Student's intense smoking fetish leads him to several major mistakes. He investigates 'Capnolagnia' or 'Smoke Fetish', searching for a cure. Includes some hot sex scenes, but most have a clothed man talking to fully dressed females while they suck on cigarettes.
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CAUTION - From the title and introduction, it should be clear this story includes LOTS of cigarette smoking. If you don't like smoking, please go read something else.
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Author's note: If you hate smoking, why the Hell are you still reading this? Seriously, unless you smoke or like smokers, please go away.
If you're still reading, I hope you enjoy this story, my smoky favorite and Magnum Opus. I have written more than a hundred other stories, but this one was truly a half-year labor of love.
I'm Dr. Craig Townsend. Well, soon to be 'Doctor Townsend'. I woke with a smile on my birthday, knowing I was extremely lucky. There were ups and downs in life, like everyone experienced, but generally my family and I were quite happy.
The biggest 'down' we went through was the loss of my wife's mother, may she rest in peace. My wedding had been in her hospital room. Right after the official kiss, my new wife and I signed papers to adopt her younger sister, so their mother would know her girls would be okay after she was gone. The cancer took her only a week later. We still miss her and remember her fondly.
That had been a difficult month, but things had been going great since then. I'd been an ABD, or 'All But Dissertation' PhD candidate for a long time. I'd finally submitted and defended my dissertation, and the envelope on my dresser held an invitation to the ceremony where I'd finally become a Doctor of Psychology in a week.
The exquisite blonde 20-year-old drooling on my arm in her sleep was my wife Carrie. One of my testicles was being squeezed uncomfortably by her thighs, but I didn't want to move much and wake her. I'm still astounded she's with me, considering our age discrepancy. I’d taken my last college exam before she was born. We married a week after she turned 18, only partly so we could adopt her 16-year-old sister Sherry. At the time I was totally smitten and Carrie at least had a crush on me.
I gently felt her small baby belly with my free hand and marveled in joyous wonder. Our love had created a new life, and our son was due on Valentine’s Day. We had plenty of space, with our old but recently remodeled five-bedroom house. Shortly before she conceived, Carrie had joked about it taking ten kids to fill the place up. I had squeezed her butt and said, "That could take a while. We better get started!"
I lightly stroked her long blonde hair and her eyes opened slightly. She reached to the bedside table for her vape, releasing my squashed nut as she rolled away from me a moment. I watched her lips and cheeks move as she puffed. As she exhaled I smelled the aroma of her strawberry-flavored cloud, then watched her lips move and her cheeks hollow as she sucked on it again. I kissed her ear and said, "You're so very beautiful. I love you."
She blew out another large plume of white vapor, sleepily saying, "Love you too." I recalled some of the great blowjobs she'd given me as she inhaled again. She put the vape down after only three puffs and defensively said, "This is 6 milligram, they weakest vape juice they had. I've been cutting way down."
"I know you'll do what's best. I didn't say anything."
I understood that pregnancy hormones were likely part of it, when she jealously replied, "I bet you said plenty when you hired that new housekeeper, Nina, Tina, or whatever her name is. I saw you and Sherry staring at her chest when she took off her coat yesterday. I bet you just hired her because you want to screw her."
Sherry had stared quite a while, but I only glanced a couple of times. "Her name is Netanya. You know I'd never cheat on you. I love you far too much."
She was interrupted by a loud screech from the bedroom next door, as her younger sister screamed, "REEEEEEEEE!"
I jumped up and ran there naked. When I flung the door open, I saw Sherry laying on her back with a pained look on her face. Her arms were outstretched to each side, and she was squirming violently. From the shape of the comforter, I could tell somebody else was under it. Sherry thrashed around a moment, then started panting for air as Carrie arrived a few seconds behind me.
Netanya pulled the comforter off and sat up. Some of her red hair stuck to her face, which glistened with vaginal fluid. The nude and very attractive Latvian immigrant asked with a strong accent, "Why you stare? He say job like extra wife." She turned to Sherry and asked, "Wife job good, yes?"
Sherry was able to speak a little between rapid gasps for air. "So good! So FUCKING good!"
Netanya smiled as she put a hand on my naked wife's hip and asked, "Want wife job also?"
Carrie blushed as she looked in her eyes. Her face slowly changed to a bright red smile. She urgently said, "Talk later! PEE! I gotta pee!" She practically flew to the bathroom.
The three of us who remained giggled and smiled. Sherry took a deep drag on her vape before saying, "I was right." She expelled a dense cloud of lemony fog. "She would never admit it before, but she likes girls too." She passed Netanya the vape and kissed her cheek. "I love chesty redheads." She squeezed one of Netanya's large breasts, then stared at my bare crotch a moment. As I covered myself with a pillow, she said, "I like guys too, and I'm 18 now." She winked and licked her lips flirtatiously.
I anxiously strode out saying, "Talk later, I need to pee too."
Despite my current situation, I was a virgin until I turned 22. Until then, I was content watching movies and masturbating. Not even masturbating to porn but with old Hollywood movies from the 60's and 70's, when a lot of women still smoked in films. The motions of a woman's mouth as she sucks is absurdly attractive to me. Seeing the white smoke or vapor leave her mouth reminds me of semen travelling in the opposite direction, too. A pretty girl drinking something with a straw excites me nearly as much as seeing her topless. To me watching one smoke or vape is even hotter. I'd rather watch a woman dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt puff on a cigarette than see her in just a bikini.
My first sexual experience with another person was when a female friend let me have sex with her during my senior year of college. She was average-looking with short brown hair, but as you would assume, the first time I ejaculated into a vagina felt better than anything I’d done before. Afterward, I kept wondering how much better it would have been if she had smoked while we did it. Instead of asking her to stay the night, I gave her a ride home. I didn't call her and didn't answer when she called me. I ignored her, since I craved having a girlfriend who smoked. When I saw another guy's engagement ring on her finger a few months later, I realized I would have married her if she were a smoker.
At last, I finally understood there was something seriously wrong with me.
I'd grown up in a small and well-off family, but my life wasn't constant happiness. I got a terrible phone call when I was about to start Medical School. (I can see the extreme irony now. I wanted to be a doctor but loved watching women smoke.) I picked up the phone and cried from overwhelming grief as an uncle told me my parents and only sister had died in a traffic accident.
I inherited several million and my parents' house, but that did nothing to bring them back or relieve my pain. The kind help I'd gotten from a therapist inspired me to switch from medicine to psychology. I had a strong desire to help others but wanted to understand and fix myself first. Thankfully, I didn't need to worry about loans or grants to fund my education and research.
Years later, when the last of my classes were underway, I typed up the title as I started my dissertation. I saved it and made a backup to be sure. "Capnolagnia or Smoking Fetish: Men obsessed with female smokers." I was very dedicated to my work, spending at least 8 hours a day on it, and more commonly 11 or 12 hours. I figured that I should get to know some females who smoked, before I started investigating other men and their reactions.
Before I knew it, I had spent a month recording video of women smoking, and barely asked them any questions. When I was alone, I watched the recordings again and again. They were part of my research, and shamefully, fuel for self-gratification. I knew I had to focus and get the information I needed. I wrote myself a list of questions to ask and returned to my 'work'.
Most of the early interviews were similar. As an example, one morning I saw an attractive brunette sitting at a table outside a café. She was drinking coffee and puffing on a cigarette. I asked, "I'm doing research about smoking. Do you mind if I record you and ask some questions?"
"How old are you?"
I zoomed the camera in on her mouth and watched her take a puff. "When did you start smoking?"
"I was sixteen."
I zoomed out to get a good shot that included her legs as she exhaled. "And uh..." I struggled to remember my list of questions. "And did you like smoking the first time?"
"No, it tasted bad." The motion as she tapped the ash off the end reminded me of a hand job, with feminine fingers shaking my shaft.
I zoomed in as she took another drag and felt a movement in my boxers. "Do your parents smoke?"
She exhaled a cloud as she said, "Dad does, and my Mom used to." My parents never smoked. I had only tried it a few times but had a passion for watching.
She uncrossed her legs then crossed them again, giving me a glance at her thighs as she held her lips close together and exhaled a thin white stream. She put the cigarette out in an ashtray and lit another, exciting me further as her mouth and cheeks moved, reminding me of oral sex.
I moved to my left, trying to get a better angle on her moderate bosoms as she inhaled again. "Do your siblings smoke?"
She nodded and took another puff. "I have two sisters and they do."
The thought of seeing three sisters smoking excited me greatly. I had a full erection demanding relief, so I said, "Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it." I briskly walked to the café's Men's room and made the iron rod in my boxers go down in a toilet stall. When I finished, I realized I had at least ten more questions for her. I walked back out and saw her a block away, leaving the area.
Watching women smoke turned me on but talking to them and recording as they did was nearly overwhelming. I was upset that I didn't know why. I interviewed another lady smoker each morning and each afternoon for the next week and had the same issues. I got aroused and erect quickly and needed to pause the interviews after only ten or fifteen minutes. Usually my subjects went on their way before I returned.
I thought maybe I could pay some ladies for a full interview at my place. I'd run to the bathroom halfway through to fix my problem, then ask the rest of my questions. I put an add on the college bulletin board. After five days, there were no responses. I asked one of my friends why.
He looked at the ad and laughed. "Think about your wording. 'Young smoking ladies, earn $50 for an hour at my apartment. Call 646 --- ----"
I asked, "What's wrong with it?"
"It sounds like you want cheap hookers!" He laughed and walked off saying, "Good luck!"
I took a classmate to breakfast one morning to discuss the papers we were writing.
When a large Polynesian-looking waitress brought us menus and walked off, we had very different opinions of her. I subtly pointed and whispered to Brad, “Did you see her? Wow!”
He asked, “What? You like fat girls?”
“No, did you see her face?”
“The only part her ink doesn’t cover? You like tats?”
I tried to explain, “No, no! Her mouth! Such a pretty…”
She returned with coffee pots and asked, “Regular or decaf?”
“Are you ready to order?”
Brad said, “We need a few minutes.” I added, “Thanks.”
When she left again he whispered, “You want to boink one shaped like an egg? She’s all yours.”
“No, I… I… you wouldn’t understand.”
I stared as she sucked on the end of a pen and waited for customers at another table to finish jabbering about their vacation. I noticed her nametag, “Paula”. I thought the bright purple on her plump lips and her dark blue eye shadow were the perfect shades for her face. She refilled the other table’s coffee and I felt myself begin to stiffen when the pen returned to her mouth.
When we finished eating, I paid the check and walked back to the table. Brad stood up to leave and dropped two bucks next to his plate as a tip. He said, “Thanks for breakfast. Good luck with Shamu.”
I bit my lip to control my anger at him implying she was a whale. I put the ones in my wallet and took out a twenty. When she turned and saw me set it on the table she smiled. Despite the rest of her, she had pretty brown eyes and a luscious, absolutely gorgeous mouth. I approached and told her, “You have a nice smile. Did you ever want to be a model?”
She pointed a finger at my face and her expression changed to suspicious anger. “Twenty’s a big tip, but that’s mean!”
“No! Seriously! No joke. I’ll pay you if I can take some pictures and talk to you on camera.”
She skeptically asked, “Really?”
“Really. I’m Craig. Would you have an hour or two on Thursday night, Paula? Fifty dollars for an hour.”
It was the late ‘80s and most waitresses were lucky to make $200 in a week. She smiled. “FIFTY BUCKS! How about seven o’clock?”
I nodded. “Okay. I’m in Klein Hall, room 341. It’s over on…”
“I know where it is. What should I wear?”
I’d only planned to get pictures and video of her face and was stumped by the unexpected question. “Um, I don’t know much about fashion. Uh, something pretty.”
“Okay, see you Thursday night.”
When I heard a knock at my door, I opened it and saw Paula with a big guy in leather. He finished telling her, “…still think you should have worn the blue one. You look like a tomato.” She blushed in shame.
I barely noticed her long dark hair, red dress, or the shape of her body. Instead, I stared at her beautiful mouth. She said, “Hi, Craig. This is my boyfriend, Richard.”
He looked jealous or mildly angry as he held out his hand and said, “Most people call me Dick.”
As I shook it I thought to myself, ‘I bet they do’. I told them, “Hi, come on in.”
He did most of the talking. “So, you want to pay to take pictures of her?”
“The shape of her face and…”
He interrupted, “But you can forgive that if you can screw her, right? I know that’s what you actually want.”
“You can do whatever if you use condoms. It’ll cost you a hundred instead of fifty, though. You got cash?” She looked fearful and quite embarrassed.
I opened my wallet as I said, “Yeah, I have a few hundred, but…”
He grabbed a $100 bill and said, “Good. I’ll be back for her in an hour.” He shut the door behind him as he left.
She reached to unzip her dress as she told me, “I don’t like anal, but I’ll do it for another hundred if you go slow and use lots of lube.”
“No! Hold on! I just want to take some photos and record you.” I thought it sad she couldn’t believe I thought she was pretty and wanted pictures.
She paused and smiled hopefully. “Really?”
I reached for one of my cameras and said, “Yes. You have a very nice face. I just want to get some pictures and record you talking to me. Smile and hold still.”
I took several pictures of her from the neck up at multiple angles, then handed her a sucker and instructed, “Lick it a while, then suck on it.”
She looked at me curiously but agreed, “Okay.”
I took dozens of photos of her licking and sucking the red sucker and drinking cola with a straw. The shape of her mouth and the movement of her cheeks as she sucked was HOT! Above the shoulders, she was one of the sexiest women I’d seen!
I handed her a banana and picked up my video camera. “Lick it for a minute, then eat it slowly.”
By the time the banana was gone, I thought my shorts had never been tighter. She pointed to the bulge in my crotch and giggled. “Hehehe! I guess you really do like me. Put the camera down and take it out.”
“You don’t have to.”
She licked her lips and smiled, then said, “I know, I want to.”
“Let me set up another camera…” I reached and turned the second one on as she unzipped me and pulled my jeans down.
Halfway through the blowjob I asked, “Would you smoke a cigarette for me?” I strongly hoped she’d be willing.
She moved her head back and my cock pulled out of her mouth with a wet ‘POP!’. She looked at me like I was insane. I realized it was extremely strange timing for my request. She said, “I don’t like smoking.”
“Will you, for another fifty? Please?”
She sighed. “Okay, I’ll smoke one when you finish.” She sucked the head of my penis back into her mouth, and soon after I pumped a wad onto her tongue.
I handed her a lighter and a pack of Marlboro lights, then recorded her puffing and coughing her way through her first-ever cigarette. As she dropped the butt in an empty soda can, I saw it was nearly time for her to leave. If I hadn’t just cum minutes before, I would have been hard as a baseball bat! Seeing her suck was terribly arousing!
As she popped a mint in her mouth and started drinking another cola, I offered, “Could you spend the weekend with me? I’ll mostly record you sucking on things and smoking. Plus a few more blowjobs.”
“Smoking is awful ! It tastes like burning poop!”
“Only two days for five hundred dollars? Will you?”
“I uh…” She thought silently for quite a while. “Richard and I want to be tattoo artists. The guys who own the parlor want three grand apiece for us to join as partners.” She blushed furiously as she suggested, “I know that’s a lot, but if I spend the weekends in your bed a while… I’d let you screw me and do anal, too.” Just then her boyfriend returned.
After a long and very awkward negotiation, she became a full-time smoker and my paid girlfriend. I moved from the dorm to a small apartment and she stayed with me instead of ‘Dick’. After each pack of cigarettes, I’d get her a different brand. I recorded her smoking Winstons, Camels, Newports, Kools, and a few others. She decided she liked Salem 100’s best. I didn’t want to think of her as a prostitute, but I guess she actually was.
I only screwed her and did her ass about twice a week each, with condoms, but got at least a pair of blowjobs every day. The first week she only had four or five cigarettes a day, but gradually increased to a pack and a half by the end of our two months together. I greatly enjoyed her blowjobs and LOVED to watch her smoke. If she wasn’t obese, and if she had several tattoos instead of several square feet of them, I might have asked her to dump Richard and be my girlfriend for real.
When she left and returned to him, I realized I was barely started with my thesis and would be out of time to submit for the current term. I did a little brainstorming about how I could finish it for the next semester. I should go to an area with a lot of female smokers and evaluate the reactions of the young men there. I did some investigation and found what I thought would be a good place, a small town in a southeastern state where many people smoked. If I needed to talk to somebody more than once, I would be able to find them again in a small town. I wanted information about young smokers too, since I first noticed my fetish in high school.
I rented an apartment there and had the same problems. Young ladies were nervous about meeting a strange man at his home. I did many interviews in a park and at the homes of lady smokers. I got hundreds more hours of footage, but nearly all of them were 20 or older. Younger girls who still lived with their parents usually weren't allowed to smoke at home.
I spent a month each in South Carolina, Tennessee, and Alabama. Everywhere I went, I had the same trouble. They didn't trust strangers enough to be interviewed at my place, and the teenagers couldn't smoke or talk about it at their parents' house.
I devoted a week to formulating a new plan. I found a trio of towns only a mile or so each from the border where three states met. The states had different legal ages for alcohol and tobacco, so I reasoned a lot of young people would be crossing into another state to buy beer or cigarettes.
I also decided I should observe high school girls when they were away from home, so I would know which ones smoked. I would go to their homes and offer money to interview them a few times to get them to trust me, then record them at my place. Instead of renting, I bought a small house. I had plenty of money, more than I really knew what to do with. I left most of it in safe investments, only buying what I needed. I was focused on my research, not fun.
I needed information for my thesis and I had a strong desire to watch the pretty ones smoking. I reviewed the state and local laws, to make sure I wouldn't be breaking any. I had no intention to touch the girls or do anything romantic or sexual with them. I bought copies of the local high school yearbooks, to help me identify my subjects. Several times I felt like I was being creepy and nefarious, like a stalker, but I never harmed anyone and never wanted to.
At lunch time I would stand on a street corner near a high school and write down the names of the girls who left to smoke. I'd do the same after school, enjoying the sight of dozens of young ladies smoking as they walked home. I was a little surprised there were so many, nearly half of the seniors and a third of the juniors. Even with the sophomore class, a quarter of them smoked already. I was shocked when I saw three sixth graders puffing away at a park.
One of the most important parts of my plan was how I first approached the young ladies and their families. I wanted to appear formal and non-threatening, so I always carried a clipboard and wore old suits with bowties. I also wore my glasses instead of contacts and left part of my hair messy on purpose. I tried hard to look exactly like what I was, a harmless nerdy researcher.
I visited each girl's home and paid twenty dollars to interview her about mundane things for a half hour while one of their parents was nearby. I asked which classes she was taking in school, what music she liked, was she into any sports, and so on. I'd return a few weeks later and paid another twenty to get a basic family history. I asked if they had moved to town or if the parents grew up there, how many siblings did the girl have, et cetera. On my third visit, I offered them fifty dollars to interview them on camera at my home. I invited the parent or parents to come sit across the room and supervise with the girl seated at the table. A few mothers escorted their daughters the first time, but most of the parents trusted me.
I had a studio in my basement. There was a kitchen table with chairs next to a bookcase. The middle shelf had ashtrays, matches, and lighters. I stocked the other shelves with thirty or more varieties of cigarettes, and kept several cartons of each in a closet.
The wall behind the table was flat black. Can lights pointed down above the chairs, and spotlights to each side illuminated my subject's faces without bothering their eyes much. There were two exhaust fans I'd turn on to clear the air when I wasn't recording. It was a great setup to film people smoking.
I decided I should watch some video and expend part of my arousal in the bathroom before each girl arrived, to help control my excitement. Once the young lady and I were alone in the basement, I'd tell them they could smoke there. I always mentioned that if they stole some of the cigarettes from the shelf I'd try hard not to catch them. I felt a little uneasy about it, but it was a way for them to avoid the tobacco purchase age laws, and for me to avoid any charge of 'contributing to delinquency', at least in theory.
All of them were happy to be able to smoke and get free cigarettes. I needed to encourage a few nervous ones, but they all smoked for me in my basement studio. Between the three small towns, I recorded over 200 young ladies smoking in the first year. I even remembered to ask them my list of questions about a third of the time.
I obeyed the letter of the law and had at least some morals. Other than Paula, I never gave cigarettes to anyone unless I'd seen them smoke before. During my many years of research I never touched anybody under 18, other than shaking their hands to greet them and a couple of platonic hugs. I didn't want to be the cause of anybody starting to smoke or do anything inappropriate and get in trouble. Sometimes they asked if their boyfriend or their brother or sister could be interviewed and get paid too. I filmed around a dozen sibling interviews and several with dating couples.
It was extra arousing when I talked with Jenna and Pam, a college-aged lesbian couple. I invited them back five times instead of once or twice. I'm a little ashamed that I didn't stop them when they kissed. I kept watching and recording as they smoked, kissed, and fondled each other through their clothing. When one would take a puff, kiss the other girl, and blow the smoke in her mouth, it did something very special to my groin. I finally stopped them when one pulled up her shirt and unhooked her bra during their sixth time in the basement. Until then, the only skin you could see in the videos was their faces and arms, but to me it was hotter than most porn movies.
One afternoon I noticed a new family moving in across the alley behind my house. It started a new phase of my life, but I didn't think much of it at the time.
A week later I saw a young girl standing by their back door in the rain. She wore jeans and a black t-shirt. She was smoking and trying to keep her cigarette from getting wet. I went to my garage, raised the door, and waved to her. "Hi. You can stand in here if you want."
"Thanks!" She ran through the rain and took a big puff when she reached the shelter of my garage.
She had natural blonde hair down to the middle of her back, blue-green eyes, and the top of her head was even with my armpit. She was very cute but far too young to be sexy. I made sure to stand at least two steps away and kept the garage door open, so that nobody could accuse me of anything. She was chilly, drenched, and a little pathetic.
As she smoked and shivered I offered, "I have a spare jacket, if you need one."
"I have one at home. It's not that cold." I draped it over her shoulders anyway and she smiled an adorable little smile as she put it on.
I asked, “I think I saw you leaving the middle school down the street yesterday?”
“Yeah. 7th grade ends next month. I can’t wait until summer!”
At the time, the minimum wage was only $3.25 per hour. I offered, "I'm a scientist doing some research. Would you like to do an interview with me when your parents are home? I'll pay you twenty dollars to answer questions for half an hour. Are you interested?"
"Twenty bucks! Sure." As she tossed her cigarette butt into a puddle, she said, "Thanks again." She wore the jacket home but I had a few others.
I did the usual two interviews at her house with her mother in the next room. She didn't say anything that stuck in my mind as unusual. I lost several months' worth of my notes when I moved years later, including anything I wrote during her first two interviews.
I still have all the original video recordings, including more than thirty with Cassie. I only recorded my next-most-frequent subjects, the lesbian couple, six times. The original video tapes are in boxes in my basement, and I made copies to bring to my office.
At the time of her first four or five interviews, Cassie was just another of my hundreds of research subjects. Later, after she turned 18, I slowly became obsessed with her.
The first time I recorded her, she was wearing black pants and a tan knitted sweater. Her only makeup seemed to be some pink lipstick. She also wore large hoop earrings and a 'purity' ring on her finger. The idea of purity rings always bothered me. Fathers giving girls a ring in exchange for a promise they would stay virgins seemed wrong, like a farmer controlling the breeding of his livestock. She was a person, not a goat or a chicken. A father being interested in the status of his child's private parts also seemed very disturbing.
I had her sit at the table as I stood behind the camera and tripod. "Thank you for agreeing to do an interview on camera, for the standard fifty dollars. I'm the only one who will see the recording. Anything you say or do here is confidential. I don't mind if people smoke in my basement. You need to be 18 to buy cigarettes in this state, but if you steal some from the shelf there, you're not buying them. For legal reasons, I need to say you shouldn't steal any of my cigarettes." I winked, then turned my back to plug some lights in. "But if you take a few packs while I'm not looking, I’ll try very hard not to catch you."
She giggled and said. "Cool. Thanks."
I slowly and loudly counted down from ten before I turned back toward her. I saw a pack of Marlboro lights in her hand and three more were missing from the shelf. She tapped the soft pack on her wrist a few times, then quickly pulled off the plastic wrap. In only a few seconds, she pulled the metalized paper away from the top of the pack, pulled a cigarette out, and inserted it between her lips. She lit it and started inhaling as the paper landed on the table. She was clearly a practiced smoker already.
I watched as she rapidly puffed and blew out clouds several times. She sighed in contentment and smiled, then leisurely took a long drag. I recorded her smoking and stared, forgetting to ask my questions until she put it out and lit another. I asked, "Do you like to smoke?"
She laughed. "VERY MUCH!" She smoothly exhaled a thin white stream and took another puff.
"When did you start smoking?"
"On spring break, four months ago."
"How old were you?"
"Thirteen, like I am now."
"Did you ever see somebody who just started smoking?"
"Have you given new smokers pointers?"
She nodded. "I have."
"Did they continue to smoke?"
"Did you notice an addiction?"
I asked, "How long did it take before they liked to smoke?"
"Probably a week or two. They're funny. The first time they inhale a big puff without coughing, they're all proud, like 'Look what I can do!'" She giggled, though she had probably done the same only a few months earlier.
"That's all my questions, but you can smoke some more if you want."
I recorded her smoking another cigarette and playing with her long blonde hair. When she stood up to leave, I said, "Here's your fifty."
She took the cash from the table. "Thank you!"
"I noticed that your mother smokes too. Do you think she would be willing to do an interview with me?"
"Fifty bucks just to sit and talk? She'd be crazy not to!"
A few days later I watched Cassie's mother Felicia walk across the alley to my house for her interview. I thought her curly blonde hair was pretty but stared at her long legs and her dangerously high yellow heels. Her orange and yellow skirt ended just above her knees. The plunging neckline of her dark top exposed at least a quarter of her large breasts.
She had a little extra weight around her middle, but I thought most men would still like her body. She had bright red fingernails and lips, along with a large gold pendant on her necklace which drew my attention to her cleavage even more. When she walked in the door, I could smell a nice perfume and fresh nail polish. I noticed she wore a thick gold bracelet which matched the watch on her other wrist. She had six rings on her fingers, including her wedding ring.
I told her, "My studio is in the basement. Please follow me."
She asked, "Cassie said it's fifty to just talk for half an hour?"
"Yes. That's what I pay all my research subjects."
"Great! We can really use it."
As I got to the bottom of the basement stairs and walked to the camera, I said, "Please have a seat. If you'd like to smoke down here, that's fine." I clicked the camera on. "I'm the only one who will see the recording. Anything you say or do here is confidential."
She sat at the table and commented, "You have a lot of space, but it's so empty. Just a table and chairs and a bar way over in the corner."
"I don't really need a lot. I've been thinking about getting a pool table, and maybe a sofa and a TV down here."
"A pool table would be fun. I'm not great at it, but I like to play."
I recorded her lighting a cigarette, which instantly doubled her attractiveness, in my eyes. She said, "Furniture is so expensive these days. One of the chairs in our living room broke, and I'm trying to get enough for a new one. The money for this interview will help." I zoomed the camera in on her red lipstick as she exhaled a narrow jet of white.
"How did it break? Were the kids roughhousing?" I stared as she sucked in a large drag and focused the camera on the red lipstick she left on the cigarette's filter.
She exhaled a wide cloud and blushed. "When my husband Ray got home from work last week, I was a little frisky and jumped in his lap. Breaking a leg off his chair wasn't very romantic. He's still mad about it."
I asked, "Where does he work?" I zoomed out, then back in slightly as I tilted the camera down toward her pale smooth legs.
"An oil platform in the gulf. He lives there for a month, then he has two weeks off at home. It pays well, but with the boat, motorcycle, truck, and two cars, we have a lot of bills. Sometimes he works an extra week and only comes home for one. I barely see him anymore." She sounded lonely and a little sad.
"Does he smoke?"
"No, it's not allowed there. He had to quit when he got the job. I mostly quit too." She betrayed her lie by putting her first cigarette out and immediately lighting another. I zoomed the camera in close again. I could see a few wrinkles at the corners of her mouth and eyes, but thought she was still quite pretty for about 35.
"Do you have a job?"
"I cook part-time. I make breakfast and lunch at the diner three days a week, then I'm home for the kids after school."
I zoomed in on her fingers as she knocked her ash of by tapping the cigarette with a long red fingernail. I thought it was strangely erotic.
"I uh... do... do you smoke at work?"
"Only one a shift on my break. Ray's sister works there, and she'd tell him if I smoked more. I don't get along with her anymore. I only smoke five or six a day now, maybe eight or nine when he's not home."
"When did you start smoking?"
"20 years ago. Ray and I were 13 and his sister Ann was 15. She took three cigarettes from their dad. I lived across the street from them. We coughed and gagged and felt like we were dying at first. We weren't even in high school, and tried smoking unfiltered Camels." She laughed. "We didn't know what we were doing, and got pieces of tobacco in our mouths. It was awful! I think it was a month later when I took a pack of menthol lights from my Mom. Those were much better. I still like menthols."
She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, giving me and the camera a peek at her black panties. She noticed me looking and smiled.
I glanced at the clock and said, "Five minutes left. Do you enjoy smoking?"
"It's more like I need to. If I go without for a few hours, I get nervous and kind of itchy. Not exactly itchy, but uncomfortable."
"I don't mean to offend you with the next question. I'm just trying to get information, okay? Did you smoke while you were pregnant?"
I saw her face tighten a bit, then she replied, "Only about half as much, but I still did. The kids turned out okay, just like Ray and I. My Mom and Ray's both smoked when they were pregnant too."
"Sorry if that bothered you. I see our time is up. Here's your money."
"Thanks. When would you like to interview me again?"
I answered, "I usually talk to my subjects about every six months."
"I could come over a lot sooner, if you'd like. I get so lonely sometimes when Ray is away." She lightly touched my wrist, then played with her necklace, which drew my attention back to her chest.
"Uh... I guess I do have a few more questions. When?"
"Ray leaves early Friday morning. See you Friday at ten?"
"I'll be looking forward to it."
I felt arousal and guilt as she walked up the stairs and I stared at her legs.
I thought my next interview would be informative and exciting, but I was annoyed and disappointed instead.
A college student Jackie and her friend Lynn wanted to talk to me together. Both had long brown hair and wore tight jeans and halter tops, one in red and one in light blue. From the shape, I could tell both had small but pointy breasts. I led them downstairs and said, "Please have a seat while I ready the camera."
Jackie sat and took a pack of Kools from the shelf before I offered.
I asked, "How old are you?"
Both said, "19".
Lynn grabbed a pack and held them up to the camera. "Saratogas are the shit!" She didn't sit down, but slowly walked around the table instead. I had to move the camera back and zoom out to keep both girls in frame. She continued, "Hot girls all like Saratogas. They're really long, like a hot girl's boyfriend."
I chuckled a little, but Jackie shook her head then put a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. "I'm sexier than you, and these taste better. Whatever."
In my opinion, both were more attractive than average, maybe 8 out of 10, but they lost a lot of points for their attitudes and behavior. I started my usual speech. "Anything you say or do here is confidential. I'm the..."
Jackie turned toward Lynn and loudly cut me off. "It's so nice to see you again! It's been forever! Like three months!" Both girls spoke rapidly, and I had a little difficulty following their conversation.
"Yeah! I know! What's been going on with you? Are you still dating Brian and David?"
"No, I dumped those losers when I found a better one, Jerome. He's 23, and he gives me beer and weed all the time. Literally! Like every day! He's a dealer."
"That would be AWESOME!"
"His stuff is the BOMB! It gets you SUPER high, 'cause he mixes some crack into it. He's black, so he has a huge cock, too. Sex with him when I'm stoned is INCREDIBLE!"
Lynn offended me even more, with, "I heard (racial slur) have big dicks, but I don't know if I want to screw one. My stepdad says all the girls who fuck (racial slur) turn into whores."
Jackie was unfazed. "Are you still with that guy Charlie?"
"NO! ACK!" She made a gagging motion. "He used to give me wine and cigarettes, but he's old, like 29. I caught him kissing his cousin on the lips! He had his hand on her boob, too!"
"EEEW! I always thought he was a spazzy perv. He's nasty!"
"Then why did you try to steal him from me?"
"I didn't! I was trying to get him to buy some brandy and vodka. I was just flirting so I could stock up for a party."
"Alky slut! I knew there was a reason you're my friend!"
Jackie laughed and asked, "So, who are you with now?"
Lynn ignored her and pounded the long pack of cigarettes on her wrist loudly a few dozen times. "You gotta really pack 'em, or they don't taste right." She pounded them for at least half a minute, then peeled off the plastic wrap as she stared into the camera. She pointed into the lens and pretended to be angry. "That's the only way to get a pack ready. If I see you do it any other way, I'll kick your ASS! Kick you right in the butt... tocks!" She shook her finger, scolding the camera.
She lit up as Jackie laughed and repeated, "Right in the butt... tocks!"
I was getting irritated and said, "This is supposed to be an interview. I'll ask you some questions, and..."
Lynn rudely interrupted by asking, "If I don't answer, what will you do? Spank my BUTT... TOCKS?" She giggled and wagged her denim-clad backside at the camera, then took another big puff.
Jackie chuckled and said, "Chill out, dude. We're having a good time."
Lynn exhaled a stream of smoke into my eyes from a foot away. "Yeah, loosen up."
I coughed and rubbed my eyes, then took a deep breath and said, "I'll loosen up if you'll answer some questions. When did you two..."
Jackie interrupted again as she excitedly said, "LYNN! LYNN! I gotta tell you what happened at my Dad's house yesterday! I woke up and got a cup of coffee from the kitchen and went to the living room. Dad's girlfriend stood up, and there was a wet spot under her on the couch. Her shorts were wet too. I asked her if she spilled coffee or something. GAH! I can't believe she said this! She said, no, we just did it. That's his cum!"
"EEEEW! I'm never going over there again!"
"I know! So gross! She said that, and she's older than my Mom!"
I felt a little disgusted myself and tried my question again. "When did you two start smoking?"
Lynn pointed to the clock. "Time's up, but we started when we were ten. She took a few from her mom and we hid behind the garage. We hated it and didn't smoke again until my stepdad started giving me cigarettes when I was 12."
I was shocked. "Your parents let you smoke when you were only TWELVE?"
"Yup, they worked on a tobacco farm and got cigs really cheap. Most of our friends smoked when they were 12 or 13 too. But we need to go. Where's our money?"
As I took out my wallet I debated with myself. I wanted to hear the rest of the story of them smoking, but wasn't sure if it was worth putting up with their crudeness and lack of manners. As I held out two fifty-dollar bills I said, "I have a lot more questions, if you'll answer them next time?"
Jackie said, "Sure, tomorrow around noon?"
"I'm busy until Saturday. How about Saturday at noon?"
Watching them from behind as they walked up the stairs in their form fitting jeans was an eyeful, but I wasn't sure if I really wanted to talk with them again.