so hard on her work it’s almost like she’s in this trance, but then when she’s almost nuts, she comes to a party and gets wrecked and fucked until it’s all out of her system, and then she’s good for another little while.” Somebody pointed out she gave me a smooch, and the guy rejoined, “I’m surprised you’re not in there with her now. Stick around long enough tonight, and I bet you’ll get laid.”

An hour later, the two guys reappeared at the party, looking less energetic. Katie came wobbling out of the room about five minutes later, looking a little—disheveled. She went directly to the punch bowl for another glass. “Go on man! Get some of that before she passes out!” urged Steve. Slightly drunk myself, all I could do was wave timidly. Maybe she won’t see me. She took a healthy drink from her cup, topped it off, and headed towards us with a smile. The guys around me started to give me shit, quietly, until she arrived in our midst.

“Hi guys, she casually said, more steady on her feet now. Then she turned to me and asked for a cigar, stating, “Now I’m drunk enough.” I lit the More for her, taking stock of the blonde hair and hazel eyes. She took a casual drag and turned her head to exhale audibly, holding the More at the end of her arm, and suddenly, I became aware of just how horny I was. “OK, it’s a cigarette,” she said. “Who are you?” Steve introduced me, and I could tell all the guys were wondering how I would handle this. Would I get laid, or was I just another enginerd, like my officemate?

While I was wondering how to proceed, Steve talked to Katie and within minutes, he had his arm around her. She asked him to get her some more punch, and when he returned, they resumed their earlier positions. He was working on it, and was quickly rewarded when she took his hand and turned away from the group. Katie paused in her steps, turned back to me, and drunkenly smiled, “Y’wanna come with?” Steve waited patiently with the confidence of one who knows he’s going to get laid. I shrugged with a casual indifference I did not feel and headed towards her. She immediately tugged at Steve, and we vanished into one of the rooms.

They were kissing within seconds of the door closing, with Steve groping her breasts, while I watched, unsure of what to do. Katie broke away long enough to remove her top and bra with an ease belying her inebriated state. Steve undressed quickly, and began to fumble with her pants, seemingly having forgotten I was in the room. Katie lay on the bed, reaching for my jeans, and I stepped out of them as Steve finally got her pants off. It was obvious Steve was going to fuck her, while I would… Her mouth met my cock, and it was amazing! Soft, wet, with a big, broad, equally soft tongue, Katie had a mouth made for oral sex. I quickly became fully erect, ceasing to care about Steve who was grunting as he fucked away at Katie’s pussy. My lack of recent sex, combined with her delicious blowjob ensured I wouldn’t last very long, cumming in huge bursts across her face, mouth, and when I had a second of cognizance, round, pillowy tits. I heard her start to grunt in time with Steve, soft, and high-pitched. Watching them was turning me on again. His grunts became louder, thrusts more enthusiastic, and a minute or so later, he pulled out, stroked his cock, and shot his load all over her belly and bush with a satisfied, “Ahhhhhh.”

Katie grabbed a towel and calmly cleaned off the spooge, while Steve quickly hitched up his pants and put his shirt back on. “Thanks, Katie,” he smirked, and left.

Katie sat up. My cock was full, but not hard, and she looked at it with drunken interest. She was still naked and showing no sign of dressing, nor did she indicate I should leave. “Got another cig’rette?” I gave her another More. Her drags were shallow, the exhales fast, although she did inhale each one, and the effects of my fetish showed. Mid-way through the More, she began to stroke me, licking the head from time to time. When I was hard again, She grabbed her cup of punch, took a big swig, put it down, and purred, “C’mere.”

An hour later, having fucked her to two orgasms before she sucked me off again with her marvelous mouth, we left her room with her leaning heavily against me, smiling sleepily. The party was winding down, and I said I probably should leave. “‘Kay,” she said, and gave me a kiss on the cheek at her door, hanging onto my hand. “Ummm… Will, right?” I nodded. “I’m not really… ummmm… like this, OK?” I said I understood, but she tugged on my arm to indicate she wasn’t finished. “But it was fun. Maybe next party? You’re a great way to end the night.”

Determined to maintain my social life, I attended another party at a fraternity house two weeks later, and that’s where I got into serious trouble. I ran into Judy, one of the bio grad students. She was a voracious smoker, taking deep drags and waiting a few seconds to exhale through her nose and mouth, but she felt guilty about smoking. You could tell how much guilt she felt about it at the time by the brand she was smoking. I’d seen her go from Virginia Slims to Virginia Slim Lights to Carlton 100s, and back to Virginia Slim Lights during the semester, and she had vowed to quit over the break. Tonight, she had a Benson and Hedges Deluxe Ultra Light between her fingers. “Hey Judy, I thought you were quitting,” I gently needled.

“Fuck you,” she irritably snapped, dragging hard on the cigarette for emphasis. Well, I can tell you’re feeling really bitchy tonight. Before I could excuse myself, a slender, big-boobed girl with curly black hair standing next to her asked, “Judy, aren’t you gonna introduce me to your friend?” Judy rolled her eyes, and introduced me to Ellen, the daughter of a family friend, who had just transferred to the school. Instead of an annoyance, I became… convenient, and within minutes, Judy had successfully foisted the girl off on me, leaving her free to enjoy the party. Ellen smoked Merit 100s in a not-particularly-sexy way, but she quickly made it apparent she was mine for the taking, linking her arm with mine after only a few minutes of shallow conversation shouted over the music and noise, and I walked her to her room at the dorms. Ellen told me her roommate was away for the weekend visiting home, and invited me in. Nature took its course, and I left the next morning, unaware Ellen had lied to get into my pants: her roommate was not away for the weekend, and was definitely not amused at having to spend the night somewhere else. The department secretary handed me a school envelope the following Monday morning. The note, on school stationery, read:

Mr. Redmond,

I would like to see you in my office Tuesday at ten A.M. Please consider this meeting to take priority over any other obligations you may have, and make arrangements accordingly.

It was signed by the dean of undergraduate students, and I felt my blood run cold. The next morning, I waited nervously outside her office, and promptly at ten, the dean’s administrative assistant said, “Dean Wilcox will see you now.” I stepped into an office with smoke wafting in thick layers across the room lit by the chilly January sunlight. “Mr. Redmond,” Dean Sylvia Wilcox said, “please sit down.” I sat across from this diminutive woman on the other side of an imposing desk with a pack of Virginia Slims and a half-full ashtray on it, scared I had just destroyed my future for a night with a girl who… frankly, hadn’t been all that interesting to me. The dean opened a file, and made a show of reading it. “Your case has been referred to me, not the Engineering Graduate Dean, because the original complaint involves an undergraduate student.” She then proceeded to bitch me out for violating the school’s policy on relations between undergraduate and graduate students, pointedly noting I had exposed myself to charges of favoritism and conflict of interest. She repeatedly emphasized the need for me to be beyond reproach. The woman didn’t raise her voice beyond normal conversation, and it was worse than being yelled at by my mother. “What are we to do about this?” she rhetorically asked. “Fortunately for you, Miss Grossman has already transferred her Calculus classes and her course of study does not require she take a Physics course, so there is no possibility you will be her teaching assistant.” The dean let that sink in. “However, a violation such as this cannot be overlooked, and so I am placing you on academic and social probation, indefinitely. Should your grade average drop below 3.25, or another report of inappropriate behavior come to anyone’s attention, you will be summarily expelled, and the cause noted on your permanent transcript. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I gulped.

“In addition, your penalty will include school service, the type and time of which is to be determined solely by me. Simply put, Mr. Redmond, when I tell you to jump, you will reply ‘how high and where, ma’am,’ with enthusiasm. Is that also clear?”

“Perfectly, ma’am.”

“Good,” she crisply said. “Your first assignment will be at my house this Saturday, starting at noon. I am hosting a luncheon, and you will serve as one of the attendants. This should give you a view of your future without education. Good day, Mr. Redmond.”

I arrived at the dean’s house a little early, not wanting to give her any reason to kick me out of school. First, she made me put on a standard butler’s issue tuxedo. “You will serve as doorman, collecting coats, and fetching drinks and hors’ d’oeuvres for my guests as soon as they arrive. Once everyone is here, you are to be ubiquitous, but invisible. If a glass goes empty, you collect it and wait until you are told to refill it. Under no circumstances are you to converse with my guests.” She looked up at me, almost a foot shorter, but somehow, I felt like the tiny one. The event was a “Women of Influence” luncheon: a small, intimate gathering at the dean’s house designed to make very rich alumna feel special so they would keep giving lots of money to the school. I settled into my invisible role, resigned to perform my duties to her exacting specifications—the caterers were restricted to the kitchen unless they were bringing food into the spacious dining room.

Eight of the nine women scheduled to attend had arrived; the door chime sounded, and I scurried to the door—to see Daisy’s mother. That’s right, she went to college here. “Will!” she softly exclaimed, giving me a hug. “It’s good to see you again! How have you been, dear?” I lied, telling her things were going well, but truthfully said I was happy to see her again. She told me I looked dashing and handsome in my tuxedo, and I felt myself blush. I thanked her for the compliment.

“Mr. Redmond! Didn’t I warn you about socializing with my guests?” Dean Wilcox softly snapped, appearing from out of nowhere.

“I’m sorry, Sylvia,” interrupted Daisy’s mom, sounding surprised. “Will is an old friend of the family. He—” She paused, trying to figure out the best way to explain our familiarity. “—went to high school with my daughter. I haven’t seen him since he started graduate school here.” Well, she couldn’t very well say her daughter more or less jilted me.

“Oh… well, Marie,” my taskmistress said, slightly deflated, “best not to let the other guests see you—interacting so familiarly with the help. You understand.”

“Yes, Sylvia, I do,” replied Mrs. Woodford. Her eyes twinkled at me, and she wryly added, “I can imagine some of them would only be too happy to draw their own conclusions about my—interaction with the help.” Dean Wilcox turned and left us in the foyer, and Daisy’s mom softly requested, “Call me for lunch one day soon… please. It’s good to see you blush again.” I promised I would, and resumed my duties. Most of the women there smoked, none quite as elegant as Daisy’s mom with her Mores, but all of them worth watching in some way, a sign of their having grown up in an era where smoking wasn’t demonized. Dean Wilcox, petite, slim, and attractive for a woman in her fifties was almost as adept as Mrs. Woodford at attracting my fetish attention, handling her Virginia Slims between neatly manicured fingers as if they were a part of her hand, taking long, deep drags and producing equally long oral exhales. As inflammatory as it could have been, I was sure that showing any hint of arousal signs around any of these society matrons was not a good idea, so I reverted to thinking about my trusty reaction rates. Nonetheless, Mrs. Woodford was easily the youngest, most beautiful, and hottest woman in the room, and I stole as many glances as I could. I didn’t have a chance to speak with her the rest of the event, not even as she left. After the guests had departed, the dean frowned and said something uncomplimentary about my inability to follow rules. I didn’t argue. After I had cleared the cups, dishes, and ashtrays from the dining room, she dismissed me.

The following week, I was back at her house for a graduate dog-and-pony show for other rich alumni. There was at least one similar event every month; sometimes I’d attend, sometimes I was the help. I cleaned out her garden beds and helped with planting, as well as mowing her lawn. The dean occupied so much of my free time, she was almost the only smoking female I saw the entire semester, and I saw her (and her sexy way of smoking) a lot. The week after graduation found me in her smoky office, awaiting pronouncement of my fate. “Mr. Redmond, I see you are quite capable academically,” she announced with only a hint of surprise. “A 3.67 grade-point is most acceptable under the terms of our agreement. As I have had no reports of, nor have I observed, any untoward behavior, you are no longer on academic or social probation, and you may consider your mandatory school service obligations to have been served in full.” I thanked her, and stepped into a rainy May afternoon, elated.

Free to be social again, I reappeared at the first graduate blowout of the summer semester ready to get laid. Unfortunately, Katie had graduated, and I didn’t know any other female grad students except Judy, who had been less than civil to me ever since the Ellen mess. That’s where I met Sam. Samantha Howland was a chemistry Ph.D. student who looked like—a chemistry Ph.D. student. Some of the male grad students referred to her as “Paper-bag Howland.” Pear-shaped no matter what direction you looked at her from, and cursed with a long, pointy, and slightly crooked nose, Samantha Howland was every guy’s last choice.

Except for an extremely horny smoking fetisher, because she smoked Salem Slim Lights with a casual, yet incredibly graceful and feminine flair. Sam was one of the absolute sexiest smokers I’ve ever known, on a par with my wife and Daisy’s mom. She held the cigarette between the fingers of a cocked wrist at the end of a gaily (and daintily) extended arm, bringing it to her lips for a drag in a sweeping arc, somehow mindful of the people around her. Sam would draw without any hint of effort, and then some smoke would seep from her nose in a brief stream. Next, as the cigarette returned to its resting place via the same sweeping path it took to her lips, she would slowly tilt her head, form a tiny “O” with her lips, and then… produce a long, narrow trail of smoke into the air, occasionally finishing her exhale with a lazy, natural stream from her nose. Of course, after watching her smoke from across the room, I maneuvered my way to her group and got a standard introduction. I probably broadcast attraction signals, and two cigarettes later, we left the party together: I figured I’d deal with the derisive comments from my male peers later. There wasn’t much foreplay when we got to her apartment: Sam was just as horny as I was, and we proceeded directly to her bedroom.

I didn’t know at the time I was about to get lucky for more than one night. It was the start of a relationship with a smart, sweet, sexually dynamic woman willing to try, and become enthusiastic about anal sex, and who also smoked Salem Slim Lights like a goddess. So what if she was homely? Most important, Sam also had her own place, giving me time and space away from my parents. She gave me a key three months after we first met, and by the middle of the fall semester, I was spending more time at her place than mine. One night, I was studying at her place while she was at school in the lab. Sam came through the door, dropped her stuff, lit a cigarette, and took a drag, audibly sucking in air as her lips popped off the filter, indicating her agitation. Nonetheless, her exhale was still a glamorous exhibition of feminine grace, exhaling towards the ceiling, head tilted and arm extended, posed as if modeling. I waited for her to say something as my cock stirred. After her third puff standing in the living room without a word, and with me almost hard, she said, “Assistant fucked up titration. Sets me back two or three weeks.” Another drag and exhale. “C’mere, you.” Sam dropped to her knees and fellated me to full hardness while finishing her Salem Slim Light. “I need a cigarette and a good fuck. One down,” she said, leading me to the bedroom by my erection. Afterwards, she lit another, obviously more relaxed, although I could hear the “ssss” of her inhale. I watched, fascinated, from close-up, losing track of time, and suddenly heard her say, “I’m happy to see you too.” My dick was rising, and when Sam finished her cigarette, she rolled onto her back and spread her legs. “I adore your short refractory periods. I got some more for ya.” The same week, I finally had my long-delayed luncheon with Daisy’s mom.

We talked about Daisy, who had turned her internship into a full-time job and was now living in London. I hadn’t known; she hadn’t written me since Paris. Even though it still hurt, I found I could now talk about her and the break-up. “My daughter isn’t the most—responsible person,” Daisy’s mom said. “She has a good heart, but she’ll follow it wherever it leads her at any given moment, regardless of the consequences.” I nodded in agreement, and told her I wasn’t angry at Daisy, for which she seemed relieved. “I’d been looking forward to having you as my son-in-law, Will. I really thought you had stolen her heart,” she confessed.

“For a while, I had,” I returned with a tinge of regret. I told her about Sam and school, and Mrs. Woodford was happy I had found someone, telling me I was, “to use a term from my era, a ‘good catch’.” I watched her smoke from close-up for the first time in almost two years, still mature and beautiful, the essence of elegant smoking style with a long More between her fingers.

Without the need to worry about Daisy, I also saw, for the first time, the barest hint of intention behind Mrs. Woodford’s eyes. She had struck the perfect balance between elegance and seduction in her smoking, and she knew it. Her smoking style had been carefully shaped to sit perfectly on that razor edge, and it had always seemed natural because once she had achieved her desired effect, countless repetition had insured its perfection without the need for conscious effort. On the heels of that revelation came another: a woman who had developed such a beguiling way of smoking did so because of the effect she would have on some men—and in her heyday, when smoking had no social stigma, it would have attracted many more of them. She was well aware of the seductive potential of smoking. It was easy to extrapolate that she’d always known about me and my fetish, and I felt myself blush at the thought. It was suddenly difficult to remind myself not to find Daisy’s mom arousing. I watched her smoke with rapt fascination, trying to avoid looking like I was watching her, but I was only able to keep the barest minimum of conversation going. At the end of one of her signature long, leisurely, nasal-oral-combo exhales slightly to the side and upwards, Mrs. Woodford leaned forward to whisper, “Will Redmond! I am old enough to be your mother!” with mock indignation. There was a pause, her eyes twinkled, she patted my hand, and continued, even more softly, “But thank you for the entirely inappropriate… but extremely flattering and much appreciated thought… you’re always so cute when you blush.” She quickly changed the subject, reducing my embarrassment to a manageable level by asking me about my future plans. As our lunch wound down, she pulled another More from a monogrammed bronze cigarette case, and held it between her perfectly manicured fingers, waiting for me to be a gentleman to her lady. Mrs. Woodford spoke about her husband’s company between exhales, making it clear she was perfectly happy to let me admire her graceful, arousing display of the art of smoking, but nothing more.

When I got home, I immediately dragged Sam into the bedroom without preface or explanation. After she got over her initial surprise, she greedily accepted my lustful pounding until I screamed my release to her apartment (and probably the neighbors’ as well.) “Musta been an intense meeting with your ex’s mom,” Sam correctly noted without asking for details—another thing I had come to appreciate about her—she let me deal with my Daisy baggage without being threatened by her ghost. Having left her cigarettes in the other room, she pulled a More from the pack in my jeans pocket—the first and only time I’d ever seen her with anything other than a Salem Slim Light. Despite my spent condition, I got very horny watching her, and unlike Mrs. Woodford, Sam had no idea how incredibly sexily she smoked. So feminine with the cocked wrist and long fingers, casually directing a stream of smoke into the air…

“God, you’re sexy,” I blurted out.

Sam almost choked on her exhale, noisily, forcefully, hurriedly exhaling exclusively through her lips—another first. “I’ve never had anyone call me that before. You sure you’re OK?” I told her not to sell herself short. “You’re too sweet,” she replied, dragging on the More and finishing with a little snap-inhale, giving away her pleasure at the compliment. “I know the guys call me ‘Paper Bag Howland’, and let’s face it—I’m not pretty.” She held up her hand to shush me. “I’m OK with it. I’ve had almost twenty years to get used to it, so I stopped letting it define me a while ago. But you… I don’t know what it is, but after the last six months, I know whatever you feel for me… it’s real. It may not be love, but it’s not just-get-me-off lust—which describes most of the sex I’ve had, so I know a lot about that.” She finished the More, and looked down, eyes narrowing. “You’re getting excited again,” Sam throatily observed. After a few moments, she added, “And so am I.” She climbed onto her hands and knees. “C’mon, stud, I think I want it in the ass this time.”

Somewhere during my time with Sam, I finally accepted Daisy’s life was headed in a different direction than mine, and it no longer bothered me. I could have married Sam, and I think we would have been very happy together. Unfortunately, she was a few years ahead of me, and as I was entering my first year of the Ph.D. program, she was closing out her dissertation. We chose to split up after a frighteningly rational conversation when she accepted a tenure-track job at Georgia Tech. I stayed behind to finish my own Ph.D. We’ve remained close friends ever since, to the point where she insisted her fiancé have me as one of his groomsmen at their wedding, and a few years ago, my family and hers vacationed together. Although Sam no longer smokes, I still have exciting flashbacks of the feminine grace and elegance with which she smoked her Salem Slim Lights—and even today, she still ranks with Mrs. Woodford and my wife as one of the sexiest smokers I’ve ever seen in my life. When Sam left for Georgia Tech, I was almost three years removed from Daisy; I hadn’t seen her since we had broken up, and she no longer wrote. Sam left me the apartment when she moved; I bit the bullet and paid for it out of what Ihad saved by living at home. I was a poor grad student again, but at least I had my own place. Mrs. Woodford was sorry to hear I was single again at our monthly lunch, and invited me to their Fourth of July party, but she also made it clear Daisy would be there. “We understand if you don’t want to go, Will, but you are, and always have been invited.”

“You are a family friend,” Mr. Woodford chimed in, having joined us, “No matter what has happened between you and my daughter.”

I decided it was time to see if I was truly over Daisy, so I bravely accepted. No Sam safety net, and with nothing but time between Daisy and me, I had to know if I could get on with my life without the baggage from our former relationship weighing me down. My parents weren’t too keen on the idea, with my mother worrying about my heart, and if I would let Daisy break it again. I explained that I didn’t know the answer, and that was precisely why I was going. Giving me a hug and a fretful look, she let me leave.

Daisy broke into an enormous smile when she saw me, and she excused herself from the group she was with. “Will!” she softly exclaimed, and threw her arms around me. “It’s so good to see you!” She stepped back. “You look good!” So did she, now a woman in bearing as well as appearance. “How have you been?” I gave her a brief summary of what I was doing and then told her she was beautiful. “Thank you,” she smiled, with a touch of a British accent. I excused myself for being so rude and asked her to tell me all about living in London. As she had when we first met, Daisy was perfectly comfortable standing on the fringe of the party speaking with me for a while, telling me about her adventures in Europe. After she finished, she lightly linked her arm with mine to lead me back to the party. I silently, sharply reminded myself of the current nature of our relationship to calm the flutters in my stomach. She led me to her parents first, and let go of my arm. The four of us spoke for a little while, with Daisy showing no sign of awkwardness or discomfort at being with me. Mrs. Woodford gave me a questioning look when her daughter excused herself to greet another group of arrivals. I replied I was OK—and suddenly realized that I was.

I knew most of the people there, and Daisy flitted from group to group, leaving me on my own, occasionally stopping to chat a little longer wherever I was, but her Virginia Slims were never in evidence, and she didn’t ask her mother for a More, even when Mrs. Woodford was smoking. Maybe she quit. That would actually be a relief. I was speaking with Dean Wilcox towards the end of the party when Daisy stopped by, excusing us. “C’mere, I wanna show you something I brought back from France for you!” she excitedly breathed, suddenly acting teenaged again. She ran to the drive and hopped into the car. “It’s at home, I forgot to bring it with!” She urged me to get in, gunning the engine of the BMW convertible. I don’t know why I didn’t refuse; maybe I thought something was wrong, maybe I secretly hoped we would rekindle what it was we’d lost, but I got into the car with her.

As soon as we hit the highway, Daisy poured on the gas, 60… 70… 80 miles an hour, giggling in girlish delight. When the speedometer hit 90, I finally yelled, “Daisy! Pull over! NOW!” She only laughed after a quick glance at me and kept driving. “I mean it, Daisy!” I angrily shouted. “STOP THE CAR NOW!” She pouted, but slowed the car and eventually pulled to a gentle stop on the side of the road. I yanked the keys from the ignition and brusquely demanded, “Out. I’m driving.”

She pouted again, but complied, grabbing her purse. As we passed each other behind the car, Daisy wrapped both arms around me, and kissed me, hungry and hot. After a millisecond of surprise, habit kicked in and I eagerly kissed back until the reality of the situation intruded on my dream. “Ummm… Daisy,” I said, “we’re not…” I looked into her dewy, intent-filled eyes and my voice trailed off. She reached into her purse to remove a Virginia Slim Light, smiling mischievously, and took a long draw, opened her mouth, and waited until a huge ball of smoke had escaped before snapping it back into her lungs. She turned her head to the side, tossed her hair, and exhaled through her lips, long into the sunlight.

“I know we’re just—friends—now,” she throatily said. “But I’m super horny, Will.” She took another inflammatory drag, knowing exactly what turned me on.

“Are you high?” I asked, suspicious.

“Maybe,” she coyly smiled. “Are you still a good boy?” I sighed in exasperation, and Daisy snidely added, “I guess that means you are.” She took another long drag. “Would you be up for me anyway? I know what you like. I haven’t forgotten, Will,” she breathed, drawing close again. She fondled me, looking into my eyes. “I’m going back to London in two days… and I’d like to spend a night with you… for fun.”

I’d like to say I refused and drove back to the summer house with righteous indignation. But Daisy was… Daisy, smoking sexy, and ready to fuck me. Coke horny or not, I couldn’t turn her down. “OK. But I’m still driving,” I grumbled. She squeaked in excitement, pecked me on the lips, and scurried into the passenger seat, barely able to sit still for the fifteen or so minutes it took to get to her house.

She gave me a wet kiss as soon as the door closed, and bounced up the steps to her room. I followed, more deliberately, trying to justify to myself what I was about to do. I arrived at her room just in time to see her drag from her longest cigarette holder, purring, “Remember this?” after a long skyward exhale. I hardened quickly watching the woman Daisy seduce me with the lessons she’d learned as a teen. She finished the cigarette before undressing, and then pulled me to the bed. I entered her with a quick stroke, matching her throaty groan with a blissful sigh and we were lovers again, me fighting to hold off ejaculation while she turned a glorious, gorgeous shade of red in orgasm. I held out as long as I could, until Daisy wrapped her arms and legs around me, brown eyes sparkling, and panted, “Cummmmm baby, cummmmm…” She arched her back when I started pounding forcefully at her, cumming again with a loud cry, and I shot my first load while moaning her name over and over.

We lay entwined together for a while even after I softened and slid out of her. Daisy sat up and put another Virginia Slim Light into her holder. “Y’know, I kinda miss this. The cigarette holders n’ all that,” she admitted as she waited for me to light her. “But… it’s not enough, Will. Frankly,” Daisy took a cheesecake-pose drag, holder held from beneath at mid-stem, still naked, and exhaled slowly, with thick streams from her nostrils joining the plume from her lips. “I haven’t met the man who is—enough to make me want to settle down. I don’t know if he even exists.” She took another carefully posed drag, exciting me even as she continued her introspective monologue, telling me we weren’t finished yet. “But I love your cock and what you do to me with it. I just wasn’t sure if you could… handle me not being your girlfriend-slash-fiancée-slash-wife and I thought you deserved the chance to find someone who could be that faithful. I was going to be in Europe for a while, and I knew I couldn’t last. I’m not the marrying kind yet, no matter what my parents think. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be.” Daisy finished her holdered Virginia Slim with a french-inhale, and looked at my renewed erection. “But seeing you again reminded me of how much I love fucking you. Can you handle just having sex with me without having all of me?”

“Ohhhhhh you fuck… you fuck… you fuck me so good!” groaned Daisy, as she got the answer she was wanting a few minutes later. I had moved into her favorite position, fucking her slowly in the ass from the side while I lightly played with her clit. “Uh… ohshit… ohgod… ohhh… Will…” Her voice rose in pitch as her hips began thrusting, rocking her along my cock. “I’m… I’m… you’regonna… gonna makeme… SQUIRT!” Pussy juice arced a few inches into the air as she moaned loudly. “OHHHHH!!! FUCK!” I continued pumping at her ass, sliding my cock almost all the way out before leisurely pushing back in as far as I could go, strumming her clit. “Ohhh... Will… I’m… I’m… AUUUGGHHHH!!!!!!” More woman cum shot from her, and I continued fucking her ass and rubbing her clit, making her squirt a few more times, including a long, extended one where she wailed louder than I could ever remember. I reluctantly withdrew when she told me she couldn’t take any more. still hard as Daisy lay quivering on the bed. A little later, she washed my cock thoroughly, smiling, “Nice to know some things haven’t changed. Your second is still better than your first. Some woman is going to get awful lucky one of these days.” Her expression turned serious. “Will… don’t wait for me… please. We can get together when I’m in town, and we can go to bed like we used to, but… it’s not like it used to be.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to do this with you every night for the rest of my life,” I admitted. “But… I know it can’t happen. More to the point, I get it—and I’ve… moved on. I’ll be around if you wanna mess up a bed for a night or three, but only until—” I hesitated. “—I find my special someone.” That’s weird. My guts didn’t twist up when I said it. “I made you my best offer, Daisy.”

“And I’d be lying if I said I’m not tempted after all this time—especially after tonight—but I don’t want to hurt you,” she admitted, lighting one of my Mores. “I like you a lot, Will,” declared Daisy, “just not enough to move back here, take on my dad’s company, and settle down with kids for the rest of my life.” She drew on the More and french-inhaled for a seeming eternity, making my cock pulse, and exhaled a long and narrow stream from her lips. “I don’t get to do that often these days,” she said, half to herself. “It definitely doesn’t have as much of an effect on anybody else.” Daisy repositioned herself and took me into her mouth, More held high. “But I seem to remember you’re not finished,” she said, pausing to take another drag ending in a big, showy, open-mouthed snap-inhale. “Told you I know what you like,” she smiled with impish delight before resuming her blowjob.

Her parents returned from the summer home to find me still there: despite our intentions, Daisy and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Daisy answered her mother’s questioning glance with a blushing admission of, “We’re still—friends.” I saw her off the next day, making a special trip from my apartment to join her parents at the airport. She pecked me on the cheek and said she’d let me know when she was coming to town, and that it would be sooner rather than later. I honestly replied I was looking forward to it, and then watched her get on the plane as I had done almost three years ago. This time, however, it was different: Daisy was still a dear friend leaving for Europe, but I didn’t feel as if she was taking a big piece of my heart with her.

It was clear I had indeed, moved on.

A Fool for Virginia Slim 120 Girls—and a MILF

While Daisy may have put herself out of my love life, she was determined to remain a part of my sex life. She called me from Paris a couple of months after returning to Europe. “Hey, Will,” she cheerily said. “I need a favor. How would you like to be my escort to a boring business dinner in New York? Free fancy food, free trip. My boss is taking a couple of big French clients and their wives to dinner, and you still speak French pretty well. You just have to dress up.” Now that I was a Ph.D. student, I had more free time on weekends. This would give me something different to do besides hang out at one of two neighborhood bars. It was also an opportunity to take some rust off my second language, so I accepted.

Daisy met me at the station in a limo. “Will!” she called, and greeted me European-style, looking sophisticated, and still gorgeous in a demure black dress. She was beautiful without being provocative, so I figured I had no need for my well-worn reaction rates, and could concentrate on being her escort. “I’m really glad you could do this,” she said as the limo pulled away. “The only other option was hiring an escort.” At my odd look she elaborated, “Not a gigolo, but a professional, non-sexual gentleman companion for social occasions—at the company’s expense.” I asked her about the other men she knew. With a sigh, she said, “Anybody else I would ask might—think it means more than it does. Besides, you speak French better than any of them.” She settled into the car seat and opened her purse, removing a slim silver cigarette case and a second, thicker, but narrower black fabric one.

Giving me a smile, she opened the black case first, revealing a beautiful pearlescent cigarette holder, about four inches long. “Found this in Paris; it’s made from mother-of-pearl.” Daisy then removed a cigarette from the silver case. It wasn’t an Eve or a Max, but it was definitely an all-white 120. I stared at it. “Before you say anything,” she grinned, “no, I haven’t given up my Slims. It’s a Virginia Slim Light 120—they’re new, and I got them on a trip to North Carolina.” She handed me a silver lighter that matched her case while she assembled her smoke. I felt my stomach flutter and the tip of my cock tingled as I lit her long cigarette. Legs crossed, reclined in the seat, she took a big, open-mouthed drag ending in a combination snap/french-inhale. She tossed her golden-brown hair, and slowly sent a carefully sculpted exhale towards the closed moon roof. Her eyes danced with mischief. “You deserve something for helping me and my career. Thought I might make it—worth your while.” We drove around for a few minutes, allowing Daisy to finish her cigarette, and me to regain my composure.

We met the rest of her party at the restaurant, and I was seated next to Madame Bourgeot, a matronly woman with salt-and-pepper hair, who spoke little English. I quickly found myself in the role of translator, for which her husband was appreciative, since it freed him from his usual job. She complimented me on my French, saying that I spoke almost as well as Daisy. I chuckled at the irony, and when Madame Bourgeot asked, I explained I had tutored Daisy in French through high school. She sympathetically clucked that Daisy’s frequent trips to Paris must be the only reason she spoke better than I did now. I kept her appropriately entertained while business was discussed briefly over hors d’oeuvres, but the rest of the night was strictly social. After dessert, the maître de table presented the coffee and cigar menus. Daisy’s boss immediately asked for the cigar box, and Daisy fidgeted nervously. When it arrived, he told the waiter, “Ladies first, Phillip,” and Daisy paled when her boss’ wife inspected the cigar box without hesitation. Apparently, Madame Bourgeot noticed Daisy’s discomfort, and surreptitiously offered to help Daisy with tonight’s cigars, explaining that businesswomen in Europe needed to know about fine cigars. I relayed that to Daisy, who gave a quick nod. The other women at the table selected their cigars, and Madame Bourgeot took her time, commenting aloud on three. Daisy didn’t take the hint, and selected the longest, narrowest one, a 38-ring, 6-inch Davidoff Classic No. 2. Madame Bourgeot announced she wanted to try Daisy’s cigar, and asked if she could light it. Daisy agreed, saving her from revealing her inexperience to the rest of the group. Madame Bourgeot patiently, expertly brought the cigar to life, ending with a long, extended drag she slowly french-inhaled, giving me a perfect view of the thick cigar smoke as it flowed into her nostrils. I thickened under the table.

Conversation continued around the table, with Madame Bourgeot continuing to french-inhale her cigar from time to time, while Daisy only puffed on her cigar enough to keep it lit, although she did inhale each puff a little. Still, watching her handle the long, slender cigar with her signature feminine grace was exciting. Between Madame Bourgeot on my left, and Daisy on my right, my fetish was stoked enough I had to run reaction rates to keep from getting erect. I hoped the little bit of a bulge wouldn’t be noticed when I stood as the gathering broke up. Mr. Bourgeot gave me his card, offering to connect me to some engineering friends of his in France. His wife gave me her contact information as well for the next time I was in Paris. As if that’s gonna happen any time soon. We said our goodbyes outside the restaurant and climbed into Daisy’s limo. She lit a Virginia Slim Light 120 before we were more than five feet from the curb, and took a long, heavy, cheek-hollowing drag, sucking the smoke deeply into her lungs and exhaling noisily. Before the last wisps of smoke left her mouth, she was dragging again, just as hard and heavy as before. Smoke poured from her nostrils before she removed the cigarette from her mouth. Daisy held this drag for several seconds, and then exhaled carelessly, taking yet another immediate drag, making the cigarette glow bright orange in the dark car. As she brought the cigarette, now almost half-smoked, to her mouth for one more rapid-fire drag, she stopped, and looked at me sheepishly. “Sorry,” Daisy apologized, blushing. “I know it’s not all elegant n’sexy like you like to see but… cigars don’t quite do it for me. If it hadn’t been for you and Madame Bourgeot, I would’ve looked like an idiot. By the way, you were seriously flirted tonight. She was trying to figure out if you were my escort or my date—and was a little disappointed with the answer. Still, without her help, I probably would have made a fool out of myself.” She finally took another drag, but took the time to shape her exhale, sent through the moon roof of the limo. “I promise,” purred Daisy, “I’ll make it up to you when we get to the hotel.”

Daisy removed her mother-of-pearl cigarette holder as soon as we made it to her suite and lit another Virginia Slim Light 120. She stood by the window, effeminately posed with the holder parallel to the floor at her mouth, and produced a long, narrow stream of smoke, backlit by New York City at night. Without looking at me, she drew again, french-inhaling, and directed a stream of smoke from her nose after tilting her head back a little. I was speechless. Daisy’s next drag was effortlessly long and patient. She tilted her head to the side and slightly up, just like her mother, before silently sending smoke into the air. After finishing her relaxed, silent smoke, she collected her cigarette case, her lighter, her holder, and walked slowly into the bedroom without a word, knowing I would follow.

The next morning, we were having a leisurely breakfast in her suite without having bothered to dress, complete with sexually charged glances and innuendo-filled conversation. She happened to glance at the clock and suddenly jumped up, exclaiming, “Shit! I forgot! Mom’s going to meet me for a day of shopping and we were gonna see a show! We gotta get dressed—she’ll be here soon!” She vanished into the bedroom, but I was still feeling the aftereffects of incredible sex lasting until the early hours of the morning, so I dawdled. She popped out of the bedroom, now casually dressed in jeans, and tried to hurry me along. She nervously pulled out one of the long cigarettes, automatically putting it in the holder as she had for every cigarette since we arrived at the hotel. Her first drag was quick, the exhale a combination nasal-oral one, and she stood by the window, arms lightly crossed, holder and its long, white occupant held perpendicular to the floor, looking casually sexy. I stood up slowly, enraptured. Daisy turned to me and started, “Will! You gotta get… cleaned up and… dressed…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh wow,” she breathed, looking at my quickly blossoming erection, and took a decidedly inflammatory puff from the holder. I walked towards her, and she took a long, sexy drag from the holder, pursing her lips for the exhale. She quickly put her cigarette out and then we were kissing frantically, crazily… and Daisy hurriedly walked me backwards into the bedroom.

An hour later, she stepped out of the shower for the second time that morning. “C’mon, Will, you gotta clean up and leave before mom gets here,” she cajoled. I stood up, kissing her on the forehead affectionately, lingering, but well aware I was done for a while. Might as well clean up and get dressed. “I’m not smoking until you’re dressed, so what just happened doesn’t happen again,” she declared, adding with a smile, “Although I certainly don’t have any regrets. None whatsoever.” Daisy came over to give me a little kiss after I finished dressing, which turned into a long, passionate one. The room phone rang, interrupting us, and Daisy said in panic, “Mom’s in the lobby and she’s on her way up!”

“Why didn’t you just tell her you’d meet her there? Then I could leave in a few minutes after you’ve gone.”

“I couldn’t,” Daisy whined. “She’s bringing a dress she wants me to see!”

Our panic faded as we resigned ourselves to being caught by her mother yet again, so we waited for the inevitable. “Daisy!” Mrs. Woodford exclaimed, hugging her daughter at the door. “It’s so good to see you again!” She looked over Daisy’s shoulder, and surprise filled her face as she saw me. “Oh! Hello, Will. It’s also good to see you as well.”

“Hi, Mrs. Woodford,” I said, a little sheepishly, blushing, as did Daisy.

She gave her daughter an inquisitive look. “I gather you are still just—friends?” Daisy sighed with exasperation and her blush faded. “I was just asking, dear,” her mother sighed in return. “You can’t blame me for that.” I explained I was Daisy’s escort for her business dinner because I spoke French, but it ended too late for me to catch a train back home. While all of that was true, it was also clear from the slight smile on Mrs. Woodford’s face she knew I didn’t spend the night alone on the sofa. “It’s just as well you’re here, Will. I could use a man’s opinion.” Sounding like an excited teenager, she said, “Daisy, you have to see this dress I bought for the ball!” The two women vanished into the bedroom.

I waited patiently while the women giggled and gabbed behind the bedroom door, unable to make out anything distinct until I heard Mrs. Woodford exclaim, “Oh Daisy! It’s darling! May I?” Shortly thereafter, Daisy’s mother stepped out of the bedroom, and I felt like I had been punched in the gut. She was wearing a strapless black dress that displayed her ample cleavage enticingly, without being overly provocative. It hugged her mature curves with enough room to breathe, yet tightly enough to warrant a “dangerous curves” sign. Topping it all off was Daisy’s mother-of-pearl cigarette holder with a fresh Virginia Slim Light 120 in it. Mrs. Woodford took one of her normal, long, smooth, effortless drags, but this time, she performed an uncharacteristic, small snap-inhale at the end, still done so casually and naturally, you had to know she normally didn’t do it to know it was intentional. She lazily cocked her head, and smoke silently flowed from her mouth, quickly joined by streamers from her nose. “How do I look from a man’s perspective, Will?”

Holy shit she’s fucking hot!!! I can’t believe how damn good she looks but she’s married and I like Mr. Woodford but ohhh mannn is she sexy! Good thing I’m fucked out from this morning—I don’t know if I could keep my dick soft otherwise! All of that went through my head, but what came out of my mouth was, “Absolutely ravishing, Mrs. Woodford,” and I prayed I didn’t sound the way I felt. “Mr. Woodford is going to be the envy of many a man.” Including me. She dragged again on the holder with an easy grace her daughter still hadn’t managed to acquire, and I was nearly spellbound. Damn, she is one fine, sexy woman.

Mrs. Woodford made a face and asked Daisy to bring her one of her Mores instead. “These are nicely long, but they still don’t have much of a kick.” Her daughter came out of the bedroom with a lit one and took a drag from it before handing it to her mother, who returned the Virginia Slim Light 120 in exchange. Daisy didn’t bother to remove it from the holder, so I had to force myself to be a gentleman around these two beautiful, sexy, smoking women instead of the crazy-horny, drooling fool I was on the inside. We talked for about an hour, with Daisy casting annoyed glances at her mother whenever the subject of her and I would come up. The women ended up talking so long that they each had another cigarette, Daisy choosing to have one of her mother’s Mores, and giving me a playful wink. Afterwards, Mrs. Woodford went to change, leaving Daisy and I alone.

She rested her arms on my shoulders, amusedly noting, “I remember when you were shorter than me.” Daisy drew close, kissing me sweetly, but wet. “I can’t begin to tell you how big of a help you were last night. You were… the perfect companion. You’ll have to teach me about cigars next time I’m in town—or nearby. If you’ve got the time… I’ve got the ticket.” Mrs. Woodford reappeared, interrupting our tête-à-tête. Daisy stepped back and announced, “Sorry, mom. Will and I are still just friends, no matter what you’re hoping.” She leaned forward and whispered to me, “But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” well aware her mother could hear. We left the suite, the ladies headed for lunch, while it was back to life as an engineering nerd for me.

That night, fevered images kept waking me to an erect cock. After tossing and turning restlessly in bed, unable to sleep soundly, I thought about Daisy, her holder, her Virginia Slim Light 120s, and started to masturbate. As I brought myself closer to relief, another image came to my mind, inducing a moment of shock and guilt. My fist only paused briefly as I made a weak attempt to change the mental picture, but my dick surged powerfully at the new image. I groaned, “Ohhhh… Ma-riiiieeeee!” loudly as my balls forcefully shot cum into the air. I barely felt the wetness on my body before I cried her name again, any guilt washed away by the potency of my eruption. Eventually, I collapsed onto the bed, now drowsy, unable to muster any contrition or self-reproach over my fantasy cuckolding of Mr. Woodford. It was the first time in my life I had thought of Daisy’s mother as anything other than “Mrs. Woodford,” and it set a dangerous precedent. I don’t care, was my final thought before a deep, dreamless, and thoroughly sated sleep claimed me.

***

After that, it seemed as if women had stopped smoking 120s. I had gone almost two months without a single 120 sighting; the co-eds on campus were increasingly sporting short, cork-tipped Camel Lights instead of longer all-white cigarettes, and even my local watering hole, which drew a clientele from throughout the region, had dried up as a source for sightings. Outside of Daisy, I had yet to see another Virginia Slim Light 120, even on the racks at stores, nor had I seen a More 120, except during lunches with Mrs. Woodford. When a side project dropped into my lap, smoking women and sex faded in importance. At the time, I didn’t know how it would transform my life, but since the bars weren’t yielding any new fantasy fodder, I chose to spend a weekend or two working on it and save some money. It started with a phone call from Jeff McShane; we had, against all obstacles, managed to keep in touch since freshman year. He was almost the same stoner surfer dude, except his dad had forced Jeff to straighten out from nine to five while working for him. “Dude! Howzit hangin’?”

“The usual,” I said. “Same shit, different day. What’s up?”

Jeff told me about his idea to increase the stability of surfboards while simultaneously increasing the speed, and my mind started racing over the engineering puzzles that needed to be solved. “Yer the smartest dude I know, Will,” he said. “If anybody can figger it out, you can. Whaddaya think?” It took me two weeks to determine it might be possible. Energized, I set about making a small-scale prototype, using the physics shop and the wave tank in flow mechanics. I spent more time on his problem than my dissertation, devoting all my time to pursuing Jeff’s dream. Three months to the day we first spoke, I sent him scale drawings, leaving me with almost two months of postponed dissertation work to make up, as I had all but dropped my prescribed studies for an infinitely more interesting (and challenging) course. Paying the piper wasn’t going to be fun, so I decided to go out for a last blowout.

That’s when my Virginia Slim Light 120 problem first manifested itself. My local bar gave me several excellent sightings that night; it was as if the brand had single-handedly brought back the age of women smoking extra-long cigarettes. My cock stood proud and tall as I beat off twice while fantasizing over the way some of the women smoked their sexy cigarettes. My reckoning was postponed for a second night as I returned to my usual haunt. There, I met blonde-haired and blue-eyed Angela, who was just a little round everywhere, but very pretty nonetheless. The manager of an apartment complex in the suburbs, she was sitting at a table with some friends, all smoking Virginia Slim Light 120s menthols. A week later, we met for a date. She was still smoking the long cigarettes; I couldn’t hide my attraction… so Angela left my apartment the following afternoon in a post-orgasmic haze.

Monica was next, the following week. Thirty, long-divorced, and smoking Virginia Slim Light 120s with a hungry vengeance, I struck up a conversation over a chance game of doubles air hockey. She wasn’t particularly good-looking, but took cheek-hollowing drags. There was nothing fancy about her all-oral exhales, but she was lean, lithe, horny, and held the cigarette near the tip of the filter, making it look incredibly long compared to her tight, four-foot-nine body. She reminded me a little of Karla—until she went down on me in the parking lot and admirably demonstrated her age and attendant experience. Over the next few months, I did enough schoolwork to keep from being kicked out, but spent the majority of my weekends watching sexy Virginia Slim Light 120 women at my watering hole, except for Christmas break. I spent most of it at the Woodford’s summer house with Daisy, who brought an array of cigarette holders to keep me in her extremely horny clutches.

“Y’know, you’re really good at this sex thing,” she giggled on our third night together. “I tried to come back and visit you more often, but I’m working with a lot of West Coast companies right now. If you have any spare cash—let me invest it for you. I think some of these companies are sitting on a gold mine that’s just waiting to be tapped.” When she left, it was back to the watering hole. After the New Year, sightings fell off slowly, from several in a night to one or two over scattered weekends. I guessed the novelty had worn off. Nonetheless, on those occasions where there was a Virginia Slim Light 120 smoker in the house and she was available, I scored more often than not. Even though I had my share of failures, they weren’t painful or humiliating enough to discourage me from trying to bed the next cute Virginia Slim Light 120 girl I saw.

My schoolwork continued to suffer from all the pussy I was chasing and getting, but it didn’t occur to me my fetish was slowly taking over my life until one night found me in a strange bar. I was rushing home one day after visiting the suburban office of a company that had hired me to consult. The local team was playing our most hated rivals for first place, and I had scored a ticket. However, a massive accident had shut down the main highway (and quickest route to the stadium) during rush hour, and it was backed up to the suburbs. Since there was no way I would get to the game before it was half-over, I stopped at a neighborhood bar in an unfamiliar area to watch the game and eat.

Baseball makes for fast friends, especially when the home team wins. As a result, I continued hanging out after the game and celebrating. More people, especially women, arrived when a cover band started to play. The air grew thick with cigarette smoke, mostly from Marlboros of various kinds, but for once, my fetish seemed to be content to take a back seat to the joy of being in first place, and I continued talking baseball with my new friends.

Two women walked in, both a little over five feet and wide in the shoulders, hips, and legs. One wore a short, low-cut silver lamé dress, the other, more conservatively dressed in a floral print blouse and brown pants, and the woman in the silver dress immediately began calling loudly for the band to play Bob Seger songs. I looked toward them out of curiosity. Then each put a pack of Virginia Slims 120s onto the table and lit up. My fetish woke up, and they had a lot more of my attention. The woman in the silver dress drew hard and long, lifting her chin before sending a smoke trail into the air through her lips, holding the cigarette high and perpendicular to the table where she rested her elbow. Her friend took a short pull, and smoke came from her nose first before she exhaled a somewhat shapeless cloud that floated across the table. I watched casually, slightly distracted from my group’s discussion. It took the first girl about ten minutes after finishing her first to light her second. She stood and cheered loudly when the band broke into “Night Moves.”

The band went on break, and she pushed her way into the gap between me and somebody else. Lighting yet another Virginia Slim 120, she waved for the bartender, giving me a perfect view of her at-least DD cup cleavage, but I paid more attention to her cheek-hollowing drag, followed by smoke pouring from her nose and a second, immediate drag before she removed the cigarette from her lips. She was definitely thick-bodied, but my fetish made it unimportant as long as she kept smoking. “Hey Tina,” one of my group called.

“Oh, hi Randy,” she genially replied, and took another deep drag, carefully aiming her exhale past my ear. How’s it goin’?” He introduced me, and her posture changed; Tina cocked her hips and stood a little more upright, thrusting her chest slightly forward, silently saying, “I’m interested if you are.” She bought me a beer, and by the middle of the band’s second set, I was sitting with her and her friend, Mary. I danced with them, talked with them, and watched them smoke their Virginia Slim Light 120s. The more Mary drank, the longer her drags became, and she began to finish them by sucking in air, open-mouthed, to pull the smoke deep into her lungs. Mary would crane her neck forward, and issue a narrow, silent, thin stream across the table, a big contrast to her earlier, shapeless semi-clouds. Tina was on her second pack of the night, taking incredibly deep drags with an occasional snap-inhale. I was on the floor with her when the band started to play something slow, and we were kissing by the end of the first verse, with my cock pushing against her. It was apparent Mary knew she’d lost when Tina and I returned to the table, and conversation almost stopped. “Wanna follow me to my place?” husked Tina, knowing she’d hooked me.

I followed Mary and Tina to a door in an apartment complex on the second floor. Mary unlocked it and Tina giggled, “Good night,” to her friend, who walked in and pulled the door shut. Tina grabbed me and we kissed wantonly as we stood outside Mary’s door. My penis surged, although not quite as strongly as it had in the smoky bar. Tina was barely five feet, and heavier than Sam, who was at least six inches taller. I lost a little more steam when she opened the door and dragged me in after a few minutes of necking on the second-floor balcony. Oh shit! They’re roommates!

As if reading my mind, Tina softly said, “We got our own rooms,” and we were kissing again, as she walked me backwards down the hall to her room. Tina shut the door, unzipped her dress, and shimmied her big body out of it. Lighting a cigarette, she knelt and undid my pants, dragging and exhaling simultaneously a couple of times until she revealed my cock. She took a deep, long drag, and enthusiastically engulfed my cock as smoke poured from her nostrils, and I was rock hard in no time. Tina stood, put out the cigarette, and I aggressively pushed her onto the bed, pulled her legs apart, and entered her without any foreplay or resistance. Her pussy sloshed and my nuts got wet. She grunted, then began to moan, low and throaty, encouraging me to fuck her even harder. I was giving her all the cock I had, pulling out and plunging back in with almost every stroke. Tina gasped joyous obscenities throughout, even when the head of my cock would bottom out inside her. Her size no longer mattered because her pussy was wet, warm, and silky, and she wanted the pounding I was giving her.

“Uhhh-uhhh-uhhh-cum on my tits, baby!” Tina managed in between ferocious thrusts. Her thick legs pumped back and forth in time, and when the tingle got stronger, I pulled out, grabbed her tits, and fucked them. Tina’s hips fucked frantically at air, her breathing louder, and she pushed against my hands, mashing her own boobs even more.

“NNGHHH—ARRRRGGGHHH!” I roared as a big blob of searing cum erupted from my dick and hit Tina’s chin with a splat. “NNNNNGGGGHHHH!” Another deliciously fiery burst tore through my cock as I fucked her firm, huge, soft titst. “Ahhhhhh….” There was no mistaking the sound of satisfaction after my balls mustered their last bit of cum and dribbled it between her breasts.

“Mmmmmm…” It was answered by an equally satisfied-sounding throaty purr from Tina. Cum dripped from her chin, enlarging the huge pearl necklace I had decorated her with. She smiled sultrily and ran her fingers through it. “That was great,” Tina lustily growled, “Not bad for a college boy. Stick around for a while?” She lit a cigarette before cleaning off her neck, and I said sure, but told her I could use some water. She lazily stood and let me watch her sway her wide hips out of the room, long white cigarette held daintily.

Another Virginia Slim Light 120 later, I was inside Tina’s pussy again, this time fucking her slowly from my favorite position. I was well aware she hadn’t cum, and although she seemed quite happy to be my live sex doll, I like to give as good as I get. “OHH! WILL!” she loudly grunted, hips jerking as I found her clit with my fingers, “Wh-wh-what—areyoudoingtome!” Tina began to buck uncontrollably, gasping louder and louder, until she squeaked, “UH!”, and her body bowed as much as it could. I kept sliding my dick back and forth inside her, strumming her clit. Her eyes blinked once, shot open, and got a faraway look in them. Suddenly, Tina started babbling rapidly, so quietly that I could barely hear her say anything, but her mouth was going a mile a minute. She slammed her eyes shut, and a wail that started out as a whisper came out of her, quickly filling the room. “UFFF! UHGOD! OGODOGODOGOD! OH-OHHHHHH… FUCK!” Since she liked what I was doing, I kept at it, and she came, swearing, growling, screaming, humping wildly… to collapse onto the bed with a huff and… pass out. I grinned. She’s not ever gonna forget me. Unfortunately, unconscious women aren’t a lot of fun in bed so I pulled out of her with a hard cock, and waited. Dammit! I’m not finished yet! When it became evident Tina was down for the count, I willed my cock to go soft, and left the room to go clean up.

I had completely forgotten about Mary, who was standing at the end of the hall when I came out of the bathroom. Her peeved expression quickly changed when she saw me. “Oh. I thought you were Tina,” she said, complaining, “You guys were too loud for me to sleep.” Mary glanced downward, and then she dragged on the Virginia Slim Light 120 she held, which was still long. My cock noticed, and her glance turned into a hungry stare. She walked towards me, wobbling on her feet; apparently, she hadn’t stopped drinking when we left the bar, and stopped a few feet from me. Weaving on her feet, Mary started, “Ummm…” and then took a deep draw from her cigarette, unsure of what to say. My cock jumped as she exhaled, and when she finished, her attention was not on my face.

I don’t think Mary was aware she had resumed walking towards me, but her hand reached out, and touched my cock. I lost any semblance of decency and kissed her hungrily while she stroked my cock. As soon as we made it to her room, Mary undressed in a flurry of activity, plopped onto the bed, spread her legs, and we fucked while Tina slept across the hall. Mary was a quiet, but enthusiastic, lay, driving her thick hips at me, gasping as she came, and then jacking me off in her mouth. She had one of the sexiest after-sex smokes I’d ever seen, but I was done. Once the excitement faded, I was embarrassed by my behavior, and when Mary fell asleep, I left. This wasn’t me. I was a shy nerd at heart, not a Virginia Slim Light 120 smoker-seeking dick attached to a mindless body. All of that self-reproach was forgotten when a Fine Arts student showed up at the watering hole the next night on her twenty-first birthday and smoked Virginia Slim Light 120s as she got drunk with her friends. Some jocks circled the group of girls like sharks, being obvious about getting laid. At one point, she escaped from the group and came to the bar for another drink, waiting next to me.

Casually, gentlemanly, I lit the cigarette she pulled out. “Thank you!” she said. “I’m Gail and I just turned twenty-one!” I congratulated her, fighting against my libido, reminding myself of the Tina/Mary incident, and resolving not to make a pass at her. “Aren’t you gonna buy me a birthday drink?”

“Only if you want,” I replied. Indicating the boisterous group she had left, I said, “As good as you look, I figured I’d be the one guy in here who wouldn’t hit on you.”

She took a short puff from the long cigarette, tossed her brownish-blonde hair, and exhaled immediately in a fine, brief stream. “You’re too sweet,” she smiled, requesting her birthday drink. I paid, and she rewarded me with an even bigger smile before rejoining her friends.

After that, Gail came to the bar to have me light her cigarettes, to the puzzlement of her friends and the chagrin of the jocks. Near closing time, she came over and said, “We’re going to Jerry’s,” another bar, and asked if I wanted to come with. I declined, and she did something completely unexpected: she announced she was too wasted to keep going, and sat next to me. The bouncer and bartender kept me from getting my face pounded in, and we left. Gail wrapped her arms around me and kissed me, tasting of fruit punch and Virginia Slim 120s. My penis surged against her. “Y’know why you’re gonna get laid tonight?” I said no. “’Cause you told me I was pretty, an’ then you left me alone. Those other guys acted like I should know the reason they were interested an’ they never let up. You’re sweet an’ nice.” Gail wasn’t exactly a shy innocent when we got to my place. After I ate her to, “the biggest orgasm of my life!” she sat on my bed, legs long, lean and crossed, looking delightfully sexy with one of my Mores held high. Her drags and exhales may have been short and quick, but she made a great mental image. She asked me to give her first ass fuck for a birthday gift, and I was happy to, complete with G-spot tapping. It produced her first her first squirting orgasm, and left her in no shape to finish with me. I gently told her, “Happy twenty-first birthday,” left to clean up, and returned to find her sound asleep.

I woke up before she did and started the coffee. She was awake when I returned to the bedroom, sitting up and sleepy-eyed, a More between her fingers. She took a puff. “Awesomest birthday ever,” Gail sultrily purred. She took another puff, and looked at my responding dick. “Is it legal if I keep celebrating—with you?” I got all of my delayed finish and more. Gail left around nine that night with a pack of Mores. I ran into her a few times that semester—she’d switched to More menthols, and we even got together a couple of times because she loved the way I sexed. The week before she graduated, she came over for a two-day sex-a-thon, and told me she regretted having to move to the Midwest for a job. I had mixed feelings; she was—young, mentally, and I wasn’t sure that it would have worked.

Jeff called me a few days later. It had been almost six months since he’d gotten the scale drawings. “YO DUDE! WE’RE GONNA BE RICH!” he roared. “IT FUCKIN’ WORKS!” He excitedly told me about working on the prototype, testing it and breaking an arm, modifying it, and re-testing.

“That’s great,” I replied without much enthusiasm. “But it’s a long way to rich. You’ve got one prototype.” I was annoyed at the distraction from my frantic attempt to catch up on my Ph. D.

“But my dad thinks there’s money in it. You know he doesn’t get excited over anything unless it makes big bucks. I can tell because he wants to patent it and cut you in for ten percent.” I told him that was fine, but he persisted. “No way! If my old man wants to give you ten, you’re worth at least fifty.” He turned sober, letting me know he wasn’t just stoned raving. “You figured it all out. I just built the thing. I’m gonna cut you in for eighty… just don’t tell my old man until the contract’s signed.” It made me uncomfortable, so I negotiated a two-thirds share for myself because Jeff refused to take any more than a third. Feeling guilty, I gave him an idea I had to improve the original design and promised to work on it. It’s just a patent nobody will care about, anyway.

My doctoral project was not going anywhere, and the dean of the engineering school had run out of patience. Even though I was the top-ranked grad assistant by a wide margin, and my dissertation advisor had me giving half his lectures, Steven Jordan, the dean of engineering, was tired of doling out scholarship money to someone who couldn’t (or more accurately, wouldn’t) finish. He told me I had to graduate by the end of the next school year. So, what can I do for the rest of my life? I dejectedly thought, even as I worked on Jeff’s pet project. This is a lot more fun than my dissertation.

Even the imposed deadline did little to resurrect my academic verve. I was too busy playing stud muffin for any horny Virginia Slim Light 120 girl who happened to show up at the watering hole. Tammy was a new cocktail waitress at the watering hole who smoked Marlboro 100s. She was kind of hot in a slightly trashy way, but blew me off pretty quickly, preferring muscular types with shit for brains. However, two of her friends dropped in one weeknight while I was hanging out avoiding schoolwork yet again. Both Carol, a round, gregarious black-haired girl, and Sherri, slender with frizzy brown hair, smoked Virginia Slim Menthol Lights. They were easy to talk to, and we hung out together. Near the end of the night, Sherri ran out of cigarettes. Instead of bumming her regular brand from her friend, she chose to ask me for a More Menthol. Carol smiled, “She’s smokin’ a twig! Somebody made an impression!” Sherri and Carol started showing up more often when Tammy worked, but I always related to them as female friends. One night, Sherri showed up without Carol, and with two packs of Virginia Slim Light Menthol 120s. A couple of hours later, I was coming back from the john, preparing to leave with Sherri, and heard Tammy tell her friend, “I told’ja it would work.” Nonetheless, I wound up dating Sherri for three months. She was a “stroke me-poke me” kind of girl who orgasmed regularly from missionary sex even though she usually lay passively on the bed, legs spread as I thrust away from above. She loved the sex, but when I wasn’t hard, we had little in common, and the relationship fizzled. I also found it quite instructive Sherri went back to smoking the menthol light 100s almost immediately after we broke up. When more of Tammy’s friends (some downright unattractive for a multitude of reasons) started showing up at the watering hole smoking Virginia Slims Light 120s and hitting on me, it was apparent Tammy knew about my fetish and wasn’t shy about spreading the word around to her horny friends.

That effectively ended my days of being a play toy for Virginia Slim Light 120 girls, as well as being a regular at that watering hole.

I had also started to receive checks from California, proceeds from the sale of surfboards with my modification. Jeff had been successful at finding a surfboard maker willing to try the non-standard design. The week after I broke up with Sherri, I got one for four thousand dollars and a quickly scrawled note: he’d found a second company. Teaching high school physics might not be so bad, especially if I get an extra four grand from time to time. If the Ph.D doesn’t work out…

My lunches with the Woodfords had resumed. They were again on speaking terms with my folks, so the only thing missing was Daisy. Truthfully, I didn’t miss her so much. Her prediction about my ability to find women for sex had come true, if delayed by a few years, and knowing I could never have what we once did made her absence easier to accept, even when we started talking regularly on the phone like we did in college. During one lunch with Mrs. Woodford, she asked if I’d like to come over for dinner that Thursday. Mr. Woodford was going to be away, and she confessed she missed cooking for someone.

Mrs. Woodford greeted me at their front door, dressed casually in capri pants and a simple cotton top. We had a nice conversation in their well-appointed kitchen obver a bottle of good red wine. “You know my daughter doesn’t cook anymore?” she said as she pulled a deliciously fragrant boeuf bourguignon from the oven.

“I’m not surprised. She’s on the road six months out of the year, and spends another three in Paris, the city of food,” I rejoined. Mrs. Woodford seemed a little surprised I knew so much about Daisy’s current life, but I could tell she was very happy her daughter and I had been keeping in closer communication. I think she held out hope Daisy and I would marry, right up to the moment she watched me say, “I do” to Giselle.

We started on our second bottle of wine with dinner and continued talking throughout the magnificent meal. She seemed to think there was more potential in the surfboard patent than I did, and offered her husband’s services as a financial advisor. After reserving a generous portion of leftovers for me to take home, she put dinner away, and went upstairs to retrieve more vacation photos. I didn’t mind spending an evening with a family friend, especially one who was obviously missing having a family of her own. “Would you be so kind, Will?” I turned to see Mrs. Woodford with an unlit More in one of her holders. “You know how I like to play with my holders,” she smiled. I had finally gotten used to her extremely sexy smoking over the course of our now twice-a-month lunches, but the holder made her hot again, making me have flashbacks of forbidden dreams. She sat next to me, continuing our visit as if nothing was happening, with me stealing as many glances at her as I dared.

Mrs. Woodford opened a third bottle and began to talk about their upcoming Australian tour, stopping to fit another More into the holder she’d bought on that family cruise many years ago, the one that convinced Daisy to buy her own More holder. She waited expectantly for the light she knew I would provide, and resumed talking about the trip after taking one of those seductive drags of hers. When the conversation hit a small lull, she drew on the holder and as always, tilted her head to the side, slightly upwards, easing her chest forward for a silent, enchanting exhale. “Ummm… I forgot to ask you… how did Mr. Woodford like the dress?” I asked, a little uncomfortable with my racing heart and the reflected pulse in my penis.

“Oh,” Mrs. Woodford began, with a note of disappointment. “We wound up not going to the ball. He had a business emergency, so I haven’t yet had another occasion to wear it. I can’t quite wear it to a club function. People would talk.” It was silent for a few moments as she contemplated the More burning away in its holder, and then she sat up, tapping me on the knee. “Will… did Daisy ever—talk—to you about Mr. Woodford and I?”

I didn’t know where this was going, so I told her no. She sighed. “A few years ago, my husband had an affair. He ended it before I found out, and to his credit, told me. I was… well, let’s just say, spurred into action.” I recalled the Christmas Daisy had almost sexed me to death to get away from her parents acting like teenagers. “Well, actions have consequences, and in his case, the consequence is about six years old now,” she elaborated, drinking more wine. “I—found out—” Mrs. Woodford stopped, wondering if I was going to ask for more detail, but I waved at her to continue, so it wouldn’t be any more painful for her than it already was. “—the bitch has been using that to blackmail him into continuing their affair, but I put a stop to it. You can’t blackmail a man over an affair if the wife knows about it. Mr. Woodford is in Phoenix right now, setting up a permanent trust and child support for his child—at my insistence.” Her displeasure was apparent.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Woodford,” I said, reaching to hug her. Mrs. Woodford put her hand out to stop me, and placed another More in the holder. I lit it, and she took a long, intoxicating drag. “So, I informed my husband that, at some point, I would be undertaking my own… dalliance. What’s good for the goose and all that.” Mrs. Woodford drew on the holder again, looking regal, elegant, even in her casual attire… and enticing. She looked at me, narrowing her eyes, and her next drag and exhale boldly stepped over the line she had always straddled between elegant and seductive.

Ohhhh she’s not doing what I think she’s doing… “But… I… I… Mr. Woodford…”

She reclined into the chair and fixed me with a look. “Will, do you know why women over 50 are wonderful?” She drew on the holder, her eyes encouraging me to watch. As the last wisps of smoke were leaving her lips, I regained enough brain function to say no. “We don’t yell, we don’t tell, we don’t—” She mimed her belly growing as if pregnant. “—swell… and we’re grateful as hell. I know how much my smoking excites you.” Her next drag underscored her point. My ex-girlfriend’s fifty-year-old mother was trying to seduce me—and succeeding. “Ever since I started smoking Mores—oh god you are just too cute when you blush!”

“Mrs. Woodford—”

“Marie. At least for tonight.”

“You’re—ummmm—drunk.” I purposely avoided the familiarity, trying to keep our distance.

“No, I’m tipsy,” she corrected indignantly. “When I’m drunk, I flirt to make men look at me so I can feel desirable. When I’m tipsy—” Mrs. Woodford dragged alluringly on her holder and finished. “—I can be very seductive if I choose, because I’m sober enough to know how to be desirable. Especially if I know your weakness.” As if to demonstrate, she french-inhaled from her holder, slow, thick, and creamy. “My husband loves it when I do that,” she husked. “After fourteen years, I know you do, too. Why don’t you just give in and do what you’ve been wanting for the past dozen years or so?” she baited. How the fuck do they always know? I invoked her husband’s name again, hoping it might bring her to her senses. “Actually, if Alastair ever did find out,” she said, suddenly looking sober and sounding alarmingly rational, “I think he would be relieved it was you.”

I refused to believe it. “At least he would know for certain it was over,” she explained. “Now, if I were to make this offer to the hot new tennis pro at the club—he’s young and quite good-looking—my husband might—wonder—every time I go for a tennis lesson.” She grinned. “He makes all the men at the club a little—nervous. Rumor has it he’s hung like a polo pony and available for extremely private instruction. But for now—” She took another seductive and enthralling drag, glancing at the lump forming in my jeans. “—I’m not willing to go that far, so temporary dalliance, most preferably with you, it is.” Mrs. Woodford smiled. “Your other option,” she gaily added, “is to leave, but I think both of us will have sincere regrets if you do. I can guarantee you Daisy would understand. After all, you’re just friends now, and she’s shared you before even when you were more than just… friends. The only difference between me and Marie Bishop or Sheila is that Daisy isn’t here—” I gasped, and my face turned beet-red. “Don’t look so shocked, Will,” she said. “It’s obvious when you disappear to the summer house as a threesome and come back a few days later all smiles as a pair. If nothing else, I know my daughter.”

She put another More into her favorite cigarette holder and regarded me expectantly, holder held high, posing regally, yet seductively inviting. Mrs. Woodford had calmly, analytically, shot down all of my objections, and I had forbidden hots for her ever since she modeled the dress in Daisy’s hotel room. I just never thought she could be so—logical—about it. You can always walk out the door and fantasize when you get home. “Marie,” I said, not entirely believing it was my voice or what I was sayinng, “why don’t you go upstairs and change into that dress you’ve never worn?” Her smile grew wide enough to split her face, and I watched her sway her mature ass up the staircase with lust.

Even without make-up, the dress, originally intended to seduce her husband, allowed her to portray the elegant, dangerous, and sexy femme fatale with a cigarette holder perfectly, and I was completely seduced, my cock growing on its own without being touched. Marie put her smoking accessories aside, and without any hint of reluctance, slowly revealed her mature body. She was magnificent, and I took my time appreciating all of her with oral worship before settling in between her legs to send her to orgasm with my tongue. I gave her the time it took me to wipe my face and position myself to recover. I enthusiastically drove myself into Marie with a huff, answered by a loud moan from her. She shuddered and vibrated around me, momentarily keeping me from moving. Only for a moment. I raised my hips and sank into her a second time, and then a third and she raised her knees and her arms were around my back and she was moaning my name and my dick started to tingle and it became more intense with each thrust… “Ohhhh… ohhhh… no,” I moaned as my nuts tightened, orgasmic but frustrated. It was the shortest fuck of my life; I came gobs inside her with a blissful sigh, getting a long, hungry kiss in exchange.

“I’m sorry, Marie,” I gasped after I rolled off her. She giggled, sounding like her daughter, rolled onto me, and we kissed some more.

“Fantasies coming true will do that to you,” she smiled, “but you took very good care of me first, I assure you.” She stood up to fetch her cigarette case and holder.

“No,” I asserted. “Not yet.”

Marie froze, giving me an inquisitive look that quickly became surprise, and finally turned into happy recognition. “I’ll be right back,” she purred, leaving the room with gaily swinging hips. How many hundreds of boners did she inspire when she was younger? It took more than a few minutes for her to return. She’d carefully applied make-up. “I thought I should make the effort,” Marie seductively intoned, handing me her lighter before she deliberately removed a More from her cigarette case and patiently fitted it into the holder. She gracefully cocked her hips, holder parallel to the floor and held from beneath. Seeing my cock jump, she smiled, and in a near-whisper, breathed, “May I have a light?” She posed throughout her cigarette, stealing glances at my crotch as my cock grew. “Now,” she smiled after exhaling her last drag, “may I—?”

Now I was in my element, hips moving easily, propelling my fully erect cock in and out of Marie in a steady, automatic rhythm. We kissed tenderly in between her joyous moans. She would alternate cradling my face with running her hands around my hips and body as she sighed my name with increasing passion. The flush rose on her body, her hips moved with more urgency, and Marie cried out in orgasm. My erection remained rigid, the sizzle nowhere in evidence, and I knew I was going to last this time. Marie came again… and again, finally pushing at me and gasping, “Stop!” I started to withdraw, but she grabbed my hips and held me tightly, buried deeply inside her. “Oh my god, Will!” she exhaled. “I had no idea…” She kissed me again, giggling, “But you’re going to have to give me a breather! Remember, I’m an old lady!”

“Marie… you’re too hot and sexy to be old!” I retorted. We kissed some more, and my erection waned after a few minutes, although it remained firm inside of her.

She smiled and raised her legs. “I’m ready for some more, now. You feel so good, even better when you move, and I don’t want to waste this marvelous… cock… of yours.” Hearing her say “cock” was energizing in itself. After a few thrusts, the blood rushed back to my dick, and I quickly found a mutually satisfying rhythm. “Uh… uhhhh… uhhhh…” Marie whimpered, pitch rising to indicate her orgasmic climb. My cock began to sing as well, and my own journey towards orgasm started shortly after hers. Marie’s pussy began to vibrate, she wailed, and then I came—hard. Bright white light obliterating my vision, temporary deafness, curled toes—the whole nine yards. Marie continued to hold me tightly well after I went soft. I emitted an exhausted, well-satisfied groan when she let go of me. We lay next to each other without speaking for a while, fingers entwined. Eventually, Marie got up, moving stiffly to her cigarette case. She returned to the bed, sitting with a huff and prepared her holdered cigarette. As I lay on my back, she crossed her legs with some effort and posed on the side of the bed. Her second drag and exhale were the stuff of many a smoking fetish dream for me. And that was the last thing I remembered until morning.

I showered after waking up at 11, slightly sore. Sexing Daisy’s mother was a little more—physical—than I would have thought. Echoes of last night sent continuous little thrills through my body. Marie had been right: it was a long-held fantasy come true. She was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps, again casually dressed, but had carefully reapplied her make-up. She looked radiant. “Good morning, Will,” said Marie softly. “You were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to wake you. Come into the kitchen and I’ll fix you breakfast or lunch, whichever you prefer.”

“Mr. Woodford called this morning,” Marie calmly began after I finished eating. “He’s not going to be home until Sunday because he wants to take Daisy’s half-brother to a baseball game.” She seemed amazingly placid and at ease with it. “I told him it was good of him to live up to his obligations, and I would be fine.” I watched her light a More and place it into a short black holder, smiling knowingly. “It seems I have a little more time on my own than I first thought.” Marie cocked her head slightly and exhaled in her naturally sexy way.

“Would you like me to stay?” I blurted, sounding like a horny teenager.

She took another lazy, elegant drag and french-inhaled, encouraging me to watch. “I was hoping you would say that,” Marie softly answered, considering her cigarette. After a moment’s silence, she resumed, “My husband isn’t as—easily excited—as you, Will. He’s a little older now, and has always been very—conventional.” She paused, obviously thinking, and quietly, tentatively asked, “Would you consider not being—conventional—with me?”

Our first sex of the day took place in the kitchen after we’d cleaned up lunch. I fucked Marie from behind and played with her full tits while she leaned against the counter for support. The cigarette she’d started as a seduction tool lay on the counter half-smoked, having burned out shortly after I had undressed, positioned, and firmly entered her. “OH! Standing—and in the kitchen!” gasped Marie. “Will, this… this is—certainly—ohhhhh shit! Different!” I was fucking her for her pleasure as well as mine, forward thrusts gentle and smooth, burying myself as far as I could, pulling almost all the way out equally smoothly. This rhythm had thrilled her daughter many, many times, it let me prolong our sexing. Soon she was crooning, “Ohh… ohh… ohh…” with each gentle thrust while rocking counter to me, as if she’d been doing this all her life. “Ohh… we… Powell… women… Ohhhhh, you’re so long! Havealways… been… graced… withahighsexdrive!” she moaned. Like daughter, like mother. “Ohhh… myyy… daughter’s an idiot!” she grunted, shuddering in orgasm. Her legs turned rubbery when I finally filled her. I helped her to the couch in the family room where she lay against me having continual little aftershocks.

After recovering, we sat in her living room, clothed once again. Marie lit another holdered cigarette, flirting with me, unaware we weren’t finished. I ogled my sexy holder lady, making no effort to be discreet about it. “You know,” Marie said, sucking in air at the end of a drag, “if I were Daisy’s age and not related to her… you wouldn’t stand a chance.” She smiled impishly before exhaling in a carefree manner. “You are so much easier than Alastair ever was—not that he was all that difficult to seduce.”

“I take it you’ve been doing this for a while,” I said, enjoying the show.

“Since I was sixteen,” she happily confirmed. “It was called ‘teasing’ back then. My friends and I learned how to smoke—we practiced how to hold a cigarette, french rolls, smoke rings, and all the… embellishments. In that era, it was considered normal for young ladies. The world was much less overtly sexual in those days, and we used smoking to flirt.” Marie’s candor and ease with our prolonged adulterous liaison made it easy not to feel any guilt. “Women of my social standing used cigarette holders at formal society affairs and parties as a matter of course. It wasn’t the noteworthy eccentricity it is now.”

“So how did you meet—Mr. Woodford? And how did you figure out that he—?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the question aloud.

Marie gaily continued, “It was at a—” she paused, grinning, “—fishing expedition,” and gaily explained the old society convention. Businessmen would host “gatherings” for their young, single, soon-to-be-successful protégés, while their wives would work the other side of the street, relying on their social networks to bring attractive young women who were, “eligible to be—Mrs. Rich Businessman,” she giggled. “We were ostensibly there for the purpose of providing a pleasant distraction from the demanding, fatiguing world of men and their business. Even though the men believed they were doing the fishing, we girls knew they were there to be caught,” Marie smiled.

“It was fairly obvious which of the eight men at the party I intrigued the most. At a distance, Alastair would always blush and look away. Unless I was preparing to smoke, with ivory holder and gloves—then he’d look. He was almost as handsome then as he is now, and it certainly didn’t hurt he was going to inherit Woodford and Family. I had him gallantly lighting my cigarettes within an hour.” Marie smiled and went quiet for a few moments , obviously revisiting happy memories. “I showed him favor by exclusively accepting lights from him,” she resumed. “The other young men understood my preference quickly, and were free to be captured by another young lady or to depart.”

“I have to ask,” I interrupted, “just how many men were vying to light your cigarette?”

“Seven,” recalled Marie with easily detected pride. “And I know for a fact the eighth is gay.”

“Wow,” I whispered, knowing I would have been one of them. I couldn’t resist her at fifty-something. At twenty, she would have had me wrapped around her finger.

“You can’t tell from the wedding photos, but if I could have worn the styles from today…” I waited for her to finish, salivating at the thought. She paused to let my imagination run free for an appropriate few seconds. “Once it became apparent he was interested in that horrendous Betty Nixon as well, I really had no choice. I had to save him from making such a terrible mistake,” she wryly smiled. Marie lit another holdered More, quickening my pulse. “I realized he liked to watch women smoke, so I started smoking with all the stylish little tricks around him to give him something to watch. Betty smoked, but she didn’t do anything… special because she told him only trashy women smoked like that. Bitch. She practiced just as much as any of us.” She stood and stretched. “Let’s go to the atrium for some wine. I could use some sunshine.” Under her breath, she hissed, “Just thinking about Betty Nixon again… ooooh!” but still loud enough for me to hear. I cocked my head. Clearly, there was a longer story here. Marie smiled sunnily, her ill-tempered moment gone, and asked, “Are leftovers all right for dinner, dear?” Better leave the Betty Nixon thing alone.

We settled onto the atrium for an informal dinner. If anything, the boeuf bourguignon was even more spectacular the second night. “Anyway, Alastair dated Betty for four months, only because she’d managed to convince him I was ‘damaged goods.’ Since you want to know—” How did she figure that out? “—that’s why I still want to kill her. She started the nasty rumor, and I heard she bribed some guy to lend credence to it so she could marry Alastair. My reputation didn’t matter.” Marie sipped some wine. “At any rate, I ran into them at some club function where I had a dashing, but stupid, escort for the evening. I remember pulling out the ivory holder as we were talking, and Alastair fell all over himself to light my cigarette with the same silly look you get on your face when I smoke a More, or with a holder. I let him see every slow french roll, being as feminine as I could, and he watched me.

“Of course, once I finished the cigarette—pity there weren’t any 100’s or 120’s back then—the spell was broken and we went our separate ways. I distinctly remember hearing Betty tell him it proved I was a whore, because only whores used cigarette holders and did french rolls… among other French things. I was going to gouge her eyes out, but Alastair turned around and looked at me until she dragged him out of sight. He broke up with her the following week, just before she could reasonably expect a ring, and after a proper delay, we started dating and he proposed exactly at the six-month mark.” Marie allowed me to light another of her Mores, this one in a mother-of-pearl holder like Daisy’s, and I stared. “My daughter bought it for me because I think hers is lovely,” she smiled. “I learned on our honeymoon that if I wanted to seduce my husband, a cigarette holder works wonders, and still does to this day.” She patted my leg, and even though we were alone, she leaned forward and dropped her voice to share a confidence. “But if you want to know how special I think you are… Alastair was my first and only—until last night.”

She vamped for me Friday night, and I responded, leaving her awash in exhausted afterglow before I finished. She rolled over and felt my dick, still hard, and gasped, “No wonder you needed two!”

“It’s the elegant, sensuous, company,” I breathed. “Madame, you have seduced me and I am helpless before your charms.”

“Oh the hell with being tired,” Marie growled, and rolled onto her back for me. I gave her a back rub the next morning, and requested she not smoke around me. When she called me to breakfast, her clothes were already heaped on the floor. She posed with a More in her long holder, wearing only garters, seducing me into standing sex again, this time before breakfast. I gave her head for late afternoon tea, and my dick barely noticed when she became the femme fatale for dinner. Amazing how much energy you can pick up from a meal. Dressed up and made up, her after-dinner Mores raised my flagpole in salute, and she promply climbed aboard for the ride. I was almost as hot for her as I was for her daughter, but Marie had much more practice at cigarette seduction, making up for the difference.

Later that night, Marie requested, “that thing you do with your mouth. Don’t get me wrong, my husband is a wonderful, attentive lover… but he’s not—as diverse as you, and I’m not as—adventurous—as my daughter, so he suits me just fine.” I fulfilled her request, and she gave me a final gift in exchange, a prolonged, slow lovemaking. I woke up around four in the morning, awakening her by starting to worship her body orally, and refusing to stop as she asked. Marie gave in, moaning, “Oh the hell with it… my husband’s going to be worn out until much later… ohhhhh… my daughter’s an idiot… ohhhh, Willlll… that… that feels… wonnn-derrr-fulllll…”

I left the Woodford house shortly after Marie went back to sleep. She called me at two-thirty to tell me she was on her way to get Mr. Woodford from the airport. “Marie, you are one amazing woman,” I tenderly said.

“My husband is a very lucky man, isn’t he,” she giggled, and then she turned serious. “Will… I picked you because of the way you always look at me when I smoke. Your glances of—appreciation—have always flattered Alastair as well as myself. He will continue to see the glances he’s come to expect, and won’t notice anything else that may be behind them. As long as it’s understood that this will never happen again, it will be hiding our affair in plain sight,” she firmly stated.

“Honestly, Marie—Mrs. Woodford—I can’t believe it happened, let alone that it could again.”

“While it may take two to tango, once I set my course, you had no chance,” she frankly returned. “I’ve been aware of your fondness for me and the way I smoke for several years, and took full advantage.” There was a lull in conversation. “Will—” Marie hesitated.

“No, Mrs. Woodford. I don’t feel like you took advantage of me to get back at Mr. Woodford,” I jumped in. “I spent two nights with a charming, captivating, beautiful woman…” I debated whether to finish the thought. “…who has been the subject of many a late-night fantasy ever since I first saw her in that strapless black dress,” I admitted. “You should wear it for him… exactly like you did for me.”

“Thank you, Will.” I could hear the blush. Marie hesitated again. “Your obvious and intense attraction toward smoking women does worry me—for your sake. Some unscrupulous woman may use it and you will find yourself—unhappily attached. That can be damagingly expensive—far beyond mere financial ruin,” she warned. “Promise me you’ll look for the right girl, not the—sexiest smoker.”

For the first time, I clearly realized that was the road I was headed down. Let’s face it; she wouldn’t have been able to seduce you if she wasn’t so damn sexy when she smoked. It made you forget she’s married to a man who has been one of your biggest supporters, the mother of your ex-girlfriend, and you had no business spending three nights with her! I solemnly promised her to marry for the right reasons, and silently committed to not chase sexy smokers.

Marie replied, “I hope for your sake you can keep it. I’d absolutely hate to see you wind up with a Betty Nixon hanging around your neck like a millstone.” Even though I’d never met Ms. Nixon, she didn’t sound conducive to happy ever after. “Oh, and Will,” Marie added, “if she’s truly the right one… I’ll be happy to spend some time with her—and give her some pointers on—improving her love life.”

I love that woman, and after our affair, I have even less of an idea how the Woodfords only had one child. I’m sure it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

Daisy Gets Married

I had lunch with the Woodfords 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 for an occasional look of apologetic sympathy. Mr. Woodford didn’t notice anything, because to him, nothing about our lunches had changed. He knew I had always thought his wife attractive, and they both appreciated it for the boost it gave to their respective egos. Besides, I’m sure Marie settled the problem of him straying. 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.

I still had no answer for the biggest question in my life: 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 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 dropping out of school would be the best course of action, in addition to being the honest one. Unfortunately, it had to wait until the end of the semester because of my teaching obligations. Besides, I had almost finished an adjustment to the stabilizer design, and needed to use the flow mechanics lab for another few weeks. Spending my weekends there made it easy to stay out of bars and help me keep my promise to Mrs. Woodford. I hadn’t encountered any sexy 120 smokers around campus, keeping 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 schoolwork. I  was sitting in my apartment early one evening after I’d finished the modification and had sent it to Jeff. I was 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. “Duuuuude… what’s going on?” Jeff 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 still 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 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. I met with him that afternoon to hear the general plan he had developed, and a week later, I was flying to California with an intellectual property lawyer who had known me since high school from various parties the Woodfords had thrown.

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,” threatening to cut me out completely if I didn’t. He said he had a lawyer who would prove the agreement between Jeff and I was made in bad faith. Since I hadn’t spent a penny to acquire the patent or for construction or marketing, he said his lawyer would prove I was only entitled to what I’d already received from Jeff. He backed down as soon as my lawyer said he looked forward to, “having those discussions with your counsel.” 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 went relatively quickly until Mr. McShane refused to let Jeff sign anything unless the device was renamed the “McShane Stabilizer,” pissing off everybody. My lawyer called a recess, and in a separate meeting with Jeff’s dad, negotiated two percent off Jeff’s share of the royalties. 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 and still put something 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 California wasn’t the place for me. After thanking the company’s representatives profusely for the opportunity, I declined.

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. I was wrong. Steve Jordan, the dean of engineering was anything but grateful, accusing me of exploiting university resources for personal gain, and demanding I turn over the entire patent agreement to the engineering school before he expelled me. He then wondered very loudly if the university should file suit against me. I wished I’d brought my lawyer, but Dean Wilcox authoritatively interrupted his diatribe by quietly asking who represented me, both legally and financially. She turned on the engineering dean and pointedly noted 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. If Mr. Redmond so chose, the university could receive nothing from this patent, and he would be well within his rights. I can have someone from the office of the univerisity’s counsel join this meeting within fifteen minutes if you like.” Dean Jordan turned red and sputtered. Dean Wilcox piled on by informing everyone I was a close friend of one of their “distinguished alumna and Century Club members. “It would be a shame if she were to hear the school treated her friend so—poorly,” she said. The dean of engineering 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 I was planning to teach at the high school and community college level. “Mr. Redmond,” the chancellor replied, “it would be a shame if this institution were to shun one of its most innovative—sit down, Steven—students. Would you consider an appointment here as a faculty member?” Dean Jordan objected in decidedly non-academic terms, and angrily accused the chancellor of selling doctorates. Before the chancellor could respond, I offered to give a detailed presentation on the registered patent to any academic jury the dean of engineering chose in lieu of a dissertation and defense. Although he made it clear he believed I was purchasing a shortcut, and in his opinion, I didn’t, couldn’t and would never pass the required academic muster for his school.

In hindsight, I suppose everyone was waiting for me to rescind or reduce my donation as a a bargaining chip, but if I had, then it would have felt like buying my degree. “Chancellor Franklin, Dean Jordan, and Dean Wilcox, I believe the patent shows my dedication to practical engineering. I will also admit my lack of a dissertation demonstrates my lack of interest in traditional academic pursuits. I could step into the private sector, but I really want to teach. Ask Professor Aarveson, the other grad TA’s, and any students: I am good at teaching. If there is a place at this university for someone willing to work hard to educate his students, then I would like the opportunity to teach here.”

Four days later, under fire from the chancellor, the dean of engineering agreed to assemble a jury to hear what he called, “your pseudo-defense,” but only gave me the weekend to prepare. The Chancellor and Dean Wilcox had schemed around Dean Jordan: she could give me an appointment . then he would award me a Ph.D. On graduation, Dean Wilcox would give me a tenured appointment in the school of Arts and Sciences as an undergraduate instructor across all disciplines, and the Chancellor could force Dean Jordan to use the additional teaching resource.All I had to do was to convince the jury that a surfboard stabilizer wasn’t luck or junk science, and had required solving sufficiently complex engineering problems to be worthy of a doctorate. sufficient tenured adjunct instructor.

I thought Dean Jordan was going to stack the jury with critics, and he didn’t disappoint me. He led three other professors in attacking my work, but a fifth was genuinely curious, and asked probing questions about the process and design iterations. I later found out he had been appointed by the chancellor as a replacement for one of the engineering’s dean original picks who could not make it at the last minute. After two-and-a-half days of ocassionally out-and-out hostile questioning, the jury approved my research by a four-to-zero verdict. The dean originally voted no, but his colleagues convinced him he didn’t want to be on record as a no vote on principle alone, so he abstained.

I called my parents with the good news, then I called Daisy. She immediately offered me a week in the south of France with her, on her as a graduation gift. Her parents took my family to dinner that night; it was strange without Daisy being there to complete the link, but the fences had been mended, and we celebrated together. After seeing my parents and the Woodfords off, I went to the watering hole, hoping to find some of the old regulars to share my good fortune. The same bartenders were there, but Tammy had quit about three months after I had stopped showing up, and not surprisingly, her friends no longer visited. Thursday nights usually only attracted locals and regulars, so I enjoyed the free congratulatory drinks and camaraderie, not caring I was single. There was only one non-regular there, a slender, bookish-looking woman sitting by herself at a table. Kind of… mousy-looking, with long, straight, thin blonde hair, and wearing thick wire-rimmed glasses. She was unremarkable in every way and easy to ignore—until she reached into her purse, and pulled out a pack of Virginia Slims Light 120s. I was instantly seduced. Tapping it forcefully before opening it, she aggressively tore the cellophane off the top, and everything went into slow-motion. 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. 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 the barest hint of a smile, and pulled a cigarette from the fresh pack. I flew to the table to light it, creeping her out a little. She scanned the room, sighed, and finally asked me to sit.

She may have looked too nerdy to be a smoker, but her drags were deep, the exhale a combination, more nasal than oral. She was careful to avoid my face, but didn’t actively shape her exhales. It was straightforward smoking, but it was sexy enough, especially given my drunken state and the thickness and duration of her exhales . An even thicker air of loneliness and resignation hung around her. Her name was Linda, and she had apparently been stood up by her blind date, which evidently was an unfortunately common occurrence for her. She quickly downed two more glasses of wine, and when the buzz hit, her smoking became more relaxed and stylish, and Linda became very interested in me. She lit a cigarette when we got to my place and immediately apologized, reverting to her mousy bearing. “I should have asked you about smoking first.” I pointed out 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 embarrassed, ashamed and she turned her head away to exhale furtively at the door.

“Well, I think smoking can be very sexy.” I declared, and that was all the foreplay Linda needed. We kissed with crazed passion, but when the clothes came off, she waited for me to initiate everything, and made it clear cunnilingus was out of her comfort zone. 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 my own release.

Her after-sex Virginia Slim 120 was leisurely, the smoke backlit by the streetlight outside, a wicked smile on her face. By the time she finished and lay next to me, my cock was twitching, tapping her on the ass. “I don’t know…” she whimpered, gently pushing away.

“I wanna fuck you again, sexy Linda,” I breathed. She half-rolled onto her back, catching sight of my erection, and gazed hungrily at it. No rubber this time, and as usual, my second was better than my first. We were too worn out to smoke afterwards, and Linda fell asleep without bothering to clean my load off her chest, where I’d deposited it after pulling out. I was a little disappointed waking up alone, without a note or any way to contact Linda. Although small-chested and unremarkable-looking, she wasn’t ugly and seemed nice enough, even if she seemed embarrassed I found her smoking attractive. After all, she chose to let me pick her up from a bar. Nonetheless, I was going to get my doctorate, and I was going to be able to do what I loved for a living. Life was great.

***

Daisy came home for Christmas and took me to a fancy dinner the day after. “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 like the old friends we were, me watching her smoke a couple of Virginia Slim 120s in a short black holder after dessert. Each time I saw her, she was closer to having a natural sexiness in smoking, much like her mother. Daisy’s distinct style was slightly different, but it was still lust-provoking. I thought I had hidden it because she hadn’t given me any indication this was anything other than old friends catching up. Daisy paid, 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 and was 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 the cigarette holder was no longer an affectation designed to seduce me, but a normal part of her smoking ritual. She was so stunning I silently watched for a few drags before even realizing 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, maneuvered me inside her, 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 red from her face to her chest. Daisy stopped making noise, but her hips continued moving. She pressed her hands against my chest. Suddenly, she squeaked a couple of times and then screamed, “AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!” low-pitched and guttural. 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 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 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 it 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 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 her formidable libido made it unlikely 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 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 it. 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 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.” The more she talked about him, it was easy to see he excited her,. Something like this was bound to happen eventually, and I’d been preparing myself for it ever since she decided 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 one other person knew about Mrs. Woodford and I. “… has been telling me 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 she was. Instead, she told me to be careful, discreet, and not to be ashamed of being horny, 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 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 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 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. Besides, a train ticket is 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.” I accepted, telling her I would be visiting in late March. Daisy agreed to scale back her original gift: she would pay for my plane ticket to Paris, and then I would be on my own. Much to her disappointment, no cigars were passed after this meal as the two new couples did not have an 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 finally 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 her again this trip. “I’m so happy you could meet François,” she 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 handshake. I cheerily called him an asshole in his native language as they walked away to let him know I understood everything he said during dinner. It surprised me a little Daisy hadn’t noticed his possessive nature, but this was the most enthusiastic I’d seen her over another guy since Roberts.

I caught up with Madame Bourgeot, who asked me to call her by her first name, Collette, and we spent the afternoon at the Musée d’Orsay. As we separated at the Metro, she told me 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 her. It was after ten when she drove to a more popular area, and we walked a couple of blocks before turning down a narrow, empty alley, stopping at a nondescript set of doors. She rapped lightly and identified herself, saying she was with a friend. I heard several locks release before the door slowly opened. After vouching for me in a brief exchange, she led me through a winding hallway that ended at the entrance to a dim, smoky amphitheater, with rows 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 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, and welcomed the audience, singing in a lovely, obviously well-trained voice. She started removing her clothes during the second verse, winding up only in pasties and panties for the last verse as she introduced the audience to the “Private Super-burlesque,” wearing only pasties and panties. Then she curtsied and ran off with a stage giggle. I looked at Collette, who only smiled and told me this was Paris nightlife only certain people were privileged to experience. A bottle of champagne arrived. 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 returned to a fresh bottle of champagne and a full glass. Collette removed a pocket humidor from her purse and offered me one, 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 showing 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 trying unsuccessfully to keep an erection from developing under the table I didn’t realize the man on stage 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 rapidly forming lump. I was going to protest, but the room suddenly got very warm. Collette took another enchanting drag from her cigar, and my erection surged powerfully. The ladies landed on the ground and skipped around the stage while 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, first I had to unzip my pants to free my own because it was getting painful, and by the time I looked up, he had moved on to another table, where two women were doing what had tempted me. I watched, open-mouthed, as they paused to kiss each other passionately before resuming the blowjob.

Collette tapped my hand to recapture my attention. She picked up her cigar, dragged, french-inhaled, and began to give me a handjob in earnest under the table. I moaned, her hand the only thing that mattered now. 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 the last shreds of rational thought and propriety. I made a crazed noise in her mouth, dropped my pants, pushed her back into the booth, and shoved my iron rod all the way into her. The scent of Collette’s perfume, the smells of her body, expecially the exciting aroma emanating strongly from her pussy, and her low, throaty moans 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. Time vanished until 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 as my hand found a sweet spot. After about a half-liter, the overwhelming need to fuck Collette weakened by the slightest, and I had a moment of clear thought. 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, I could smell Collette’s excitement, my dick stood straight, and it was almost impossible to keep thinking. My hips twitched, every fiber of my being directed me to fuck her, but my brain refused to let me give in.

I ordered another liter of water from our now-naked attendant, hoping it would reduce the insane, primal need to fuck Collette again. However, I smelled the tang of his excitement. When he returned, I forgot about the water, pulled him near, and engulfed his cock without hesitation, feeling it harden in my mouth, and his scent grew. My cock didn’t waver at alll, as his happy sighs and aroma of excitement drove my lust. My tongue worked around his hard, yet soft, male flesh and my enthusiasm grew… Suddenly, Collette decisively separated us, and moaned something unintelligible before plopping herself onto my dick and bouncing urgently.

As usual, I could fuck much longer after my first cum, and after Collette, shuddered and cried out in multiple orgasms, she pushed herself off, and held me at bay long enough to signal a surrogate. The woman who had sung the introductory song gracefully slid into our booth, smiled, and began to sing while gently bouncing on top of me. Soon, her scent was my world. When I started making noise, she dismounted as smoothly as she’d climbed aboard, and my lap vanished in a haze of cigar smoke and salt-and-pepper hair.

I woke up at one in the afternoon in a nice bed in somebody’s nice apartment—not my hotel room. 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 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, 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 aware that my cock wouldn’t go soft again until I came.

Collette seemed surprised by my agitation, pouting, “Did you not enjoy yourself last night?” 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 look to 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 grinned.

“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 explained she had dropped about ten grams of a black market Asian aphrodisiac into my champagne, freely revealing 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. I was pretty sure 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 she was also still being affected. She shook herself from her directed, lustful reverie and told me it wasn’t the drug. She just found me exciting.

I asked how she got hold of the drug. I figured cost was part of the reason I’d never heard of it before and I didn’t think this was just a spur-of-the-moment decision; Collette had spent roughly four grand to have me at her sexual disposal for a night. Her husband had discovered this in a Bangkok brothel during one of his frequent trips there, and now routinely brought some back. “We have an arrangement,” she pragmatically shrugged, lighting another of my cigarettes. “He likes sexy young women, I like intriguing young men like you.” She regally 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.”

That evening, 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 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,” Nathalie added with a surprising lack of enthusiasm. I would have been thrilled to be so close to making the olympic team, and would have been spurred to work harder towards the next games.

At the restaurant, Nathalie gushed just like a teenager, obviously thrilled to be out with her aunt who treated her like an adult. She pulled out a long pack of cigarettes and lit one. It stunned me to see such an athlete smoke 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 she didn’t smoke often or a lot, but she was doing her best to seem super-feminine. 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 by myself. My folks want me to be the good little athlete, and I’m sick of it! I’m a woman now, not a little girl!” She wanted to be a sexy smoker, and I was sporting a half-erection by the end of her first cigarette.

“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 sports 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 niece needs to feel like the pretty girl she is.” My cock weighed in, letting me know it was quite happy to spend an evening with Collette’s superslim-smoking amazon niece. I lit Nathalie’s cigarettes during dinner, and gave light tie signs, touching her gently on the hands, and eventually my hand landed on her shoulder during conversation, and she moved closer to me. I caught her hand hovering near my leg a few times, but she appeared to be too timid to let it rest there. Instead, she’d pull out a cigarette, let me light it, and her eyes would sparkle.

Collette asked Nathalie if she would like to go out to an adult club, since she was now twenty-two, 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 try one or two of mine, 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 and a bottle of champagne arrived without asking. Collette was definitely a regular. When Nathalie went to the ladies’ room, Collette dipped a neatly manicured 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 when I tried to cover my champagne. “No, Guillaume, you will need the heat tonight.” She 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, but Nathalie returned and asked for a light, so I forgot about it after her second drag.

Nathalie was already slightly drunk by the opening number and had 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 another of your very chic brown cigarettes?” she asked. The More had its usual effect on me, but aided by the drug, my cock went to fully erect within a few drags. Halfway through the second number, Nathalie had forgotten about smoking, and 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 we resumed kissing. I moved the table out of the way, positioned myself, and slid into her, making her sigh girlishly. I slowly fucked her, sucking at her pert, firm breasts. The singer from the previous night stopped at our booth and sang, “Look! It’s already begun!” Normally, being singled out like that for aything would have embarrassed me into invisibility, but I smelled Nathalie—and the singer, who didn’t resist when I pulled her to me for a kiss. “I must finish my songs first, monsieur,” she giggled, and danced away. Collette absently stroked my back, watching with almost maternal interest, but her scent grew strong as well, and I devoted myself to her niece so I would be ready for my French cougar sooner. Nathalie turned red, and then began to cum with quiet gasps. I withdrew to let her recover. Collette ordered another bottle of champagne and two bottles of water, obviously in preparation, but before they arrived, she dropped her cigar and grabbed my face, kissing me with crazed passion. When she pulled away to catch her breath, Nathalie took her place. They both smelled—ready to sex with me, is the only way I can describe it, and I wanted to power-fuck them at the same time. Two hands landed in my lap, and Collette pushed me onto the seat and mounted me with an animal growl, fucking me with gusto. The strong man strutted past, his cock hard and glistening as it was the night before. The same feeling flashed through me, but I was pinned, and Nathalie captured him. His scent vanished when he entered her, and fucking Collette instantly became my only desire. She leaned over and kissed me while her aunt vigorously bounced on my lap, her scent vying with her aunt’s to my nostrils, both begging for my sex, even as the bodybuilder fucked my amazon date. The smells of sexual excitement rose in the amphitheater, and I began punding up at Collette, my hips pistoning mercilessly, greedily taking the pleasure my body demanded. Suddenly, I felt very hot, and 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 the bodybuilder step away from her niece, who reached for him with a frustrated, angry cry. Collette lay slumped and gasping next to me. I shifted, drove myself into Nathalie again, and we were fucking hard at each other. Our synchronized thrusts sent her into a back-arching, howling orgasm, but I have no idea how long we were at it before she came, and I kept fucking her until she collapsed. I stopped to catch my breath and had a moment of rational thought. I downed a large bottle of water, while Nathalie shuddered from the aftershocks rolling though her every few moments.

The champagne and water Collette had ordered arrived, and I sent the attendant for even more water, commanding Nathalie to drink, struggling against the heat 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, the scent of his arousal hit me as it had the last night, and I suddenly understood he was broadcasting an attraction for me. After making sure 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 again, this time determined to satisfy him. He hardened with a moan as I bobbed my head the way I’d watched Daisy and numerous other lovers do to me. In response, his sex scent grew even stronger, spurring me on. In the back of my mind, I knew it was the drug’s doing because I had never found men attractive, and this kid was nowhere near as good-looking 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 excited by it.

I was so engrossed in sucking him off 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. 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.” I briefly joined her niece in attending to the waiter’s cock, and the scent of his attraction surged to my senses. She and I shared his dick and a sloppy kiss to get him to move into the right position. This time his scent didn’t fade; his dick grew more rigid, and there was desire in his eyes as he watched Nathalie take him into his mouth on her own. Finally, all three of us were arranged; Nathalie was on her hands and knees, with me thrusting at her from behind while she bobbed her head rapidly over the waiter’s 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 more gentle in his 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 reactively and then her aunt took it upon herself to finish him, leaving her niece to me. 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’m cuuummming, Will!” 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 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, 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 a couple of minutes, the sounds, sights, and most acutely, smells of sex were eating at my reason. The singger saw me, tossed her head, and eyed me with a silent question. Her mouth met my cock, and she plunged downward untill, ever-so-gently, her teeth scraped my balls. Ireached for her body, but she grabbed my arms firmly, and using her body weight, held me in place and licked, drooled, sucked, and throated me until my nuts churned and fire erupted through my dick, overflowing her mouth. Cum dripped onto her full tits, but she was undeterred. Finally, she swallowed and collected the remaining cum with her fingers. “Here,” she said, presenting them to me. I’d never smelled anything so arousing, and my dick jerked back to erection and I greedily sucked on her fingers. She smiled, kissed me, told me I was cute, and boounced away.

The scent and tang of my own cum left me ready, and I was againtorn between watching out for Collette’s niece and finding another sex partner. The frustration of not having sex was literally painful. I looked around for Collette, but couldn’t find her. My male lover was now 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 he was rigid again, much too soon; evidently Collette had 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… m’sieur… ohh… m’sieur… what’s—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… 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… fuck it… 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, and my dick slowly responded, giving me the chance to drink even more water. As I drank, the smell of sex lost its hold on me. 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 still unconscious. The waitress reached for Collette, who stopped her with a gentle push to go get dressed. before her clothes and leaving the sexual melée. I pulled the waitress to me and we kissed while I masturbated her to another orgasm. Collette returned and occupied the waitress while I dressed, my dick still hard enough to be uncomfortable in my pants. The heat had faded, but I still suffered its aftereffects.

Nathalie was stirring, looking very groggy, and with the assistance of a couple of unaffected staff members, we bustled her out of the club via the emergency exit. 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 sympathetically. “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 constantly whined she was still horny. Her aunt gave her a cigar in a holder, telling her she would feel better after she had smoked for a while. “Cigars aren’t sexy for women,” complained Nathalie in French, 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, “here’s what he thinks of women who smoke cigars.” Shit. She knows. 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 in French, “Do you like me like this? Is it true you think women who smoke cigars are sexy, too?” There was no sense in denying it as her free hand dropped to slide over my bulge. “I very much want to fuck you. Would you like that? I would like that a lot.” We quickly retired to the guest bedroom.

I woke up at about one in the afternoon, praying 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 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 on me the first time because he had no idea how much they used on the girls in the brothel.” I raised my eyebrows. “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 I could not stand to fuck for a month!” 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 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 that I knew 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 her aunt is the coolest,” I disbelievingly clucked.

“Small town, sheltered daddy’s girl, first real orgasms. 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 empathized. “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 sitting on the table. “Made me feel a little like a whore, until Collette told me they did it a bunch with people like me: expected by their company to cater to a good client’s every whim. She said I should be flattered her husband thought enough of me to share with her,” said Daisy. “They’re a strange couple, but it works for them. And as debauched as it all was, I can’t say 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 overworked cock. I asked if she wanted me to return the favor. “No, that’s okay. Don’t wanna start something you’ll—we’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 I have to be in the London office for the next two weeks—something came up, and I have to leave tomorrow.”

***

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 if, now that I wasn’t drugged, I still found it sexy. I told her I’d 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, and quickly popped it into her mouth. “My aunt says it works much faster and is more potent when it is not mixed with champagne.”

Nathalie 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 alone in the elevator at the hotel. I regretted the urgency 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 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 if she would like to spend my last night in Paris with me, and got a genuinely thrilled squeak and passionate kiss. She apologized for not fucking me on the spot, and I said 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 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 she was always worried she wasn’t doing it “sexy” because she couldn’t practice back home. I told her I knew someone who might be able to help her with being a sexy smoker. When we got back to the hotel, Nathalie was so excited by the prospect, she seemed to be more interested in learning how to smoke in a sexy manner than her original idea of spending the night having sex.

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 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 M menthols 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 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. As I zipped for the door, Nathalie was sitting upright in the bed, nude, playfully smoking one of the brown cigarettes with a come-hither air, trying to entice me to stay another day or three—and nearly succeeding.

The flight was 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 it got me laid yet again. I was having a cigarette while waiting for my luggage when a pretty, auburn-haired flight attendant approached 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 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 I could catch any train home, she 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 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, my family and I 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, now aware of just how well I understood his native language. I was surprised to see Carole Lee and Marie Bishop, both married. Carole had two children, while Marie had one, with 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 told her she looked wonderful. “I don’t like him,” she snipped as we stood out of the commotion. “That should be you.” When I said it wasn’t meant to be, Marie took my hand and sincerely said, “If I’d known she was going to fuck it up, I would have taken you.” 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—” She took a deep breath, looking—more than mildly—wistful. “—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 I had a smoking fetish, or if she 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 she enjoyed the freedom to fuck anyone she found attractive. “If it’s any consolation, you are my favorite New York lover right now.” I hadn’t met anybody local since Sherri, and truthfully, 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 parents on the Caribbean cruise my mother had 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 glowered evilly at me, standing where I could see him. We were friends long before she met you, and that’s not gonna change no matter what. 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 it 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 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 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 (and correctly) noted. “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 she was enjoying the hell out of the ride, and was not ready for it to end. 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 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 she had strongly 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?” I said yes.

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 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 I no longer had a sex life for me to go out to this bar with him.

It wasn’t seedy like I’d imagined, surprising me. 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 so prevalent among younger smokers. While it was exciting to be in the middle of so many enchanting smokers, 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 in the bar as women, and they were on the prowl. Although I shyly returned any smiles 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. “It’s usually considered a woman’s cigarette.”

“High school girlfriend’s brand,” I shrugged. “We shared and I got used to them.”

‘It says 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, and I had the lighter ready before she could take one out. She drew hard and long, sending a jet of smoke through her nose, exhaling smoke with her, “Thank you.” Then 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. 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 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 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.”

“Then it’s lucky for me 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 you’re available.” I was surprised I tap-danced around the story of the Daisy near-miss. Wow, it hurts now. Helene touched my hand in a comforting gesture, obviously having picked up on my heartache, although I hadn’t explicitly said anything about it. “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 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, 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, 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 neutrally.

“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. 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 like what I’m thinking.

She casually acknowledged 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 she was getting ready to attack me and resume our sexual relationship—and praying 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 all of three weeks before the wedding—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 I didn’t need an apology, because 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 for having 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 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 the 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. A plume of smoke blossomed from her lips, creating a long, gray trail. “Daisy,” I breathed with an edge, trying to sound cross, even though I was 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 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, as I looked at her, I could tell this wasn’t about her libido. Daisy was going to apologize to me by reaffirming our relationship at its most intimate, because she wanted me to know just how close we would continue to be.

I lay feeling horribly guilty afterwards, cradling Daisy. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I confessed. “This was only going to end one way, Will,” said Daisy, comfortable whe 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 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 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—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 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 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—after all, you’ve been a big part of my life.” She kissed me on the cheek. “I also can’t promise 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 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 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.”

Giselle

That June, Nathalie and I spent the week together in Paris. Collette was out of town, but had left the Paris apartment to her niece for the week. Daisy had obviously kept in touch with my French amazon, because Nathalie had switched to M menthols and unveiled a cigarette holder shortly after meeting me in my hotel room. She looked a lot more comfortable with smoking now, producing long, flowing oral exhales without effort, and handled her holder with an exciting, naturally graceful ease. Other men looked at her when we went out, and I knew this was going to be my last fling with her. Her size would no longer be an issue—even the intimidated boys back home would be interested. Nonetheless, Nathalie’s penchant for me fucking her in her round, firm, athletic ass remained unabated. In fact, she seemed to cum more quickly from anal sex, if not as hard. She begged me to take a “tiny” bit of the aphrodisiac her aunt had left for us. “I’d like you to be hard all the time,” Nathalie seductively cooed. “How I love it when you are in my ass!” She stripped, lit a cigarette in the holder, and climbed onto the sofa on her hands and knees, with her smoke clenched between her teeth. “I want you again and again and the sex powder would make it so!” She puffed away, sending smoke pouring from around the holder and her nose, giving me her best seductive look. I took a few grains of the sex powder, and answered Nathalie’s siren song—two, sometimes three times a day for the remainder of my vacation—which I extended for a couple of days until the physical effect wore off. Nathalie was very pleased.

Erica’s temporary Chicago assignment ended just before school started. To celebrate, I flew us to London for a few days. We attended plays in the West End, went to expensive restaurants for dinner, and had lots of sex. “I didn’t think I would say this… but I missed you, Will,” she said, her red hair rendered extremely messy after I’d given her head for a long time. “But don’t think I’ve been a nun, because I haven’t,” she quickly added.

“Didn’t expect you to be one,” I said, lighting her after-sex More.

“I think that’s why—” She audibly sucked in air with her drag. “—I like you so much. You’re cool when it comes to possession. A lot of guys aren’t, so with them, it’s one and done.” I told her I had experience at it. Erica took a long drag and tossed her hair, exhaling quickly with raised chin. “Dated flight attendants before?” I shook my head. “Wanna talk about it or should I leave the subject of Daisy alone?” she asked, bouncing onto the bed next to me. I thanked her for her concern and willingness to be whatever I needed. “Well, speaking selfishly, it doesn’t hurt that you’re really good in bed. So, as long as you keep getting hard for me quickly,” grinned Erica, giving me a More-scented kiss on the cheek—and then a longer kiss on my neck after her next drag. She took a final drag, grinning devilishly, and my lap disappeared in a cloud of smoke and auburn hair.

We returned to the hotel after breakfast the next morning, and I dragged her back to bed because her post-meal cigarette had made me hard under the table. “Missed me much? You’ve been more—enthusiastic than usual. Not that I’m complaining, but—” Erica lit two Mores and handed me one. “—I need a break. So, what’s going on in your life? How’s the knowledge transfer biz, professor?”

“Like pouring water into rocks. Seriously, not bad. Most of them are in it for the grade, so they walk away with some knowledge whether they want to or not.” We talked for a couple of minutes, with me becoming increasingly distracted by her smoking. Erica dragged easily on her More, exhaling skyward in a long, narrow stream. “You are soooo sexy,” I breathed.

“Let me let you in on a little secret,” she purred. “You are, too.” Erica extinguished her cigarette after a long final drag, wrapped her arms around me, and exhaled into my mouth as we kissed.

The two of us lay sprawled on the bed, panting for breath, sweat-soaked and orgasm-addled after a very intense session of fucking. We had not done any sightseeing. “I want a whole pack of cigarettes after that… but I can’t move,” groaned Erica. “Besides,” she gasped, “I really don’t want to start you up again.”

It was the first time she’d made an overt mention of my fetish, although I was certain she knew, and I told her. “I’m a little slow,” smiled Erica. “It took a little while to be certain, but I figured it out just before the wedding. I’m used to the double takes I get with a More, and the increasingly snide comments from non-smokers and Neanderthals, but you kept—noticing—and getting hard.” I asked her how she felt about it. “I’ve had kinkier lovers,” Erica offered after a pause, “guys who have—interesting—’on’ switches, but you, I don’t have to think about doing something unusual to turn you on.

“I started smoking Mores shortly after I left home—switched from Salem 100s because I thought they looked super-classy, and they’d make me seem more—cosmopolitan, and less of a farmgirl from Indiana.” She grinned. “It took a while for the girl to catch up with the image, but there is a cachet associated with them, and frankly, I’ve always encouraged the extra attention. With you, it’s just a little more intense. Smoking Mores isn’t the only thing that gets you going—that would get to be a turn-off—it just makes you ready sooner. There’s also a sense of being irresistibly sexy when I get you to stand up and salute me without being touched.” She rolled over to face me. “It makes me feel like a seductress and that adds to your attractiveness. You’re cute, good in bed, and relatively easy to seduce, which is a lethal combination for a lot of women. Even as much as I like to play the field, I’m affected. You went from a bumpy flight stress-relief-quickie to ‘come-and-see-me-again’ real quick. It just took me a while to figure out why.” Erica gave me a wry smile. “But I’d really like a cigarette now. The question is, can I have one without starting anything? Honestly, Will, I’m fucked out.”

I assured her I could leave her to recover, saying, “After that, I don’t think I have anything left myself.” Erica lit a More and halfway through her cigarette, her deep drags and easy exhales were working their usual magic, proving me wrong.

“Will a hand job tide you over?” Erica smiled. “I might be ready after the theater tonight.” She exhaled long and silent, and her hand wrapped around my almost-rigid cock. Erica lit a second More as she stroked, verbally encouraging me to watch her smoke. A few moments later, I groaned her name, and a small surge washed over her hand. “You’re welcome,” whispered Erica, brushing my cheek with her lips. “And yes, I’m excited now. Rest up, ’cause you’re gonna need it.” I quickly fell asleep.

I started my second year of teaching with a teacher of the year award, the dean of engineering off my back, and feeling a little more equipped to handle being a professor. I had templates for exams, friends in the French department who gave me a social life and a place to hang out on campus other than my tiny office. The first day of class, I stopped by the Romance Languages lounge for a cigarette and coffee with Kevin and his crew after my first freshman engineering lecture of the semester. I held it on a walk through campus with my teaching assistants while I pointed out everything engineering-related. Kevin asked me if I wanted to go to the horny divorcée bar this upcoming weekend. “Nah, that’s OK. I’m good,” I replied, showing them a picture of Erica in her uniform, making the entire table drool. “She’s a—friend.” The conversation quickly turned to incoming freshmen and how obvious they were about currying favor.

Suddenly, just from behind me, I heard a sweet, melodic voice coquettishly ask, “Qui a une cigarette pour moi?” I spun to see where it came from, because it sounded almost exactly like a memory… “It is you!” softly exclaimed a familiar-looking blonde woman. She had a creamy complexion and thick blonde hair that spilled, quite intentionally, to just below her shoulders. “This is so amazing!” I gaped stupidly at her until it occurred to me the entire table was watching intently, holding their breath. “Oh! I’m sorry,” she said, blushing. “We’ve kind of met, but we haven’t ever been introduced.” She extended her hand. “Giselle Carpenter.”

“Enchanté, mademoiselle,” Kevin said. She glanced at him briefly, giving him a friendly, but not-encouraging smile, and quickly returned her attention to me.

“Will Redmond,” I managed, standing up, still stunned by seeing her again.

“I’m a graduate student in the International Affairs program. I just started,” returned Giselle as we shook hands. “Are you a student here, too?”

Kevin laughed, “Actually, you’re talking to the university’s undergraduate teacher of the year, Doctor William Gerald Redmond, Ph.D.”

Giselle’s bluish-gray eyes widened. “Really?” I blushed, and she smiled. “Well, I hope you won’t get into too much trouble this time, with me being a student.”

Kevin looked at me with a stupid, “you-could-get-laid” grin. “Trouble? Will? Do tell.”

She shot him a “shrivel-up-and-die, peon” glance, leaving no doubt this was the finishing school beauty whose similar glance had not intimidated me nine years ago. “I have class in five minutes, but we should get together for lunch,” she said. “Even after all this time, I still feel bad about the first time we met—so it’ll be my treat.”

I wanted to clear it first, so we didn’t have our lunch until three days later. I’d cleared it with Dean Wilcox first so I could sit down and enjoy my lunch. Her creamy complexion hadn’t changed, but I noticed her eyes for the first time, a striking blue-gray. Giselle was a little taller than I remembered, and wasn’t as round as before, with her baby fat gone. Nonetheless, she was attractively round, and exuded confidence, not just in her looks, but about—everything. “Like I said, I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble for talking to me,” she smiled. I replied I wasn’t still in jail in France, so it was all good. Her eyes sparkled as she laughed musically. “I’m happy to hear that.” I noted Giselle sounded American.

“That’s probably because I am,” she smiled. “I was actually born here, just outside DC, but I spent most of my pre-college life in Europe. Finest finishing school money could buy. My dad’s a VP of European Affairs with a large company. He got the job right after I was born, so I was raised European, speaking French everywhere but home—my household is still more or less American, and I came to the States for college. My younger sisters are still over there. Angélique is in college at the Sorbonne, and Emelie is at the same finishing school I went to.” Giselle pulled out a silver cigarette case, removing a brown cigarette, shorter and wider than a More, and lit it with a matching cylindrical silver lighter. “I didn’t think you’d mind, do you?” she rhetorically asked, having noticed I was watching her. “It’s a Nat Sherman’s Virginia Circle, not a little cigar,” Giselle continued, misinterpreting my attentive look. “My favorite cigarette. I like them because they’re sweet and tangy, just tobacco and paper, and the finest cigarettes available. Would you like one—but I should warn you, they’re not menthol.” I accepted and asked her how she could have remembered me from a fifteen-second interaction nine years prior. “I couldn’t intimidate you, and neither could our chaperone. You’re the only guy I can ever remember whose bravado didn’t just fall apart at the haughty-princess look.”

I replied it wasn’t bravado, and that I truly had no ulterior motive at the time. “Besides, I went to a fancy private school as a scholarship student, so I’ve seen that look before—a lot. It stopped working on me back in ninth grade.”

Giselle nodded with understanding after a moment’s consideration. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch, but at finishing school, they constantly reminded us not to interact with people of—lesser means. Or boys of any socioeconomic stratum.”

“Well, since you’re not at finishing school any more, would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?” I couldn’t believe the words had jumped out of my mouth, but a beautiful woman who smoked classy, expensive brown cigarettes as her normal brand was interesting—even if they weren’t 120s. Damn fetish.

Giselle’s eyes lit up. “Sure! I have no social life here yet… too new to town and school.” She gave me her phone number. “Better do it quick, though. I have a funny feeling I won’t have much free time once school gets rolling. Formal, causal, or in between?” I asked her which she preferred. “Probably… in between.” At those words, I knew my pending one o’clock class would not be getting one of my better lectures.

We went to a semi-fancy Italian restaurant for dinner, where she conversed with the maitre’d and waiter in what sounded like fluent Italian. Judging by their reactions, she spoke their language well. “How many languages do you speak?” I asked in awe.

“English, French, Spanish, Italian, German, and Portuguese,” replied Giselle quickly. “Benefits of being in a multi-lingual school and house where a conversation may be taking place in any of those languages. What’s it like being a college professor?” She was very easy to talk to… as long as she wasn’t smoking. Every so often, Giselle would take what I can only refer to as a “dreamy” puff, eyes half-lidded, usually accompanied by a big, natural-looking snap-inhale. She would hold the smoke, and then after smoothly, gracefully, tilting her head upwards by just a few degrees, Giselle would slowly release a flowing combination exhale without any noise whatsoever, and make it look as sexy as Daisy’s mom did, similarly without obvious effort or intent. I hoped my fetish wouldn’t make itself obvious, because I did not want to make her feel uncomfortable around me.

Giselle quickly replaced the French graduate students as my favorite between-classes companion. One day, she was sitting at the table smoking her distinctive brown cigarette with a cigarette holder—just a short black one, about three inches long, nothing fancy. “Hey! I thought you’d left the finishing school glamour girl behind,” I kidded as I sat down. My mind quickly turned to mush as she took one of her dreamy drags from the holder. I belatedly started thinking about reaction rates near the end of her combination exhale and sat quickly, hoping she hadn’t noticed the pulse in my jeans.

Giselle replied, “My tobacco shop ran out of the filtered Virginia Circles, so I bought the unfiltered ones. I use a cigarette holder with them because I dislike tobacco crumbs in my mouth.” Giselle took another puff, handling her holdered cigarette with glamorous ease. I know I stared, but she did not seem to notice the sexual component of my look, smiling, “Don’t worry, I’m not going finishing school snobby on you. So how was class?” She always had the social grace to ask about me, something I chalked up to her training in etiquette.

Whew, that was close. “The usual, a room full of blank, glazed faces,” I replied. “I’ve stopped being the cool, fun teacher for most of them. Now they’re all worried about what the first exam will be like.” Our companionship quickly expanded beyond the romance languages lounge to attending foreign films at the art theater and going out to dinners where we discussed foreign affairs and the like. It was also fun to spend evenings speaking French with a beautiful woman. The more time I spent with Giselle, the easier it was to ignore her beauty, if not her smoking. One night, I noted she seemed to be using her cigarette holder a lot more of late. “Actually,” she blushed, “I like the unfiltered Virginia Circles better. But it’s not… politically correct.”

“So? You like them. Who cares what anybody else thinks?” Giselle smiled, told me she liked the way I thought, and took a dreamy drag, accompanied by a lazy french-inhale, causing my insides to quiver, and something else to get firmer. At twenty-five, Giselle possessed the smoking poise and grace of women from a bygone era; women her age just did not smoke with such natural elegance. I felt myself blush from the thought.

Daisy called me from New York a few days later. “I just wanted to check in. I’m going to be home Saturday, and my parents are inviting a few friends. Wanna come? Hubby will be with, so it’ll be safe. We’d all love to see you.”

I declined, telling her I was going to an Italian film festival with a friend. “She speaks the language, I’m reading the subtitles, and we’re grabbing a late dinner.”

“Oh, a date!” exclaimed Daisy. “Congratulations!” I downplayed the implication, explaining Giselle and I were just friends. “Have you ever asked her out on a date?” Daisy shot back. “I mean, it certainly sounds like you enjoy each other’s company enough. I think you should. I’d love to meet her.”

Giselle hadn’t given me any sign she considered us as anything other than friends. European greetings were as close as we got to intimacy, and neither of us knew where the other lived since we had always met at school, the theater, or a restaurant. At any rate, I didn’t think taking Giselle to a dinner party at the Woodfords’ was appropriate. After talking to Daisy for a little while longer, we hung up, and my brain immediately started working on her suggestion. Why don’t you ask Giselle out on a date instead of just meeting her somewhere? What’s the worst she can do? Tell you you’re not worthy?

-Yes. And then not see me anymore. I’ll miss her companionship.

-So you like her, right?

-Yes.

-Then ask her out, dummy! At least you’ll know.

I asked Giselle if we could go out on a date sometime over dinner that Saturday after the movies. She seemed quite surprised, and I immediately thought, Oh shit, what made me think I was in her league? She wasn’t even considering me as anything more than a friend. I should have known better. Giselle cocked her head and asked, “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?” Her puzzled response caught me completely off-guard, and I fumbled around trying to avoid sounding as if my only motivation was sexual. She smiled, clearly amused by my sudden lack of eloquence. “I get it, Will,” she interrupted with a small giggle. “You’re a traditionalist. Pick me up, we go out, you pay, and then take me home.” I nodded stupidly. “How about two weeks from tonight? You pick the place, you pick the activity, and I’ll be ready. Just let me know how I should dress, and it’s a date.”

Wanting to impress her, I selected an upscale French restaurant for dinner. Giselle took my breath away when I greeted her at her door, looking fantastic in a form-fitting “little black dress. Every woman should have one.” As we waited at the bar, she placed a Virginia Circle into a white cigarette holder about five inches long, decorated with a beautiful, intricately woven floral pattern that was sealed by glass or crystal. I complimented her on it. “Thank you! This is a gift from a close friend—a former classmate,” she explained, obviously pleased I had noticed. “She had this custom-made for my seventeenth birthday, with my favorite flowers in cloisonné.” Slightly longer and more ornate than the black one she normally used, it added to her aura of haute couture, portrayed without the slightest hint of self-consciousness or pretention. Her elegant demeanor, no doubt a product of her finishing school upbringing, gained her respectful attention from staff and patrons alike. Giselle smoked with deliberation and grace, occasionally performing a casual french- or open-mouth inhale. By the end of the night, I was desperately trying to hide my extreme attraction and excited horniness from her, unable to focus on reaction rates in the presence of such a holder-smoking goddess. Much to my relief, Giselle seemed not to notice how attentively I watched each limp-wristed, graceful trip the cigarette holder would make to her lips, or the degree to which I was fascinated by the smoke leaving her mouth. After dinner, I took her ballroom dancing at a non-smoking venue, giving me a chance to regain my composure. We stepped outside for a smoke, and I was immediately reminded of how devastatingly elegant and sexy Giselle rendered the act of smoking. “Don’t take this wrong, Will, because I’m having fun,” she said, “but can you take me home now? My feet are killing me. These shoes were not made for dancing.”

Our conversation had been more or less normal all night so I thought I had successfully hidden my fetish and arousal from her. Gonna be a long night of jacking off, I thought, remembering her most recent cigarette as I walked her to the door of her townhouse. We went to give each other the usual parting kisses on both cheeks after saying goodnight, but the image of a well-lit, slow snap-inhale from ten minutes ago chose that precise moment to flash brilliantly in my mind, and I moved to kiss Giselle. It was bold and out-of-character, but done gently, without aggression. She gave an initial jerk of surprise before parting her lips and returning the kiss, equally as gentle. I opened my eyes, frightened my brief loss of self-control had just messed up a promising friendship. “Mmmm… that was nice, Will,” she quietly said before I could apologize. “Would you like to come in?” After running what she said through my mind a second time so I could believe it, we entered her upscale apartment.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever take the hint as much as I’ve been flirting with you.” Giselle said as we sat in her living room. She took a draw from the holder and slowly released a creamy ball of smoke before tilting her head all the way back and exhaling quickly. Her eyes twinkled as she smiled. Well, I’ll be damned. A girl after Marie’s own heart. “I know you got it—especially when I started to use the cigarette holder,” she finished. “I just didn’t know what you were going to do with it. I was beginning to wonder about you.”

I said I wasn’t sure if somebody like her would be attracted to me, and blushed. She regarded me crossly, back slightly arched, holder held perfectly perpendicular to the floor. “Will, hasn’t any girl ever told you how cute you are when you blush—like right now?” I got redder. “I mean, it makes you sexy cute.” Giselle leaned forward, eyes closing, lips parting. Shortly thereafter, I was kissing my way down her body, firm, yet plush, stopping near her knees before reversing course. “Oh!” exhaled Giselle when I playfully nipped her inner thigh, only to sigh, “Ohhhh… myyyyyy…” dreamily when I finally settled in at my destination.

The clock read two-thirty. Giselle slept, nestled peacefully into the contours of my body. I was wide-awake, reflecting on how I hadn’t felt this content in years. I looked at her, clinically noticing her physical flaws for the first time. Giselle’s nose was a little too big, her cheeks a little chubby, her legs too thick for her to be considered a classic beauty—but it hadn’t mattered. Now, even as I noticed them, they faded into insignificance, and, suddenly drowsy, I fell asleep.

A gentle brush of lips and the scent of really good coffee woke me up. “Good morning, Will,” Giselle whispered tenderly, presenting me with a mug. She sat with her legs on my lap after breakfast, wearing only a robe, holding a long red box in one hand, and her short black holder in the other. “Remember when I told you about my favorite cigarettes?” Giselle shyly began. “Well…” She removed an extremely long brown… something from the box. “These are my favorites, but they’re hardly practical for every day… and a little too distinctive. Nat Sherman 164s, no filter, but the smoothest, sweetest smoke ever. And yes, it is a cigarette. I know the difference.” Giselle giggled, “I had to do the whole ‘Gigi’ thing in finishing school. I can handle myself just fine around cigars.” She lit it and took an enchanting drag, holding the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds, and then exhaling regally through her nose, purring, “Mmmmmm…” with a beatific smile before offering me the holder. “Want some?” I hesitated for the briefest instant, but took a tentative drag. It was smooth… and sweet. I inhaled the next puff fully, savoring the taste. This was not an affectation; this was a cigarette for a connoisseur. “See?” Giselle reached for the cigarette. Her next drag was one of her “dreamy” ones.

There was something about the way she looked with the super-long cigarette in the holder and the smoke flowing from her mouth and nose that sent a rush of blood to my cock. It started to rise so quickly Giselle couldn’t help but notice. “Goodness!” she quietly exclaimed, looking surprised. Then Giselle drew on the holder once more, dreamily, while watching my visceral reaction continue. I turned red, but she merely rearranged herself, wrapped her hand around my dick, and began to stroke me. “Don’t worry, Will… I’ve seen it before,” she smiled. My head was spinning too much to ask what she meant, and she took another erotic puff. My hips started bobbing, I started moaning, and it wasn’t long before I came—hard, with a loud cry. Giselle kissed me as I lay panting. “Finishing school does not mean naïve and prissy,” she whispered with an amused grin.

I introduced her to my parents at Thanksgiving, where she met my extended family. I worried about what Giselle would think about some of my relatives—I wasn’t sure if finishing school prepared one for my family. I shouldn’t have; she gave as good, if not better, than she got with my earthy Uncle Mike, clearly not shocked, and definitely not intimidated. After dinner, I carried the dishes into the kitchen where my mother was taking a momentary respite from her brother’s jovial, but constant needling. “European finishing school!” my mother softly declared. “Honestly, William Gerald Redmond, can’t you ever bring a normal girl home?” I opened my mouth to defend Giselle, but my mother smiled and gently added, “I see the way she looks at you. All the fancy schooling and money in the world can’t fake that.”

New Year’s Eve was different. The Woodfords were in France visiting Daisy and Giselle was in Maryland, so I had nothing to do and was spending it alone in my apartment. Erica called shortly before midnight, wanting to know if I could meet her the following morning. It didn’t take more than a second for me to tell her I was involved. The line went quiet for a moment. “Well,” she finally said, “I guess it had to happen sooner or later. Thanks for the fun times, Will. She’s a very lucky lady. I mean that.” I apologized, but Erica shrugged it off. “Ten or fifteen years from now, I might wonder what if… but I’m not ready for that. But you’ve been ready for the right girl ever since I’ve known you, and it sounds like you may have found her.” Strangely, I didn’t regret ending it with Erica without one last fling, although Giselle and I weren’t “official.”

Giselle was hanging out at my place about two months later, but had seemed subdued and pensive during the evening. The only cigarette she’d had all night was one of my Mores, to which she had grown accustomed during Mardi Gras in New Orleans, three days of almost non-stop drinking, partying, and sex. After dinner, we sat at opposite ends of the sofa, and she made no movement towards an after-dinner smoke, both unusual. “So… Will,” she quietly began, “I’ve had exactly one date with someone other than you since I started graduate school. He was… a fix-up over the holiday.” She sighed and continued, “He’s the kind of guy I usually date. Gorgeous, great pedigree, money, education… I’d have an easy life squarely in the social circles for which finishing school prepares you. And I found him… dull and self-centered.” I looked at her oddly. “My point is, six months ago, he would have been charming and engaging.”

“I think you just said you would like this to be an exclusive relationship,” I slowly said. “Am I wrong?”

Giselle took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and after a long silence, said, “No, you’re not.” Although quiet, her voice did not quaver. She didn’t look at me.

“Giselle, I haven’t dated anyone else in the last six months. Furthermore, I haven’t even thought about dating anyone else since our first official date.” I knelt and took her hand. “Miss Carpenter, I want to see where this goes.”

“So do I, Doctor Redmond,” she smiled, finally opening her eyes. “So do I.”

***

Our first official function as a “couple” was a university reception. Giselle was amazing in the way she worked the room full of enormous egos, navigating awkward conversations with practiced aplomb. Dean Wilcox pulled me aside as my date deftly moderated a scientific disagreement between two renowned physicists, preventing it from elevating into an argument. “I approve, Doctor Redmond,” she smiled. I thanked her, and a few minutes later, Giselle and I stepped out onto the tented, heated patio for a smoke.

She dragged on the Max 120 she had chosen as her brand for the night and regarded it, commenting, “Been a long time since I smoked a white cigarette. I didn’t want to seem ostentatious with the holder, and I wasn’t sure how… traditional the crowd would be.” She drew again, exciting me. “Not too bad, although nothing like a Sherman,” noted Giselle. “At least it’s got a decent kick.” Seeing the expression on my face, and I had forgotten about my More, she took my hand, drew close, and, eyes twinkling, whispered, “Down, boy. If you’re good for the rest of the night, it’ll be 164s and holders after we get home.”

Any budding relationship has its obstacles to overcome: ours was Giselle’s father. Her parents came to visit her in late spring, and she had arranged for us to have dinner together. I was running late because one of my graders had the flu, and I remember her mother had a neutral expression on her face until she saw Giselle react to my arrival, and then she smiled. Her father didn’t scowl, but his lack of enthusiasm was evident. “Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet Dr. Will Redmond,” Giselle brightly said, immediately giving me a kiss on the cheek and taking my hand.

“That’s a Ph.D., not an M.D., correct?” were the first words her father spoke to me. Ahhh, crap. A lifetime of being the boy parents wish for their daughters, and this is the one that has to be difficult. His position quickly became clear: he hadn’t sent his daughter to the finest European finishing school and Princeton just to end up with some poor academic. Tread carefully, Redmond. He’s just looking for an excuse. “What’s your area of research, Dr. Redmond?”

“I don’t have one. I just teach five classes each semester.” Giselle added I was the undergraduate teacher of the year.

That didn’t seem to register. His face fell even more. “I take it you’re not on the tenure track, then?”

“Actually, I am fully tenured, just… better at teaching than research.” I explained how I got my job.

“Ah. I see,” he flatly said, clearly unimpressed by a surfboard stabilizer. Dinner conversation devolved into a rehash of Giselle’s previous dating life, driven by her father. There was a prince, a president’s grandson, kids of ambassadors, business magnates… If his intent was to make me feel small, it succeeded. What in the hell made me think I could compete for this woman? Dinner ended with a not-so-subtle reference to the last date she went on. “…His father mentioned he would be happy to send the jet for you if you wanted a weekend getaway,” he said to his daughter as if I wasn’t there. Giselle brightly thanked him for the message and said to send her regards to his son.

When I got home, I poured myself an extremely pale rum and coke and sat heavily on my sofa. Send the jet for a weekend getaway, I thought, depressed. If Daisy was a reach, Giselle’s in another galaxy altogether. One where I definitely don’t belong—and her father wasn’t shy about letting me know it. My thoughts turned darker and more despairing as I worked my way through the slightly cut rum.

Giselle came through the door about ninety minutes later, using her key. “Oh. I was afraid you’d have this reaction. So, that’s my dad.” I glumly said he didn’t seem to like me. “He likes you just fine. Just not as my boyfriend,” she giggled. “Young lady,” she resumed in an artificially deep voice, “you’ve had every advantage I could give you. The finest schooling, and exposure to the highest levels of world society. What’s wrong with any of the young gentlemen you’ve already met? This isn’t some misguided effort at rebellion, is it? Have I done anything for you to rebel against?” Giselle rolled her eyes and lit her own 164 without bothering to use a holder. “That’s why it took me so long to get here.”

“What about the private jet?” My foul mood made me add, “You sure seemed happy to get the news,” with pointed accusation.

“Oooh, jealousy!” Giselle giggled, and kissed me on the forehead. “Thank you for caring so much, but the first rule of diplomacy is to smile and be pleasant, especially when you’re annoyed. As for the private jet, I’ve been on enough of them not to be impressed. It’s a limousine rental for the filthy rich,” she casually replied. Her voice dropped and lost its levity as she continued, “Frankly, I have more fun walking to Superburger’s with you for beer and burgers.” She took a long drag on the cigarillo-like 164. Smoke began to stream from her nose before she finished her draw, stopping briefly as she raised her chin for a relaxed, silent exhale. “You’re still my boyfriend,” she calmly declared. “My father’s disapproval doesn’t change anything.” Giselle looked at me, and then into my soul. She continued, “There’s a lot more than just you to recommend you. No snobby relatives, no pedigree checking, no financial statements to present… I can just be Giselle Carpenter. Not the budding diplomat, not the prime candidate for charity-immersed trophy wife whose brain atrophies day by day from lack of use… just me. And you’re still sexy cute when you blush.”

“And the smoking—”

“Not new,” Giselle interrupted. “Let’s just say yours was not the first smoking-related sexual encounter I’ve had.” At my raised eyebrow, she elaborated, “As much as the administrators and chaperones and alumni would like to have you believe, upper-class etiquette, a lady’s comportment, and a solid academic education aren’t the only things one learns at finishing school. For starters, there’s smoking. Everyone in my class started at school. We practiced in front of each other, figuring out how to use it to flirt and tease, since access to boys was extremely limited. But that’s not all… I could tell you stories that would curl your toes—and more. But you’re too much of a gentleman to ask.” That drew a smile from me, and I understood that part of her past would remain closed to me. “As far as you and smoking goes,” she continued, answering the question on my mind, “I used it to flirt… bait for the hook, so to speak,” grinned Giselle. “Never would have gotten any further if you had turned out to be an asshole. I outgrew the petty pleasure of making a guy cum over me years ago. It’s fun to play with your fetish on occasion, but I can’t say it adds much for me. I also can’t help if it makes me all the more sexy to you. As long as you don’t drool in public—preferably not in private, either. Next question?”

Her candor was both shocking and refreshing. “So… your dad doesn’t strike me as the kind who quits before he gets what he wants,” I said. She may have looked incredibly hot sitting there with the 164 between her manicured fingers, but I was more interested in her thoughts. Sex was unimportant.

“Neither is his daughter,” Giselle smiled. “He made the mistake of raising me to be like him, too.”

***

It was inevitable that my past and future would meet each other. Although I had stopped having monthly lunches with Mrs. Woodford due to my schedule, we had continued to keep in touch. She was the third person to find out I had a girlfriend, after my parents, and was dying to meet Giselle. The Woodfords were having their annual Fourth of July party, and had included Giselle by name on my invitation. I had explained Daisy as best I could to my present girlfriend in the interest of full disclosure, since Daisy and François would be there as well. Giselle seemed remarkably unaffected, saying, “Other than the sex and the near-engagement, you talk about her like a sister.” Then she asked me a question in her direct, yet non-threatening manner that always seemed to evoke a considered response. “Should I be worried? Are you going to send me home on a cab while you steal her away from her husband?” Of course it was an absurd notion, and I said as much. “I thought you’d say that,” smiled Giselle, and I suddenly got it. She’d already known the answer, and only asked so I would realize it, too. However, she did worry about her brown cigarettes. I assured her this was definitely an occasion where she wouldn’t be out-of-place with Nat Shermans or a cigarette holder. “I can guarantee you won’t be the only lady with one at the party,” I said. She shyly asked about the 164s, and I told her only if she brought a box for the hostess.

“Will!” exclaimed Daisy, hurrying across the patio to throw herself into my arms as soon as we walked into the yard at the summer house. “It’s so good to see you!” She stepped back and gave me a traditional European greeting while her husband edged closer with an evil glare. “And you must be Giselle.” My past and present kissed each other in the European way without the least hint of rivalry. “I’m Daisy.” Giselle lightly took my arm and said she’d heard a lot about her. Daisy introduced François, who put on his charming, exotic Frenchman act, probably thinking Giselle was some stupid American chick who he could seduce. I enjoye his surprise when my girlfriend cheerfuly spoke with him in perfect French. She shot me a “watch this,” smile.

Daisy’s parents showed up, interrupting Giselle’s fun at coquettishly teasing François with her finishing school wiles, leaving him wondering if he had a chance with her. “Will, darling! We’re so glad you could come!” Daisy’s mom smiled, looking elegant and sexy as usual with her signature More in the long holder. “And you must be Giselle. Will has told me so much about you!” If Giselle was bothered by the prospective daughter-in-law treatment, it didn’t show. She complimented Mrs. Woodford on her outfit and fashion accessory. “Why thank you, dear! It’s an affectation of an old lady at this point.” Giselle told her she wasn’t old, and took the opportunity to unveil her cloisonné holder. “Oh Daisy, isn’t that a beautiful cigarette holder?” Marie exclaimed. François gallantly lit Giselle’s Virginia Circle, and then his wife’s Virginia Slim 120 in the familiar mother-of-pearl holder. Giselle took a dreamy drag accented with a slow snap-inhale, and Daisy clandestinely glanced downward at me. Mrs. Woodford exhaled leisurely through her nose. Both Mr. Woodford and I were spellbound by being in the middle of such smoking elegance while the ladies continued to chat.

Once again, Giselle worked the party with amazing grace and ease, quickly losing her “stranger” status within minutes of meeting someone, flowing from group to group on my arm. “C’mon,” she said when we finished eating, “let’s go talk to Mr. and Mrs. Woodford—after all, you’re like a son to them.” Mrs. Woodford was thrilled with her gift of the 164s, and when Marie and Giselle each started smoking one, so were Mr. Woodford and I. Before the four of us rejoined the party, my girlfriend and Marie had arranged for the four of us to have dinner, and for the two of them to have a girls’ day together. “I’d love to see your cigarette holder collection, Marie,” Giselle said in parting.

Late in the party, Daisy managed to catch me alone for a moment. Her husband was inside, watching a rugby match, while Giselle was about twenty feet away, smoking a holdered 164 while speaking with my intellectual property lawyer. “My god, Will. She’s perfect for you. I’m happy for you.” She choked back a quiet sob. “I just didn’t think… it would affect me this way…” Suddenly, she launched herself at me and then kissed me intimately, making the rest of the world vanish before quickly turning and walking away. I didn’t know how long we had kissed, or if Giselle had seen any part of our exchange. I hoped she hadn’t, because I wasn’t sure how to explain it.

I found out when I drove her home. I turned the car off but she didn’t move. “I saw Daisy kissing you,” Giselle softly said without belying any of her thoughts. She’s going to be an incredible diplomat. “I think she’s finally figured out she made an enormous mistake.”

“Giselle, I’m sorry—”

“—I know you are. But she kissed you. I saw everything, cheri. You feel even worse for Daisy because she’s finally realized it’s over.” Giselle turned to face me. “You’ve moved on, and you’re not going to be available for her—she’s lost her intimate safety net. You still love her—a little more than just a sister, if that kiss was any indication. No, I’m not going to break up with you over a kiss. You have fifteen years of complicated history and intimacy between you. Daisy and her family are a big part of your life, Will. It would be really bitchy—and useless to demand you forget all of it.” She patted my leg. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting hot out here.”

That night, Giselle and I lay snuggled together after prolonged and tender lovemaking. My girlfriend hadn’t smoked one cigarette since the party, but it hadn’t kept me from being ready and excited for her. “‘Zelle, can I ask you a question?” She purred yes without moving. “Why doesn’t Daisy worry you?”

“Because I know, as far as you’re concerned, it’s over between you and her. It’s been over ever since she got married,” she candidly replied. “My turn?” I told her to go ahead. “I know Mr. Woodford likes ladies who smoke with cigarette holders. I caught him watching me. I also know Mrs. Woodford knows about you. Is there something going on between—?” How the fuck did she figure that out? At my silence, Giselle said, “Why, Will Redmond! I had no idea you were so perverse! Don’t worry, I won’t you for details, and I sure as hell won’t tell.” She climbed on top of me. “So, do I remind you of Marie? I won’t be at all offended if you say yes. I can only hope that when I’m her age, I’ll be able to work what I’ve got half as well as she does.”

“You sound almost jealous.”

“Envious,” corrected Giselle. “And impressed. She treats you like a son, except when she’s smoking around you. Then she looks at you like she’s apologizing to you for being sexy.” I felt my face turn red. “You’re blushing.” Giselle hopped out of bed, scampered into the living room and after a bit of rustling, I heard the muted click of her lighter. She reappeared in the doorway, naked, her cloisonné holder with a Virginia Circle in it next to and parallel with her face, leaning seductively against the doorframe. “But I’ll never apologize to you for that,” my girlfriend husked. Giselle performed a natural-looking french-inhale, exhaling silently with narrowed eyes. “And you are still sexy cute when you blush.” A month later, we went shopping for her engagement ring.

I proposed to Giselle at my family’s house the following Thanksgiving. Pending final exams allowed Giselle to postpone the inevitable confrontation, which took place at her uncle’s sprawling home in a very upscale neighborhood outside of Washington on Christmas Eve. My future father-in-law was furious I hadn’t asked him for his eldest daughter’s hand in marriage. I told him it would have been a waste of everyone’s time because he would have said no. “Dr. Redmond, my daughter’s friends include the highest levels of royalty. Surely you would admit you do not belong in such elevated circles.” He belittled me for an hour and concluded with, “I will not allow this marriage to take place for my daughter’s sake. Giselle could have royalty! Why should she settle for an undistinguished academic whose only contribution to the world is a stupid surfboard doodad?”

I countered, “I know you’ve made inquiries about my financial affairs.” He paled, clearly surprised his efforts at pulling my fiscal records had been detected, but Woodford and Family were a tough vault to crack. “If you must know, Giselle’s ring represents a small portion of my royalties from that ‘stupid surfboard doodad,’ as you keep calling it.”

“I don’t have to listen to this! GET OUT!” His outburst brought running feet, and the doorway filled with anxious faces.

“Sir, you will listen,” I quietly declared. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll have Woodford and Family release the information you’re looking for so you can be assured I’m not in it for the money. But you did not raise your daughter to be a snob, and it’s far too late to expect her to turn into one.” Red-faced, Giselle’s father ordered his brother and nephews to throw me out. They surrounded me, but I simply shrugged and calmly walked through the nervous crowd towards the door. “It’s his confrontation. I never yelled once,” I said as I passed a brawny kid who sympathetically responded, “Yeah, I get that, but you still gotta leave.” Giselle called my name, but a wall of relatives kept her from joining me.

By that time, I was unable to get a seat on any mode of transportation back home until Christmas day. I spent Christmas Eve by myself in a DC hotel, not surprised every effort at contacting Giselle failed. Strangely, I wasn’t worried about my fiancée, or that our plans were over. We finally managed to catch up with each other the day after Christmas. “Hey, Will,” Giselle said. “Are you OK? I assume that was you calling my uncle’s house multiple times. They wouldn’t let anyone answer the phone.” There was a pause. “Are we OK?” she anxiously asked. I assured her I hadn’t been intimidated, and was more worried about her. “I’m fine,” she sighed. “Daddy’s not letting me near a phone at the house, and he’s busy trying to arrange suitable dates for me. Mom promised she wouldn’t let me call you, so I’m out shopping with her and my sisters. You impressed her with the way you handled Daddy. She said it takes a strong man to face him down my father with such quiet resolve. She wants to meet your parents.”

“What does she think?”

“She likes you. So do my sisters. Angie thinks Daddy’s just pissed he couldn’t intimidate you,” Giselle said. “I know he didn’t expect you to be so forthcoming with your fiscals—he also didn’t expect to have such a difficult time getting them on his own. Guess your other parents are pretty protective, too.” I could hear the smile. “He’s scared the ring is real… because then he’ll have to admit he’s just being snobbish. Love you.” A couple of days later, she hurriedly called from Dulles to tell me her father was taking the family to Belgium, and she wouldn’t be back until the day school started.

Mr. Carpenter did a great job at keep Giselle and I out of touch. I had to have Kevin masquerade as a school official to communicate. I learned her father had filled her social calendar with what he considered better alternatives, so she was either out on a date, at a party, or getting ready. I’d had enough, and with Kevin as a go-between, Giselle and her mom set up an ambush. I flew to Brussels the weekend before classes started. Mr. Carpenter wasn’t happy to see me walk into the restaurant, but it was far too public to make a scene. He triumphantly told me Giselle had been out almost every night since leaving the U.S. “If you were expecting to see her tonight, I’m afraid you wasted your money,” he sneered. “Giselle is on a date with someone listed in Burke’s Peerage this evening, so you may as well go back to your hotel.”

That’s fine, because I came to see you,” I countered, handing him an official Woodford and Family envelope. “These are the documents you’ve been trying to get, and then some to reassure you I’m not in it for the money.”

“My daughter doesn’t want you, Dr. Redmond. She’s been having a wonderful time here in Europe, dating men, who frankly, are at least a step, if not several, above you socially. I think she’s coming to realize what a mistake it would be to marry you.”

“Thomas,” Mrs. Carpenter cut in, “Giselle hasn’t said anything about breaking the engagement. I think your confidence is misplaced.”

“I’m just trying to keep her from making an enormous mistake, Thelma. Dr. Redmond co-invented a toy with a surfer. How can that compare with Pierce, who could one day be the prime minister of the U.K.?”

“I don’t think that’s important to Giselle,” she shot back, glaring at her husband. “Whether or not you think it should.”

He took the envelope. “I know what your salary is, so don’t think I won’t have these documents fully vetted,” he challenged. When I didn’t react, he told me how reckless it was to incur the amount of debt at the rate I was going.

I sighed, “Can we just assume I am being prudent with my money? If you don’t belive the documents, you can contact the references. Everytime I see you, you complain about me spending money I don’t have, and it’s getting tedious.”

“Fine,” he sourly said. “Even if you are well off, you can’t give Giselle the life she would have here. The finest things in life or access to the highest levels of society?” he asked. “These are the people she attended school with, and you’re an outsider with no qualification that they’d accept you.”

“No, I can’t give her those things,” I admitted. “But I can swear to both of you I will give her the life she’s asking me for.” Her mother immediately jumped in on my side, and I realized why Giselle had been so confident.

Giselle’s father capitulated before leaving the restaurant, accepting our pending nuptials with grumpy resignation. While it wasn’t exactly the blessing I was looking for, Mrs. Carpenter told me not to worry. “He’s just used to people doing what he tells them to. He’s upset you and she aren’t.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Giselle’s never had stars in her eyes for anyone before. I was hoping you’d fight for her.”

My first lesson in my fiancée’s self-confidence came when we discussed the wedding party. She wanted a cousin to be a groomsman, and suggested Daisy as a bridesmaid. “I like her, and she’s your best female friend. As long as she doesn’t try to steal you away from your honeymoon, I’m good.” About a month later, Daisy was in town visiting her parents without her husband before a business trip, and Giselle invited her to dinner. I joked it was a case of keeping one’s enemies closer, but the two women got along famously, talking as if they were the old friends, and I more or less wound up being ignored. Not that bridesmaid’s dresses and wedding minutiae were interesting. I just tried not to think about the fact that two beautiful women with whom I’d been very intimate, were smoking with cigarette holders in my apartment. The most awkward moment came when Daisy was leaving, and she got her “kiss me—now” expression on her face. I almost fell for it, before we both quickly recovered and pecked each other on both cheeks.

“I want you to know I don’t want you to feel you ever have to hide your relationship with Daisy from me,” Giselle said as we lay in bed. “She told me she offered you an affair and you refused just because she was married. You’re a wonderful friend to have broken off such a long-standing affair you desperately wanted. Daisy promised me she wouldn’t try to get you to go back on it. Be right back, cheri.” She left the bedroom and returned with the Vaseline. “Daisy also told me something else you like, and that you’re gentle and patient with beginners.”

We had a relatively small wedding in September, about 150 friends and family… along with a small cadre of paparazzi. Several well-connected people were there from Giselle’s days at finishing school along with her father’s associates, and my wife’s maid of honor was an honest-to-goodness princess. It was she who had given Giselle the cloisonné holder and used a similar one of her own, making a total of four beautiful women using cigarette holders at the reception, five if I counted Emelie, Giselle’s youngest sister, who was smoking More menthols and borrowed Mrs. Woodford’s holder for one. The two of them spoke quite a bit.

I noticed Daisy and Giselle speaking to each other in the corner at the reception, and went to see what the loves of my life were plotting. “I’ve been trying to tell your wife all about you,” Daisy gently joked, “but she already knows the important stuff.” She handed Giselle a small, festively wrapped box. “This is a private gift from me to both of you. Don’t open it until you’re alone tonight.”

That night, as my wife prepared her wedding night seduction, she opened the case. Inside was a five-inch long, violet, mother-of-pearl cigarette holder. She placed her 164 into it and posed for me. Taking a long drag, Giselle lazily raised her chin, and smoke flowed in thick gray streams from her nose and mouth. Her eyes sparkled with each drag, and I got hard as she playfully excited me with her incredibly sensual way of smoking the entire six-plus-inch cigarette. She stroked my cock with her last exhale, a slow combination one with lidded eyes, ensuring I was rock-hard. “Now, let’s make some babies,” Giselle cooed.

Some Relationships Last Forever

We visited Giselle’s parents in Belgium at Christmastime. My father-in-law still complained about me because he thought Giselle’s maverick behavior had rubbed off on his second daughter, Angélique, who had taken up with a computer nerd working for some new company named Microsoft. “Don’t worry, Will. The little princess won’t disappoint him,” Giselle said, referring to her youngest sister, Emelie, now a junior at finishing school, and daddy’s girl. Unlike her sisters, she was slim, without the roundness in the hips and butt, and flawlessly beautiful, carrying herself with the air of someone ten years older. “She takes being at finishing school way too seriously,” Giselle said. “I don’t think it’ll ever occur to her to even look at a guy who isn’t listed in some peerage.” Emmy, as she was called by the family, had further refined her smoking style and switched from the More menthols she smoked at the wedding to menthol Virginia Slims Light 120s she had imported to school on a regular basis. Her signature style was a drag finished by a long, effortless french-inhale. She’d then give a little toss of her head and send a quick, silent, perfectly shaped, narrow, all-oral exhale into the air, looking very much the spoiled princess. I quickly figured out Emmy was trying to provoke some sort of reaction. She would always ask me to light her cigarettes and then smoke flirtatiously, complete with teasing intent in her eyes and body language. It was unsettling, so I asked my wife to put a stop to it. “It’s not that she wants you,” Giselle said. “She’s trying to figure out the sexiest way of smoking, and frankly, you’re great for that. While finishing school girls know how to turn heads from a distance, it’s a learned behavior, and it does take practice.”

Angie, on the other hand, didn’t care about the potential sensuality in smoking. You couldn’t tell she had gone to the same finishing school as her sisters. She didn’t dress like it, she didn’t carry herself like it, and she definitely did not smoke like it. Angie smoked Marlboros, puffing her cheeks before swallowing the smoke, and then exhaling carelessly, sending barely shaped clouds into the air in a hurry. Save for the way she usually held her cigarette, Angie did nothing I associated with graceful, elegant, feminine smoking. I liked her a lot, though, because she was smart, brilliantly so, and despite her lack of formal training in engineering, she understood a lot of it, allowing us to share some wonderfully nerdy discussions over the holiday. It was clear Angélique was rebellious all on her own, and blaming me just gave her father some comfort.

My wife’s smoking habit diminished shortly after we got the news she was pregnant the following November. Giselle enjoyed smoking too much to quit completely until she started feeling guilty about exciting me so much without being able to do anything about it. Handjobs were unsatisfying because my excitement would start to turn her on. Unfortunately, she would quickly lose the mood for a variety of reasons, and solitary masturbation to smoky memories became the only way to deal with my still-potent libido. Our mutual frustration ended at four-thirty one morning, when a sleepy eyed young lady named Renée Alice Brianne Redmond announced her presence to the world, and sex became unimportant.

It took Giselle five weeks after delivery to start smoking again. I came home from work to find her in bed, naked and seductively posed with a 164 in the wedding gift holder. “Been thinking about sexing you for the last four months,” she purred. “I’m yours all night… as long as you remember we will have to take breaks.”

Giselle and I continued to remain in close contact with Daisy and the Woodfords. It seemed as if I spoke to her more now than when I was involved with her. Daisy would visit whenever she was in the area, sometimes with her husband, sometimes without, fawning over our new daughter while her parents were like a third set of grandparents to Renée. “Look at you,” she would gush, “you’re a daddy now and all.” I could also hear a tinge of regret in her voice and see it in her eyes. There was a time when this could have been you.

Two months after Renée’s first birthday, we discovered she would not be an only child. As before, Giselle smoked less, but this time she quit before her fifth month, apologetically leaving me high and dry with only masturbation as an outlet. Giselle was late in her sixth month when we got the call. Daisy was in tears, babbling interchangeably between French and English. She had tried to get hold of her parents, but they weren’t home, and she was frightened, near-hysterical, and an ocean away. We managed to calm her down enough to get an idea of what was happening. François had finally shown his true colors.

“Go to her,” Giselle said as soon as we hung up. “She needs somebody now. Put some things in a bag and buy a ticket on the next flight to Paris.” I hesitated. “Well, I don’t really want to travel in my condition,” she pointed out. “You can get there before her parents and take her someplace safe. Daisy is your best friend in the world, and something is horribly wrong. Go take care of her,” urged my wife. When I didn’t move, Giselle said. “Do I have to start packing for you? Women have been having babies without men around for centuries. If it will make you feel any better, I’ll call your parents to come watch over me.”

“Giselle…” I hesitantly began.

“If you’re worried about sleeping with Daisy, don’t.” She took a deep breath. “I’m fully aware it might happen, but she doesn’t need to feel any more alone than she does. Daisy needs you, and she may need the comfort and intimacy only you can give her.”

“But I’m happily married… it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“Married to a woman who might as well be frigid for another eight months or so,” grumbled Giselle. “I’m out of bounds, and you need to get laid. I feel bad when I know you’re masturbating and I can’t even think about helping or, god forbid, join in—” She stopped abruptly. “I’m carrying a soccer star, and the little shit just hates it when Mommy has sexy thoughts about Daddy. This one’s definitely going to be a boy.” She placed my hand on her tummy. “Your son is extremely rambunctious,” my wife exhaled. There was a pause. “Will, go comfort Daisy,” Giselle urged. “She needs the intimacy, you need the sex, and frankly, I would rather it be Daisy, because I trust her not to pursue an ongoing affair.” Less than four hours later, I was on a plane to Paris.

Daisy burst into tears when she saw me. I did too; she had a couple of obvious bruises on her face, so it didn’t take much to convince her that she shouldn’t stay home, and she didn’t want to be alone. When we had settled into a hotel room, Daisy cried in my arms for about an hour before she was coherent enough to tell me what had happened. Her husband, now in an executive position, had apparently been exercising his “droit du seigneur,” using his position to bed every cute secretary within his chain of command. He had run into Daisy, who had been out with some friends, while he was out with a couple of his secretaries. “I told him we’d talk about it later!” Evidently, Daisy shouldn’t have even acknowledged him at all; this apparently left François feeling publicly humiliated. He came home and yelled at her, and when she yelled back, he slapped her. “He told me this wasn’t America, and I needed to learn my place!”

As angry as I was at her husband, comforting Daisy took precedence. It took a while longer for her to calm down enough to smoke; nonetheless, Daisy was still shaking so much I had to steady her hands for the light. She smoked without any style whatsoever while I tried to convince her to file charges, but she steadfastly refused. When I called my wife for reinforcement, she told me most, if not all, European men in positions of power had affairs. It was tacitly accepted behavior, and their wives were just expected to deal with it. “So yes,” Giselle sighed, “François would have expected Daisy to say nothing in public, and maybe not even in private. He certainly wouldn’t have expected a confrontation.” I asked Giselle how the wives were supposed to deal with it. I had thought the Bourgeots were an extreme exception. “Some take discreet lovers, some suffer in silence, and some don’t care because they are very aware they have traded the trappings of the life they have for a lack of fidelity.” After a pause, she wryly added, “Just in case you’re wondering, I would fall into the first category.” No surprise there, I thought—and then it hit me. Damn, she sounds so much like Marie it’s scary. Did I just fall in love with and marry a more age-appropriate version? “Not that you’d do anything more than look if you were ever in that position—and then bring all that lust home to me,” Giselle accurately finished. On several occasions, my wife had pointed out other sexy smokers we encountered while we were out, knowing she would be the beneficiary of any residual excitement. Giselle asked for Daisy, and the two women spoke for an hour, during which I did little other than to hand Daisy fresh tissues when she would cry. Daisy and I dined in the room with little conversation. She was emotionally exhausted, and I was beat from traveling, so it was only nine in the evening when we shared a sibling hug, and climbed into opposite sides of the king-size bed.

A noise woke me up. Daisy was standing at the window. I could see smoke curling from a cigarette, and then she took a drag, revealing the holder. The smoke flowed from her lips, then her nose, rendered very visible by the lights from outside. I thickened. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she softly said as I climbed out of bed. I told her I was jet lagged, so it wasn’t her fault. “Will… I want to thank you and Giselle for… coming to my rescue. I can’t believe you dropped everything for me—I’ll pay you back for the plane ticket and hotel.”

“I know I don’t act like it, Daisy, but I’m a rich nerd. It’s OK,” I replied.

She giggled in spite of herself. “I remember telling you something like that once.” Daisy took a long, relaxing drag from her cigarette, exhaling without a sound in her normal glamorous fashion. “You are the best friend in the universe,” she said, reaching to hug me. As I stepped back, I looked at her beautiful face and into her eyes. Her expression changed, her eyes became dewy, and slowly, Daisy leaned forward, mouth opening. Instinctively, I kissed Daisy, and it quickly went from tender to passionate to hungry. My ex-girlfriend was panting and flushed when we finally stopped kissing. “Will…” she sniffled, beginning to cry. I held her tightly, and then we kissed some more. “Will…” she whispered, “this isn’t about… our sexual history.”

I looked into her eyes and understood everything: Daisy’s need, Giselle’s permission, and why I was here. We fell to the bed, kissing occasionally, but Daisy seemed content just to lie there with my arms wrapped around her, cuddled in a loving embrace without words for a while. Finally, she rolled onto her back, spread her legs, and silently invited me to join with her. I felt the knot form quickly as I slowly glided in and out of her, but didn’t fight to hold it. I cried my wife’s name when it broke, cumming in torrents, a physical indicator of my pent-up frustration. Daisy only held me even closer until long after the blissful burn had stopped and I had slipped out of her, completely flaccid. “I’m… sorry, Daisy.”

She simply replied, “You love your wife,” and gave me a little kiss. “It’s OK, Will. Thank you.”

The next morning, I woke up with Daisy snuggled into my body, peacefully asleep. Gently disengaging myself to keep from waking her, I crept into the bathroom only to hear a loud noise. Daisy’s pager was going off, waking her. “François is trying to find me,” she unenthusiastically said. I asked her if she wanted to be found. After a moment of consideration, she shook her head. That afternoon, I called my wife to tell her it had happened.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“Yes and no.”

“Does Daisy feel better?” I said she’d stopped crying. “That’s good. Marie says thank you, and the Woodfords insist on paying for your trip. They’ll be there tomorrow morning.” I didn’t say anything, and the transatlantic silence began to get loud. “Will,” Giselle sighed in exasperation, “stop beating yourself up. I don’t need any apology, and Daisy doesn’t need a guilty husband hanging around giving her the idea she’s the one who’s done something wrong. She needs comfort, not self-recrimination. Make it all about her. Be her… best friend with benefits. Help her get back to being the woman you loved.”

Daisy chose that moment to go to the bathroom. In a hushed voice, I told Giselle I didn’t want her to have a quid pro quo affair. “Are you still insecure after almost four years, a beautiful daughter, a son on the way, and all the times we’ve shared getting to this point? William Gerald Redmond, I chose you to be my happily ever after. Of the major reasons women have affairs, you fail on all accounts. Boring? Nope. Bad or not enough sex—why does this kid always kick when I think about sex? I never would have thought a nerdy professor could be such a stud. Wandering eye or taking wife for granted—none of this applies to you.” Giselle sighed. “If for no other reason than Daisy’s peace of mind, forget about the guilt until you get back. We can go to counseling then if it still bothers you.” Daisy stepped out of the bathroom and lit her morning Virginia Slim 120. I watched her take a deep drag, exhale luxuriously with an almost-orgasmic expression on her face, and I felt stirrings of excitement mixed with embarrassment and shame. “Can I talk to Daisy? Is she awake?” Giselle asked.

Daisy took the phone with trepidation. “Giselle—I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for it to happen—” She started to cry again. “You did?” she sniffled. “Really?” My wife continued to talk on the other end, and Daisy gave a teary laugh. “Well… I guess you’re right about that.” She lit another cigarette as the conversation continued. Eventually, Daisy said, “You know he called your name?” I turned beet-red. “Yes, he is… Yes… Yes, it is… Are you sure?” She listened for a few seconds, her demeanor much livelier. “Definitely. Giselle, thank you again. For everything.” She hung up the phone. “Your wife is amazing,” Daisy slowly said after hanging up. “She said you two discussed the… possibilities before you left. She told me she sent you anyway because I needed to be with someone who wasn’t one of François’ friends, and we all knew my parents weren’t going to be able to leave until today.” Her beeper went off again. “It’s my husband again. He knows I have to keep it turned on for work,” she sighed. I discreetly noted the number.

Daisy said she had to go out to pick up a few things, but assured me she wasn’t going home, nor would she call her husband in response to his increasingly frequent pages. I waited a few minutes, and then went to Gare Montparnasse to call François, who began to rage at me. “Shut up, you bastard!” I angrily snapped in his native language, silencing him. “If you hit her again,” I menaced, “I will hire somebody to hunt you down and kill you like an animal. You won’t know when, where, who, or how until you die.” Then I hung up, leaving it to him to decide how serious I was.

Daisy was still gone when I returned to the hotel. I began to worry, but her beeper was still in the room and going off every ten minutes, so François still hadn’t found her. She returned about an hour later with her arms full of shopping bags, saying, “Needed to pick up a few things since I can’t go home.” She pulled out a new evening dress for having a nice dinner with her parents, some lingerie, and a carton of Virginia Slim Light 120s. After tossing me a pack of M menthol, she pulled out a fresh pack of hers, put one into her cigarette holder, and lit it with a quick combination snap-french inhale before starting to undress. Her beeper went off yet again. Daisy shot it an annoyed glare and picked up the phone, preemptively waving fiercely at me to calm down. “This is Daisy Woodford. I’m going off-pager until Monday opening for a personal matter. Please route my calls to Harold Crane until then, and let him know I’m unreachable. Yes, thank you.” She hung up, shut the pager off, and resumed undressing. I was only paying peripheral attention to her nudity, having assumed she was just changing clothes until she softly called my name. Daisy took a long drag, posing elegantly for me while naked. She exhaled sexily, emanating “I-know-what-you-like” sensuality. My heart skipped a beat, my legs wobbled, my stomach did flips, and I gasped audibly on a rocket ride to arousal. “Your wife told me to take good care of you,” she enticingly purred before I could get any protest out. My ex-girlfriend took another gorgeous, lust-provoking drag, giving me a profile view as she exhaled slowly through her mouth with her back slightly arched, cigarette holder perfectly perpendicular to the floor. It had been several years since she’d posed for me like this, and it had an even more powerful effect than when we had been younger.

Daisy performed a deliberate french-inhale after her next long, long drag, remaining in profile for me to watch. She raised her chin, and slowly exhaled through her nostrils. “All Giselle told me this morning was that I just have to send you back in one piece,” she breathed, obviously excited. She drew on the holder, rolled a big ball of smoke out, then back into her mouth in slow motion. A jet of smoke came from her nostrils as she swallowed with her inhale, and with a graceful half-turn of her head, Daisy sent a long plume of smoke angled towards the ceiling, adding, “She also said you’d probably enjoy it more if I seduced you.” She french-inhaled her next drag, and then let a picture-perfect combination exhale flow. Frozen in place, spellbound, I watched as she came close and gracefully sank to her knees. Clenching the holder in her teeth, she undid my jeans, returned to her feet to take her next drag, and I heard her suck the smoke deep into her lungs. She began to tease my cock with her fingers during her exhale, and sultrily whispered, “I know you. I know what you have for me now. And I want it in the worst way.” Daisy maneuvered me the few steps to the bed, pushing me onto my back. She took one more massive drag, and engulfed my three-quarters erection, exhaling through her nose. I hardened almost instantly. She put the cigarette out and swung her leg gracefully over my body to settle on my cock, and I immediately rolled over and started pumping at her, slowly. “Ohhhhh…” she growled, and her eyes got that faraway look.

I whispered, “I’m gonna make you cum, Daisy. I know what you like.” Long, steady strokes, fucking up at a slight angle causing the head of my cock to slide across the top of her pussy. Having already had my first cum of the day, I could give her that stimulation for a long time without pushing myself over the edge.

“Mmmmffff… mmmffff… mmmmmmm…” hummed Daisy, but her soft purrs quickly turned into moans of increasing passion, and her pussy began to get sloppy and creamy. “Uhh… Will… uhh… Will…” I continued my fluid, graceful pumping feeling all the physical thrill of sex, but not close to cumming, and her face reddened. “Uh… ogod!” Daisy grabbed me tightly, one arm around my back, the other on my ass, trying to merge our bodies while she shuddered and her pussy clenched around me. I rode out her brief orgasm, and was fucking her again as soon as her body relaxed. Her face reddened again, her eyes lost their focus, and she seized me yet again. Daisy relaxed her grip on me, panting softly, and wiggled her hips beneath me indicating she wanted more. I obliged her until she came once more, moaning my name quietly while she quivered and hung on to me. “Ohhhh… Will,” she sighed, giving me the smile of a woman in glorious afterglow, the blush still on her neck and face, lying still beneath me with my cock still hard and embedded inside her. She gazed into my eyes, and I slowly pulled out of her in accordance with her silent, but mutually understood directive. She gasped from a potent aftershock, and arched her back, shuddering. I was still hard and covered in Daisy’s cream, my groin a gooey mess.

Radiating contentment, Daisy cuddled against me as I shrank, and we lay there, lovers again for the first time in many years. At some point, she rolled over, gathered her smoking accessories from the nightstand, carefully assembled a smoke, and dragged on it. Only the slightest hint of a teasing smile was on her face as she exhaled slowly, silently towards the ceiling. She repeated the action, and my cock slowly responded. Daisy gently took me into her mouth, cleaning her still-drying cream off before taking one last drag from her holdered cigarette. Her head began to bob more quickly, easily, as she took me deeper into her mouth, and then into her throat. She pressed a hand firmly against my pelvis to keep me from thrusting at her as my dick got hot and started tingling. Her free hand wrapped around the base and she continued to work her oral magic, selflessly devoting herself to my pleasure. “Ohhhhh…. Daiiiiiiisyyyyy,” I sighed, rewarding her efforts with a burst, and then steady flow of cum. She nursed on my cock until it went soft, feeding on everything I had to give her. Daisy gave a quick toss of her head, kissed me deeply and burrowed into the contours of my body; my arms automatically wrapped around her to keep her as close as possible. Neither of us spoke. Her breathing became quiet and regular, and I let myself join her in a late afternoon nap.

“I don’t know if I could be that—generous if the situation were reversed,” Daisy said while we were dressing for dinner, having decided it was worth the risk of running into François or one of his friends. “But Giselle came right out and asked me if I needed—physical comfort—from you. She told me that if it happened, let it, and not to feel—guilty about it.” I relayed my wife’s statement about trust. Daisy considered it for a long time, and finally concurred. “She knows I love you too much to ruin your life with an affair that means something, just like you told me when I got married.” She paused at the door before we left the room. “I think Giselle knows I wouldn’t betray a friend… and I do consider her to be one of my best friends.”

We walked to a restaurant a couple of blocks away for an uneventful dinner, after which we returned to the hotel. “Can I ask you an—insensitive—question?” Daisy nodded without hesitation. “Why all the fuss about François’ infidelity? I mean, have you been…”

“No,” was her immediate, candid answer. “Remember, my libido?” She took a deep breath. “It isn’t so much that he’s having extramarital sex. We spend a significant amount of time apart because of our jobs, and both of us have high sex drives, so we’ve been mostly faithful to each other by mutual agreement. That’s the practical, and it worked for me—for us.

“But ever since François got the directorship, it’s changed. Now he’s fucking every secretary in his chain of command, and he’s beginning to ignore me. I’m angry because lately, he hasn’t bothered to ask me if I’d be interested in a second woman in our bed, and he knows I’m bisexual. “He’d rather do his personal secretary plus one. He seems to prefer her to me, and that is what makes me mad. What pisses me off the most is his attitude about it being a perk of his position, and because he’s a French male, I shouldn’t have feelings about it. I’ve never been the suffer-in-silence type, and I’m not about to start. Not to mention the whole hitting thing. I’m sure he’ll apologize, and be very sincere, but if he did it once…”

“So why don’t you just… do your own thing?” I asked. “You certainly still turn heads.”

She smiled and thanked me for the flattering compliment. “There’s a difference between zipless fucks to relieve sexual tension and notches on a belt. He’s just racking up a count, because I guarantee you he could get everything at home he’s getting from his secretaries,” Daisy replied. “Besides, I can only take the sex club so much, and the powder is incredibly expensive.” She grinned at my shocked gasp. “The Bourgeots do have their uses,” she nonchalantly continued. “If he wasn’t part of the deal, I might even do it more often. It’s a good way to get my ya-yas out without the risk of attachment.” I asked her if she had ever considered including François. “Not really,” Daisy admitted. “I go occasionally as the Bourgeots’ guest. I’m sure François would want to join—more pussy to conquer—but the club dues are expensive, and it’s pretty much a lifetime commitment to pay them—it insures exclusivity and privacy. I always worried he’d go nuts over it, and eventually end up bankrupting himself on the sex powder so he could perform. Don’t worry—we have separate accounts.”

She began to put on some of the lingerie she’d purchased earlier. “Not exactly standard bra and panties for everyday wear,” I drolly noted even as I appreciated her sexy outfit. She pulled a box from one of the bags, revealing a long cigarette holder.

“I also picked up a new holder while I was out,” she smiled before lighting a Virginia Slim Light 120 in it. Eyes on fire, she posed elegantly for me. “Will… please don’t hate me for taking advantage of Giselle’s generosity. My husband’s been ignoring me, and… well… I’m horny.” I told her she didn’t have to worry as my cock responded to her siren song. Daisy finished her seduction smoke with a quick snap-inhale, toss of the head, and a slightly careless oral exhale before our mouths met, tongues crashing, lust permeating the room.

We were able to air out the room before her parents arrived, releasing the aroma of smoke and sex filling it, hiding the evidence of our liaison. I also tipped housekeeping generously to change the bedding while we had breakfast. “Will, thank you for getting here so quickly,” her father said, pulling me aside while Daisy hugged her mother. “Of course I’ll pay all your expenses.” He shook my hand with a father’s gratitude on his face. Mrs. Woodford hugged me and broke into tears. I told her I would always be there for her daughter. The four of us sat in the hotel room discussing what would happen next; it was decided the Woodfords would rent an apartment in Paris for the next year. Mrs. Woodford would stay there with Daisy for a while until her daughter figured out what she wanted to do about François. We went to lunch nearby, and as we were walking, Daisy’s mom slowed. I hung back to see if anything was wrong. “No, just a twisted strap on my shoe,” she smiled. Then she touched my arm. “Will… Did you and Daisy—?” I blushed and asked her how she knew. “I saw the lingerie in the bathroom.” Marie hesitated. “What about Giselle?”

“We discussed it before I left. She knows.”

“I’m so sorry if my daughter—”

“She hasn’t. My wife spoke to her, too. It’s—complicated, and I don’t quite believe all of it myself, but it’s between me and Giselle now. She told me there won’t be any unpleasant repercussions.”

Mrs. Woodford carefully inspected my face with parental scrutiny, searching for the slightest sign of duplicity. I met her gaze with as much transparency as I could muster. After a seeming eternity, she softly exclaimed, “You young people! I swear I’ll never understand this casual attitude towards marriage and sex!” She finished making a show of fiddling with her shoe, and we quickly caught up with her husband and daughter.

***

“Daddy!” Renée gleefully shouted as I walked through the door to our home the next day, running to me as fast as her little legs would carry her, and I dropped my bag to scoop her up in my arms. As I held my daughter, my wife slowly walked over to give me a lingering kiss on the cheek. “Feeling any better?” asked Giselle. I nodded. “Good.” That night, I lay next to my wife with my hand on her belly feeling the baby kick. “Daisy called to thank me,” Giselle calmly said. “We had a long discussion. She said she never intended to make you break your wedding vows. It just—happened—and it won’t ever happen again.” I concurred. “She also said even if she doesn’t understand why I let you, it was a good thing you were there. She needed… to be with someone she was—close to.”

The room went silent. After about a minute or so of it, I softly asked, “So… Giselle… why did you let me?” One thing about me: I just can’t ignore a herd of elephants in the room.

“Because I knew it was probably going to happen whether or not I did,” she replied. “I knew—” Giselle took a deep, loud breath before calmly continuing, “—you would do anything for her in a crisis. I chose not to burden you with guilt over it, and I am choosing not to let it poison this wonderful life we have just because you went to the rescue of the closest of friends in serious trouble and something sexual happened. I made my peace with what you and Daisy had before we got married, because I know it’s something you no longer have—and something neither of you care to try to regain.”

Again, we lay next to each other in silence for a while. “You’re amazing,” I finally said. She giggled, “I know,” in response. I hesitated, but knew I had to ask the next question. “So… is there anybody like that for you?”

“Yes… but I don’t think you have to worry,” Giselle replied. “It’s never been sexual. My cousin Greg… the one who was in our wedding. He’s been my guy shoulder to cry on, even though we were an ocean apart for most of the time. He’s a lot like you.”

Greg was the brawny kid who didn’t throw me out as ordered that Christmas. He had the size and physique of an NFL linebacker, but he was a gentle soul at heart. I deadpanned, “Except for the muscles on muscles thing.”

My wife laughed. “You’re funny. That’s one of the reasons I married you.” Ten weeks later, Giselle proved herself to be psychic, and we welcomed Charles Gilbert Thomas Redmond into the world.

***

Daisy’s divorce became final on Charlie’s first birthday. We threw her a small party the next time she came to visit her parents. She and Giselle got drunk, but the weekend rescue never came up; in fact, none of us have ever talked about it since it happened. Daisy moved to London, and when her boss retired, he named her as his successor. She visited us more often, explaining, “The view from almost the top is pretty cool. I understand why my former boss liked it so much. I work only as much as I want; I have an army of managers and staff to carry out my day-to-day stuff. I get the ‘face-of-the-company’ stuff, so I travel around the world and do the boring business dinner circuit while my team gets to do the heavy lifting.” Daisy pulled me aside and whispered, “I finally got to take the Bourgeots out to dinner… and I wasn’t the one who had to go to the club afterwards—much to their disappointment.”

Charlie’s first real Christmas took place at the Carpenter family gathering in Maryland. Emmy gave me a big hug, filling my nose with expensive perfume and tobacco. No longer in finishing school, she radiated expensive class and beauty. “I’m interning as a buyer for one of the boutiques in Paris,” she smiled, looking at me with an evaluating eye. “We could do something with you.” She turned to her sister. “It took me a while to appreciate how good-looking my brother-in-law really is.” Giselle laughed and said hands off. “But I can make him hot for you. The right suit…”

“Emmy, stop drooling,” I joked. “I’m flattered, but it’s a little embarrassing. In front of your sister and all.”

In response, she removed a long beige cigarette from a gold case, and asked me for a light. “Emmy, what are you smoking now?” Giselle asked. “You change brands every year!” She turned to me. “Emmy’s been the fashion-conscious smoker ever since she discovered that Marlboros weren’t the only cigarette in the world, just ubiquitous, and stopped smoking them at fifteen.”

Emmy shot back, “You smoked them until you were in college. I can’t help it if my taste developed earlier than yours.”

“Taste? This coming from a woman who went through a phase where she had to color-coordinate Sobranie Cocktails with her outfit,” needled Giselle. “Knowing you, it’s all about smoking à la mode.”

“I may like—distinctive—cigarettes, but at least I can be stylish without anachronisms like cigarette holders and overly bold statements like unfiltered six-inch brown cigarettes,” Emmy retorted with a smile. She broke the sisterly exchange by french-inhaling from the beige 120 for what seemed like forever, putting my mind on hold as I stared helplessly. Emmy smiled teasingly. When the sisters got together with me around, they enjoyed the game of discreetly teasing me through my fetish. A little blood flowed south causing my wife to giggle, and she moved to hide her gentle encouragement of the slowly developing bulge from everyone except her sister. “It’s a More Mild Menthol 120,” Emmy resumed. “They don’t sell them in the US.” She posed with the cigarette held daintily near the filter, wrist-cocked, looking high-class model gorgeous, and smoking fetish fantasy perfect. She had me enchanted, and both she and Giselle knew it. Emmy dragged again with her normal leisurely french-inhale, exhaling a long, oral cone into the air. She gave Giselle a knowing, mischievous smile and quietly said, “I brought a carton of the non-menthol ones with me. I figured Will might like to see you with them.” Emmy tossed her head. “You’re right. He is really cute when he blushes.”

With Renée and Charlie in the fawning hands of many relatives, Giselle took me Christmas shopping. Imagine my surprise when she pulled into the parking lot of a long-term stay hotel. I asked her about the shopping. “C’mon to the front desk. You’re moving boxes.” She had shipped some gifts to the hotel as well as her uncle’s home. I moved them to a room she had apparently booked and asked her why such elaborate subterfuge. She made me open the boxes and count gifts first.

Satisfied everything was accounted for with no signs of shipping damage, she pulled a beige 120 from her purse. “When was the last time we had five hours completely to ourselves?” Giselle lit the cigarette and inhaled noisily, holding the smoke for several seconds before her nasal exhale. Looking regal and sexy as she sat with her legs crossed, she drew again. After her second evaluatory puff, Giselle pronounced, “Not too bad, but it’s not a Nat Sherman. Maybe I’ll asked Emmy for a pack of hers and see what the menthols are like.” She stood up, dragged on the cigarette, and exhaled forcefully through her nose while she fiddled with her clothes. “Got a better idea,” Giselle mumbled, and turned to me. She drew hard on the beige cigarette, inhaled with a slow snap, lifted her chin, and exhaled for several silent seconds from her mouth and nose. She looked into my eyes and commanded, “Undress me, my devoted love slave.” Giselle rewarded me with an elegant-looking drag and slow combination exhale. At my glazed, attentive stare, and the slow inflation of my cock, her gaze turned lustful. She said, “Fuck it,” put out her half-smoked cigarette, and pushed me backwards onto the bed, efficiently removing my pants and underwear. Giselle gave an excited moan and slurped my half-erection into her mouth, making me hard quickly with a frenzied, sloppy, wet blowjob.

When she came up for air, panting loudly, I moved behind her and slid my cock into her as we lay on our sides. “Ohhh, là!” she girlishly breathed. It was one of Giselle’s favorite positions. She immediately began to roll her hips slowly, and the flush blossomed across her still-creamy complexion while I played with her clit. Her moans became lighter and higher pitched, and Giselle sang soft, girlish, airy, loving endearments to me in French, something she did when she was really excited in bed. “Ahhhh! Je jouis!” she sighed, an octave above her normal voice, hips vibrating, her upper body flushed. I gently wobbled her clit while she was locked around my cock. “Ahhh-aaaahhhh!” Giselle blissfully sighed, pitch rising on the second syllable. Her wave broke, she released me and leaned backwards for a passionate kiss. “You make me—ohhhhh—speak French when I come, cheri…”

“And I’m gonna do it some more,” I excitedly breathed, pumping faster.

“Fuck me baby, fuck me,” Giselle husked, and then I made her switch languages and her voice went up an octave, moaning endearments. “Ohh, I love the way you fuck me…” she sighed in her breathy sex voice, spurring me on. “Ohhh… I’m gonna… I’m gonna… come again!” she gasped, warning me of another impending orgasm. This time, her gripping, pulling slickness and hip gyrations brought on my own grunting, growling release. We rearranged ourselves, and Giselle lay on top of me, kissing my face and neck. “Nice without kids, isn’t it?” she said, cognizant enough to speak English once again.

“Uh-huh,” I replied.

My wife pushed herself to her feet and retrieved a More from my coat. “Sometimes, I like a cigarette without going through the whole holder thing,” she sighed with her exhale. “I’ve been swiping your Mores and gotten to where I kinda like them.” Watching Giselle stand there smoking casually without explicitly catering to my fetish was exciting nonetheless. She snap-inhaled quickly, and after a few seconds, lifted her chin, producing gray trails from her lips, and then her nostrils as well, that snaked through the room in layers. “I can see you don’t mind if I’m not smoking a Sherman through a holder,” Giselle amusedly noted before her voice turned husky again. “I love making you hard—any way I can.” She put the More out, kissed me hungrily, and pulled me on top of her.

“More babies?” I panted, interrupting our passionate kissing.

“Let’s see what happens,” replied Giselle, smiling lustily as she positioned herself for me again.

Past, Future, Present

As much as we tried (and we tried a lot), a third child wasn’t in our cards. Giselle’s job as a multi-lingual business specialist picked up to the point where she was traveling just about every month, usually to Europe for a week at a time, and her parents kept an apartment in Brussels for us. Since I no longer taught during summer session, Giselle, the kids, and I would spend much of our summer there, usually leaving the week after the Woodford’s Fourth of July party.

My wife’s growing success allowed us to buy a new home, and all three sets of parents attended our housewarming party. I found myself near Giselle and Mrs. Woodford, both smoking the unfiltered 164s without holders, both still stunningly attractive, and both still inflammatorily sexy smokers. They would glance at me from time to time and smile, usually accompanied by a discreet smoking show, knowing I was watching. I headed back to the buffet as soon as the first effects of my fetish hit me, and before any obvious sign of arousal. Suddenly, Mr. Woodford exclaimed, “This is quite a surprise! We thought you were in London!”

“Thought I’d crash this little party,” came Daisy’s voice. “Hi, Will!” she brightly greeted when she saw me through the crowd with a big, happy smile. My penis gave a little jump against her as we hugged. “Guess Giselle’s somewhere close by, smokin’ a super-long brown cigarette,” she amusedly whispered in my ear. Our discussion was cut short by Charlie, who came bouncing over to greet his favorite “Auntie Daisy.”

A little later, Daisy was standing by herself near the bar, holding something white and very skinny. She brought it to her lips, and produced a smoke trail into the fall air. Is that a joint? She knows better than that. I tried to discern what she was smoking as I hurried towards her, but it looked too regularly shaped to be a joint. “This is a really nice house, Will,” commented Daisy. “Your mom gave me the tour.” She saw what I was looking at. “It’s a Virginia Slim Superslim. I saw them at the drugstore on my way from the airport and had to pick up a pack to try them. You know me and my affection for Virginia Slims.”

Giselle appeared. “Hey Daisy! We’re happy you could make it, especially Charlie.” She looked at the superslim between Daisy’s fingers. “Oh, is that a Vogue? My youngest sister Emmy smokes them.”

“No, I’ve always been a Virginia Slims girl,” replied Daisy. “I didn’t even know there were other superslim cigarettes out there.” She took a puff, and then looked at her cigarette with distress before putting it out. “They don’t taste too bad, but they go too quick—especially if you’re used to 120s.”

As Giselle climbed into bed, she told me she had heard a disturbing rumor from her tobacconist. “He said Sherman’s is going to stop making the 164s at some point. He’ll make extra-big orders until then for me.” She sighed. “Guess I’ll have to find another way to enchant you.”

“You could always stand there naked and smile,” I said.

“I can do that.”

***

Five years later, Daisy offered us the use of one of her company’s executive villas in the Caribbean for a week. “A friend and I were going to spend a week there, but she had to pull out, so I’m paying for an empty villa right now. We initially declined, thinking it would be awkward with just the three of us, but Daisy said, “What makes you think I was going to be alone in the other villa? If anything, I was thinking maybe we would have a dinner together as couples—or two at most.”

The day after Christmas, Giselle’s parents took Renée and Charlie to Europe, while Giselle and I boarded a plane for the Caribbean. The villa was truly for executives, located on a secluded private beach, with first-class service a phone call away. Daisy came trotting onto the beach late that afternoon by herself. Hugs and kisses were exchanged, but when it became evident no one was coming to join her, we asked. “Well,” she sighed, “unfortunately, some bastard is trying to take over his company. Announced it Christmas Eve, hoping to take everyone by surprise. My friend is trying to save what he’s built.” We gave Daisy our sympathy and asked her to join us for dinner. “C’mon, you two, how long has it been since you’ve had a week without the kids? I’m not going to turn into a third wheel. Besides, it’s been forever since I’ve been able to hang out on a beach and just chill with a book or something. My ex always wanted to be doing something—I think he just wanted to check out every other half-naked woman within walking distance.” Giselle and I insisted Daisy at least have dinner with us. After all, we wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t been for her. She reluctantly agreed, but made it clear it was only dinner, and only that night. “You guys need some alone time.”

We shared a bottle of wine over dinner, discussing our children and showing pictures to Daisy, who was still Charlie’s “favorite auntie from England.” Afterwards, Giselle contemplated the fully stocked liquor cabinet—all high-end and restocked for free—it came with the villa. “Hey, we executives need to unwind,” giggled Daisy. Over the next two hours and a whole bottle of expensive rum, Giselle talked with drunken honesty about her fancy boarding school—the upper-class girls were definitely not angels—and neither were the teachers. Daisy revealed the existence of both the Parisian sex club and the Asian sex powder (but thankfully, not my experience with either.) I got drunk enough to tell Daisy about Giselle’s propensity for forgetting how to speak English during really good sex. Instead of being embarrassed, my wife was so drunk she found it hilarious I’d shared that. By the time the stories ended, a smoky haze filled the living room and the three of us were definitely unwound. Daisy seemed to have forgotten she’d been left her solo on an island paradise, Giselle was eyeing me with “I’m really drunk and I want to fuck you insensate,” and I had been watching an exhibition of sexy smoking with and without holders all night, so I was going to grant her wish as soon as Daisy left.

Giselle wanted another drink, so we had another bottle of rum delivered. I was in the middle of making it for her when she seductively breathed, “Hiya, honey,” in my ear, catching me off-guard. She looked across the room at Daisy, who was sitting with her legs crossed. “She’s very pretty,” Giselle softly slurred. “I can see what you liked so much.” There was a pause while she continued looking at Daisy. “Y’know, I could,” she playfully whispered, looking at me with thoroughly intoxicated mischief.

“Could what?” I quietly smiled, amused by Giselle’s drunken state. We were going to fuck tonight—until she passed out—or orgasmed herself back to sobriety, which had happened more than once.

“Do her,” Giselle whispered, obviously serious in spite of her inebriation. My jaw almost hit the floor. We were going on ten years and this was the first time I’d heard Giselle express any sexual interest whatsoever in another woman. “Oh, c’mon, Will,” she snickered, “I went to an all-girls boarding school. During puberty. With almost no unchaperoned access to boys. Surely that thought must have crossed your mind a time or three.” I only continued to gape. She shook her head, clucking, “You just don’t have much of an imagination, do you? I bet she’d be fun, too.” She pivoted and wobbled back to the living room.

You said I was too much a gentleman to ask, I thought, even as My cock got half-hard from the implication as we rejoined Daisy, who was fiddling with a box of 164s in the living room. “Hey, Giselle,” Daisy giggled, “I think I’m drunk enough to finally try one of your extra-long cigarettes.”

Giselle took the box from her. “Well, they’re going to quit making them soon, so it’s a good thing you asked now.” She sat next to Daisy, pulled one of the brown, six-and-a-half inch-long, unfiltered cigarettes from the box, and lit it without any fanfare. “I’m not sober enough to mess with a holder,” giggled my wife. “I could break either the cigarette or the holder—or both.” Giselle handed it to Daisy after a second drag, tilting her head back to exhale slowly and silently, starting from her nostrils and finishing with a perfect stream from pursed lips. I thickened some more.

Daisy accepted the cigarette, looking at it with slightly unfocused eyes and a silly grin. She took a puff, tasting the smoke without inhaling as if it was a cigar. Nonetheless, her handling was exquisitely feminine, and I watched carefully, lust rising. Daisy repeated her first puff, and I watched Giselle’s amusement. “Are you scared?” she teased. Daisy blushed and nodded, saying something about bad experiences with cigars. Giselle took a long, deep drag ending in a flamboyant open-mouthed inhale, eyes lidded. After she exhaled, Giselle said, “These are too rare to only get half the picture. C’mere… I’ll show you.” My wife dragged and leaned forward, exhaling at Daisy’s mouth. My ex-girlfriend caught on near the end of Giselle’s exhale, and sucked a little bit of the smoke into her mouth.

After a quick, thin exhale, Daisy excitedly said, “OK… OK… Try it again.” She leaned forward to accept Giselle’s next exhale. She turned her head away and exhaled towards the ceiling, causing my cock to strain against the front of my pants. The two women swapped smoke once more, after which Giselle purred, “Are you ready?”

Daisy nodded eagerly, and Giselle held the cigarette for her. Daisy leaned forward, and took an enormous drag. She lifted her chin, thick smoke started streaming from her nose, and halfway through the exhale, she sent the remainder into the air through her lips. “Mmmm… I can see why you like them. May I?” My wife handed her the cigarette, still excitingly long and sleek-looking. Daisy leaned back into the sofa, crossed her legs, and french-inhaled her next smooth drag with the cigarette held vertically between limp-wristed, manicured fingers. I was ready to cum on the spot. My dick throbbed angrily, but I thought I had been forgotten, an illusion shattered by Daisy softly calling my name. Although I was already watching lustfully, Daisy performed an incendiary open-mouthed inhale and with a toss of her hair, very slowly exhaled a long, long, narrow stream from the “O” of her lips. Mesmerized, I barely heard Giselle ask for the cigarette. “Let’s share,” Daisy said, taking another smooth, easy drag. She sat up and gently pulled Giselle to her… and exhaled smoke into my wife’s mouth, giggling, “Haven’t done this since college, with my old roommate.”

Giselle’s light flush and dreamy exhale made my heart beat faster. “I think I was seventeen and still in boarding school,” she giggled in return. “Gimme.” Daisy handed the 164 back after taking another hit. Giselle immediately took a draw with a quick snap-inhale. I watched the two sexiest smokers in my world exhale simultaneously with feminine glamor, and I knew Giselle was going to be thrilled for a long time tonight. Daisy extended her hand and wiggled it with her fingers splayed, indicating she wanted the 164 again, now only slightly longer than a 100. Instead, my wife dragged and leaned quickly to Daisy’s face, exhaling forcefully.

Daisy sucked the smoke into her lungs and exhaled quickly, freely with a graceful curve in her neck while Giselle was taking another deep drag. She leaned to Daisy again and pecked her on the lips after exhaling. Daisy opened her mouth to exhale Giselle’s smoke, but my wife kissed her. Their lips met, their mouths merged and Daisy, acting without any thought, eagerly pulled Giselle to her.

I’d honestly never imagined Daisy and Giselle together, if for no other reason than it was so far out of the realm of possibility I’d never thought of it. I was so shocked my rock-hard penis barely registered. They kissed until Daisy’s eyes popped open, full of shock, as if she suddenly realized she was doing something wrong. She let go of Giselle’s head and backed away from her on the sofa stammering, “I’m… I’m sorry, Giselle… I better leave…” My wife cooed no, flushed. She was ready for sex, even as Daisy continued to babble, “I’m fine, really, it’s only a couple hundred yards to my place…”

Giselle held onto Daisy’s hand. Her creamy complexion glowed a faint pink. My wife was ready, and broadcasting her interest in Daisy. “No…” whispered Giselle huskily, “Stay,” and she pulled Daisy to her for another kiss. I could see Daisy struggle with her libido. She was horny, without companionship for the next week, and Giselle had lit the fuse. Obviously conflicted, my ex-girlfriend wobbled, sitting upright, and when Giselle gently tugged at her, Daisy leaned forward and met my wife’s open mouth. Daisy’s eyes fluttered as they separated. Nothing happened for a few eternal seconds. Suddenly, Giselle uncaringly dropped the cigarette into the ashtray, and Daisy eagerly reached for her with both hands. I was in fantasy overload watching my past and my future kiss passionately in the present. I made a noise, causing the women to stop. Daisy looked at me, half-longing, and half-worried. “It’s alright, Daisy,” Giselle gently breathed, “You can stay with both of us tonight.” My wife pulled my ex-girlfriend back to her for another kiss before looking at me. “Any argument, honey? If so…” She picked up the box of 164s and waved it. “Ve haff vays uff makink you cooperate.”

I suggested going to the bedroom. Giselle stood quickly, lost her balance, and fell back onto the sofa, giggling, “Still drunk!” Daisy made her way to the bedroom on unsteady feet while I retrieved Giselle, who grabbed me and gave me a torrid, torrid kiss.

I undressed Giselle first, who plopped onto the bed gasping, “Oh god I’m so horny!” Daisy climbed on top of her and began kissing her way to my wife’s pussy without hesitation, unfortunately leaving me without any angle to enter either of my loves. Giselle shook and moaned—loudly—as Daisy gave her head, and all I could do was watch.

I think my frustrated peep made Daisy stop what she was doing, and after Giselle settled down, she asked, “Who gets first dibs?”

“On your back, sweetie. I wanna ride your face,” Giselle said. Daisy immediately flopped onto her back and spread her legs. My slight drunkenness faded as soon as the tip of my cock met Daisy’s bush. I slowly pushed my way into her with an accompanying squishy sound, making her moan into Giselle’s muff. Daisy’s pussy was hot, sloppily wet, and gave no resistance to my increasingly frenzied thrusts. Juices sloshed freely with every movement of my dick, but she somehow managed to give my wife the oral attention she was wanting until I felt my cock swell. Then Daisy started fucking back at me, forcing me to concentrate on not cumming. I looked down at her, gasping and turning red as she approached orgasm. When they were able to focus, her eyes took on that magical, dewy look, and it spoke directly to my soul. For a few ecstatic moments, we were again the lovers we had been in our college years.

Suddenly, Giselle appeared alongside me and kissed me hungrily. I groaned into her mouth, my eyes rolled up into my head, and with a powerful, painful heave, I shot a massive, fiery blob of cum into Daisy. “AAAUUGGGGHHHHH!!!!” Daisy’s guttural, hoarse, orgasmic scream filled the room. My wife continued to work her tongue in my mouth with a passion I hadn’t felt since we were new to each other. My nuts twisted again, more fire lanced through my dick, and Daisy’s hips shot towards the ceiling, oscillating wildly, her pussy locked around my dick as if to shake every drop out. It was almost as if I was under the influence of the sex powder while the three of us were frozen in our intimate dance, Daisy humping wildly, Giselle kissing, me cumming in enormous pulses. Daisy gave one last skyward thrust, and collapsed onto the bed with a softer scream. I kept fucking, giving her a constant series of tiny orgasms until my balls were completely empty, and I could no longer stay inside her. Only then did my wife stop kissing me. She pulled me to the left for my collapse, leaving me in the middle of both women. Giselle lay on her side, only slightly less flushed than earlier, with a horny, loving smile on her face. She gently placed Daisy’s hand on mine, and then lightly ran her hand over my heaving chest.

Nobody spoke for a few minutes. Daisy was the first to make any noise, issuing a satisfied groan. “Ummm… ‘Zelle?” I tentatively began. “What the hell just happened?”

“Not that I’m not grateful,” Daisy chimed in, still slightly out-of-breath. “But you’re full of surprises.”

“I always thought you were cute, but I never thought you were into women,” my wife answered. “My husband told me a lot about you, but he left that out.” She giggled drunkenly. “You don’t know how surprised—and excited—I was when I realized this wasn’t going to be Will’s first ménage-a-trois.”

I didn’t want to make it seem I was pushing for a three-way with my ex. Daisy sat up and gently ribbed, “Y’know Will, there are times when you shouldn’t be such a gentleman. You shoulda told. We coulda been doing this since I got divorced—if not sooner.” Giselle agreed, and I mentally kicked myself for missed opportunities. “What made you pick now, Giselle?”

“When you talked about having been to a sex club on multiple occasions, and taking that sex powder and what it did to you…” Giselle resumed after pecking me on the lips. “Then I saw the way you looked at me when we were swapping smoke, I… took a chance. I figured I could pass it off as drunkenness if I was wrong.”

“Oh, you weren’t wrong,” Daisy sang.

Seeing that I was still confused (and a little weirded out, despite how awesome it had been to make love with Daisy again,) Giselle smiled and said, “My darling, unimaginative husband, I learned almost everything I know about sex from girls. I lost my cherry to a classmate’s vibrator. My first intercourse was from a friend wearing a strap-on dildo. Then we swapped. I didn’t get to fuck a boy until I was at Princeton.” Her candor made me ask if she was still drunk. “Yes… and still horny. Not that I don’t love our kids, but I have to get all the sex in I can when they’re not around, so I’m going to be like this for the rest of the week. Any complaints?” Her tongue peeked out from her teeth as she gave me a fetching smile. “But guests cum first, and you need to recover some more, so I’m going to get another drink.”

Excitedly, Daisy offered, “I’ve got something that can help with that.” When Giselle asked whether it was for the drink or the recovery, Daisy answered, “Recovery,” as she scrambled to get dressed. I gave her a warning look at the door, but she smiled and said, “No, it’s not that,” before she shot out of the villa with a cheery, “Be right back!”

“Ooooh,” said Giselle, “I hope it’s some of that sex powder. That sounds like fun!” I wanted to tell her it wasn’t as much fun as she thought it was, but decided against it. Five minutes later, Daisy returned with a prescription bottle and a fresh pack of Virginia Slim Light 120s. She tossed me the bottle, which apparently contained Viagra. “Isn’t that for guys who have trouble getting it up due to old age?” Giselle commented, looking over my shoulder at it.

“Dan—my friend—is fifty-one, and, well, I wasn’t going to take any chances for this week. It’s been two long months,” Daisy admitted. Her eyes went horny, and she throatily added, “Just imagine what it’ll do for a healthy young stud like Will.”

Giselle inhaled noisily, and both women stared at me with predatory, excited gazes. “Take the pill, baby,” panted Giselle, drooling. “Now.” A half-hour later, I was lying on my back flanked by Giselle and Daisy, each smoking a Virginia Slim 120, while all three of us watched my cock rise, untouched. “Wow,” breathed my wife, already flushed.

“Here, lemme make him ready faster,” Daisy excitedly said. She drew on her cigarette, leaned to my half-hard cock, and, exhaling smoke through her nose as she went, took me into her mouth and bobbed her head a couple of times. Her eyes sparkled at me when she released it, and then Daisy effortlessly dove to the root of my cock, swirling her head for emphasis. Giselle gasped loudly, asking Daisy how she did it with fascinated amazement. Daisy didn’t answer her, too busy taking all of my expanding length, finishing with a slow, drooling excursion to my pubic hair when I was fully erect. “How’s that, Giselle?”

My wife exhaled, “C’est fantastique!” and rolled onto her back with her legs spread wide. “Fuck me baby, ohhh… fuck me!” she cried in French. I plunged my wooden dick into her and settled into an easy rhythm. Giselle whimpered and moaned softly, her eyes rolling loosely in her head, gasping an occasional endearment or epithet in French. Her thick, white, gooey pussy cream covered my cock, and she turned pink in her sex flush, but it seemed as if she couldn’t cum. Hips churning in perfect time with my smooth thrusts, Giselle danced along orgasm’s edge for a seeming eternity, thrilled by my rock-hard dick beyond verbal expression. For my part, the chemically enhanced erection felt odd. It wasn’t the hypersensitive iron bar of the sex powder; if anything, it was less sensitive than normal, yet I was hard. There was none of the normal ebb-and-flow during sex. Added to my normal reduced sensitivity during a second round of sex, I felt like I could fuck all night. Giselle began to vibrate beneath me and clamped her hands on my hips. The vibrations got bigger and bigger until her entire, gloriously pink body was moving in waves. Loud slurping sounds came from her fibrillating pussy. She oscillated quietly, constantly in her prolonged orgasm, finally relaxing and going completely slack, babbling softly in French much too rapidly for me to comprehend. I pulled out, still absolutely rigid. “Never seen her cum like that before,” I murmured to myself.

Footsteps reminded me we weren’t alone. “Wow,” Daisy exhaled, looking at Giselle and then my creamy cock. “Thought you two might like some privacy,” she whispered. “But it looks like you’re not finished yet.” She continued to gaze at my erection as if spellbound.

“I want you now, Daisy,” I very softly said. She dropped her robe, knelt, and lovingly cleaned Giselle’s cream from my cock. I answered the question in her eyes with a brief shake of my head. Daisy lay on her back, cocked her legs, and we were joined once again as lovers, our eyes locked into each other’s soul as we made slow, gentle love next to my insensate wife. My wooden dick sent Daisy to a powerful, crying, gasping orgasm, but there was none of my own in response. It was actually a little frustrating. The Viagra kept me able, made it pleasurable, but not enough for me to finish. After a few moments of cuddling, I took my frustration and three-quarters erection into the living room—where I encountered my wife, smoking a Virginia Circle in her cloisonné holder. I hadn’t even noticed her departure or absence in the bed.

“Is she asleep?” asked Giselle. I nodded. “Watching you two was… an arousing… education.” Shit. I fucked her sober. I opened my mouth to say something. “Don’t interrupt, cheri.” She dragged on her holder, looking regal and sexy; I felt my cock twitch and looked down to see I was fully erect again. “Oh, we’ll take care of that in a little bit,” sang Giselle, adding, “you’re blushing.” Her eyes were fixed on my erection. “You know what it does to me—and I’m still horny.” She dragged, french-inhaled, and exhaled glamorously, posing for me.

“Ohhh! Fuck! It’s so good!” exclaimed Giselle, still excited enough to speak French, my thrusts pushing her into the sofa. She gripped the cushions to give her some leverage to thrust back at me. My seemingly bionic cock sent her on a rapid trip to orgasm, but she recovered quickly and encouraged me to keep going in breathy, excited French. “Ohhh… ohhh… I’m gonna… come… Honey… I—I—Ahhhhhnnn!”

I felt her cumming around my cock, which tingled pleasantly, but was still some ways off from my ejaculation, leaning forward on my hands, pumping smoothly at her. Suddenly, I heard Daisy’s voice whisper, “Surprise,” and something slid into my asshole. I had a moment of recognition: she was going for my prostate with her finger. She found it, and my nuts tightened immensely, my hips jerked on their own, and I rammed into Giselle once, forcefully. An intense, searing burn ripped through my suddenly hypersensitive dick and I loudly grunted, “Giselle!” My hips quivered as my body generated the next volley, and I instinctively rammed into my wife as hard as I could a split-second before I fired again. I heard her ecstatic scream, which I answered with a loud, hoarse grunt. Daisy’s finger was still in my ass, playing with my prostate, causing me to make a loud, primitive noise each time I drove Giselle into the sofa cushions with the violent thrust preceeding each immensely pleasurable wad of cum I shot deep into my wife’s pussy.

When it ended, my legs turned to jelly, then water, and I collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving. My cock finally went soft. I remember Daisy giving me a kiss and barely having enough energy to kiss her back, and then Giselle’s tongue was working feverishly in my mouth, all I could see, hear or sense was her and then…

I woke up alone on the floor of the villa’s living room the next morning, with sunlight streaming through the drawn blinds. That was one hell of a dream. I removed the light cover Giselle had apparently thrown over my naked body. I stood up slowly. My legs were a little sore, my back hurt, and my brain was still half-asleep. I took three steps towards the kitchen, and suddenly, I heard noises coming from the bedroom. It was Daisy, in heat, and it jolted me awake. It wasn’t a dream. I bolted to the bedroom to see my wife’s head between an orgasmic Daisy’s legs. Giselle was playing Daisy’s clit with her mouth and one hand, while the other was apparently moving in and out of Daisy. Speechless, I could only watch and get hard again, but my full bladder forced me to turn away and go to the bathroom. When I came out, Daisy’s chest was heaving, and Giselle was taking a huge draw on a Virginia Slim 120 with a smug expression on her face. “Sorry, but I’m way out of practice,” she smirked.

Daisy responded, “Ohhh… shit… if that’s your out of practice,” with a moan and orgasmic roll of the eyes. “She eats pussy almost as well as you do, Will.” So much for being undetected. Daisy struggled to a half-sitting position and Giselle handed her the cigarette. “We would’ve had a lot of fun with you when we were young, Giselle,” Daisy remarked after a silent, all-oral exhale.

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetie,” replied Giselle. “But I need food, and Will’s getting hard again. I’d better get started on breakfast before I get—distracted—again. That Viagra stuff really works.” She climbed out of the bed, pausing as she passed me. Giselle gave me a hungry look, inhaled noisily, and sighed, “No, better not, or else I’ll pass out in the middle of having sex.”

Daisy left after a quiet breakfast. I don’t think any of us knew how to approach the now-awkward dynamic. Giselle and I had been given a third wheel, and instead of letting Daisy go as per normal convention, we’d built a tricycle that was much more fun and sturdy than any of us could have imagined. My wife and I barely spoke after Daisy’s departure; Giselle went to the beach, while I took a nap. Later, as the two of us worked together in the kitchen preparing dinner, there was none of the teasing banter that normally marked our relationship. Finally, I spoke up. “‘Zelle… What are we going to do about Daisy?” My wife blushed. “Look, I could say it was fun, but I’m done with it, and I just want to spend the rest of our vacation with only you. But I’d be lying.” She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. “I also think, and correct me immediately if I’m wrong, if you said the same, you’d be lying, too.”

Very quietly, Giselle affirmed my understanding was correct. “But at the same time,” she continued, “I’m jealous. For the first time in our relationship, I’m jealous of how… special you two are to each other. I can feel it.” She looked away and heaved a loud, long sigh. “Even with that, I know you’re still my husband. You’re not going anywhere because she… still doesn’t want that permanent relationship. Personally, I think she should have married you long before I entered the picture.” Giselle wrapped her arms around me before resuming, “As for returning to a traditional relationship… Daisy is a lot of fun in bed. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed—a feminine touch.”

“So… you’d like to play with her some more, too.” Giselle nodded right away. “‘Zelle… how come you’ve never mentioned this before?”

“Because I wasn’t sure how you’d react to finding out I was such a little sex freak,” was her forthright reply. “Frankly, I didn’t want to scare you away. Engineering professor, really smart, sweet guy… You seemed very traditional, other than the smoking kink, and I know how important it is not to be… unconventional around traditional people. I ran with your smoking kink because it made you…” Her eyes fluttered and she inhaled sharply. “Very fulfilling. I didn’t miss the variety because… well, you eat pussy almost like a girl, and you’re so gentle and tender in bed by nature I… got used to having it all-in-one, so to speak.” She put her arms around my neck and looked deeply into my eyes. “If I’d known Daisy was bisexual… I would have brought it up, but she never gave me so much as an obscure double entendre until last night. Of course, I wasn’t looking, either.”

“She never hinted any interest in you to me, either, and I’ve known she’s bisexual ever since she discovered it. I think she put both of us off-limits once you and I got together. You’ve remarked how well she hides her attraction for me more than once.”

“Even when she smoke-flirts you, she does it knowing I’m going to be the recipient of your excitement,” Giselle said. “She still enjoys doing it, she enjoys seeing your reaction, but she’s not willing to go any further than that. At least until tonight.” My wife said, “But all of this still doesn’t answer the question.”

I took a deep breath and slowly offered, “At the risk of sounding like the boy who wants everything, what if we… made a rule about Daisy? Neither of us can play with her unless we’re together—and we both agree.”

My wife smiled. “I think I can be good with that.” Her tongue peeked through her teeth, a sign she was excited. “I knew I married a smart guy.” I asked her not to call Daisy that night. Although I was getting hard again just thinking about another three-way, my dick was a little tender. Her face fell, but brightened when I told her the following night was a definite possibility.

We couldn’t convince Daisy to come over the following night for dinner. She didn’t answer our calls the day after that, nor did we see her on the beach. Giselle and I showed up at the door to her villa unannounced late that afternoon. “We know you’re in there alone, Daisy,” my wife called through the door. “We’re not leaving until—” Even as the door opened, Daisy was walking away. “Where you headed, gorgeous?” purred Giselle.

“Away,” Daisy replied without looking. “So I don’t ruin your marriage.” A soft sob came from her.

“You’re not going to ruin my marriage,” Giselle softly replied. “I know how much Will means to you, I saw it two days ago… but I also know you won’t marry him. Why you didn’t before we met, I don’t know, but all of us know that ship has sailed.” She caught up with Daisy and rested her hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “But you are incredibly hot and fun in bed for both of us, so we have a proposition for you.” Daisy turned around, looking at the floor. “Will wants to have sex with you really badly,” Giselle resumed. I blushed. “I, on the other hand, want to have hot sex with you when… it’s doable without turning into a cause célèbre. We have to keep appearances and work around the kids, but by now I’m sure you’ve realized I enjoy being—unconventional.” Daisy looked at Giselle. “So, Will and I have created a ‘Daisy rule.’ In short, neither of us can play with you on our own. We both have to be present, and we both have to be willing—” Giselle turned to me. “—which actually may be a bigger issue for Will than it is for me.”

“So what does this mean?” asked Daisy, her eyes darting alertly from Giselle to me.

“It means we have three more days of privacy in paradise,” I said. “I’m ordering room service; your place or ours?”

“Ooooohhhh… Willlll,” Daisy deliriously sighed while my dick slid the length of her ass. “Ohhhh… you fuck… you fuck… my ass so goooood…” Giselle watched from a chair, naked and lightly fingering herself. Anal sex wasn’t her favorite, so when Daisy asked if we could, my wife happily assented. While she had started watching with just curiosity, Giselle quickly shucked her clothes and started to play with herself, encouraging me with her eyes. I began to play with Daisy’s clit, making her gurgle and vibrate while I continued driving my cock into her as far as I could, and a tingle from the slick, tight friction broke out along its length. Daisy started to moan, hoarse and loud, preceding her ejaculation by a few seconds, accompanied by a very loud, hoarse, guttural cry. I gritted my teeth and fought the increasing urge to cum. “OHHHH, WILL, IT’S SO IT’S SO… AUUUGHHH!” screamed Daisy as more pussy juice hit the bed with a soft splat. Suddenly, I felt my wife’s hand on mine, feverishly working on Daisy’s clit and her other hand in Daisy’s pussy. “Ohgod no!” Daisy exhaled frantically. “Giselle… don’t… Giselle… stop! Gi-gi-gi… OHHHH… OHMY… OHMY…” Daisy groaned over and over. Finally, she squeaked, “Fuck!” in an amazingly high-pitched voice and bucked once, triggering my own ejaculation. A flood of woman cum shot from her pussy while I blissfully filled her ass. We collapsed onto the bed.

“Wow,” said Giselle in a small voice. “Never seen a girl cum that hard.”

“Only… only… Will…” Daisy panted, her body still quivering, “makes me… squirtlikethat.” I felt a swell of pride. “His cock is sooo perfect for my ass…” She drew a deep breath. “And never been… diddled like that while he’s fucking me. Wow!”

“Happy to help, sweetie,” Giselle giggled. “Go clean up, Will. You and Daisy owe me for that, and I’m going to collect before the night is over!”

The rest of the week was powered by Viagra, with Daisy on the receiving end of my thrusts slightly more often than Giselle, who seemed quite happy to let me fuck my ex-girlfriend—in exchange for some intimate girl-girl time. “Well,” Daisy said on the way to the airport, “this week has certainly been a revelation. Giselle, you are just so full of surprises!”

“It’s been a lot of fun, Daisy. You’re a lot of fun,” Giselle responded. “We have to do this again… but not too soon—Will’s going to need time to recover.” She squeezed me and giggled. Daisy gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek when we separated at the airport. “I promise, I’ll take good care of him ‘til the next time,” Giselle softly said, noticing the complicated expression on Daisy’s face. “And there will be a next time. I promise.”

***

The last story I’ll tell about Daisy isn’t really mine, but Giselle’s, and it illustrates just how close the three of us have become. About a year and a half after our magical week in the Caribbean, Daisy came to my wife’s rescue—perhaps saving our marriage in the process. The phone rang in our house at about one in the morning, waking me from a sound sleep. “Will… I’m sorry… but… but… I… ohhhh… SHIT! I’m so damn horny!” were the first words she said, and I snapped to full alertness. “I don’t…” she gasped, obviously masturbating. “I can’t… fly home like this!”

I instantly knew what was happening. “Giselle, drink water,” I ordered. “As much as you can, as often as you can.”

“Wh-wh-what will that do?” she panted. I told her it would help, but it would also allow her to keep masturbating to give her some measure of relief. “I can’t believe… that… that… I keep…” She dropped the phone. A few minutes later, Giselle picked it up and moaned, “Ohh fuck… I’m… getting… horny again… Will… I’m sorry… but I need to be fucked now. I’m afraid to leave the hotel room.”

“I can’t leave the kids, and I wouldn’t be able to get there for two days.” My wife began to cry, sobbing in between gasps of increasing arousal. “Stop masturbating long enough to drink a liter of water,” I reminded her. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you some help.” I called Daisy’s mobile phone.

“Hey Will! What’s up? It’s awful late for you to be calling,” she cheerfully noted. “I’m just about to leave for the office.”

“Giselle went to the sex club and got dosed,” I tersely said. “She’s in her hotel room masturbating constantly.”

Daisy gasped, and then turned serious. “She shouldn’t be alone. Where’s she staying, and what’s the room number? I can be there in… less than five hours. I’m sure I can catch the next Eurostar over. Time’s wasting… gotta put a bag together. I’ll call you when things are more… stable.”

I called Giselle back a few times before reaching her. “Sorry,” she said, “I was in the tub, getting head from the faucet. I’m really tender and it itches sooo much… I managed to cancel my return flight. Will… I’m sorry… I was curious.”

“Daisy’s on her way,” I said, not worried about her apologies or that she’d definitely been with other men. It was much more important I keep her from dehydrating any more than she already was, and keeping her from seeking further companionship to cool the flames of the heat. “She said she’ll be there within five hours. I’m going to stay on the line and coach you through this until she gets there.” I talked dirty to my wife, joining her in a long-distance masturbation at three-thirty in the morning, all the while constantly reminding her to drink water. I had to let her go to get the kids off to school, and when I got back, the answering machine was flashing.

“Got lucky with the train. I’m here with Giselle now,” came Daisy’s voice. It abruptly got more distant. “Giselle… stop. No… stop for a minute. Go get some more water, and then we’ll play.” The image made me hard, but I calmed myself by actively remembering Giselle was drugged and acting under the influence of the most powerful aphrodisiac I’d ever heard of, let alone encountered.

Daisy called me the next day. “She’s sleeping. I gave her some Ambien because she needs the rest. And so do I.” I asked her if that worked. “It will for two or three hours. Whoever dosed her gave her an awful lot.” Daisy paused. “She’s heartbroken, Will. She went to the club with clients, because she was curious about the super-burlesque. She didn’t know they were going to drug her. She feels like she’s cheated on you and she’s really afraid you’re going to want—”

“Tell her I don’t want one. I know she’s not herself right now, and it will all be better when she gets home,” I said. “I know she’s afraid to talk to me because of what she thinks I’ll say.” Daisy acknowledged that. “Anyway, take good care of her, and let me know when she’s coming home. Make sure she can make it all the way without raping anybody before you send her.”

“I will,” Daisy said. There was a soft moan in the background. “Uh-oh… she’s stirring. Let me feed her some more water before she gets started up again. Talk to you when I can. Gotta go!”

***

“Ohhh, I can’t believe how horny I still am,” said Giselle. She was rapidly smoking one of the beige More Mild Menthol 120s she’d picked up while in Europe. Giselle had switched because both of her favorite Sherman’s were no longer being produced, and she’d bummed enough of mine she’d been “converted” into a menthol smoker. We still had two cartons of the 164s, and one of the unfiltered Virginia Circles, but they were kept in a humidor, reserved for special occasions, as were her cigarette holders for the most part. Although she preferred the beige 120s, their restriction to the European market and expense in importing on a regular basis made her choose something more readily available: Capri 120s. It didn’t take very long for me to get used to the superslims, because Giselle produced just as much smoke in the same enchanting way, and I found something sexily feminine about them. She had even influenced her fashion-conscious youngest sister to change her own brand. Just as slim, but longer than the Vogues Emmy, still model-gorgeous and smoking fetish-fantasy sizzling hot, had favored for a while, it only took one look at Giselle smoking a Capri 120 for her diva sister to start having them imported.

Daisy had sexed Giselle enough to send her home on Friday with some Ambien so she would sleep on the flight. I sent the kids to my parents for the weekend, and picked her up late Friday night. It took a major effort on Giselle’s part not to rape me in the car. She was still feeling the effects of the drug and unable to hold the heat off for very long. “Ohhhh… I wish I’d brought back some Viagra, too,” she complained, unable to sit still. “The flight home was almost unbearable! I felt like I wanted to rape the whole first-class cabin—and then work my way towards the back through the rest of the plane.” Giselle fingered her clit and sucked in a loud breath. “Ohhh… I wish you could get ready faster… would it help if I grabbed a 164?”

“Drink more water,” I sympathetically counseled. “The only real cure for that stuff is to flush it out of your system. Give me another fifteen minutes before your next cigarette. I’m not as young as I used to be, and thank my parents for being able to take the kids over the weekend.”

“I’ll apologize to them later,” she called, heading for the bathroom. “Right now, all I want is cock. It’s almost the only thing I can think of.” Five minutes later, she was lighting another beige 120, this time in the wedding holder. I could see her struggle to maintain her normal smoking glamour, but everything looked rushed and impatient. She couldn’t stand still or keep her eyes off my slowly recovering cock. The heat affected everything. Suddenly, Giselle shuddered and settled down for a few seconds. “Will… I’m sorry,” she apologized for the twentieth time. “I didn’t—”

“It’s all right, ‘Zelle,” I soothingly reassured her for the twentieth time. “You weren’t—and still aren’t—yourself.” Maybe if I’d confessed this wouldn’t have happened. My cock twitched as Giselle tilted her head back and slowly released two thick streams from her nose with the holder at the end of her extended arm and exquisitely, effeminately, cocked wrist. “Good news, honey,” I smiled.

“Ohhh, thank god!” she exhaled with relief before diving for my cock and slurping it into her mouth. Giselle alternated sucking on my cock and sucking on her holdered cigarette, making me hard enough to fuck within minutes. She crushed the cigarette out, plopped onto her back, and growled, “Fuck me!”

A few minutes after our second frenzied fuck in the three hours since she’d walked into the house, Giselle spat an epithet in French. “Still horny?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she wearily sighed. “I can feel it starting again. How much water do I need to drink?”

“A lot more than you’d think. You have to account for sweat and sexual lubrication. It’s real easy to get dehydrated with that stuff.”

“You sound like you’ve had experience with this. Did you and Daisy—”

“Not together,” I sighed, “but I’ve been to the sex club, too.” Anticipating her next question, I replied, “I didn’t tell you because I sucked a guy’s cock—more than once there.” My stomach turned at the almost fifteen-year-old memory. “Frankly, outside of the drug’s influence, the thought is still—less than appealing.”

Giselle regarded me curiously. “No,” I replied to her silent question. “Seen lots of more attractive men since… and nothing. I just remember that he—smelled—hot for me, and it was as if I had to.”

 “So that’s normal, too,” my wife nodded, absently masturbating. “I can… I can smell you, even from over here… and… and…” I gave her another glass of water, being careful to keep my cock out of her reach, and told her I’d give her head after she drank it. Giselle grunted and groaned, fucking back at my face with an almost-frightening intensity. She wasn’t coherent enough to produce words in any language. I gently stroked the inside of her pussy with two fingers, and tried to be as gentle as I could with my mouth, mindful of her tenderness, even if she wasn’t. After a while, she stopped fucking my face, but pulled feebly at my head to tell me she wanted me to keep going, moaning constantly, still unable to speak. I continued lapping and stroking her for what seemed like an eternity, and Giselle abruptly curled forward into a half-sitting position, face contorted, her eyes rolled all the way up into her head, and vibrated like a tuning fork. The next thing I knew, her back arched and she screamed powerfully and squirted. Five, ten, seconds later her hips dropped, she shoved my head between her legs, and I bumped her clit and her butt jumped off the bed. Giselle squirted again, screaming, longer than anyone I’ve ever been with. She took a loud, hoarse breath, jerked, and squirted a third time.

My face was drenched, my eyes were stinging, my hair was soaked, and my wife couldn’t hold my head in place. I got another brief stream of pussy juice in the face when I pulled my fingers out. Giselle moaned, chest heaving. I washed up, and fetched a big jug of ice water, knowing she’d need it, half-wishing that I had some of the sex powder just to keep up with her. When I got back to the room, she was smoking one of the beige 120s, and lightly stroking her clit with horny eyes. “I can still smell you,” she growled.

“Water first,” I firmly argued in spite of her big snap-inhale and long, sultry, combination exhale. “After all that, you are going to dehydrate, and a hospital emergency room is the last place you need to be tonight.” Giselle pouted gaminely and french-inhaled her next drag, her eyes flashing in invitation, posing for the exhale, which ended in a prolonged nasal finish. I forced myself to look away. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you—”

“First time ever,” my wife throatily informed me after another effortless, eternal french-inhale. Eyes half-lidded, she tilted her head to the side, and smoke flowed skyward through her lips without a sound. She was getting the result she wanted, but I was hoping to get enough water into her that she would be wet. “Got close in the hotel room with Daisy,” added Giselle. She sipped some water, tossed her head and seduced me with her next drag.

I made her take Ambien as the sun was rising, and called a physician friend to see if I could get her some fluid, explaining that Giselle must have dehydrated during the flight. She called paramedics, who put almost three bags into her, and everybody grinned at me. The scent in the room was unmistakable. I woke up about three hours after they left with Giselle’s lips wrapped around my cock. “Oh… god… I can still smell you… and it… and it…” The phone rang, and I fought her off to go answer it. I needed the break. Even my teenaged self couldn’t handle Giselle in this state.

“Hi Will,” Daisy brightly said. “How’s Giselle?”

I moaned. My wife had caught up with me. “Giving me head… again. I’m getting too old for this.”

“Poor baby,” Daisy kidded. I began to moan more loudly as my cock suddenly grew sensitive, hardened, and I shot into Giselle’s mouth. “Did you just—?” I replied yes, and giggled involuntarily when my wife buried her nose in my groin with a loud sniff, exclaiming how sexy I smelled. “Is she still…?”

“Uh-huh,” I replied. “Had to get her IV fluids this morning while she Ambien slept.” Giselle had found the wedding holder and the 164s, but my poor, middle-aged cock wasn’t having anything to do with it. “You’re wasting one of the 164s,” I told my wife. In response, her tongue peeked between her teeth, and she naughtily took off her nightie and played with her nipples, eyes sparkling playfully.

“Hi Daisy,” Giselle called. “Wish you were here! And I really mean that.”

Daisy didn’t say anything for a few moments, during which Giselle took an enormous drag from the 164, opened her mouth to let me see the smoke, and snapped it into her lungs in slow-motion. My insides quivered, I was turned on… and fucked out. “Will,” began Daisy, “would you like some help?”

“Ohhh, if only you could,” I groaned.

“I can be there tomorrow,” she quickly replied, obviously serious. “Can your folks take care of the kids for the week?”

“I’m sure they’d be happy to. Can you bring some Viagra when you come, too?”

“My next question is, can you miss work for a week?” Daisy said. I asked why, and she replied, “Just to be on the safe side. You won’t want to be around anybody else. I was thinking of fighting fire with fire, and it should be safe with just the three of us in the summer house.” When I gasped, she chuckled, “I’ll tell Collette you said hello. She still remembers you fondly. You bring a week’s worth of food, drink, and smokes—and lots of lube, and I’ll make sure the three of us have the time of our lives.”

Giselle was still in the throes of the heat, but I came clean to Minnie, our physician friend, and promised to give her a tiny bit of the aphrodisiac in exchange for taking care of Giselle. She put my wife to sleep for twelve hours straight, the longest rest she’d had since being dosed. We were going into day five of the heat, and I was thinking about tracking down the clients who’d given her such an overdose. By nine a.m., Giselle was seducing me with a holdered Virginia Circle, and passionately fucking me by nine-thirty. I pulled away to fix breakfast afterwards and she followed, making me wish I could have handcuffed her to the bed. “No, Giselle,” I firmly said, keeping her from sinking to her knees. “We need food to keep going, and Daisy should be here this afternoon.” My wife complained she still itched, and said she’d eat after I scratched it, but I refused. My MILF-fatale reappeared a couple of minutes later with her longest holder, a one-piece black, 16-inch one, a gag gift from Emmy. Giselle had never used it, citing it was hardly practical, but now, eyes on fire, moving her soft roundness into bewitching poses, she looked so… awesome, I started to get hard. She reclined on the sofa in the family room, sent a long, well-lit nostril exhale along her naked body, and curled a finger. Spellbound, I put the frying pan down, and headed towards her, my cock pushing at my pajamas—and the doorbell rang. “Shit!” I hissed, shutting the family room door and trying to will my dick soft as I rushed to the front door. I couldn’t believe who stood on our doorstep.

“Surprise!” Daisy grinned as she burst through the door. “Hitched a ride on the company jet!” She looked at the bulge, and I told her it was in preparation for round two—round one was barely forty-five minutes ago. “Need a break?” I nodded, but before I could say anything, a loud crash came from the kitchen. We arrived to see Giselle masturbating feverishly with a cucumber on the kitchen table, legs spread. “Will,” Daisy commanded, “I need you to get dressed, and leave the house for a few hours. It’s important. I’ll call when it’s safe to come back.” Without asking why, I followed her orders. Five hours later, she called, and told me to pack comfy clothes for Giselle and myself, food, and join them at the summer house.

The door to the summer house was unlocked when I arrived, the house dark and quiet, except for the candles in the kitchen. I brought everything in, and put food away as silently as I could, figuring both women were asleep with sexual exhaustion. I heard the click of a lighter behind me, and in the darkness, could make out the silhouette of Daisy with Giselle’s super-long holder in one hand, and a champagne flute in the other. “I had to get your wife out of your house. Being surrounded by your scent was driving her crazy,” Daisy softly said. “She’ll be a little less crazy here, but she’s been way overdosed, and I don’t know when it will wear off. I’m going to find out—” She took a long drag from the cigarette holder, and my heart beat faster at her sensuous silhouette, the unhurried combination exhale into the darkness. “—who did this, and there will be some unpleasant repercussions for them. But right now,” she husked, stepping into the light, revealing her womanly body, “you need some champagne, and I—” She took another glamorous puff, chest forward, back arched, her neck gracefully curved with another combination exhale. “need your dick.” I saw the heat reflected in the fire of her eyes, accepted the glass, and moaned as her warm mouth met my rising cock.

An hour later, Daisy and Giselle were sixty-nining, and the scent of my two loves had hardened my dick, again an iron bar. I lubed up, and pushed into my wife’s ass because… I wanted to. It was something we no longer did because Giselle found it uncomfortable. I like ass-fucking, and Daisy was more than happy to accommodate me when the three of us got together. Under the spell of the heat, Giselle’s distaste for anal sex didn’t matter. I was going to fuck her in the ass. Her ass relaxed quickly to take me, and she moaned happy encouragement, the heat having turned everything pleasurable. I fucked her with smooth, deep strokes, balanced between uncaring satyr and loving husband. When my orgasm hit, I embedded my cock all the way into her ass, Giselle screeched in her own release, and cum dripped onto Daisy’s face. I shot again with a howl. After some hasty clean-up, water, and watching Giselle and Daisy share a holdered Virginia Slim 120, it was Daisy’s turn to have her favorite cock in her ass. My wife watched, masturbating furiously while smoking a Virginia Circle in the super-long holder, which prolonged Daisy’s assfuck, sending her into three squirting orgasms. I came just as forcefully, leaving a pool of cum and pussy juice beneath my rubbery legged Daisy. Giselle brought herself to orgasm, and my dick slowly rose at her scent. “Ah! Cheri! Comme tu sens beau!” She smelled me as well. Within minutes, I was in her ass again, listening to her passionate cries about the wonders of my cock fucking her in the ass.

Giselle’s heat didn’t fade for another four days. Thanks to Daisy’s surprisingly (and frighteningly) analytical knowledge of the sex powder, she and I (and Daisy’s array of high-quality sex toys to keep me from chafing) balanced periods of the heat with the physical aftereffects to keep us fed, hydrated, and rested enough to satisfy my wife’s needs. “Ohhh… I’m exhausted,” moaned Giselle after her final series of heat-driven orgasms, triggered by riding me while Daisy fucked her ass with a dildo in a harness. “I’m going to be really… sore for a while, Will.” I told her she didn’t have to worry, but she’d already fallen asleep. Daisy and I left quietly and went into her old room.

“So, Will,” she giggled, “Does the super-long holder make you super-hard?” She waved it around. I replied Giselle had never used it before, and told her why. “She’s right. You can’t light your own cigarettes, so it isn’t very practical,” Daisy noted, putting it onto the dresser. My cock was half-erect. While the heat may have been gone, the physical effects weren’t. She placed a Virginia Slim 120 into her mother-of-pearl holder, lighting it with a deep drag, and exhaling, long and silent, at the ceiling. I was at three-quarter mast. “I figure you’ve got about three days left of that before it wears off,” she said, posing as she dragged on the holder again. A plume blossomed from her lips, head cocked slightly to the side and slightly upwards, and was joined by thick streams from her nose. Transfixed and fully erect, I watched her remove a capsule from her purse, pour a tiny bit of white powder into a flute of champagne, and take a healthy swallow. “I don’t want to see you limping around, letting it go to waste.” She curled her fingers at me.

“Thank goodness I don’t have to travel for another three weeks,” Giselle sighed wearily. Daisy had returned to London, we were back in our home, and had spent the day at the zoo with Renée and Charlie, who were happy to be back with Mommy and Daddy and showed it by wearing all four of us out. They were fast asleep in their rooms. Daisy had returned to London. “Will… ummmm…”

“You had sex with several men in a short period of time and felt like you wanted more than just those… three or four,” I interrupted in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’re cursing yourself for breaking our wedding vows because of your weakness.”

“I shouldn’t have even gone to the sex club!” she cried. “I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“Actually, the burlesque show is pretty good,” I rejoined. “But the heat—that’s what I nicknamed it—doesn’t care about moral commitments. In fact, the drug is designed to lower sexual inhibitions to an extreme. It’s almost tasteless, colorless, and dissolves really well in champagne—to the point where you wouldn’t know if you were being drugged or not. I forgive you—completely. Just don’t do it again, please. I’m not sure I can keep up with the demands at this age.”

Giselle disappeared into her closet and returned with a Sobranie Black Russian in the 16-inch holder. “Are you sure about that?”

***

The three of us still manage to get together at least once a year, sometimes twice, and one year, our schedules actually gave us two long weekends and a five-day Christmas holiday at the executive villas. Sure, we’re all older, the sex is a little less epic (and leaves us sore much more often), but Daisy and Giselle are still very, very sexy when they smoke. For my fiftieth birthday, the two loves of my life spirited me away for a week in Jamaica.

My Virginia Slim Daisy had remained single ever since her divorce. We asked her about the possibility of a permanent relationship. “Will, you’re the only person I’d ever even remotely consider marrying,” she told us. Daisy lit a Virginia Slim 120 in her signature, now-vintage, mother-of-pearl holder. “But, you’re taken.” I watched her tilted-chin, silent exhale with thick nasal residuals, and felt the blood move as it always had for her. She hadn’t lost the mischievous twinkle in her eyes that said she was intentionally doing it to excite me, either. “I’m still a… difficult, complicated girl,” she freely admitted, “even at fifty-one. If anything, I’m even more set in my ways. I like my life as it is. I get the sex I want without the legal, financial—and emotional entanglements. Besides, some of these younger guys are downright hot— they make me wet myself just looking at them, even if they do end up being a little on the selfish side when it comes to sex. The biggest problem I have these days is being a smoker, although, from time to time, I meet a hot guy for whom the taboo does seem to enhance my allure. Although not to the same degree as you,” she giggled, taking another enchanting drag. Daisy slowly french-inhaled with lidded eyes, lifted her chin slightly, and exhaled slowly, silently towards the ceiling. “I know what you like,” she throatily intoned, enchanting me with another long french-inhaled drag and glamorous, raised-chin, slow, controlled, combination exhale.

I blushed. My wife giggled, “You are so cute when you blush, old man. Let’s all go to bed.” She took one last drag from her Capri 120 and head tilted back, exhaled languorously through her nose. Both women patted the bulge that had appeared at the front of my pants, and the three of us headed for the bedroom.