The Affair, Part 2

    This story contains adult language and themes. If such language and themes
offend you, please do not read further. Copyright 1997 by SSTORYMAN. All
rights reserved. Permission is granted to reproduce this story in any form and
for any purpose as long as this notice is reproduced and no financial
remuneration is received by the person reproducing it.

    THE AFFAIR


    2. Springing the Trap.

    Anne awoke on Saturday. She looked at the clock. After nine! God, she'd
slept late! Originally she planned to go to the office to catch up on
miscellaneous projects. But now she wasn't sure. Maybe tomorrow.

    She walked downstairs and started the coffee maker. She turned her
attention to smoking. How was she going to do it? The more she thought about
it the less she wanted to try on her own. As a teenager she tried smoking and
it made her sick. There had to be a way to learn that avoid that problem.
Gretchen hadn't called back and probably wouldn't, either. Not in time.

    Anne sat at the kitchen table and looked out the window into the enclosed
area behind the building. Anne's condo was part of a converted apartment
complex. Her kitchen overlooked the association's common area. A series of
walkways led to a covered parking area. Anne watched unsupervised kids playing
an early morning game of tag.

    Suddenly she noticed something else. In the corner where two buildings
came together, almost hidden from sight, a slender young girl stood in an
overcoat bundled against the cold March wind. Smoking a cigarette. Anne leaned
forward. She smiled. It was Hope Cummings, the 15 year old daughter of her
next door neighbor, Becky Cummings. Smoking.

    The condominium complex didn't attract social people. Anne knew little
about the Cummings or her other neighbors. Becky was an accountant, a single
mom who worked a lot of hours this time of year during tax season. Hope was in
high school. In the hall she'd exchanged pleasantries with them. They weren't
friends.

    But this was an opportunity. Anne's legal training gave her an instinct to
recognize tactical opportunities, to create leverage, and to use it to her
advantage. She saw an opportunity to create and use leverage here. To
accomplish her objective.

    Hope was obviously sneaking this cigarette. She was standing out of the
sight line, smoking outside on a cold morning. She was hiding. Hope was doing
something she was not supposed to. A plan began to formulate.

    Anne watched. Hope raised the cigarette to her lips and took a long drag.
Her cheeks caved in as she pulled hard on the cigarette. She inhaled the smoke
and then blew a large cloud of smoke into the air. The cycle repeated every
fifteen seconds. Finally Hope took a long, final drag, dropped the cigarette
to the ground, stepped on it, and quickly walked back to the door to the
stairwell, exhaling smoke on the way.

    Anne went to her bedroom to get dressed. "Hope, you're going to be my
teacher."

    A few minutes later Anne stood at the Cummings front door in the common
hallway. She wore a navy blue designer sweatshirt, blue jeans and running
shoes. An outfit which shouldn't seem threatening to a teenager, she decided
with a smile. She took a deep breath and knocked. Several moments passed
before Hope answered the door. There was a quizzical look on her lovely,
teenage face.

    "Hi, Hope," Anne grinned. "You remember me? I'm Anne Sturges from
next-door. Tell me, is your mom home this morning?"

    "Hi," Hope replied politely. "No, she's at work. It's tax season, you
know."

    Anne smiled politely. Just as she expected.

    "Yes, I know," she answered. "Look, Hope, I'd like to ask you a question.
Maybe you can help me. Can I come in?"

    Hope looked puzzled. "Sure thing. Come on in, Ms. Sturges."

    Anne walked inside. No odor of tobacco smoke in the air. Not an ashtray in
sight. No sign that anyone who smoked lived here. Anne smiled to herself.
"Please, call me Anne," she went on. "Can I sit down?"

    Without waiting for a reply Anne sat on the sofa. Hope sat down across
from her. She carried a novel. A drugstore romance novel, Anne decided.
Stories of men and women lusting after each other. Teenage girls with lots of
hormones love those things!

    Hope was a pretty girl. Short red hair, freckles, fairly skinny and a
decent figure for her age. Her tits were big for 15 years old. Anne guessed
Hope got lots of attention from boys her age with those breasts! She dressed
like a slob, but that was not surprising. Most teenagers did. Overall, a cute
girl. But would she play ball?

    Anne spoke in an authoritative tone of voice. "Hope, I'll be blunt," she
began. "I saw you smoking outside a few minutes ago. Does your mother know
you're smoking?"

    The red-headed teenager looked stunned. "Omigod, Ms. Sturges .... I mean,
Anne. No. She doesn't. Please don't tell her. She'd kill me if she knew I was
smoking." Her eyes pleaded. "I'd get in so much trouble. Please! I beg you!"

    Anne smiled. "Don't worry. I won't. In fact, I'm here with an opportunity.
Something which will help me, and you, too. Are you interested?"

    Hope looked suspicious. "Are you talking about ... blackmail?" she asked
slowly.

    Anne laughed. "Blackmail? No. Nothing like that. Bur first I'll ask you a
few questions. Play straight with me and I'll play straight with you. Hope,
how old are you?"

    "Fifteen. But I'll be sixteen at the end of the summer."

    "And how long have you been smoking?"

    Hope gulped. "About six months, I guess." She fidgeted in the chair.
"Well, maybe almost a year."

    "And how much do you smoke?"

    Again Hope squirmed. "You won't tell my mom?"

    "No. I said I won't, and I won't. But I would like your cooperation. How
much?"

    "Usually six or seven cigarettes a day." She smiled. "On a good day, I
smoke almost half a pack. When Mom's working overtime. Like today."

    Anne continued examining her witness. "And your mother doesn't know
anything about this? Doesn't suspect a thing?"

    "I don't think so. She caught me once about four months ago. She was
pissed. I'd been smoking in the house. I figured I'd cover the smell with hair
spray and air freshener before she got home." Hope looked downcast. "It didn't
work."

    "And what did she say?"

    "Mom said if she caught me smoking again she'd ground me for a month. So I
smoke outside now. I can't risk getting caught. Usually I smoke with my
friends. We hang out at the mall and smoke after school and on weekends. But I
don't like to wait that long for my first cigarette of the day." She grinned.
"That means I'm getting hooked," she added without a hint of apology. "So I
sneak a smoke in the back in the morning right after Mom leaves for work."

    "I see," Anne said with clinical efficiency. "And your mom doesn't smoke?

    "No."

    Despite attempting to hide her reaction, Anne smiled. This was almost
perfect. "Do you like smoking, Hope?"

    The teenager looked embarrassed. She fidgeted again. "Yeah," she answered
shyly. "Yeah, I guess so." Then Hope straightened in the chair, brushed her
red hair away from her face, and sighed. "Who am I kidding? Sure I like
smoking. I wouldn't take these risks if I didn't, would I?" She smiled. She
seemed more comfortable talking now. She took another deep breath. "Okay, I
love it! Is that the answer you wanted?"

    "Actually, yes it is. It's the answer I expected and the answer I wanted.
So you're not thinking about quitting? You know about all the health risks?"

    Hope rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know all about the health risks. Look, I'm
15 years old. I think smoking's cool. I'm not going to die tomorrow or
anything. I can always quit later if I want. Actually, I'll tell you the
truth," she added with a confidential tone. "If I could, I'd smoke all the
time."

    Hope smiled like someone who'd told her deepest secret. Her answer
demonstrated conviction. She was telling the truth. Hope didn't want to stop
smoking. Not for her Mom. Not for anybody.

    "Wait a minute," Hope interrupted. "You answer a question for me. Why are
you asking me this? Are you some kind of doctor or something?"

    Anne smiled serenely. "No, Hope. Actually, I'm a lawyer. I'll answer your
question as soon as I ask you one more. Fair enough?"

    Hope nodded.

    "Is it easy for you to get cigarettes?"

    Hope sighed. "It gets harder all the time. More and more places card you
nowadays. But there's a couple stores where I can get cigarettes. At least
usually. As long as the right clerks are working." She shrugged. "It's a
hassle sometimes, but it's not too bad if you work at it. You know what I
mean?"

    Anne nodded. Another correct answer. "Hope, here's my business
proposition. I'm 32 years old and I don't smoke. But I need to learn. Today. I
need someone who smokes who can show me how to do it. I tried it myself when I
was your age. It made me sick. If you teach me, I'll buy you a carton of
cigarettes. What do you say?"

    Hope's eyes bugged out of her pretty little head. She smiled. "Is this for
a play or something? You've got to learn how to play the part of a smoker? Is
that it?"

    "Good guess, Hope! Actually, no. I'll be honest. You've been honest with
me. Here's the deal. I'm trying to get this guy interested in me. But he says
he won't go to bed with any girl who doesn't smoke. Because he smokes. Well, I
want to fuck him real bad. So I need to learn to smoke to get him into bed. "
Anne paused. Her young friend looked startled. "Candid enough?"

    "Yeah," Hope replied slowly. "I guess so." She stopped. "Let me get this
straight. This guy you're after? He won't screw you unless you smoke? What's
his problem? You're good looking, Anne!"

    Anne laughed. "Thank you. The problem is his wife doesn't smoke. He's sick
of the shit he takes from her because he smokes. I think he's afraid of
getting involved with me because I don't smoke. Afraid of taking more shit
from me. So I have to learn. So he won't worry that I'll nag him about
smoking. You know, about quitting?"

    Hope understood. She smiled. "You just want me to teach you how to smoke?
That's it? You won't tell my Mom, and you'll buy me a carton of cigarettes for
doing it?"

    "Exactly."

    Enthusiasm replaced Hope's shyness. "Well, let's get going then. But where
are we going to do this thing? We sure can't smoke in here!"

    Anne frowned. "We'll go to my place."

    "Okay. We'll need smokes. I don't have enough. Let's go to the store and
buy me that carton." Hopes eyes were flashing. "We'll buy some for you and
some for me."

    Hope grabbed her coat and they drove to a nearby convenience mart. At
Hope's suggestion Anne bought a pack of Marlboro Light 100's. Hope wanted a
carton of the same brand. They bought Bic lighters and a large ashtray for
Anne's living room.

    Arriving at Anne's condo, Hope sat on the sofa. She tore open her carton.
"Thanks for the cigarettes. This is great! To be honest, I'd teach you for
free. My friend Beth showed me how and provided the cigarettes, too. It was
kind of weird. I didn't even ask her. She asked me. Said I ought to learn to
smoke. Said I'd love it." Hope smiled again. "God, she was right! I do!" Hope
tore open a pack of Marlboro Light 100's. "Is it okay if I have a cigarette
now?" she asked. "I'd really like one."

    "Sure. Go ahead."

    Anne watched Hope put a cigarette in her mouth. Like a veteran, she pushed
the childproof button on her lighter and turned the wheel, immediately
touching the flame to the end of the cigarette hanging from her lips. When the
fire brought the tip of the cigarette to life, Hope exhaled a bit of smoke
from the side of her mouth. Then her cheeks caved in, and she took a big,
long, hard drag on the cigarette. After several moments her fingers made a "V"
and she reached up to remove the cigarette from her lips. As she pulled it
away, Anne could see a huge ball of smoke floating inside Hope's mouth. And
then - boom! - the smoke was gone, sucked quickly deep inside her lungs. Hope
smiled broadly as her 15 year old chest visibly expanded to contain the
visiting smoke. She waited several moments and then tipped her head. She began
to exhale toward the ceiling an endless stream of blue-gray cigarette smoke.

    "Wow!" Anne gasped. "You DO know what you're doing."

    Hope smiled. Intermittent wisps of smoke continued to escape from her
pretty little mouth. "Yep," she giggled. "Let me have another puff. Then I'll
be ready."

    Hope repeated her prior performance, taking another drag and deeply
inhaling the smoke. "God, that hits the spot," she sighed, and then exhaled a
second stream of smoke. "You know," she said, flipping ashes into the ashtray.
"It's nice to smoke inside!"

    "I'll bet," Anne replied. It was showtime! "Okay, kid, show me what to
do!"

    "I can't believe we're doing this," Hope giggled. She passed a cigarette
to Anne. "Okay, Anne, light up!"

    Anne took the cigarette and held it between her fingers. Carefully she
placed it in her mouth. She tried flicking the lighter, but was unfamiliar
with the operation of the child-proof button. Hope laughed.

    "Let me do that for you. Oh, I should tell you what to do, shouldn't I?"

    Anne felt funny with an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips. "That would
be nice," she replied sarcastically.

    Hope sighed. "Okay. When the cigarette lights, take a small puff. Like
this." Hope demonstrated by taking a delicate puff from her own cigarette and
immediately exhaling. "Don't inhale, okay? Just sip it and blow it back out.
Otherwise you might get sick. You gotta get used to it. To the smoke, I mean."

    Hope lit the cigarette. Anne cautiously took a small puff and exhaled. Not
nearly as bad or as hard as she remembered. Anne tried again. A small puff
followed by an exhale. Still okay. She remarked to Hope that this was easier
than she remembered.

    "What kind of cigarettes did you try when you were a teenager?" Hope asked
in response. "Because it makes a big difference."

    Anne furrowed her brow. "I'm not sure. One of my boyfriends gave them to
me. I don't remember the brand. But I don't think they had filters."

    Hope giggled. "Well, no wonder you got sick," she exclaimed. "Unfiltered
cigarettes are way strong! That's why I smoke Marlboro Lights. They're easier
to tolerate." Hope took a big drag and inhaled. "Plus, they taste great!"

    Anne tried again. She felt a slight buzzing in her head. It tasted bitter.
But she didn't feel sick. "Maybe I can do this," she smiled weakly.

    Hope nodded. "You'll be fine. Just keep doing the same thing for awhile.
Get used to it. Then I'll show you how to inhale."

    Anne finished the cigarette. It didn't taste good. But except for the
slight buzzing and dizziness in her head, she felt okay. She carefully crushed
it out in the ashtray.

    "You did good, Anne," Hope smiled. "The way Beth showed me was to wait
before trying a second one. On the second one I'll show you about inhaling."
Hope's grin widened. "That's the best part of smoking. Sucking the smoke into
your lungs!"

    "Sounds lovely," Anne muttered. "What are we going to do while we're
waiting?"

    "We could eat something," Hope suggested.

    They fixed a snack in the kitchen and sat in the living room to watch
television. Anne watched her teenage friend eat potato chips and drink Pepsi.
She liked Hope. She was a disarming young lady. Having gotten over her
shyness, she treated Anne like one of her teenage friends. Hope talked about
boys, movies and magazines she liked to read. Despite her reservations, Anne
was having a good time.

    After half an hour, Hope announced it was time for another cigarette. She
showed Anne how to use the lighter and Anne lit her own cigarette. It wasn't
that hard. Then Hope explained how to inhale.

    "The important thing is to mix air with the smoke. At least at first. To
do that, you take a drag and hold the smoke for a second or two. Then open
your mouth, but keeping the smoke in. Breathe in, pulling air in with your
smoke. Almost like swallowing it. Like this." Hope took a medium size puff,
held it, opened her mouth and then sucked the smoke down her windpipe. "It
dilutes the smoke with air. It's not so hard on your virgin lungs." She winked
at Anne and began to exhale. "And then you blow it out. Relax. It's not that
hard. Try it."

    Anne obediently took a puff. She held the smoke for a few seconds, neither
inhaling nor exhaling. She opened her mouth, breathed air in and swallowed.

    She felt a strange tightness in her throat and her chest. She forced
herself to relax, fighting off a strong urge to cough. The tingling in her
lungs didn't exactly feel bad. It was just ... strange. Her head was now
buzzing, but now it was almost pleasant.

    Anne remembered she needed to exhale. She pursed her lips, the way she'd
seen Hope do, and began exhaling. Amazingly, a stream of smoke began to escape
from her lips. Faint at first, then growing in volume and intensity, and then
fading away at the end.

    "Congratulations, Anne! You did it. And you didn't even cough."

    Anne blushed. "I did, didn't I?" She looked at the burning cigarette
between her fingers. "I assume the urge to cough will eventually disappear?"

    "Almost right away. You just need to get used to the way it feels. Try it
again!"

    Anne did. This time it worked even better. She inhaled and this time the
tightness in her chest was much more manageable. She watched the smoke escape
in another tight stream through her pursed lips. She smiled. So did Hope.

    "You've got it now," Hope said with enthusiasm as she took a drag of her
own. "Just keep it up."

    She did. Hope gave additional pointers while Anne smoked her second
cigarette. She still felt light-headed, but it didn't concern her. She knew
the dizziness would quickly pass as her body became more accustomed to
nicotine.

    "So, what do ya think?" Hope asked. "Do you want me to stick around and
smoke another cigarette? Or do you just want to practice on your own?"

    "How much do you think I should practice? How much is enough?"

    Hope smiled. "What would I do if I were you? Well, my advice is, smoke as
much as you can. Smoke 'til you can't stand it. Only practice makes perfect.
So practice. Don't worry. It takes awhile before cravings start. You do know
about the cravings?"

    Anne looked blank. She shook her head.

    "Man, the cravings," Hope repeated. "When you start getting hooked.
Addicted. It's when you have to have a cigarette. When you'll do anything to
have a smoke."

    Anne still looked vacant.

    Hope shook her head. "You haven't thought about this, have you?"

    "I guess not," Anne admitted.

    "If you learn to smoke, I mean REALLY learn to smoke, you're going to get
cravings. Get hooked. You start needing nicotine. If you're not willing for
that to happen, you'd better quit right now."

    "How long does it take for that to happen?" Anne asked. It was true. She
hadn't thought about the possibility she might become addicted.

    Hope smiled reassuringly. "For most people it takes awhile. They start
smoking a few cigarettes a day. That's what I did. You just smoke when you
feel like it. You enjoy it. You enjoy smoking with your friends. But you don't
have to. Slowly that changes. Slowly you increase the number of cigarettes
you're smoke. You hardly notice. Like you decide to have two cigarettes when
before you'd only smoke one. Your body is telling you it needs more nicotine
and more often. Pretty soon you start sneaking out to have a cigarette by
yourself. And not all the time. But then it happens more often. Boom! You
can't live without it. You go crazy." Hope winked at her. "You're hooked."

    "That sounds terrible," Anne said. "But that hasn't happened to you, has
it, Hope? You don't smoke all that much."

    "You don't understand, Anne. It's not a matter of how much you smoke,"
Hope responded. "It's how long you smoke. I'm hooked. I admit it. I need my
six or seven cigarettes a day. I'd love to have more, but I need at least that
many. I don't know how long before you get hooked. For me, it took several
weeks. All of a sudden I needed to smoke every day. Whether it was convenient
or not."

    Anne frowned. "Maybe I shouldn't overdo it? Won't that get me hooked
faster?"

    Hope giggled. "Yeah, maybe. Between a rock and a hard place, aren't you?
You need to practice to get good enough to convince this guy you can smoke.
No, you should practice as much as you can. Try smoking in front of the
mirror. To work on technique. You need to get so it's second nature to light
up, hold the cigarette, flick ashes into the ashtray, inhale, and exhale. You
know, the whole thing. Work on it." She smiled. "But remember, it's not my
fault if you can't stop."

    Anne looked at her young friend. "Hope, thank you. I mean it. You're a
good kid. If there's ever anything I can do for you, let me know."

    Hope gave a mischievous look. "Well," she said slyly. "There is one thing.
It would be a big help."

    "What?"

    Hope looked at the floor. "You don't have to do this. But I'd like to
smoke in your condo. Instead of going outside? I mean, if you're smoking here
anyway."

    "You're looking for a hiding place from your mother, aren't you?"

    Hope blushed. "Yeah, I guess. What do you think?"

    Anne walked into the kitchen. She took a spare key from the key ring on
the wall and handed it to Hope. "Keep this. Don't lose it. It's the extra key
to my front door. I may be crazy, but I believe you're an honest kid. When you
need a place to smoke come on in. Just lock the door behind you if I'm not
here. Please stay out of my bedroom and my office. But smoke in the living
room as much as you want. I trust you."

    "God, Anne, this is so cool!" She gave her a hug. "Thanks!" Suddenly she
looked embarrassed. "Would it be okay if I brought a friend?"

    Anne began to object, but Hope quickly explained.

    "Only Beth. She's my best friend. The one who taught me to smoke. She's
really nice. But she can't smoke at her house either. We get together every
day. It would be really cool if Beth could smoke here with me. Would that be
okay?"

    Anne didn't know how she could say no. "No parties?" she asked.

    "No, no parties. I promise. Just the two of us smoking."

    "Okay," Anne agreed. "But if I find you've let others in, or partying, I
go to your mom." She smiled a wicked smile. "You see, Hope, I've got leverage
on you. You can't afford to screw up."

    "No, and I won't." She hugged Anne again. "Thanks for the carton of
cigarettes. For the key. For everything." She paused. "For someone so old,
you're pretty cool!"

    Now it was Anne's turn to blush. "Thanks, Hope. You're pretty cool, too."

    Instead of leaving, Hope turned around. "Hey, Anne, can I have one more
cigarette before I go? I'd really like one."

    Anne nodded. "Sure," she replied. "Why not? Can I join you?"

    "That would be fabulous!" Hope sat back down on the sofa and opened her
pack of Marlboro Light 100's. She waited for Anne to get a cigarette and
flicked her lighter for them both. "You know," Hope said, her cigarette
hanging in her mouth. "It's pretty cool to smoke with you."

    Anne took an initial drag and inhaled, like she'd been taught. It didn't
feel bad. And it didn't taste bad. It felt and tasted kind of pleasant to be
smoking. Anne pursed her lips and exhaled toward the ceiling. The stream of
smoke was a large plume.

    She stopped her exhale before it all escaped. "You know," she smiled. "I
like smoking with you, too, Hope." She finished her exhale as she spoke.
"Really, anytime you want to smoke this weekend, come over. I'll be here
practicing."

    Anne took another drag. The second drag was longer and a bit harder. She
was becoming accustomed to this tingling feeling in her chest. To the taste of
the tobacco. To the sensation of having smoke in her nose and her throat.
"Watch out, John," Anne thought with a sense of accomplishment. She slowly and
deliberately exhaled the smoke. "Because I'll be ready for you on Monday!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    It was two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Robin picked up the ringing
telephone. "Hello?"

    "Hi, Robin, this is Lisa. Lisa Robinson."

    Robin winced. "Oh, hi, Lisa," she replied into the receiver. What the hell
does she want? Robin wondered.

    The answer was not long in coming. "I called to apologize for the way we
acted last night," Lisa said. "We were pretty hard on you. About you trying to
quit smoking. We gave you a lot of shit. I wanted to make sure you weren't mad
at us."

    "No, I'm not mad. It's okay," Robin replied. That wasn't true. She was
upset. But since Lisa was being conciliatory, what else could Robin say?

    "I should apologize, too," she went on. "I was a jerk. Now that I'm not
smoking, I probably made you guys uncomfortable by talking too much about
quitting. You have to make your own decision about that. I didn't mean to be a
wet blanket."

    "You weren't," Lisa assured her with a giggle. "You didn't notice us
smoking any less, did you?"

    Robin winced again. No, she didn't.

    Lisa went on. "Tell me about it, Robin. What made you decide to quit?"

    Robin explained the problems she'd had with her mother, the hassle and
stress of being unable to smoke at work, and feeling like a pariah around
non-smokers because she always needed a cigarette.

    While she talked, Robin heard the tell-tale "click" of a lighter. It was
the sound of Lisa lighting a cigarette. Then she heard the familiar "whoosh"
sound of Lisa exhaling into the phone. Oh my God, Robin thought. She's having
one right now! Jealousy overwhelmed her.

    "Are you enjoying yourself, Lisa?" she concluded sarcastically. "You're
smoking, aren't you?"

    "Uh, yeah," Lisa admitted. "I am. Force of habit, I guess. I love to smoke
while talking on the phone. You understand, don't you?"

    She did. In the old days Robin chain-smoked on the phone. It was one of
her most persistent triggers. She always lit up on the phone. She sighed.
Listening to Lisa puff and exhale, memories flooded back. The familiar urge
for a cigarette grew stronger.

    Lisa's voice brought her back to reality. "So, Robin," she asked. "How's
it going? It's been four weeks now. Are you going to stay quit?"

    Robin hesitated. The right answer was yes. But Lisa knew her too well to
accept any bullshit. "I don't know, Lisa," she admitted. "I do pretty well at
work. My new job helps. A new place with new routines makes it easier. I don't
think about it much at work. But there are still too many times when I miss
it."

    "Like when?" Lisa asked. "What times are most difficult?"

    Robin sighed. God, what times weren't? "I don't know," she answered
slowly. "One is driving. I smoked four cigarettes every morning on the way to
work to get my nicotine level up before the day started. So I didn't need
another one until lunch. And I miss smoking with meals. Going out to bars is
still hard. I want to light up in the worst way when I'm drinking. And talking
on the phone. But the worst is the smell of coffee. It drives me nuts if I
can't have a cigarette. I've started drinking tea instead."

    "You're sure you want to stay with it? Is it worth it? Quitting for good?"

    Robin didn't say anything for several moments. "God, Lisa, I don't know. I
really don't. In the long run I know it'll be better for my health. But I
thought it would be easier by now. Believe me, it isn't. To be honest I'd kill
for a cigarette right now. Talking about it is so hard. And being with other
smokers is the worst! The smell of cigarette smoke makes me salivate. That's
why I had to leave last night. I knew I'd blow it if I stayed. I can't be with
anyone who smokes. I'm sorry. Maybe it'll get better."

    "I hope so," Lisa answered. "Sorry you're having a hard time. Isn't it
funny how smoking gets under your skin? How much you depend on the lift you
get from nicotine? And the pleasure you get from lighting up and inhaling?
God, I don't think I'll ever quit."

    Listening to Lisa was unbearable. I've got to end this, Robin thought.

    Before she could, however, Lisa went on. "There's another reason I called.
Our firm is looking for more secretaries. You know the secretaries in our firm
are allowed to smoke at their desks?"

    "Yeah, I know," said Robin succinctly. She'd heard Lisa, Heather and
Bonnie talk about it. In the past she felt jealous. Now she felt afraid of
what Lisa would say next.

    "If you decide you want to come back to the life of a smoker, I'd put in a
good word for you. You're a good secretary, Robin. The kind we're looking for.
Let me know. I can get you an interview. You'd like it here! If you're
smoking, that is."

    "That's very kind, Lisa," Robin smiled ruefully. "But I'm not giving up.
Shit, I've gone through hell the last four weeks. I'm not ready to flush it.
Not yet."

    "I'm not saying you should. Look, I can't solve your problems with your
mother or the fact that society treats smokers like shit. But I can solve the
problem of not being able to smoke at work. Because you could smoke here at
Johnson & Myers as much as you want. I think you can get a job here. If you're
interested."

    "Lisa, I appreciate the offer. I'll think about it." She took a deep
breath and let it out. "I'll be honest. I can't fight this damn thing forever.
If it hasn't gotten better by next Sunday, then we'll talk. I'm not saying I'm
going to start smoking again, but damn! I can't keep this up. I'll call you
next weekend. Okay?"

    "Fair enough," Lisa replied. "I'll plan on talking then."

    The conversation ended. Lisa hung up and lit another cigarette. Robin's
not going to make it, she mused. Lisa took a big drag and pulled the smoke
into her lungs. No, and it won't get easier, either. She thought about Robin's
pain with an evil grin on her face as she exhaled. Yeah, Robin's as good as
smoking again! Lisa took a third drag. Robin, she smiled, this one's for you!

    On the other end, Robin hung up, too. Shit! I'm going to stay away from
all the damn smokers in the world for the next week, she decided. I'm not
going to talk to them. I'm not going to see them. I'm not going to smell their
damn cigarette smoke. If I can distance myself from temptation, I'll be okay.
It's got to work!

   
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    By mid-Saturday afternoon Anne had smoked two more cigarettes. She was
happy. Smoking wasn't as hard as she thought. Still not pleasant; not yet. But
not as difficult as she imagined.

    Anne called John Crawford's office and left a voice mail message. He was
often in on Saturdays, but apparently not today. In her message she asked if
they could meet at Robinson's Bistro at six o'clock on Monday. She said she
had an urgent matter to give him to work on. Anne smiled. She didn't tell him
the service she wanted involved his cock between her legs!

    Anne looked at her watch. It was two thirty. Hope told her she should
practice. As much as possible. She'd had three this morning. Two more since
then. Time for another cigarette, she sighed. She really didn't want to smoke
again, but she knew she needed to work at it. She started to remove a
cigarette from her pack.

    Before lighting up, Anne thought about Hope's other suggestion. I should
try smoking in the bathroom, she decided. I can watch myself in the mirror,
work on my technique. Hope's right. I've got to look accomplished if I'm going
to pull this off.

    Anne picked up the cigarettes and ashtray and walked into the bathroom.
She pulled the vanity stool in front of the mirror. She set the ashtray on the
counter and sat down. You look good, she smiled at herself. God, you always
look good! Her hair looked great. This was a "big hair" day. Her long, blond
hair looked best when it seemed almost out of control.

    Watching herself, Anne placed a cigarette in her mouth. Slowly,
deliberately, she clicked her lighter, turned the wheel and lifted the flame
to the end of the cylinder hanging from her lips. As the flame touched, she
took a small puff and exhaled from the corner of her mouth, like Hope did.
Smoke from the end of the cigarette began to spiral up in front of her face.
You look like a bad girl, she thought. Putting the lighter on the counter,
Anne's fingers made a V and reached for the cigarette as she took a bigger
drag. The tip glowed red and smoke filled her mouth. The taste was bitter but
not unpleasant. Removing the cigarette, she smiled and half-way opened her
mouth. The smoke hung in the opening. She quickly breathed in, and the smoke
disappeared. Anne felt it enter her lungs. The deep tingling, like the taste
of the smoke itself, was not unpleasant.

    Anne turned and waited. She tipped her head back, pursed her lips and
blew. The smoke started to escape in a tight stream toward the ceiling. She
stopped and watched her exhaled smoke drift lazily in the air, brightly
illuminated by the florescent lights over the bathroom mirror. She felt a
sense of accomplishment, but she knew more smoke was left inside her body. She
wanted to try a different approach, so she breathed out through her nose. The
smoke reappeared, exiting her nostrils in twin streams. She was pleased. "Not
bad," she said to the girl in the mirror. "Not bad at all." To her surprise,
more smoke escaped while she talked. She smiled again.

    Anne practiced holding the cigarette. She tried holding it upwards at the
side of her head. That looked best, she decided. She posed, adjusted, and
posed again. She wanted to look alluring, seductive, sexy while she smoked.
She took another drag, inhaled, and exhaled toward the mirror while she
watched. Brightly accentuated by the florescent light, the smoke she exhaled
hit the mirror head-on and then bounced back toward her, obscuring her
reflected image for a moment until it disbursed. A cigarette is a great prop,
she decided. No wonder so many women in the movies smoke. A few simple
movements of the cigarette, a few variations in the way she inhaled, exhaled,
and tapped ashes into the ashtray, all sent different messages.

    Suddenly she heard a knock on the door. "Shit," she muttered with a sense
of panic. Then she smiled. I've got nothing to hide. I'm an adult. I can smoke
if I want.

    Holding her cigarette, Anne walked to the front door. She looked out the
peep hole. It was Hope. She opened the door. "Nicotine fit?" she asked.

    "Hi," Hope whispered. "Can I come in?" Without another word she entered
the condo. Anne closed the door behind her.

    Hope pulled her pack of cigarettes from her pocket. "How's it going?"

    "Just fine," Anne replied. Without waiting, Hope flicked her lighter. She
took a big first drag, and then a second one before finally removing the
cigarette from her mouth. Anne watched as Hope began exhaling a great volume
of smoke from her mouth. Much more impressive than Anne's own efforts so far!
She made a mental note. In learning to exhale, Anne was determined to become
at least as proficient as this 15 year old child! "Don't you want to sit
down?" she finally asked.

    "Sure," said Hope, continuing to exhale as she walked to the sofa.
"Where's the ashtray?"

    "In the bathroom," Anne answered as she walked to retrieve it. "I was
practicing in there when you knocked. In front of the mirror. Like you told
me." She set it on the coffee table and sat down across from Hope.

    "Very good," was the reply. "How's the student doing?"

    Anne took a puff of her own. "Okay, I guess. I still don't find smoking
pleasant. It doesn't seem bad. But I hoped it would start to seem nicer."

    "Don't worry, it will," Hope smiled. "It most definitely will. God, before
you know it, smoking will start to seem SO nice that you'll wish it didn't."
Her eyes twinkled as she spoke. "Because you won't want to stop! Anyway, Mom's
coming home in an hour. I figured I'd come over and smoke a couple of
cigarettes before then." She took a deep drag and inhaled. "Then I'll go home,
brush my teeth, and change my sweatshirt."

    "Why?" Anne asked.

    "Because of the smell. Otherwise she'll smell the smoke on my clothes. I
always wear this sweatshirt when I smoke. Never wear it around Mom. Safer that
way." Exhaled smoke mixed with Hope's words as she talked. She took another
drag.

    "You were really ready for a cigarette, weren't you?" Anne asked.

    "Yeah," Hope answered, exhaling again. "This is my last opportunity before
Mom gets back. Beth and I went to the mall for lunch. With her mom. We managed
to sneak a couple smokes while her mom was shopping. But I wanted more." She
grinned. "I wouldn't smoke so damn frantically if I could smoke whenever I
wanted." She took another drag. "I try to make the most of every cigarette!"

    Very interesting, thought Anne, as she saw little wisps of smoke
continuing to escape from Hope's mouth and nostrils each time she breathed.
Smoking affects every part of her teenage life. Where she goes, what she
wears, everything. Everything she does is determined by whether it helps her
smoke more often without detection.

    Slowly Hope began to settle down. Her puffs became less frequent, her
inhales less frantic. "God, that's better," Hope said as she crushed out her
first cigarette.

    With the first cigarette's ashes still smoldering, Hope quickly removed a
second one and lit up again. Hope smoked the second cigarette in a more
leisurely fashion, although still savoring every inhale. This time she played
with her exhales, alternating between blowing smoke up in tight streams and
exhaling twin streams from her nostrils.

    Anne joined her on the second cigarette. Not because she wanted one, but
because she wanted to be sociable. And because she knew she needed practice.
She was beginning to feel queasy. She was smoking too much. She knew what was
happening, but decided to ignore it. Progress, she thought. I've got to keep
making progress.

    "You look more comfortable now, Anne," Hope allowed, coming close to the
end of her second cigarette. "Do you feel more comfortable smoking?"

    "I guess so," Anne admitted. "I'm starting to feel sick. I assume that's
normal?"

    "Too much nicotine," Hope replied. She saw the look of dismay on Anne's
face. "Don't worry. Completely normal. Your body will adjust. Don't worry
about it. Try eating something; keep something in your stomach. Sometimes that
helps. Don't keep smoking if you get sick. Give it a rest. It'll go away. When
it does, light up again." She grinned. "I sound like some kind of consultant,
don't I?"

    Anne took another puff. It wasn't smoked all the way down, but she crushed
her cigarette out. "I've reached my limit," she smiled.

    "That's okay," Hope nodded. She took two drags before crushing hers in the
ashtray. "Keep it up and watch how you feel. Getting your body used to
nicotine is the important part. But it happens fast. Soon you'll start really
liking smoking. You'll look forward to lighting up." Her grin turned
mischievous. "And you won't want to stop!"

    Hope prepared to leave. "I'll still be able to quit if I want to, won't
I?" Anne asked. "I mean, what if John turns me down? I'll want to quit
smoking."

    "Maybe, maybe not," Hope teased. "You never know with cigarettes. You're
playing with fire! Some people can smoke for a long time and quit like that!
Others get hooked real quick and can't ever stop." She rolled her eyes. "You
just never know with cigarettes," she repeated. She grinned. "So his name is
John, huh?"

    Anne ignored the last comment. She hadn't meant to say his name. "Well,
it's worth the risk," she said with firm resolution. "And it's not a big risk.
I'm not worried. If I still like smoking after I'm finished with John, I guess
that's okay." She looked at Hope. "I mean, I'm not going to marry the guy or
anything. I just want to fuck him. It will probably only last a little while.
That's the way it is with most affairs. The way I see it, when I'm done with
him, I'll be done with cigarettes!"

    "But the question is, Anne," Hope responded. "Will cigarettes be done with
you?" She opened the door. "I've got to go. See you tomorrow."

   
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    At five thirty on Saturday Anne's phone rang. It was Gretchen. "What do ya
want?" her old roommate asked.

    After introductory pleasantries, Anne told Gretchen what was up. About
John. And about developing a new habit. "I've started smoking, Gretch," she
announced.

    Laugher filled the phone. "I can't believe it," Gretchen replied, almost
breathless from giggling. "After all those years complaining about my smoking?
This guy must really be something! You're willing to join us nicotine addicts
just to get at his cock?"

    "I didn't complain all that much, did I?" Anne objected.

    "I guess not," Gretchen admitted. "But I'm still surprised. It's not often
someone your age decides to start smoking. Most people your age decide to quit
smoking!"

    "Let's not get into the age thing, Gretch," Anne objected. "I'm as old as
you are. Thirty-two is not old."

    "Maybe. But it's old to start smoking. Most people start as teenagers.
Like me."

    "Do you think it's a mistake? For me to start?"

    "I didn't say that. Did I ever tell you I tried to quit smoking last
year?"

    "No," Anne replied. "Tell me about it."

    "It was after a big trial. Which I won, by the way," Gretchen added
proudly. "I got really stressed. I was smoking over two packs a day while the
trial was going on. Smoked like a fuckin' demon every time we took a break
during the trial. Lucky for me the head of the agency I represented smoked. It
was funny, both of us smoking like maniacs planning strategy during breaks. I
was thankful he smoked. Because if he hadn't been a smoker, I'd probably have
lost my client. Or my mind!"

    "Well, why'd you decide to quit?"

    "Like I said, after the trial was over I decided I was smoking too damn
much. Over two packs a day. It seemed like time to think about quitting. So I
did," she said.

    "What happened?"

    Gretchen laughed again. "It lasted fifteen days. I even used the patch. It
helped the physical cravings, but not enough. I was a basket case. I wanted a
cigarette so bad I could taste it every fuckin' minute. I snapped at people, I
lost my temper, I was even more of a bitch than usual." She paused. "And
that's saying something!"

    "Why didn't you stick with it? Eventually you'd have made it. Wouldn't
you?"

    "I don't know," Gretchen admitted. "But it wasn't worth it. One day I was
so pissed I thought I'd spit. I got home after work and was storming around my
apartment. You know, banging things, swearing at the walls. I said to myself,
Shit! Why am I doing this? I'm going to die someday anyway. I'm having a
fuckin' cigarette! I found a pack of B&H's in my old winter coat pocket. I
kept 'em there for an emergency. I lit up. God, did it feel good! I smoked
five cigarettes in a row. Without stopping! Then I realized I still had on the
damn patch. God, did I get a nicotine high!" She laughed. "It was great!"

    "So you started smoking again after that?"

    "Sure did," Gretchen said. "It took some effort, but I managed to
stabilize at only a pack and a half a day after starting again. So I managed
to cut down a little in the process. But I'm never quitting again."

    "That's interesting, Gretchen. Are you sorry you're still smoking? Should
I run the risk that I'll get hooked, too?"

    "It's not a risk, Anne," she replied. "It's a certainty. But no, I'm not
sorry. You know me. I like to smoke. Always have. It makes me feel good. As
long as I keep it under control, I'm happy. And for me, less than two packs a
day is under control."

    My God, Anne thought. That sounds like a lot. I smoked less than half a
pack today and I feel absolutely satiated.

    "So, do you want to get together and smoke, Anne?" Gretchen went on. "I
gotta see this! My old roommate smoking! What're you doing tonight? You want
to go out?"

    Anne paused. "Sure," she answered. "Where do you want to go?"

    "The Hole in the Wall," Gretchen replied. "That's my most frequent hang
out, when I go out anymore. Why don't we meet for dinner? We can stay and have
a few drinks. What do you say?"

    "Okay," Anne replied. "I'll meet you there in half an hour."

    Anne was nervous. Would Gretchen laugh at me? Would I look stupid? Like a
teenager who didn't know what she was doing? Gretchen has a razor sharp sense
of humor. She'll give me shit all night if she has any reason to tease me.
Should I do it?

    No, I'm going, Anne decided. There was no way she'd keep up with
Gretchen's smoking. Hell, she couldn't even keep up with Hope. But practice
makes perfect. This would be good. Once again she thought about John Crawford.
Hopefully she'd see him Monday. And he'd see a new Anne. One he'd be willing
to fuck! She smiled. She put her cigarettes and lighter in her purse and
headed for the door.

   
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Robin turned off the TV. It was still early. Only ten o'clock on Saturday
night. But she didn't want to go out. If she went to her favorite bars, she'd
run into her smoking friends. It was safer to stay home and watch TV. Safer,
and very boring.

    She'd broken up with her boyfriend six weeks ago. Now she wished she
hadn't. Jim had been a good guy, willing to commit to the relationship. It was
Robin who was afraid of commitment. She liked to play too much. She was too
young to settle down.

    Jim smoked. Breaking up made it easier for Robin to think about quitting.
Jim would never quit. At least Robin couldn't imagine it. He loved his Winston
100's. Full flavor. Too strong for her. But tonight she missed him. He was
slow and deliberate, passionate yet so sweet in bed. He loved to play with her
blond hair, and massage her breasts. She sighed. She thought about how nice it
would be to be with Jim again. As she did, she began to play with her breasts.
It would be so nice to have him touch her. She put her fingers inside her
panties. Right here! Yeah, she sighed. And so nice to smoke with him in bed
again ....

    God, Robin startled. What the hell am I thinking? Shit, I can't even think
about fucking without thinking about smoking, too! She pulled her fingers out
of her panties and turned the TV back on. "God damn!" she said aloud, to no
one in particular. "I've got to stop thinking about cigarettes!"

Previous part | Next part